United Nations and Sierra Leone: The war is not what scared me!

Chapter 5 — Harassment from all sides

In general, I hardly went out. This was not the best of situations for me, with the lack of electricity, television, anything electronic in general. One day, Louis’ Jehovah friend insisted and told us he knew of a classy place to go and insisted that I join them. So once again, they brought their crazy but funny French lady, along with another friend and took us to a place where they told me many Lebanese go. It was quite expensive, but it looked like a Western Disco. They played all kinds of music, including western, African, Latin and Arabic. Inside the club, I found one Lebanese guy walked up to me right away and started speaking to me in Arabic. I understood him, and was even able to answer him, but as he continued I had to inform him that I did not speak Arabic very well. He guessed I was Moroccan, and so I had to tell him the story of my life. Like a Sierra Leonean, after half an hour, he proclaimed his “love” for me. I just ignored it and basically told him he was an idiot. He asked me for my phone number and I refused. Then he asked to see my mobile, and before I knew it, I found he called himself and had saved my number. I found this very low-class. That was the first and last time I went to this club.

The next day Wissam, this Lebanese guy from the disco, called me right away. I shouted at him for taking my number from me that way. He apologized up and down, and told me he only wanted to know me as a sister. That I was in a strange country, far from any other Arabs, and he only wanted me to know he was there if I ever needed help with anything. So I (naively) took him for his words, and took him as a brother. After time he invited me out for coffee at a café and I agreed. In a way I looked forward to having a polite reason to go out, because I was surrounded by people I had little in common with, and even at home with the lack of electricity, and overdoing my self-studies and reading, I would sometimes become really bored and lonely.

Wissam was a Muslim, but he drank alcohol a great deal. Out of respect for me he changed his order to tea and sat with me and ate pumpkin seeds in a café by the ocean. Sitting by the water and nibbling on pumpkin seeds for one, made me forget that I was in a war torn country really far from my family. It is a completely Egyptian thing to do to sit and drink tea with pumpkin seeds- and I felt at home, for once. It was a nice feeling, however short it was.

I learned more about his life because I was really trying to understand this Lebanese community that lived in this war torn country, resisted and remained during the war. There were a large number of Lebanese, and their numbers seemed to only increase as more and more stability reached Sierra Leone. They lived as a minority in a very poor country full of wealth and so very different from Lebanon. There were no other ethnic groups really living in Sierra Leone. The British were there in few numbers, the Indian community had apparently withdrawn at the same time as the Indian army withdrew from UNAMSIL, for fear of resentment. It was only the Lebanese and in ways they blended in and in ways they were deeply resented by the Sierra Leoneans for living wealthy lives and living so separately from the rest of the population. I heard endless accusations that the Lebanese were really fuelling the RUF (Rebel United Front) and Foday Sankoh or on the opposite side fuelling President Kabbah, bribing the power company not to let the electricity work so that people would buy fuel and generators which were owned by them, or just generally causing chaos for their own interests. This was in addition to the very common knowledge that the Lebanese community dealt most heavily with the “blood diamonds”, and I was approached countlessly by this community on whether or not I wanted to buy some throughout my time in UNAMSIL.

Wissam came to Sierra Leone with his uncle about 10 years before. He had been there for the worst of the war. He learned how to speak English from Sierra Leoneans, so his English was a clear mix of Krio and English and he had more of a Sierra Leonean accent than anything (which was really amusing!). His uncle came there to work with the diamonds and that’s how he gained his money. But over time he had separated from the diamonds because he found it too dangerous, but continued to work for his uncle in his tile factory. He seemed to come from a very low-class family in Lebanon. This was the impression I got. He came to Sierra Leone, and he was respected. He was the boss for all the workers. He was a bit better than some Lebanese I had met because at least he did not speak to every Sierra Leonean he met in a condescending manner. But still, he was a man who probably didn’t receive much respect in his own country, but he came to Sierra Leone and was treated highly, not because he was educated, but perhaps just because of the colour of his skin.

As I got to know him, I got to know he had had Sierra Leonean girlfriends and most probably still did. After time he told me he was married(!) I hardly believed him, because he spoke about it as if it was nothing. But it was true, he had gone to Lebanon 7 months before, married a girl, and she was currently pregnant with their baby. She wanted to join him, but he did not seem too excited about it and gave the excuse that it was dangerous for her. Then he put the focus back on me. He told me he was a good guy, because he had admitted to me that he was married and he wants me to be his girlfriend. He continually said that he loved me.

Once again, I found myself shocked. It was just so disgusting to me. And he seemed really angry that I did not find his logic normal. He continually told me that I was there in a strange country, I would need someone to love me, and he already loved me so why was I avoiding the obvious? He tried to stare deeply into my eyes as he said this, and even tried to kiss me. He was greeted with a very strong push, and I told him never to talk to me again.

But he never listened, and he felt so free that he would even just show up to my house at times. And my security men never even questioned him. He was Lebanese; he looked like me for them, so they just assumed he was a relative, despite that I constantly told them not to let him in. He would enter the house and act like he was friends with everyone inside. When he showed up I was almost too scared to tell him to get out, so I would end up being polite and inviting him to join us for dinner, or tea, or whatever. He had told me he was part of Hamas, and he had killed people. I honestly did not know what he was capable of. I was really frustrated and once again, felt very disrespected because I was a woman. Why would the security not listen to me? Did they really not understand me? Did they think he had more authority than me? It never crossed my mind to tell UN security, because I was more fearful that he would act out when I was surrounded by the UN. After all, when I had had the fire, I had already seen that they were not exactly the fastest at answering my calls. This was definitely not one of the things I could tell my mother about.

What was even more strange, Wissam treated Louis like he was my father. It was very similar to when a man was trying to impress the father of a girl. He would do him favours, speak to him politely. The men in the house just found the situation funny, and told me he was in love with me, especially because of the puppy dog way they would always find him staring at me. They didn’t seem to care when I quickly replied that I was not, and that he was married, and I was not interested at all and scared of him. What was I thinking? Why would the fact that he was married be relevant to someone like Kidjo? Louis understood me better and just chuckled and told me that it was the most natural thing that so many men had already started to chase me. He just told me again, in his warm commanding voice, that I was an angel, and I really didn’t belong there.

***

Settling into my new office/container also took some time. Everything was broken. I was away from the unit and alone. Mainly, the National staff carpenters, plumbers, electricians and generator handlers were near me, along with security and Military Police. It was strange to have a container to yourself in UNAMSIL, so I was lucky, even if everything was broken. I was also the only woman working in that area, so I received a lot of glares. Overall however, they were respectful. I knew it would depend on how I acted with everyone in the first few days. If I acted weak, they would treat me like I was weak. I wanted to be myself, able to laugh, but not sitting around joking with the National staff. I knew I was in a position of authority, there was a fine line.

For no particular reason, I would often receive visitors in my office. Once they figured out that I was with the water and sanitation unit, they would come and ask me silly questions like if they could drink the water, why they had a rash when they took a shower, could I help the people in certain battalions. It often just felt like an excuse to talk to me, because there was no base to what they were asking me about. Sometimes I would lock my door, only so I could get work done.

One of my frequent visitors was a Pakistani military police that worked just 3 containers away from me. He hardly spoke any English, so it was extremely difficult to even know what he wanted. The first time he approached me, I think he simply wanted to know if I was Pakistani from my appearance. Then the usual, questions about water once he knew my job in UNAMSIL.

He would often drop by and tell me he was a brother. He would say “You, sister. You, like sister. You, no food? Me give food. You, no drink? Me give drink. You no money? Me give money. You sister. You problem, me help.” So, I assumed his intentions were good. It got to the point, even if I wasn’t in my own container, and I was with my engineering unit on the other side of Mammy Yoko, he would phone me with his broken English. He would tell me “You sister? Me Brother? You good? Good.” And that was the extent of the conversation.

His visits to my container became more frequent. He started to tell me “You, like Pakistan. You, wife — sister –SAME. You, sister wife –SAME. Me, your sister.” I’m pretty sure he was trying to tell me I looked like the sister of his wife. It seemed like he admired the sister of his wife somehow. Or perhaps since I was his sister, then I was like his wife. I really couldn’t understand him, but none of the choices sounded very good. So I started to try to tell him that this was my work place, and he really shouldn’t come. Either he didn’t understand, or he pretended not to, because he continued to come. And to top it all off, he was now my sister! Nothing was making sense (though this was, in retrospect, really funny)!

Louis would sometimes buy sandwiches and come to my office to eat lunch. I think my “sister” was very curious as to who Louis was, because he would always jump into my office right after he left. He couldn’t understand why I let this African man in my office for so long. Could he not be a colleague?

One time, while Louis was in my office, my Pakistanisister came in and invited himself to sit on the desk where my laboratory equipment was sitting. He said “Sister, office no open. Me, OK? Problem? No, me sister, me stay. OK? OK?” I had been telling him to stay away so much, and again I told him I was working, but he didn’t seem to listen. He continued to take off his shoes and change his socks! I couldn’t believe it. I was so embarrassed I just said nothing and Louis was completely amused and amazed. As soon as he left, Louis told me “You’re killing people here Suzanne,” and started laughing hysterically.

The next day he came to my office uninvited once again, and started one of his broken English conversations. I immediately started to tell him, that I was very busy and it was my work, so he really should not come to my office. Once again he pretended or perhaps really didn’t understand. I am sure I looked really frustrated; he should have understood at least that. He proceeded to tell me in his broken English that he was happy to have me as a sister. That the African girls were not good, they seem to go with many men. When he sees my face, he feels happy, it is like seeing the moon. Then he told me that I was the most beautiful one in the mission. At least I think this is what he was saying, but even in broken English the point was at least was clear. Then, he pointed at my head and said my hair was good. His next action confirmed to me he did not think I was a sister at all and most probably did not think he was my sister either. He came very close to me very quickly, took a bit of my hair in his hand, smelled it, inhaled with ecstasy and then kissed it!

As usual, I was too shocked to perform the reaction that I later felt I should have done, which was to slap him. I just didn’t know what he was doing. I was still confused what he even wanted. In any case, he on his own must have sensed he did something wrong, and just left.

I was really in shock, and perhaps also angry. It was tiring, the whole situation. It was tiring when everybody came to my office so frequently, and for no particular reason. It was tiring that my colleagues were not very helpful, completely disorganized, and seemed to work against me. It was tiring being the only girl in the unit, and though I was relatively long, most people took me as much younger than I actually was, thought the UN was my first job (which is impossible, to be hired, you must have more than 3 years professional experience), thought I came from a rich country Canada so everything was so easy for me. And if they didn’t gossip about me this way, I was really angry inside that people believed I would have an affair with Louis. For one, I just didn’t date. Second, I would never go out with a married man, with someone so much older and also without being married myself. It made me feel cheap; I just didn’t like the whole mentality I was being surrounded with. In general, there was a lot of jealousy surrounding me.

Really, I don’t like to create problems, but this situation with my sister was now too much and even though he only saw me on the UN base, I now felt threatened. I no longer had doubts he was trying to be more than a brother. And I had already tried to tell him he should not come to my office, but it just didn’t work. After discussing with my family in Canada and with Louis, I decided the best plan of action would be to tell my boss what was happening. I was wary to do this, because I did not even want to be noticed for anything other than my work.. I didn’t want to get personal at all, I just wanted to work. Or I was even scared that my boss would not believe me somehow, and just believe I am a person that complains too much.

I did tell Samuel however, and he told me immediately that I had done the right thing. He said I should tell him of such problems always. He was actually acting professional, or at least pretending to. He told me himself, that this is the UN, things like this are not permitted. It was then that I discovered that my sisterwas actually a member of the military police itself. He was actually supposed to be protecting me, but instead I felt I needed to be protected from him. Samuel spoke to the head of the military police, Major Khaled, and he later paid me a visit in my container.

Major Khaled was also Pakistani, like my sister, but his English was near perfect and he came across as a dignified and educated man. He came to my container and apologized to me immensely over what happened and asked me to reiterate what happened again in my own words. He told me they could have him kicked out of the army for such actions and I became very frightened. I certainly did not want that, I just didn’t want him or anyone else to feel free to bother me in that way again. He told me they were all representing the Pakistani army, and their country and that such a thing had occurred was a major embarrassment.

I pleaded with him not to punish him too harshly, and thoroughly explained that the only reason I reported it was that I didn’t want it to happen again. Major Khaled gave me all his particulars, even his own number, and told me not to worry very much anymore, and that the Pakistani army was more than willing to help. I learned later he even told my boss Samuel that they were willing to protect my residence to keep me safe.

After this my sister was relocated to the airport. From that day forward, I ran into him a few times, but he never dared to speak to me. He looked ashamed, or maybe it was humiliation he felt. Major Khaled continued to check on me, and make sure I had no problems. It felt good to know this, even though I was reluctant to tell him all the nonsense, but just to know that they took the matter seriously, and I had them there just in case. It was hard to admit, even to myself, that really, I was constantly being harassed.

As I had predicted, I felt very far apart from the Engineering unit due to the location of my container. I tried my best to stay in tune with everything, but the department itself was so disorganized it was not an easy thing to do. Half the time when I would go to my unit, I would find nobody there. Even if I phoned them from container ahead of time, quickly took the 10 minute walk to their side, I was often disappointed on my arrival and found nobody around, and nobody that knew where everyone else went. I really felt like a stranger, but really, no one seemed to know or care too much what others were doing. There was just an intrinsic disorganization that I could feel and a lot of pretending to work, without actually doing it.

One day, Kidjo informed me that everyone in the Engineering unit was getting together for a party after work. I pushed myself to go, because I knew I had to be more social and to feel more a part of the team.

So Kidjo and I headed out together. It was one of the first outings where I didn’t have my bodyguard Louis around, and he seemed to feel rejected somehow. As we were leaving he kind of looked like he was pouting, but gave excuses he was tired or needed to meditate. The restaurant where it was taking place was walking distance, so Kidjo and I headed out in the pitch blackness together with flashlight in hand, but I felt safe to have at least some sort of company with me, even if it was silly Kidjo.

We arrived and hardly anyone was there. I had even asked if the secretaries would be there, etc but instead I just found the Tanzanian mafia. My boss Samuel was there with Mulaki, David was also there and now there was Kidjo and myself. Nobody worried about food, they were too pre-occupied with drinking beer. As I had typically seen in Tanzania, this was the way to be social. Everyone was trying to buy me drinks as usual, and I had to argue that I didn’t drink. So instead I got an equal portion of soft drinks, which was just an impossible amount to drink at around 10 bottles. They found it strange that I didn’t drink at all and told each other it was because I was Egyptian and a good Muslim girl (my family was actually Christian). Even David, who was a self professed born again Christian caved into the peer pressure.

The chief military officer from Kenya also happened to pass by, so the Tanzanian mafia was very happy to have the chance to speak Swahili. My boss Samuel started showing off in front of everyone. Saying how he had worked 8 years with WHO in Barbados, and how he had single handedly climbed the ladder to success. He said this could be the future for all of us also; we just had to stick with it, be patient and learn as much as we could. To me, all I could think was that he was too proud for no reason. He was one of the laziest people I had ever met, and his only accomplishment is having too much money for no reason, and living a life away from his family and being an arrogant bigamist.

He was already a little drunk, and started openly speaking about Kidjo’s recent situation with a Sierra Leonean girl (Zeyneb). He was saying it was so normal, and he had had a similar experience. He thought Kidjo was very lucky for getting away without paying anything, because in his case he had to pay the girl after she blackmailed him. How charming. I was very uncomfortable with the whole conversation and really had no interest in knowing my chief at this level.

Then he started bragging about having me in his unit to everyone. He told the Kenyans, that he was proud to have the only female in the Engineering unit. He started telling them my ethnic background, my credentials. That on top of everything else, I was beautiful and they’re having problems with the Pakistani Military Police, and some of the military are so upset, they even offered to protect my place of residence.

As he drank more and more, he kept asking me to dance. I did not want to, especially with his behaviour and I said no and the last thing I needed was more weird negative attention on me. I pretended it was solely due to shyness. Kidjo kept talking to me almost like a big brother. I knew Kidjo by then, and I knew he would never try anything on me, and wasn’t even interested. Kidjo kept whispering to me, that I should really dance with the chief, because he would feel hurt if I didn’t. But I continued to refuse.

As the evening passed, Samuel and everyone else at the table continued to get drunk. Mulaki was completely out of it. Mulaki was also married in his homeland Tanzania, but had spent many years away from his family. At some point he had actually lived in Sierra Leone with his family and children and they had even gone to school there, but his wife decided she preferred to stay in her country. He had another girlfriend in Sierra Leone, around his own age, and he even took care of her children. In his own way he was polite, and he would sometimes joke with me, but it felt more like when my uncles would comment that I looked pretty on any given day, and nothing serious at all. He had a kind of cute face, and a salt and pepper afro growing all over the top of his head and also his beard. He had big, kind of beady eyes that looked a little like a gopher. He also had an innocent child-like smile. There was something about his appearance that wasn’t intimidating at all, and gave him an heir of innocence. I affectionately referred to him as “mzee” which means old man in Swahili. He was only in his mid 40’s, but it was his mannerisms and salt and pepper beard that made him like an old man, and the way he said everything as if it was complete wisdom. Seeing him so drunk this day also kind of disappointed me. He ran around the dance floor fixated on one woman. He was so drunk, that he stood in the middle of the floor, just staring at all the women, and when Kidjo tried to pull him away, he would tell him that he hadn’t finished dancing. The funny thing was he wasn’t dancing at all. He wasn’t even moving, but he really believed that he was.

The more Samuel became drunk, the more he kept hounding me to dance with him. He acted really rejected that I was saying no. Then Kidjo told him, he promised I would dance with him. It was so weird. It was like Kidjo was my pimp, offering me against my own will. I gave him a hard time about this on the side. I was so completely uncomfortable. This was my boss, and even if we weren’t at work, I expected him to behave a certain way. It really was starting to feel that especially Africans, have no barriers when it comes to these things, or work, or anything else. David was aware of everything taking place around him, but he was quietly enjoying his beer, laughing away, and acting oblivious to the situation taking place next to him.

By the end, Samuel seemed really frustrated with me and also completely drunk. He still made meek attempts and every once in awhile would grab my arm and try to drag me, but I would just laugh and pretend I was too shy and quietly head back to the table. Finally, he found a prostitute to dance with him, and he very aggressively stuck to her for the remaining time.

I had wanted to leave very early in the evening, but I had no transportation and it was pitch black outside, and my supposed bodyguard Kidjo was not willing to take me home. So I had to wait until the men had decided to call it an evening, which did not happen until curfew. As always, Samuel had our unit vehicle. All the unit chiefs in the UN acted like the vehicle assigned for their unit was their very own. It was complete corruption, but everyone did it. Even Samuel knew he was too drunk to drive, so he made Kidjo drive and thus we would all go together.

On the way to the car, he was mumbling that I had really disappointed him. Then he made one last bid, and asked if Kidjo and I wouldn’t like to sleep at his house, because he had plenty of beds. Thank God, at least for this, Kidjo refused. Just before getting into the car, he pretended to need to lean on me and grabbed me around the waist and kissed my neck. It took all my self control not to slap him. I ignored it, and we just continued.

After we dropped Samuel off and I was alone with Kidjo in the car, I told him what Samuel had done. I was crying, I said I was so uncomfortable, and it was completely unprofessional of him to do that. I asked him how I should handle it the next day and he told me to just ignore it, to pretend nothing happened. I didn’t like that, and I felt I should talk about it and warn Samuel that I will not accept such behaviour again. But Kidjo told me I was new to the UN, I didn’t understand how things worked, and I should just ignore it.

The next day I did see Samuel, and he just pretended nothing had happened. He was a bit quieter than normal, but he didn’t mention a thing, so I decided to follow Kidjo (and subsequently also David and Mulaki) advice. We never mentioned it again. But from that day forward, our relationship definitely took a downward turn. He seemed to have some anger toward me, and it kept coming out in hidden ways for the rest of my time in Sierra Leone.