The Bulk Challenge Experience. I. Ezax Smith
the sign of making peace in order to put behind some dispute. It may also refer to a sign of bribery. If someone says “you’ve got to shake my hand,” it may be another way of requesting a bribe. In this situation, what may make it less of a pressure is that the amount will have to be at the giver’s discretion. What the giver does simply is to put the amount in the recipient’s pocket.
Stole-way – to steal your way is to forcefully and or illegally enter an area, event or activity without permission.
This-thing — a Ghanaian generic reference to anything. The term “this-thing” flies from a Ghanaian who cannot think readily of the name of something being referred to. For example, “I want you to give me the “this-thing.” That could be a chair, a book, cup or whatever.
“Town trap is not for rat alone” — a philosophical punch line derived from one of numerous folktales of Liberia’s indigenous population. The expression is often made to those who may ignore the need to build collective defense against external threats. It was popularized when the Liberian leader Samuel Doe, in the early months of the Liberian civil war, used it to invite a collective Liberian resolve against the invading forces of Charles Taylor and other warlords.
Wachen — a name of Kwa origin. Kwa is an African linguistic group. In Liberia, this group comprises of Bassa, Grebo and Kru. Wachen means heart-breaker.
FORWARD
Challenges of survival that Ezax Smith and others faced as a result of the Liberian civil war brought out the best in people who already had fine character traits. Ezax’ innate nature as a humanitarian, a leader and an organizer, helped people who had all but lost hope. He awakened the human spirit on that trip, as he also did in the Liberian community in Baltimore, and among Liberians across the Americas. His gift for bringing people together for the good of the whole shines brightly, especially in his spiritual life. To Ezax, I say: “Thank you for the tireless hours of community service and especially for capturing this part of Liberia’s history, which really needs to be preserved and shared with future generations and the world."
The Bulk Challenge Experience reminds us that caring for each other, helping each other and working for the good of each other—all demonstrations of love—are the only actions that can make our nation, or any nation recovering from disaster, whole again.
Welma Campbell Mashinini Redd Assistant Professor of Film & Broadcasting Morgan State University Baltimore, Maryland
PRELUDE
Years later, the memory of the experience is still as fresh as if it happened just yesterday. I walked to the front of the deck to go down and share the news of the reassurance from the captain, that we would make the trip, or, at worst, be reimbursed. To my dismay, the ship was slowly drifting from the dock. I could hear the shouts of thousands of prospective passengers who were standing in the port yard, waiting, just as I was, for their names to be called. I looked and saw my wife standing nearby. I was tempted to jump over board, but the space between the boat and the dock had now widened, and I would have fallen into the ocean or hit my head on the wall of the concrete dock had I tried jumping. Without mention, my wife ran a little closer, food in one hand and a large bottle of water in the other. She had reasoned that if I stayed on board, I would need food for at least three days of journey. She threw the food over into the ship and bid me well. “Make sure you get our things when you get there,” she shouted.
“This cannot be happening,” I thought for a moment. All arrangements had been made; I had tickets in my hands, and had spoken twice with the captain who assured me we would board before the end of the day. But as the day sped by, what appeared to be broad-day corruption was happening before our very eyes. It was becoming obvious that we would not make it into the boat; for hundreds of individuals who had not followed the process to register officially or pay for their tickets were bribing soldiers who were manning the entrance to the ship. I mean, these hundreds of individuals were entering while we who held legitimate tickets waited to be called on board. Several hundreds of those who paid bribes entered illegally on the ship, and it seemed already full to overflowing. Furious about the situation, I decided I would go on board to meet the captain for the third time. I wanted to know what the situation was with the illegal entering of passengers while legitimate ticketholders were standing on line. But perhaps, I forgot that this, too, was Africa; and more so, we were in a war situation, which many unscrupulous individuals were shamelessly taking advantage of. I made my way to the side entrance but was soon stopped by two soldiers who asked me to pay before I entered. “Anything you got will do,” one of them said to me in that husky and heavy Nigerian accent. I showed my ticket and receipt and insisted to see the captain. Both soldiers refused and proceeded to hit me with a rubber coil they used to beat people off the ship. A senior officer on board saw the commotion and hailed them to allow me to speak with him. I went on board and informed him of my prior two meetings with the captain and his instruction to see him whenever I had a problem. The captain was fond of me. We have met and spoken on many occasions. I had registered a total of 14 people including cousins and friends with whom my family and friends pooled funds to make the process easier. From an economic standpoint, I had boosted their coffers at one shot. “Mr. Smith, we will take care of you and your family, not to worry,” he had assured me earlier.
I made my way to the captain’s cabin along with a few other individuals who has similar concerns. It was difficult getting through because of the many people who had illegally entered the ship and the many others who were already there, requesting reimbursement because they did not see the possibility of getting on board with their families. By the time I spoke with the captain and headed back through the crowd, the ship crew had decided to leave because they determined that the ship was overloaded, even though hundreds of ticketholders were still standing in line in the dockyard.
And so it was! I was heading to Ghana on the vessel named Bulk Challenge; or so I thought.
This is the account of the incredible 10-day journey on the Atlantic Ocean aboard this leaking ship, Bulk Challenge; the experiences of the challenges faced, lessons learned, and life beyond the journey.
THE APRIL 6, 1996 FRACAS
It had never been our plan to leave the country. We had survived seven years of the civil war, although under strenuous circumstances. We fled every intense fighting area and managed to move the family each time into a safer place. Nowhere is safe in a civil war situation, but with God on one’s side, he makes a way each time it seems unfeasible. This is how I know that God is real and in control of human destiny. To think the power of God is unreal is to believe that you can live without breathing. In the case of my family, the idea of constantly moving from place to place, particularly with two young children, was becoming unbearable and dangerous, to say the least.
Fierce fighting resumed between warring factions on April 6th, when the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL) and United Liberation Movement, the Kromah faction, (ULIMO-K) wedded and attempted to arrest the leader of the ULIMO, the Johnson faction, Mr. Roosevelt Johnson. It was seemingly one of the dumbest ideas because all factions were serving within the same locality and on the Transitional Council—the 5-man leadership team comprising heads of the various fighting forces. That decision to arrest Johnson sparked the renewed fighting and ignited a new and intense wave of fear. Once again, Liberians in central Monrovia were awakened to the sound of sporadic gun fires, so loud it could blow your ear drums out. The guns sounded like RPG, GMG, AK47 and M1—all together. We’d heard them before and were familiar with those sounds. In fact, many Liberians were. Yet, each time those sounds re-surged, they sent fear down many spines.
The shooting seemed so close as if at the back of our house. Looking outside, I saw people in large numbers with sacks, bulging pillow cases, suitcases, and even empty rice bags stuffed with different items. These people were heading toward one of the main streets in the community. The scene was reminiscent of the early days of the crisis when hundreds of thousands of people fled their homes in fear of reprisals from misguided government soldiers or the so-called freedom fighters (rebels). I needed no confirmation that the fighting was nearing our neighborhood. I called out to my