A Long Way Gone_ Memoirs of a Boy Soldier - Ishmael Beah [44]
My friends had pinned me to the ground and were vehemently arguing. Some said it was Gasemu’s fault that we didn’t get to see our parents. Others said it wasn’t, and that if it hadn’t been for him, we would all be dead. I didn’t care. I wanted to see my family, even if it meant dying with them. My friends started fighting among themselves, kicking, punching, throwing each other to the ground. Alhaji pushed Jumah into one of the houses and his pants caught on fire. He screamed as he rolled in the dirt, slapping the fire off. When Jumah got up, he picked up a stone and threw it at Alhaji. It hit Alhaji on the back of his head. Blood ran down his neck. When Alhaji saw his blood, he became furious and ran toward Jumah, but Gasemu intervened. He pulled Alhaji away and tied his bleeding head with a piece of cloth. We were all quiet and angry in the ruins of the village, where it seemed our journey had ended.
“None of this is anyone’s fault,” Gasemu said slowly. His words made me angry, and I wanted to rush him again. But we heard loud voices of people approaching the village. We ran into the nearby coffee farm and lay in the dirt watching the village.
A group of more than ten rebels walked into the village. They were laughing and giving each other high fives. Two looked slightly older than me. They had blood on their clothes, and one of them carried the head of a man, which he held by the hair. The head looked as if it was still feeling its hair being pulled. Blood dripped from where the neck had once been. The other rebel carried a gallon of gasoline and a big box of matches. The rebels sat on the ground and started playing cards, smoking marijuana, and boasting about what they had done that day.
“We burned about three villages today.” One skinny guy, who was perhaps enjoying himself more than everyone else, laughed.
Another rebel, the only one dressed in full army gear, agreed with him. “Yes, three is impressive, in just a few hours in the afternoon.” He paused, playing with the side of his G3 weapon. “I especially enjoyed burning this village. We caught everyone here. No one escaped. That is how good it was. We carried out the command and executed everyone. Commander will be pleased when he gets here.” He nodded, looking at the rest of the rebels, who had stopped the game to listen to him. They all agreed with him, nodding their heads. They gave each other high fives and resumed their game.
“Some people escaped in the other two villages,” the other rebel who was standing up said. He paused, rubbing his forehead, as if pondering why that had happened, and then continued: “They probably saw the smoke from this village and knew something was happening. We should change our strategy. Next time we must attack all the villages at the same time.” The others didn’t pay him as much attention as they did when the rebel dressed in the army suit spoke. The rebels went on with their card games, chatting for hours, and then for no apparent reason they shot a couple of rounds into the air. Someone in my group moved and the dried coffee leaves made some noise. The rebels stopped playing their game and ran in different directions to take cover. Two started walking toward us, aiming their guns. They walked fast and then crouched. As if planned, we all got up and started running. Bullets followed us out of the coffee farm and into the forest. Gasemu was in front and he knew where he was going. We all followed him.
When we reached the forest’s edge, Gasemu stopped and waited for us to catch up. “Follow the path straight,” he told us. When I reached