FON news Spring '13.pdf - Friends of Nigeria

RecollectionsApocalypse Then — Part OneBob Criso, Nigeria/Somalia 66-68Ishiagu: July, 1967Eager for news of the war, I huddledwith my students many evenings arounda transistor radio and a kerosene lamplistening to Radio Enugu. Refugees werereturning from the North with stories ofIgbos being hacked into pieces, pregnantwomen being cut open and childrenscreaming inside burning homes. Therewas a report on the radio about a trainfilled with bloody body parts that weresent down from the North “as a warning.”I was skeptical about that one untilI saw a woman returning to the villagecarrying the head of a man. She said shehad retrieved it from the train.Several weeks earlier, Ruth Olsen, thePeace Corps Director in the East, hadgiven me a van as part of an emergencyevacuation plan. I was supposed to pickup several PCV’s in the area if I got wordfrom the Peace Corps office to evacuate.(Many PCV’s in the East had already leftby this time when they were given thechoice.) I felt safe in friendly and remoteIshiagu but I didn’t realize how cut-offI was from what was going on nearby.Reality hit when two jeeps of Biafran soldierspulled up in front of my classroomone morning and ordered the principalto shut down the school. They said itwould be used for Biafran army barracks.The students left, the teachers left and Iwent home anxious and uncertain aboutwhat to do.Bob Criso, then.With no word yet from Ruth Olson,the next day I decided to check in withtwo PCV’s who lived about an houraway. When I left the red clay road infront of my house and hit the pavedroad, I entered what felt like a twilightzone. All signs identifying any buildingor giving directions anywhere hadbeen taken down. The road was a seriesof roadblocks withcut-down trees blockingpassage. Local vigilanteswielding machetes andwooden clubs mannedthem. I was stopped,searched, scrutinizedand interrogated. Allof a sudden, anyonewho didn’t know mesuspected me of being aspy or a mercenary.“Where are yougoing?”“What is your businessthere?”“Search the van!”“What is this map for?”“Empty your pockets!”“How do we know he isn’t lying?”My limited Igbo and knowledgeof the area became an invaluable asset.I made it to Laura and Jeff’s school(not their real names) but didn’t go anyfurther. The roads were too dangerousand unfamiliar to risk it. We drove backto Ishiagu to wait for word from thePeace Corps, though not without furtherintimidation and humiliation, especiallyfor Laura.Not long after reaching my house,a crowd began to gather around it. Twomen then came to the front door. Felix,my houseboy, spoke to them. Felix toldme the men wanted to know who thestrangers were. When I explained thatthey were also PCV’s, the men weren’tsatisfied. Felix was trembling when hesaid the men now wanted to search thehouse. I remember thinking if I let themcross that boundary, what would be next?“Tell them No,” I said to Felix. Themen stormed out and returned to thecrowd. Laura Jeff and I watched from awindow while two men rolled a rustedblue fifty gallon drum of kerosene undermy house.To be continuedBob Criso, now,12 FON Newsletter Spring 2013