Ron Holder’s “Twice a Refugee”: Incident during the escape from the Belgian Congo

I soon reverted to Swahili; this I spoke fluently with the local accent. I asked for free passage through the roadblock and was about to be given it when the sound of an approaching truck brought the rest of the gang onto the road from a makeshift camp in the trees. Now there were around twenty-five men, most having guns of some sort or other and all with machetes. As the 10-tonne lorry approached I could see that it was an Arab trader’s vehicle piled high with all he was trying to save. The cab had three men, besides the driver and a group of seven or so women and a number of children piled on the open back amongst the household effects.

The lorry stopped and the driver got out shouting for the barrier to be removed so they could go on their way. An argument ensued where the rebels asked for an astronomical amount of money so that they could proceed; the Arab was not willing to even discuss payment. Walking back to the truck shouting his intention of forcing his way through the barrier, he did not get very far before he was shot in the back. Another of the men in the cab moved to the driver’s seat and with the engine still running engaged a gear and floored the accelerator. The lorry lurched forward but it was so overloaded it made slow progress and made an easy target for the rebel’s guns. The lorry kept moving forward, smashing into the barrier, but its driver was either dead or very badly injured because the vehicle veered off the road and crashed into the back of one of the other lorries abandoned by the side of the road, it came to a halt.

At this moment all of the rebels ran to the lorry and before the women and children could flee, they were rounded up and a small group held them captive. There was more gun fire as the men in the cab were dragged out onto the ground and executed. There was nothing I could do to help; I had seen how they had shot the men with no mercy and from previous trips through this area I knew the fate of the women. When they had finished with the women, their bodies would be dragged to the lake and left on the beach for the Crocodiles and other animals to erase all traces. I took this diversion to make my escape and proceeded as fast as I could, expecting a bullet at any time, fortunately they were otherwise occupied and I got away. The road from this point on was uneventful until I reached the village of Mboko about halfway to Uvira.

I knew this village well, as I had been working here just over a year previously when I was working for SOPELTA a fishing company. Our campsite was down by the lake some 500m from the road. I had spent many evenings after work in the village talking to the village chief, school teacher and others. I stopped in the centre of the village to give my tired and torched body a rest and take a well-deserved drink of water. Within minutes I had drawn a crowd, and they greeted me like a long-lost friend and I was asked to sit in the shade under the eaves of the chief’s hut.  After exchanging greetings, the Chief told me I had a problem about 5km further along the road.

There was a band of rebels who had set up a roadblock and were looting, raping and killing travellers. He and these fellow villagers had been terrorised and were afraid of what they would do to them should they try to intervene. I thanked him for his warning but I was not going back and I told him to pray for my safety. Setting off with this warning ringing in my ears I drove on up the road.

The barrier this time was not a tree but abandoned vehicles, cars, pick-up’s and trucks strewn across the road with well-armed rebels sitting in the shade on seats ripped from the vehicles. As I approached, they roused themselves and took up aggressive poses. When I came into full view and saw their reaction it was one of surprise, they roared with laughter, some were laughing so much they had tears running down their faces. I stopped and dismounted, again offering the Kebembi greeting, and then in Swahili I asked what was so funny? The leader, a small middle-aged man, told his men to be quiet, then he walked around me and the scooter before stopping in front of me and pointing to the scooter asked where I was going on this toy. I told him “To England”. This set everybody off into hysterical laughter again.

One of the rebels stepped forward and announced he knew me from my days with the fishing company. He told them that he had worked for me as a guard on the fish lorries; he also told them that I had often purchased a leg of goat at the market and given it to him to share amongst his village. He told the rebel leader I should be unharmed and left to go on my journey to England.