So writes Carlos Rodriguez, in his new book "Hierba Alta" (Tall Grass). The author's account of his long years of work in northern Uganda is a riveting read. [This work is copyrighted by the author, Jose Carlos Rodriguez Soto. All rights are reserved by the author. You must contact the author for permission to republish.]
Excerpt from "Tall Grass" by Jose Carlos Rodriguez Soto
"TALL GRASS"
CHAPTER V: THE TRAP OF TUMANGÚ
The morning of that 27th August was a hectic one. Fr. Giulio arrived at around 10:00 am when I happen to be in a meeting with Archbishop Odama and Bishop Ochola. We were busy preparing a working document to take to the President, with whom they were soon to have a meeting. A great feeling of optimism and freedom invaded me before wholeheartedly thrusting myself to that appointment we had fixed with the rebels for the following day. Before I left for Kitgum I had a last consultation with the Archbishop, who encouraged me to go ahead for that meeting with the LRA in Kitgum together with Frs. Tarcisio and Giulio.
Before I left I met Rwot Oywak, who gave me a letter from Kacoke Madit in London, signed by its coordinator, Dr. Patrick Oguru Otto, addressed to LRA commander Charles Tabuley. The letter was written in Acholi and it encouraged the LRA to go for peace negotiations and stop all acts of violence, particularly ambushes and abductions. It was in line with what we wanted to tell the rebels face to face.
Fr. Giulio and I travelled to Kitgum by road and we arrived at around 3:00 pm. I was rather tired and decided to spend the afternoon at the Mission while Tarcisio and Giulio went to meet with RDC Okot Lapolo, who gave them a personal letter for the LRA.
Fr. Tarcisio told me that the day before during the morning he had met with two UPDF Intelligence Officers and the RDC who told him that it was in order for us to go and meet the rebels and that they had no objection about supplying Topaco with a course of antibiotics.
Also that I could not pick up any sleep, so excited I felt. I was about to attend my third meeting with the LRA, and as usual it looked as if every time that happened I was destined to spend the night before in a state of vigil, as if the lack of sleep trained me to be better disposed to meet the unreal world I was about to meet.
Early rising before dawn, prayer in the church, a frugal breakfast and straight to the Parish office where some people are already waiting. Such is the beginning of a normal morning in a rural African Catholic mission. The liturgy of that day, 28th August, was in honour of St. Augustine.
One of the first visitors to the Parish office of Kitgum Mission that day was "Bown', a man from the Intelligence who had worked in Kitgum since the early days of the NRA, in 1986. He had come to see Fr. Tarcisio and who told him that he was well aware of our intended meeting with the LRA in the area of Tumangu, some 15 kilometres from Pajimu and that everything was in order.
Soon after, our catechist Franko Okello came by bicycle. He worked as a catechist in Alone, a small hamlet located some 25 kilometres from Kitgum, deep in the bush. I knew his village well since I had been there many times during the nine-year period I spent in Kitgum Mission. I always felt a great fascination for the scattered homesteads of the African bush, where friendly and simple people stick to their traditional culture, have plenty of time to talk and welcome visitors as a blessing from above.
Franko Okello had been the contact person between Fr. Tarcisio and Topacho. Everything started by chance two weeks earlier, when some LRA fighters commanded by Topacho came to his homestead. Okello, like most peasants who lived in remote settlements in Northern Uganda, lived between two fires. He and his family didn't want to abandon their home and their land to end up languishing in one of the displaced camps where at that time more than one million destitutes sank in a hole of emptiness, desperation and lack of essentials. But that choice meant having to live at the mercy of gangs of cruel rebels who arrived unexpectedly and committed all sorts of atrocities. Often, after the thugs it was the patrols of government soldiers who harassed and threatened them.
When Topacho entered Okello's hut unceremoniously he noticed a good number of religious books. After declaring that he was a catechist, Okello was asked whether he knew Fr. Tarcisio. "Do you know Fr. Tarcisio?", Topacho asked. "Of course", Okelo answered, "he is my Parish priest". Topacho then scribbled a letter for Tarcisio asking for a dose of drugs for his personal use. The young commander still had memories of that meeting in the bush the year before, when he met with the old missionary near Pajule. This is how the contact came about. As a coincidence, on Sunday 25th August, Fr. Tarcisio met with some rebels as he was travelling to Kitgum Matidi to celebrate Mass.
One of the rebels fired a shot in the air and Tarcisio stopped, took courage and talked to him. This was a good chance for Tarcisio to tellthat rebel to go and confirm with Topacho that they could meet on Wednesday morning at Okello's home.
Okello told us that when he left his home some two hours earlier there was no sign of any LRA movements nearby. That meant nothing, anyway, since often they would turn up unexpectedly, only when they were totally sure that the persons they wanted to meet were in close proximity and it was safe for them. We then boarded a pick up vehicle from the Mission and set out.
Once again there I was, in the back of Tarcisio's pick up. He was in front with Giulio and behind, holding myself on to the frame I was there chatting with Okello. About 12 kilometres later we reached Pajimu trading centre and branched West towards Alone Primary School,on a narrow track only trod by villagers on foot or by bicycle. We had hardly driven one kilometre when we found a UPDF road block. Westopped. We were absolutely convinced that everything was in order and that we had followed the right procedure, so we had no problem in talking to the two soldiers standing there and answering all their questions and repeat again and again that we were going for a meetingwith the LRA near Alone Primary school and that we were taking some drugs, dry cells and two letters. We also had some recent newspapers and we carried two digital cameras to take pictures of the meeting if we had a chance. After being showered with the same questions again and again and wondering whether that is a technique they learn at military academies for whatever purpose, the two soldiers told us that we could proceed. The time for the appointment was at eleven. We were so much in a hurry, afraid to miss this chance, that we did not realise they had removed the plastic bag containing the drugs and the dry cells.
Some twelve kilometres later we reached Alone Primary school, a simple building that stood abandoned since a few months earlier children had stopped attending lessons because of insecurity. The road ended there and for some few hundred metres we continued until the road became rougher. We stopped, left the car and proceeded on foot. After a few minutes we met Santina, Okello's wife, who told us that she was going to the market and that so far she had not seen Topaco, but that she had heard that a group of LRA rebels were in the house near their homestead. We parted from Santina and continued until we reached the house of another man. He quietly pointed at some trees in the distance:
-They are there. I heard they arrived this morning. I can escort you. . .
By that time we were in another village called Tumangu, a name that in Acholi means "the beast's sacrifice". Little did we suspect that something that matched that name was about to happen.
I was so afraid that we could miss the appointment that I hurriedly followed the footpath and walked ahead with him while Tarcisio andGiulio followed me at a distance. Then we encountered two armed young boys in military fatigues of a size too big for their small bodies. They pointed their guns at us and ordered us to stop and to sit down on the ground. They asked who we were.
-We are three priests. Our names are Tarcisio, Giulio and Carlos and we have an appointment with commander Topacho.
-Are you carrying any guns?
-We don't have any weapons.
Then they ordered the man accompanying us to remove our bags and leave them on the ground near them. After one of them finished inspecting them he looked satisfied.
-Are you coming with any soldiers?
-No, it's only the three of us and one catechist.
We were ordered to stand up and follow them. After some few metres we came across a scene all too familiar and sad in Acholi. Some 20 young boys in uniform, armed with guns, held several groups of terrified women and children. Maybe they had been abducted that very morning. They all seemed very surprised to see us, but one of them broke the silence and said that he remembered seeing us the month before during the meeting with commander Tabuley. Among the captives we also met Matthew Obote, also a catechist from Kitgum Mission, who forced a smile when we came to greet him. There was no sign of Topacho and we started suspecting that we had bounced on that group of rebels somehow at random. All the same, we took our time to move around cordially greeting them one by one, despite the fact that not one of them would make any effort to respond to our extended hand.
Three of the rebels, who seemed to be the ones in charge, told us to come closer. Somebody brought several folding chairs and set them under the generous shade of a big mango tree. When Tarcisio explained that Matthew was also one of our catechists he was allowed to sit with us.
They seemed to be rather mystified by that unexpected encounter. Tarcisio, displaying his usual friendly manners, asked them to begin the meeting with a prayer, which he himself led. Then we introduced ourselves. They did not tell us their names, but few days later we came to know that we were in front of self-styled lieutenat-colonel Francis Oyat Lapaicho, who would be captured by the Ugandan Army four years later.
Maybe because I am a slow learner so many years in Africa have not taught me that it is a good idea to begin slowly and talk somehow casually at the beginning. Instead, I went straight into business and asked them whether they were aware of the President's message broadcast on Mega FM five days earlier. They said that they had heard something about it but they were not very sure about what the President had said. Then I continued and told them that we were at a very critical moment in which it was essential to stop acts of violence in order to have a real ceasefire and allow peace dialogue to kick off. In this respect, I told them, that the LRA must end abductions and ambushes. Then Lapaicho spoke. The coldness of his speech, combined with the fact that he stuttered, made his words transmit the fear of feeling you are in front of a man ready to do anything. He said that Kony had ordered them to suspend all attacks and abductions, but that it was the government who didn't want peace because it followed them constantly with combat helicopters and foot-patrols. His threats, pronounced with sharp jerks, did not augur anything good.
-We-e wa-ant pe-eace… But if Mu-useve-eni doesn't wa-ant pe-eace, we-e
shall no-ot leave any-ybo-ody a-ali-ive…
When he finished his angry remarks I open my mouth to say something,but I could not even begin a word as the first gunshot rang out in close proximity, right behind us.
In less than a second I saw fear in Lapaicho's face, they all picked their guns quick as lighting and darted out of the compound, running for their lives, leaving no trace of themselves.
Then all hell broke loose.
In an instant, all around us there was an all-out barrage of gun fire,explosions, and bullets flying above our heads. The noise was deafening. I threw myself on the ground feeling numb and confused. My first thought was to stand up and run. Hardly had I started flexing my muscles than something told me that I couldn't possible run faster than bullets. Tarcisio and Giulio were in a better position, down to the ground and behind the big tree but I found myself exposed in a place that had no protection, at the mercy of the endless gunfire that came from an advancing line of government soldiers.
I realised I was next to the man who had guided us to that village. Like snakes biting the dust, both of us dragged ourselves to a nearby hut and we went in. Then a second thought came telling me that its thatched roof could easily catch fire and fall on us. No sooner had we come out than the hut burst into flames. The burning dry grass fell everywhere around us, making me feel an unbearably choking, dusty heat. Not knowing what next to do, I felt helpless, closed my eyes and waited for the worst to happen.
Then I did see the deepest darkness in front of me. Never in my life have I been so struck by grief. I was convinced that a bullet could hit me any moment and my only worry was whether my death would be slow and painful or instant. My thoughts took me by surprise and I found myself doubting of the existence of the hereafter. Why didn't God do something to stop all that, and did God really exist anyway? I don't know how much time all that lasted, but it seemed endless to me. Thenoise was so deafening that I stopped hearing or seeing anything. I didn't even realise that my right elbow was burnt and that tiny spotsof blood dotted my neck, back and arms. The shower of shrapnel had scratched me just to leave a memory of its passing in my body,mercifully leaving no other serious trace.
When I opened my eyes I saw the soldiers advancing towards me while the gunfire continued. I raised my hand and one of them signalled to me to drag myself slowly towards the tree where my two companions had taken cover.
The gunfire was still going on, although they were beginning to die out. I noticed that Tarcisio had his rosary in his hand. With his eyes closed he prayed, half in Italian, half in Acholi, some Hail Marys with an interesting variation.
-Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now in the our of our death… but let my death be another day.
Giulio pointed at my head and told me that my face had become dark as charcoal and that my hair was charred.
Some soldiers strode towards us with a rather unfriendly face.
-Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?
-We are priests, and we were for a peace meeting…
One of them removed my blue bag, where I had a digital camera, my note book, three newspapers, some religious books and two letters (the one from RDC Lapolo and the one from Kacoke Madit). When I told him that it was mine he answered that I would got it back later. One of them shouted angrily.
-Stay with your face down. Don't raise your head!
He cocked his gun while he pointed it at us. I could not stand it any more and I shouted.
-Please, no..!
He came closer and yelled.
-No what?
Then he jumped on the three of us, one by one, kicking us on the back with his strong boots. When he finished, as if he wanted to carry home a souvenir he pulled his camera and took our photo. It was not the first time I saw soldiers on military operations carry a pocket camera. This one, for sure, could one day boast in front of some friends in a bar how he captured three priests in the bush. He could even add that he got us red-handed in the company of terrorists.
But what I saw next hurt me much more than the kicks that had just landed on my back. Some soldiers took a group of women and children out of a hut and started beating them with sticks as they shouted on them.
-Did we not tell you to leave this place and go to the displaced camp? You are too stubborn…
Abducted by the rebels at dawn that very day. Beaten up and abused few hours later by the very soldiers who had the duty to protect them. Such was the life of ordinary people in this forgotten corner of the world. We could not stand it any more and the three of us shouted loudly to the soldiers asking them to leave those poor people alone.
[END]
Read the rest at humanlife.ning.com
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