Allah is Not Obliged (17 page)

Johnson thought for a minute and then threw his arms round the saint’s neck and kissed her on the mouth. After lots of warm embraces and kisses, Johnson and the saint held hands and chatted as though they’d known each other for ages and ages.

It was at that moment that the ECOMOG patrol showed up armed to the teeth.

Johnson and the saint were gossiping as though they’d always lived together. Right in front of everyone, the wretches, the nuns in their cornets, the armed guerrillas. Everyone was totally, completely stunned.

General Prince Johnson explained that for a long, long time he had been searching for a woman to command his women’s brigade. He offered the saint the position, offered to make her a colonel, offered to pin her stripes on her without further ado, there and then. She refused the rank of colonel. Refused outright; it was not her vocation. She was a saint and she preferred to remain a saint. She preferred to look after the poor, the old, destitute mothers, the nuns and all the pitiful wretches that tribal wars had thrown out into the street. Johnson could not refuse the saint anything; he understood the saint, Saint Marie-Béatrice.

Hand in hand, the two headed back to the convent and wandered around, taking in the massive damage caused by the shelling. Johnson made his apology, expressed his sincere regrets. He was terribly moved; he prayed, he almost cried. After they had walked round the convent three times, Johnson still hadn’t noticed a door to the catacombs. Nothing. He came right out and asked. Now that the saint had acknowledged his power, now that the saint was his friend, good governance (‘good governance’ means ‘management’) required that all the convent’s money be turned over to Johnson’s faction. Good governance required that all riches should be controlled by the government.

‘What riches?’

‘The gold, the fat wads of American dollars, the food that you have stashed in the convent cellars. Where is the door to the catacombs?’

‘There are no catacombs.’

‘What?’

The mother superior repeated that the convent had no catacombs. There wasn’t a word of truth in all the fibs circulating about the convent, she told him. The convent had nothing to hide. Nothing. She invited Johnson to make sure. Johnson had his men turn the convent inside out, the men searched from top to bottom. They didn’t find a dollar. Not a single dollar.

Still sceptical (‘sceptical’ means ‘inclined to doubt things that haven’t been proved with evidence’), Johnson asked, ‘Where did you get the dollars you used to go to market every day?’

‘The charity of good people, the alms of the faithful. God never leaves empty a mouth he has created.’

‘Well, well.’ Johnson turned round and round several times. ‘I can’t believe it, it can’t be true.’

Johnson was sceptical still, sceptical in spite of everything.
Faforo! Gnamokodé!

Seizing control of the convent had not solved the problem of a steady and secure income for Johnson’s faction. On the contrary, now there were hundreds more mouths to feed and not a penny more in the coffers. The NGOs and the good souls who gave money when the mother superior was independent were reluctant to help a convent associated with
Johnson. The pitiful wretches, the destitute mothers and all the children were constantly complaining they were starving. Johnson owed a debt of honour to the convent, the sainted mother superior and all her needy. Johnson would have been only too happy to give the saint her independence, her freedom. But it was too late. The whole country had witnessed the saint’s heroic struggle and her subjugation. (According to
Larousse
, ‘subjugation’ means ‘made subservient to, dependent on another person’.) Because of the subjugation, Prince Johnson was obliged to support the saint.

Something had to be done
gnona-gnona
(at the double) for Johnson’s faction: a solution had to be found.

The American Rubber Company had the largest plantation in Africa, covering nearly a hundred square kilometres. In fact, the company owned the whole south-east of the country and paid masses of royalties. (‘Royalties’ is a share in the proceeds paid to an inventor or a proprietor for the right to use his patent or his land.) The royalties were shared between the two old factions, Taylor’s and Samuel Doe’s. When he had finished breaking with Taylor, Johnson immediately demanded that the royalties be split in three. He convinced the owners to give his faction a share too. The company managers were not prepared to accept this. They hesitated, they feared reprisals from the other two factions. (According to the
Petit Robert
, ‘reprisals’ means ‘retaliation for an injury with the intent of inflicting at least as much injury in return’.) They prevaricated and prevaricated, they beat around the bush in order to delay a decision. So Johnson decided to act
like a boy, a boy with a
bangala
that gets hard-ons. (According to the
Glossary
, ‘to act like a boy’ means ‘to be brave’.)

He kidnapped two of the plantation’s
toubab
foremen. When he had them safely hidden, he sent an ultimatum to the directors of the plantation. What threats did he make in the ultimatum? He threatened that if he did not get a share of the royalties in twenty-four hours, he would send two men with the two heads of the white bosses on two stakes. Without fail! Without fail! And everyone knew that Johnson the seer was capable of anything; they knew he would do it.

Walahé!
The same evening, three
toubab
foremen from the plantation showed up at Johnson’s gate. They came as friends, but they didn’t come empty-handed. They had briefcases with them, six of them, two briefcases each. We didn’t get to see what was in the briefcases …

They were in a hurry, they had to see Johnson
gnona-gnona
. Like people with diarrhoea heading for the cesspit behind the huts. Johnson gave them a fine welcome. He chatted to them like close friends. They drank beer together as friends. Johnson slapped them on the back and laughed his big laugh. Then five
toubabs
left the camp, three plus two. Five heads on ten shoulders.
Faforo!

The royalties arrived bang on time at the end of that month and every month. Johnson decided this was something to be celebrated. He organised a big party in the camp. He paid back wages. Even the child-soldiers got dollars to buy hashish. Everyone was dancing and drinking and eating and getting fucked up on drugs. Then right in the middle of the party,
Prince Johnson brought the festivities to a halt on account of how we had to remember the dead, the countless dead we had left at the border post and in the diamond-mining town. The saint had been invited because now she was a colonel. She refused because she didn’t have time because she was always busy taking care of her charges. She would rather Prince Johnson give her the dollars he would have spent on her, because she could put those dollars to a better use. Prince Johnson sent her dollars—genuine American dollars, not Liberian ones.

Everything was cool now. The money wasn’t enough, but at least it was regular and everyone got to eat once a day.

But there were lots of small-time thieves and bandits who wanted recognition, they wanted to be factions too. Factions with a right to a share of the royalties, and to get them they started fucking around, breaking into the plantation, kidnapping foremen and demanding ransoms. The ransoms were paid by the plantation bosses in brand-new American dollars.

The reprehensible behaviour of the small-time warlords gave Johnson an idea. Johnson could put a stop to the small-time bandits and get paid protection money. Getting a third of the royalties was good, but protecting the whole plantation against the small-time bandits would be a gold mine. He pondered the idea during his long afternoon sessions of penance.

One morning, Johnson in person, flanked by five four-by-fours, two in front, three behind, all jam-packed with guerrillas armed to the teeth, presented himself at the front gate of the plantation. He wanted to meet with the president.
He was escorted to the president. He talked to the president as a friend. He talked about the activities of the gangs of small-time bandits. He condemned their behaviour, which he said was damaging the good name of the whole of Liberia. These offences had to cease, and he, Johnson, could put a stop to them. He offered his services to put a stop to the activities of the small-time bandits.

Patiently, the president explained to Johnson that handing over the protection of the plantation to him, Johnson, amounted to taking sides, amounted to acknowledging that Johnson was the sole authority in Liberia. That was something he could not do. The other factions wouldn’t stand for it.

Johnson replied that the protection would be a secret; that the deal would be a secret. No one would know that Johnson’s faction was protecting the plantation. The president explained that he did not have the authority to sign a secret deal with any faction and that anyway everyone would find out about the secret eventually.

Johnson didn’t look convinced. Not a bit. He headed back to the camp to think. For three days, during the midday sessions of prayers and penitence, he pondered (remember that every day at noon he knelt on stones to pray and his knees were black and blue from the stones). He tried to think of another way of getting a secret deal to protect the plantation from the small-time crooks. He had to get this secret deal
djogo-djogo
(at all costs). During the three days of prayer, the
djogo-djogo
leitmotif was heard as often as Jesus Christ our Lord. (A ‘leitmotif’ means ‘a dominant and recurring
theme, a word or phrase constantly repeated’.) At the end of the third day, his face lit up with a smile. He had thought of a solution.

Two weeks later, the bossmen at the plantation noticed that three labourers had disappeared. They searched for them everywhere without success. Then, one morning, Prince Johnson was seen arriving at the plantation in person and with him were the three poor labourers. The three labourers were in their underpants. Later when he was laughing and drinking beer with the president, Prince Johnson explained that in the course of a routine patrol his men had snatched the workers from a gang of small-time bandits. With great pomp, Johnson handed over the labourers to the president of the plantation. The president thanked Johnson warmly and tried to give him loads of dollars. Johnson refused the dollars. The president couldn’t figure it out.

One month later, three white labourers and two black African foremen disappeared from the plantation. The bossmen searched everywhere for them without success. Then, one morning, Prince Johnson arrived at the plantation in person with the five men travelling behind in one of the four-by-fours in his entourage. This time they were completely naked. Johnson explained that his men had managed to rescue them from being tortured by small-time bandits in the nick of time, saved them right at the last minute. Compassionately, Johnson handed them over to the president. Compassionately, because they were not in one piece: the three white labourers had lost their right hands, and the black African foremen had their ears cut off. Twice the president thanked Johnson,
thanked him for his compassion and thanked him for having rescued his managers and his labourers from the bandits. This time he definitely wanted to give Johnson a reward. He insisted. But Prince Johnson rejected the brand-new American dollars. He was taking the long view, hoping for more. Still the president couldn’t figure it out.

One month and two weeks later, four labourers, three black African foremen and a white
toubab
American disappeared from the plantation. A genuine white man. People searched far and wide in the forests of Liberia without success. Then, one morning, Johnson arrived at the plantation in person. In his convoy, in a four-by-four, were two African foremen. They were naked but they weren’t in one piece: their hands and their ears were missing; their hands and their ears had been amputated. There was also one labourer but he wasn’t in one piece: his entire body had been amputated. All that was left was the labourer’s head on the end of a stake; his entire body was missing. The president roared loudly, roared in terror, indignation, horror. With a smile Johnson calmly explained that it wasn’t over, that the bandits were still holding four black Africans and one white man. If his men did not intervene, did not redouble their efforts, it would be too late. Well, at that point, the president got the message loud and clear, he understood totally.

The president grabbed Johnson’s hand and led him into an office. They negotiated long and hard and in the end they signed a secret deal. By the terms of the deal, Johnson’s faction would protect the plantation against small-time bandits in return for lots of dollars. That same night Johnson showed
up at the plantation accompanied by the five other missing employees. There were five people, five naked people, but in one piece. There were no missing ears or hands or entire bodies. Johnson’s men had redoubled their efforts. And
djogo-djogo
Johnson had got his secret deal.

At the camp, there was a celebration. Everyone danced. Johnson in his priest’s soutane and his kalash danced five times and ended up doing somersaults, doing the monkey dance.
Walahé! Faforo!

As a secret, the secret remained a secret for five days; by day six, the whole of Liberia from Monrovia to the back end of the country knew Johnson had signed a secret deal with the president of the plantation.

The other factions didn’t stand for it. Not at all. Straight away, the leaders of all the factions showed up at the plantation to meet with the president. They handed him their ultimatums written out and in due form. (‘In due form’ means ‘written according to the laws and with all the appended formalities’.) To resolve the situation, the president decided to divide the security guards into three or four units, each one under the control of a different faction. The problem then was how to demarcate (to set the boundaries) between these sections. When he couldn’t get the factions to agree to any of his realistic proposals, the president ordered the factions to sort it out among themselves. It was like throwing one bone to three or four vicious guard dogs who were already pawing the ground in anticipation. All over the plantation it was all-out war.