Atrocities, Diamonds and Diplomacy Page 11

  The Nigerians, or more particularly, Ikimi, their Foreign Minister, were not keen to see a British ship in Freetown. He had made a big thing of the fact that it was African, i.e. Nigerian, troops that had restored the democratic government to Sierra Leone while the rest of the world stood idly by. He did not want to share the glory with Britain or anyone else. Ikimi was a very difficult character. Undoubtedly he was able but he appeared to have a chip on his shoulder with the UK. He even refused sometimes to take telephone calls from Graham Burton, our High Commissioner in Abuja. Ikimi had the ear of Abacha and he persuaded the latter that a British ship in Freetown would steal some of the glory and be used to spy on the Nigerians. Kabbah was in a difficult position. He did not want to annoy us but equally he was not prepared to go against the Nigerians. He tried to wriggle out of it by suggesting that we should ask the Nigerians for permission for Monmouth to go in. We said that we were not prepared to do any such thing. His government was in charge and therefore responsible for issuing diplomatic clearances for visiting ships. However, HMS Monmouth was already coming to an end of her six-month deployment so it was decided that she should head back to the UK. She was to be replaced by HMS Cornwall, which, as it turned out, proved to be fortuitous.

  Before HMS Monmouth left some of her crew were able to witness a remarkable demonstration in Conakry. Enthused with the news of the success of Ecomog in Freetown the Sierra Leone civil society groups in Conakry decided to mount a victory rally. Again Zainab Bangura was in the forefront of arranging this event. She and other civil leaders organized a march through the streets of Conakry, culminating at the football stadium, which they hired. Hundreds of Sierra Leoneans took part, bringing traffic to a standstill as the bemused Guineans looked on. Francis Okelo and I were invited to address the crowd on behalf of the international community. I took the captain of Monmouth and some of his officers along. As I stood up to speak the crowd started chanting, ‘Pen-fold, Pen-fold, Pen-fold’. I was embarrassed. Fighting to have myself heard over the drone of a portable generator set up to work the microphone system, I said, ‘Today is a happy day for Sierra Leone, for Ecowas, for the international community, and for all democracy-loving people throughout the world.’ And indeed it was.

  Back in Sierra Leone, although the Ecomog forces had taken Freetown, they now had to reclaim other parts of the country. CDF forces had retaken the diamond mining town of Tongo at the time of the fighting in Freetown but the next major town to be secured was Bo.

  Throughout the previous nine months, Mike Downham, our British doctor, had remained in Bo. From time to time we had been able to get messages to and from him while we were in Conakry. He had faced many difficulties but resolutely stayed to help the people of Bo. However, when the fighting to take the town by Ecomog and the Kamajors started he was finally forced to flee. His offices were ransacked and his vehicles stolen by the fleeing junta forces. Mike set off on foot, together with a bunch of about thirty displaced children, to find safety in the bush. They walked for about 30 miles. Mike telephoned me at the hotel in Conakry on his satellite phone from the bush to report on these events. As usual he played down the danger and the efforts he had made to keep all these people alive. Being stuck in the bush he could not keep his satellite phone on all the time because the batteries would run down so we arranged a daily contact. For five days he would ring me at the prearranged time. It was always a relief to hear from him, and I was able to telephone his aged mother in the UK and let her know that her son was OK. After Bo had been secured, Mike led his charges back on foot again.

  London was now seriously considering my return and the reopening of the mission. They insisted as a precondition of my return that I should be accompanied by a close protection team (CPT). These are members of the Royal Military Police (RMP), teams of which are positioned in various embassies or high commissions in so-called hot spots around the world. I was quite familiar with the RMPs. Throughout my time in Uganda we had had teams there and indeed on more than one occasion they were called upon to demonstrate their skills. One particular incident, which took place in my house in Kampala, was later written up in a book called The Bullet Catchers. A three-man team flew out to Conakry to swell our numbers, and Mal Scott, the team leader, flew in with Colin and David Hill into Freetown while the rest of us waited in Conakry. Colin rarely showed emotion at the best of times, a dour Scot in the traditional sense, but even he could not fail to be caught up in the jubilation displayed by the staff at the High Commission on his return.

  In the meantime HMS Cornwall had arrived to replace Monmouth. She was a much bigger ship with a larger crew. She was commanded by Captain Anthony Dymock. I immediately took to this very experienced naval officer.

  President Kabbah was now back from Abuja and I again sought his clearance for Cornwall to go into Freetown, this time with me on board. I pointed out that the Cornwall would be used to spearhead our emergency assistance. Again he was hesitant. This was becoming very serious. I realized that if ministers felt that Kabbah had refused twice to allow us to send in a British ship to provide emergency and humanitarian assistance, this would significantly affect our future policy towards Sierra Leone. They really would believe that President Kabbah was a stooge of the Nigerians and Sierra Leone could kiss goodbye to any further UK assistance. This would also affect international assistance and I encouraged Ambassador Okelo to join me in making representations to the President. London was rattled by the attitude of President Kabbah and recommended Cornwall’s withdrawal. She pulled out of Conakry port, but within hours of the ship preparing to sail away I obtained the President’s agreement for the Cornwall to go into Freetown.

  Return to Freetown

  The ship’s helicopter was sent to pick us up from Conakry Airport. I checked out of the Hotel Camayenne and settled the bills. The occupancy of room 503 finally came to an end after 276 nights. Together with Peter Hicks, the two RMPs, an engineer from Accra and two press officers flown out by the Ministry of Defence in London, I drove with Alphonse for the last time to the airport, the others following in the Camayenne’s minibus. I had also arranged for us to take back to Freetown Shirley Gbujama, the Sierra Leone Foreign Minister, and Emilio Perez-Poros, the EC representative, who had flown back to Conakry just after Christmas. We all flew off from Conakry and landed on the deck of the Cornwall while she was still a couple of hours’ sailing from Freetown. It occurred to me that yet again I would be arriving in Freetown without ever having seen Lungi International Airport.

  It was a dry but overcast day as HMS Cornwall slowly approached Freetown. Using Anthony Dymock’s binoculars I scanned the city looking for evidence of the terror and destruction that the city had gone through during the previous nine months. It was difficult to spot any new destruction; the city looked as run down as it had always been. What was noticeable was the absence of people and vehicles. We seemed to be coming into an abandoned city. Nonetheless, there was an air of excitement as Shirley and I picked out familiar landmarks such as Fourah Bay College and St George’s cathedral spire.

  As the ship slowly came alongside the Kissy Docks we spotted on the quayside some familiar faces – Colin, Solomon, Emmanuel, plus Momodou Koroma, Julius Spencer and Val Collier. They were part of the advance task force to re-establish the Government of Sierra Leone. Momodou and Julius had come in with the Ecomog forces while Val, head of the Public Service, had remained in Freetown throughout. We disembarked and set foot on Sierra Leone soil again. I hugged Solomon and Emmanuel and said to Momodou, ‘There you are; I told you one day we would be back!’

  As we drove away from the port and through the city to the residence, the streets were eerily quiet. There was no traffic. We saw probably no more than half a dozen vehicles. Perhaps more surprisingly, though there were people around and even a few traders were manning their street-side stalls, we saw no soldiers or policemen. The people we saw had a weary, haggard look. We drove up the hill to the residence. John, Fatmata, IB and the guards were all there to wel
come me back. Osman and Alimamy came rushing out from the kitchen. There were tearful embraces.

  I went to check on our pet parrots, two African greys called Lori and Lorito. All this time they had remained on our upstairs balcony, no doubt wondering what the hell was going on. Their well-being had been a constant source of concern for Celia and from time to time I had managed to smuggle parrot food into them. Lorito immediately showed how pleased he was to see me after all this time by giving me a nasty peck on the finger.

  Thanks to the staff the residence was in remarkably good shape. It was almost as if I had just been away for a weekend. The only serious damage we had suffered was a broken window downstairs from a shrapnel blast, which had splintered dramatically but still stayed in place. It remained a permanent reminder of these dramatic days throughout my tour, often photographed by visitors to the residence.

  The next few days were extremely hectic. HMS Cornwall’s crew set about distributing food and medicines and making emergency repairs to the electricity and water supplies. David Hill co-ordinated the work of those NGOs that were around. The Crown Agents flew in a plane full of office equipment, desks, chairs, photocopiers and generators to help the government start to function again. Every morning we would all meet in my office and plan the day’s activities. My residence became a meeting place for all and sundry. At any time, day or night, people would stop by for a chat and a meal. There was little food around but thanks to the Cornwall we could usually rustle up some sausages and beans – a veritable feast, especially for the Sierra Leoneans who had stayed throughout.

  The Cornwall’s helicopter proved invaluable for getting around the country. It was constantly flying into Bo, Kenema or Makeni, taking food and medicines. Other than Ecomog we were the only ones able to visit these places. Anthony Dymock and I and the close protection team flew to Makeni. The town had only just been secured by Ecomog a couple of days previously. The helicopter landed in a swirl of dust on the football ground. There were a few people standing around and they eyed us nervously. I jumped out and walked straight up to them saying, ‘It’s the British High Commissioner and the British ship HMS Cornwall come to see how you are.’ A number of them recognized me from previous visits.

  They gathered round enthusiastically. ‘Who do you want to see?’ they asked.

  I’ve come to see my good friends Paramount Chief Bai Sebora Kasangha and Bishop Biguzzi.’

  ‘We’ll take you; come this way.’

  As we made our way through the streets of Makeni, the numbers swelled behind us kicking up a dust storm. Some ran on ahead and one could hear the buzz, ‘It’s the British High Commissioner, it’s the British High Commissioner.’ As the people appeared from their damaged houses, they waved and cheered. By now we had a crowd of several hundred strong accompanying us. We walked for about a mile and turned into the Pastoral Centre. This was where Bishop Biguzzi had taken refuge with nearly three dozen nuns, priests and other expatriates. From time to time we had exchanged messages with couriers while I was in Conakry and on one occasion he had come out for a break, only to bravely go back into Sierra Leone to look after his diocese. My pulse was racing in eager anticipation of seeing him again.

  A long driveway led to the building that housed a school and hospital. I recognized the familiar face of the Bishop in his white robes. He started walking towards me. As we approached one another the crowd drew back and formed a circle. We came together and embraced. It was a scene right out of Stanley and Livingstone. We sat under a tree in the grounds and were shortly joined by Paramount Chief Kasanga. We also greeted each other warmly. These two remarkable men had kept the town together. They were the only symbols of order in the midst of utter chaos and devastation.

  We had with us the ship’s chaplain, Garth Petzer. A South African by birth, he was co-ordinating all of the Cornwall’s relief activities. Another remarkable man, he combined the efficiency of a naval officer with the caring of a priest and the commitment of an African. We were so lucky to have him with the Cornwall as not many Royal Navy ships carry a chaplain on board. Garth went off to the hospital with the Australian lady doctor based in Makeni.

  An Ecomog officer arrived to announce that the entire top brass of Ecomog had just arrived, including General Shelpidi, the Ecomog Force Commander who was based in Monrovia. He wanted to address the people of Makeni. Paramount Chief Kasanga was asked to organize it. We went off to a junction on the outskirts of the town where an assortment of looted goods had been assembled. The crowds gathered and eventually a convoy of vehicles arrived bearing Shelpidi and other Ecomog officers including Colonel Khobe. The crowd started chanting ‘Khobe, Khobe’. He was undoubtedly the hero of the hour. Shelpidi and Khobe addressed the crowd and I was asked to say a few words.

  The Ecomog party went off and we took a tour of the town, including what was left of the district administration offices and the police headquarters. They were totally gutted. They had been looted and set on fire by the junta’s forces. There were still unexploded shells around the police station. We said our farewells and flew back to Freetown.

  A couple of days later we made a similar trip to Bo. By now Francis Okelo and James Jonah had arrived from Conakry, so they came with us. The helicopter flew fast and low, barely skimming the tree tops and following the river beds over the unfamiliar terrain. The pilot, looking dashing with a red bandana tied around his neck, told me that it was safer to fly this way because by the time any rebels saw us we would be already long gone.

  We arrived in Bo to an enthusiastic welcome. There were signs of fighting and devastation everywhere. We unloaded the food and medicines that we had brought with us. While we were doing this, James Jonah had stood unobtrusively to one side. At first people did not realize that he was with us, but as it gradually dawned on them they gathered around him eagerly, all wanting to shake his hand. Even in this Mende heartland, Jonah, a Krio, was a real hero to them. This was the man who had ensured that their democratic elections had taken place and who had continued to speak out forcibly against the junta.

  We met up with Mike Downham. He was looking terrible. As well as suffering sore feet from his trek into the bush he had come down with a bad bout of malaria. We insisted that he came back with us and spend a couple of days recuperating on board the Cornwall.

  Photographs were taken at the CDF headquarters with a bunch of Kamajors bedecked in their unusual and distinctive garb, including necklaces and mirrors to make them ‘bullet-proof’ and then we toured Bo to witness the scale of the looting and destruction that had taken place. As in other towns and villages, anything that was not bolted down was looted by the soldiers and the RUF. Most of the looted goods would find their way across the borders to Guinea and Liberia.

  President Kabbah Returns

  Freetown was now preparing for President Kabbah’s return on 10 March. He was to be accompanied by General Abacha and the Presidents of Guinea and Niger. Momodou Koroma and his team were responsible for the programme. A visit by three heads of state is demanding at the best of times but set against the backcloth of a devastated city recovering from ten months of junta misrule, the organization would be mind-boggling. We offered to help. We provided some of our vehicles as there were no government vehicles around. All of them had been looted. An official luncheon would be held at the Cape Sierra Hotel and the Cornwall’s catering crew helped in the kitchen and provided some plates, knives and forks and other equipment.

  We drove out to Hastings airfield on the outskirts of Freetown on the appointed day. It was hot and sunny. The plan was that President Kabbah would fly into Lungi Airport from Conakry at 9.00 am, where Vice President Dr Demby would formally welcome him back. Kabbah would then greet his overseas guests and they would all fly across to Hastings, where other dignitaries and the diplomatic corps would be assembled. We would then all drive in a cavalcade into Freetown to the national stadium for the welcome home rally.

  We all waited at Hastings – Francis Okelo, Emilio, John Hirsch, wh
o had flown back specially the day before, Anthony Dymock, looking resplendent in his white naval uniform, Colin and myself. There was an air of excitement and good humour. This really was a special day. Such an event had never happened before in Africa since the time Emperor Haile Selassie had returned to Ethiopia after the Second World War – the return of a head of state who had been forcibly and illegally removed. From time to time aircraft would arrive bringing in some of the President’s ministers and others who had been with him in Conakry. James Jonah and Desmond Luke arrived. I saw my Nigerian colleague Mohammed Abubakar disembark from one of the aircraft. I had not seen him since the day of the evacuation and went up and greeted him warmly. What a way to come back – with his head of state.

  The Vice President arrived. A small, unassuming man, Joe Demby had remained at Lungi under difficult conditions throughout the junta’s occupation of Freetown as an important symbol that the Kabbah government retained a presence in the country. I had not seen him since our meeting in his office when we discovered that the army was cheating on its pay and rice rations. If only that had been handled differently.

  Finally, after a couple of hours we heard the drone of the President’s aircraft. A buzz went around the large crowd that had assembled. It landed and taxied round to where we were all standing in the hot sun. It was immediately surrounded by Ecomog soldiers. Shelpidi and Khobe were there. The door of the plane opened and President Kabbah appeared in his flowing African robes. He was followed by General Abacha, dressed likewise. A cheer went up from the crowd assembled at the airport straining to see the President and his entourage who were immediately engulfed by all the Nigerian officers and soldiers. It was perhaps symbolic that Kabbah should be greeted on his return to Sierra Leone by Nigerians; after all, it was thanks to them that he had been able to return to his country.