Near Port Selao
I’ve made efforts to stay off people’s radar here, but today I wasn’t so lucky.
While walking through town to meet some refugees bound for the border, a covered rover pulled up alongside me, the windows tinted. A stocky man stepped out in front of me, opened the rear door and gestured for me to enter.
I glanced around. The last thing I wanted was to get in. Then I heard a familiar voice, “Come, Reuben. We’re all friends.”
I peered inside to find Addi Mbantuwe, leader of the UFLL. He was stretched out in the back, clutching a baby blue handkerchief which he used to wave me in. I felt I had no choice. I got in and we drove off.
He was straight to the point, “I hear you’ve met the Jackal. He’s a dangerous man, you know. If you keep meeting with him…well, it would be a shame if you disappeared somehow.”
We’d driven no more than half a block when the driver pulled to the side of the road. Mbantuwe leaned closer to me, his eyes like lasers, “Listen my friend, you will turn up dead if you insist on talking to this man and publishing his garbage”.
The door opened. Our meeting was over and I hadn’t said a word.
The rover drove away. The whole encounter was so carefully orchestrated as if Mbantuwe and his men rehearsed it over and over. Nevertheless, the point was clear. I’ve been living on borrowed time.
How long can I survive like this? What the hell am I doing in this country?