Bafodia

When we finally reached Bafodia, we were very well jostled, bruised from banging knees against the doors and stiff from the long ride but joyous at finally making it. We immediately were escorted to the chief’s house where we greeted him with the traditional gift a Kola nuts. Parimount Chief Piri is a devout Muslim but since his youth he has known all about the Way. In 1947 Wesleyan M’s came and founded a Ch and School in Bafodia. The Ch building was erected in 1952 and still stands at the center of town. Chief Piri is extremely tolerant of Blvrs and even appreciative of all they have done for his Chiefdom with the building of schools. He was very interested in us coming back again, perhaps we might bring more education and teach the Way too? As we talked with the Chief, Michael mentioned having family in Kabala (back down the three hour road) and said he wished he could have found his Uncle Micah while he was in town. Soon after the Chief introduced an elder in the community, Elder Micah. Micah is a tall and built, he walks with a slight limp but that does not diminish his image of power. His face was smooth and he acts as one who knows himself well and is content. Rita immediately asked, “Michael is this your uncle?” Michael looked at the man and shook his head, “No, No, Micah lives in Kabala this isn’t the same man.” Micah began to ask Michael about this other Micah and then stood up to embrace him, “I am Micah your uncle!” Michael had not seen Micah for twenty years and did not even recognize his uncle sitting right in front of him. “He was a slim and young the last time I saw him! This man saved my life in the war! If it was not for Micah I would not still be here.” In the war, Michael’s father asked him to take a large sum of money across the border and back to his family in Mali for safe keeping. Michael was a young man then and as he was attempting to cross the border just after Kabala into Guinea he was stopped by the government police. The war brought on lawlessness and anyone caught with any money for valuables were often called rebels by the police and then killed. “They were saying, why bother with him, why bother! Just shoot him, just shoot him we don’t have time for this! Everyone knew me in Kabala, they all knew my grandmother and my family and me but no one would say so because the police would just say ‘You are a rebel too! They tied my hands so tightly behind my back with rope that I still have marks on my wrist. I know they would have killed me but Micah was a big man and in politics. He was in Freetown that week but he called them on the phone and told them, ‘That boy you are holding is my son, if you hurt him you will pay the price!” Because of Micah’s influence Michael was released and able to cross the border. Michael was extremely blessed to escape with his life. We did not meet a single person who was not in some way scarred by the war. In Bafodia, there was a teacher at the Wesleyan school who told us his story. He was a very young married man when the war started, His wife was still just a teenager. The rebels came and took his wife and little daughter away. He heard that they had taken his wife to Freetown and later he found out she had been shot by ECOWAS during an invasion. “They could not tell the innocent from the rebels, they just shot everyone.” He said, many young men were forced to fight at the front line for the rebels or one of the other factions, you had no choice, “You either go and they kill you, or you stay and they kill you.” People who were of no use in the war, children and old people were killed or maimed without regard. We heard a story of rebels debating over whether a pregnant lady was going to have a boy or a girl, they asked her what she thought it was, they made bets on what it would be. Then they said we know how to find out and took a knife to her stomach. Chief Piri also had his marks from the war, he was stabbed in the head and went to the states for medical treatment. He spoke of the fun he had in D.C. and meeting the old Wesleyan M’s who by then were in their 80’s and the restaurants he ate at but barely even eluded to the real reason of his visit.

 Before we left Bafodia the chief gave us a gift of a chicken… a live chicken. We tied it up in the back and pr that it survived the ridiculous drive home.  We had a hard time coming by any food that was not doused in hot peppers. So that night we gave our chicken to a lady at the guest house and repeated multiple times, “No peppers.” That was the best meal we’d eaten since entering Sierra Leone.