Chris McGreal in Freetown
The surge of foreboding among Freetown’s long-suffering citizens is not made any easier by the realisation that their peninsula city is little better than a sprawling trap.
Foreigners may scan the skies for the rescue helicopters, but there is nowhere for Sierra Leonians to run if Foday Sankoh and his rebels fight on after pouring bullets into a peaceful demonstration against the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) on Wednesday.
Seven died, and a city was left in terror of the consequences.
For now, Freetown’s streets are controlled by what passes for a government army – partially trained, partially disciplined and partially concerned with who it kills. But the fear is not eased by the mass evacuation of foreigners spearheaded by Britain. United Nations and British troops are in abundance for now. They tear through the city in four-wheel drives with blue stickers and Union flags, offering a fleeting twinge of security. But people wonder who they are here to protect, and whether they will go when all the whites have been got out.
No one in the capital needs reminding of what happened last time around when the RUF attacked. It was just 16 months ago that the rebels seized the east of the city and set about hacking the heads off the government’s servants as part of their terror. The amputations by machete, gang rapes and abductions of young boys and girls as fighters or sex slaves are far too fresh in the city’s memory for there to be much need for imagination.
But just in case Sankoh was unaware of the merciless brutalities perpetrated by his men, several small children waving stumps where once there were hands or arms were among the protesters at his gates.
Thousands of people joined the “peace demonstration” to Sankoh’s home on Wednesday to demand his rebels release about 500 UN peacekeepers being held hostage in the interior. The protesters carried placards reading “We want peace” and chanted, “Sankoh, Sankoh, you have a bad mind.” As the demonstration snaked through the city it grew in size. Many shops and businesses closed in solidarity with the march, or because they feared its consequences.
The protest was a remarkable act of defiance against the RUF’s savage leader but as it drew close to his home, the crowd grew tense and bunched together, as if to seek protection in numbers. Those at the front stopped just a few metres short of the gate. For 10 minutes they lobbed slogans.
Then some in the crowd switched to stones and breaking windows.
The gunfire that suddenly rattled from the house was unrestrained. It was not to deter. It was to kill. Some of the rebels inside were seen with rocket-propelled grenades. The crowd turned and pounded a retreat as screams competed with the endless thud of firing. Some were killed execution-style as the rebels emerged from the house to shoot men in the head at close range.
Demonstrators complained afterwards that the UN peacekeepers who had been guarding the house, in part to keep an eye on Sankoh’s whereabouts, did nothing to protect the unarmed crowd.
It wasn’t long before the calls started coming in to selected homes from the British high commission telling them it was time to go. The BBC World Service, which is listened to slavishly in Sierra Leone, told British citizens to head for the main evacuation point, the Mami Yoko beach hotel.
There were two lines at the gate: The Brits and The Others. Officially the hotel is the UN headquarters in Freetown, but entry was very much controlled by British officials. Outside, squaddies told people which line to get into. The Brits’ line included European Union citizens, those from the Commonwealth, so long as it was a country with a recognisable name, and Americans. The rest, mostly Lebanese, were left to shout denunciations about discrimination. It did them no good, but they were all afforded a degree of protection if not promised evacuation. The Mami Yoko is on an isthmus in the far west of the city. The only bridge is guarded by Indian soldiers in a large white tank.
Most of the evacuees were headed across the river to the relative safety of the international airport, protected by hundreds of British troops, including Ghurkas. Among those at the gate was Alan Webster.
“I packed this bag two days ago because I guessed this was going to happen. I don’t want to leave the country. I just want to go to the airport and see what happens. They are very unsafe, these people. You cannot predict them at all,” he said.
The shooting at Sankoh’s house was not the end of it. Government soldiers and rebels let loose at each other in various parts of Freetown in retaliation.
Afterwards, groups of government soldiers and Kamajor militiamen loyal to the government cruised the streets punching their fists in the air and promising the RUF a drubbing if they want another fight. They seemed to feel they had got the better of the day’s battles.
A group of young Sierra Leonian officers offered reassurances with protestations of how well they had recently been trained by the British army. The rebels would not get the better of them this time, they said. But then a group of government soldiers went swinging by on the back of a lorry, banderas wrapped around their heads and beer bottles in their hands.
They were barely distinguishable from the rebels. It would be a bad evening to be mistaken for an RUF sympathiser.