Yesterday I learned that one of the reasons why the AK-47 is the weapon of choice for West African rebels is light enough for a child to carry. Oh. Duh. I had been checking out a clean version of the same guns that were being handed over by the fighters in Liberia, thinking how very archaic the mechanisms were, like the Ford of the gun world, it seemed. I was asking my British soldier/teacher why they haven't improved on the system since then. Though when I fired the gun, and even I hit the target, I began to think that maybe it wasn't such a bad system.
It was Colin's fault that I was on a firing range with two British soliders, part of IMATT, a British-led international group of soliders here for a ten-year training program of the RSLAF, the local army. Colin had a yen to fire guns, see, and I just happened to be around. So I got my first training in marksmanship-we'd done sort of gun identification and avoidance training with Centurion, but this was from the other side. And now, having fired the AK, as well as a handgun, I can see why boys find these things plain fun. Though that must surely be part of the danger, especially for the child soldiers. Because looking down the barrel of theAK, I just wanted to hit the target. It was easy for me to forget that the gun in my hands had been taken from an RUF rebel, most likely used to kill in some not-so-pleasant ways. I had thought that all of the guns taken from the soliders were destroyed, but apparently the late-comers were saved by the Brits for their target practice. The Brits are replacing the RSLAF AK's with a gun of British origin, one that doesn't fire automatically. Our hosts allowed Colin and I to fire the weapons automatically, and I can now see that what I've been told about the accuracy of automatic weapons, or at least this flavor of weapon, is true--you would be very unlucky to be hit by the spray of an automatic weapon in the hands of a drugged fighter.
In any case, it was an education. For those who want to know, I was slightly more accurate with the hand gun, though I did hit the target with both. I also learned to load, unload, lock and unlock the safety catch, which will hopefully never come in handy.
I did a final interview with Colin, a sort of wrapping up state-of-the-union, which was good but I was having sound issues that turned out to be the fault of a cable--a new technical glitch for me, one I happily managed to avoid in Liberia. We had a handful of kids as audience, but these, unlike those in Kailahun (I interviewed Richard and Seb near an old school, because it was a beautiful setting, but then wound up with 20-odd children right behind me, giggling, making comments and raising a general ruckus, just as Seb and Richard were getting to the heart of the matter. At one point I turned around and told the kids that if they would kindly shut the FUCK up I would give each a pen. The deal was only on if they didn't say another word. They couldn't help themselves, and when the leader tried to claim pens at the end of the interview, I reminded him of the terms of our deal and asked whether he had met them. -I talked, he said. That's right, said I. No pen for you.), these were an excellent, quiet audience. Colin promised Victor a copy book and pens, and he'll be back with those.
We went to Willie's house, to meet his wife and get more of how he lives. He lives in a tiny concrete box, with a large family, but his wife made the best cassava leaf chicken I've tasted here. I was the only eater, as Colin wanted the rest of the family to get the food. I shared a plate with Willie and his wife. It's kind of funny, kind of awkward, to be squeezed into a dark room with two British coppers and this police man and his silent wife, with the usual throng of kids watching from the wings as we eat, but so it goes. I wanted to honor Willie. Who then broke my heart by giving me a police beret I had offered to buy and a couple bolts of lovely fabric. I don't know what they cost, but Willie earns maybe $50-60 a month. I didn't want to insult him by giving him money, but I know that the price of a bag of rice, the staple here, has risen tremendously lately, so Colin is going to buy Willie a bag of rice for me. What else can you do?
Now, in the company of my IMATT soliders in Freetown, I'm off to spend the day at the country lodge--I joke not. It's apparently some new swank ex-pat frequented place in the hills around here. Tomorrow, I'll be checking in with Brigadier Simon Porter about a graceful exit strategy from this place.
Stay tuned-
Posted by Jessie Deeter at April 25, 2004 10:58 AM