Africa

I was the fourth member of a small team send into Africa to document the problems of war, poverty and crime. The trip was scheduled to last two months; travelling throughout Africa, visiting various cities and towns and document how crime and other problems have detrimental effects on the innocent people who inhabit the area. On paper, the trip seemed relativity simple and none of us really thought ahead and realised the dangers present. Our plan was to land in Cape Town, South Africa and travel north from there; from South Africa to Zimbabwe, Zambia, through Congo and then end up in Sierra-Leone then take a chartered plane from there back to the United Kingdom. It was fool proof. Three weeks into the trip it became very clear how dangerous the countries were and how volatile things had become when a large riot broke out in Hareare, Zimbabwe resulting in the death of one man and twelve other casualties. The devastating effect of war, poverty and disease were extremely apparent and no real sleuthing or bribery had to be done to get information and facts on the area and their grizzly histories. Although, apart from these minor discrepancies and petty violence we had yet to truly witness the brutality that occurs here. Less than two weeks after leaving Lusaka, Zambia, we encountered out first taste of what Africa had to offer; an event I will not be forgetting anytime soon. We travelled early in the morning before the heat set in and to give us time to settle and relax when he arrived at our destinations; being such long trips. Making good time down the dirt tracks on the way into Congo we were ambushed by a small group of rebel criminals: six men armed with assault rifles and handguns emerged from the roadside and began to fire wildly at our jeep, killing my friend Andre instantly; bright pink brain matter and fragments of skull exploded over the inside of the car. After killing Andre the car came to a jolting halt. I was laying across the back seats with Jared lying over me. Roy screamed in fear and flung open the passenger side door, he disappeared from the view then I heard several shots of machinegun fire, I knew he had been shot. Just Jared and I remained, still hugging the seats in fear. Wait, ******* wait Jared screamed. The men pulled open the door, dragged us both out onto the dirt and flung us to our knees. I placed my hands behind my head and Jared followed suit. Just do as they say, well be fine I said to him, one of the men struck me across the face with the butt of his rifle Not talk he shouted at me. I looked down and saw blood begin to pool on the sand in front of me, my eyes and nose began to swell, its then that I realised by nose was broken. The rebels were quarrelling among each over. I assumed they couldnt agree on what to do with us. When suddenly one of them screamed and pointed a machine pistol in my face. I kneeled there staring down the barrel of death; everything slowed, I could feel my heartbeat in my temple and a cold sweat broke out on the surface of my brow. This was it. I knew I was going to die.

He cocked the lever; my heart stopped. Just as his finger began to press on the tiger one of the rebels shouted and pushed him into the car. More argument broke out and thats when I saw it. The machine pistol eye level, lose grip in his hand, prime for the taking. I cried out and grasped the gun. Still partly in the rebels hand, I held on to the gun, squeezed and held down the trigger, spraying a horde of bullets all over the place cutting down five of the rebels before me. The few seconds of fire felt like an eternity as I watched the five men flinch, toss and turn and their bodies are torn to pieces in front of me. The clip ran dry and the dull flicking echoed through my head sounded as the hammer struck thin air. The last rebel and I wrestled with the gun, but I lose grip and was thrown to the ground. I look up and see him loading a fresh clip into the weapon, he aims it at me and I tease up and close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable. A shot rang out. But I was unharmed. I opened my eyes to see the man collapse lifelessly to the floor. Jared had shot him and saved me. He said nothing; we just looked at one another with teary eyes. He walked over and slumped down beside me. We broth cried for a good fifteen minutes, I can remember how it felt to know I had killed not one, but five men. I kept saying that I had to, we had to, and it had to be done in order to survive. We cut the trip short and returned home to the UK. I never told my family what happened. I told them I had broken my nose falling from the steep steps in the village and had to come home to receive medical care; they bought the story. I could never tell them what happened, what would my children think of me to know their farther was a murderer? It actually feels quite good to write this and tell you what happened, almost a form of therapy for me. This happened almost thirteen years ago, but I still cant get those pictures out of my head. The thing that affected me worse was Andre being killed. The blood and the smell and everything tipped me over the edge, I see it every day.