In Liberia, I lived in the capital city, Monrovia, and I was in seventh grade at B.W. Harris Middle School.  My mother was a junior minister in the Ministry of Finance under former President, Samuel Doe, while my father owned a small shop where he sold foodstuffs and clothing.  When a military coup overthrew Doe in 1980, my mother lost her job.  Luckily, during most of the 1980’s and the early 1990’s my father’s store was able to remain open so my family had some source of income. I, however, had to stop going to school because the ongoing fighting in and near Monrovia made it impossible for students to continue their education.

In April 1996, the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL), led by Charles Taylor, entered Monrovia.  My dad’s store was bombed, leaving my family penniless.  In addition, NPFL rebels stormed my neighborhood of Sinkor.  Somehow they discovered my mother had worked for the Doe administration.  One day, about fifteen NPFL combatants came to our house and shot down the door.  One of the bullets grazed me in the shoulder.  The NPFL demanded we all come out.  When they saw my mother, they viciously beat her and stripped her naked in front of us. They then tied her up and took her away. When my father tried to intervene he was beaten unconscious.  The NPFL also warned us to leave the area or they would return to kill us. 

With my two younger brothers, my father and I walked fifteen days through rough terrain to the border Liberia shares with Guinea.  There again, NPFL soldiers met us.  I was separated from my family and taken to an NPFL military camp in Nimba County to be trained as a fighter.  When I refused to engage in military training, the Commander of the Camp placed me in a hole filled with water up to my neck where I was forced to remain for 3 days. NPFL soldiers regularly urinated on me and threw feces on me.  As a result, I contracted cholera and became very ill.  When I was pulled out of the hole, I was of no use to the NPFL, so one of the soldiers took me to a Red Cross makeshift clinic.  I received antibiotics and other medical care until I regained some of my strength. 

The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) then took me to a refugee camp in the Ivory Coast, where I lived for almost two years. There I met someone who had the address of my mother’s sister, Mildred.  Aunt Mildred has lived in Minneapolis since 1985.  I wrote to her, and she bought me an airline ticket and arranged for me to come to the United States.  I do not know if my mother, father or brothers are still alive, since I have had no news from them since April 1998.  I arrived in Minneapolis in the fall of 2000.  Since my arrival in Minneapolis, Charles Taylor has left the country.  However, my country is still not at peace.  Taylor’s forces still roam the streets and new combatants are fighting the existing government seeking power.  I read in the newspaper that women are still being raped, and that men and women, and even children, are being intimated, harassed and beaten. 

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National Origin

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Ethiopia  Liberia  Somalia