CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Saturday October 21st
Chad
Frisco waved to Fadoul and Oumar as they pulled up in front of baggage claim, and he squeezed Brooke’s hand. “That’s them in the gray Land Cruiser.”
“It’s awfully nice of them to take us to Baga Sola.”
“That’s what friends do,” Frisco replied as he studied the two Chadian soldiers he’d become friends with. “They participated in the free-fall parachute training exercises that we led during Flintlock.”
“Does pushing men out of a small airplane usually result in friendship?” she asked as she adjusted her backpack.
“More often than you’d think.” When they parked the car at the curb, Frisco pulled open the door. “Good to see you guys.”
Fadoul saluted from the front seat. “Welcome, friend.”
Opening the front passenger door, Oumar stepped out and shook Frisco’s hand. “Didn’t think you’d come back so soon.”
Frisco put his arm around Brooke and grinned. “My girlfriend wants to help her friend in Baga Sola, so here we are. This is Brooke Foster, and she spent a bunch of months up there at the Dar es Salam camp with UNCHR.”
Oumar gently took Brooke’s hand. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you.”
Calling from the front of the car, Fadoul said, “Let’s get on the road; we have a five-and-a-half-hour drive.”
Frisco lifted their bags, opened the back, and slung them in. “Yes, sir.”
After they all got in and were buckled up, Fadoul took off, and they were soon traveling north out of the city. Frisco looked out the window and noticed the modern buildings that lined the wide, paved streets gave way to bustling unlined narrowed ones, filled with traditional bazaars. Feeling Brooke’s head bob against his shoulder, he looked down and saw she’d fallen asleep. Thirty plus hours of traveling had wiped her out, so he pulled out his sweatshirt, put it on his lap, and laid her down.
Brushing her hair off her cheek, he felt his heart grow a little bigger. The woman was his fire, and he was going to do everything he could to make sure she felt loved and taken care of the rest of their lives.
Oumar twisted in his seat and raised an eyebrow. “Is this the woman you were interested in the last time you were here?”
“Yes and, as you can see, it worked out.”
“It has indeed,” he replied with a low laugh.
“Has Baga Sola had any insurgency activity with Boko Haram in the last couple of weeks?”
“Skirmishes in the northern part of the Lake region, and that’s about it,” Fadoul replied. “I don’t expect they’re done, though, and believe we’re in for retaliation for becoming allies with Nigeria.”
Oumar rested his back against the window and narrowed his eyes. “When this insurgency first started claiming civilians’ lives, a Nigerian bishop came to the base and shared the history of Boko Haram. The general in charge was a forward-thinking man, and he felt it was important to understand what was driving the militants.”
Frisco rested his hand on Brooke’s arm. “I’ve never heard the history of the jihadists from the perspective of someone living inside the country.”
“It was his opinion that the conflict had been brewing since the British took control back in the early 1900s and the Muslim population resisted Western education and traditions. Bring that stewing animosity forward a hundred years and add widespread violence and corruption by the government, and the perfect recipe for an uprising was created. Which the charismatic Muslim cleric Mohammed Yusuf took advantage of when he formed Boko Haram back in 2002.”
“How did he acquire followers?” Frisco asked.
“Initially, he set up a religious complex, which included a mosque and an Islamic school. Many poor Muslim families from across Nigeria, as well as neighboring countries, enrolled their children at the school and, suddenly, Boko Haram had a recruiting ground for young jihadis. The word Boko Haram in the Hausa language means: Western education is forbidden, and the cleric made it his mission to make that statement true.
“The timing, according to the bishop, couldn’t have been better, because the president and the vice president, who were from different tribes, had called for war against one another and plunged the country into a civil war. Some saw the West as having a hand in the conflict, so Boko Haram was perfectly poised to begin their insurgency. What started out as an uprising against a corrupt government eventually turned into a vicious and bloody terrorist group that is committing heinous acts against its own countrymen to this day.”
Brooke moved around on his lap, and he ran his hand over her forehead until she settled. “For the foreseeable future, the world is going to have to deal with various manifestations of inflamed violent extremism, and the fight is going to become more difficult every day.” Studying the colorless landscape, he asked, “Do you think they have the leadership and firepower to continue to engage in skirmishes and assaults?”
“Absolutely. They have long resorted to kidnapping women and children, forcing them to become suicide bombers. They also conscript child soldiers and feed them amphetamines and hallucinogens until they’re hooked.”
“That is the sickest shit I’ve heard in a while, and that’s saying something, considering I’ve spent the better part of ten years facing off with the Taliban, al-Qaeda, and ISIS.”
Fadoul said from the driver’s seat, “Let’s stop in Massaguet for something to eat because that’s going to be our best hope of something decent being available.”
“Sounds good to me,” Frisco replied.
“What does Brooke like to eat?” Oumar asked.
“McDonald’s. But there are none here, so she’ll have whatever’s available.”
Fadoul looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “The fast food place with the arches?”
“That’s the one. I think it’s because she’s spent so much time OCONUS for the last five years that the familiarity and consistency of the food is comforting. On our way over, she recited the exact number available in over a dozen countries.”
“Americans. You are a strange bunch,” Fadoul commented as he sped down the highway.
“That we are,” Frisco replied. Bending over, he pressed a kiss to Brooke’s cheek and hoped they wouldn’t run into any problems when they were in the North. A quiet week would be a nice change for both of them.
***
Brooke rolled down the window and looked out at the familiar sights of Baga Sola. Being that it was Saturday, the streets were bustling with activity because it was the largest market day of the week.
The locals mixed with the Nigerian refugees, and the colors of their pagnes brightened up the otherwise dreary town. “Can we stop at the fish market before we go to Malaba’s house?”
“Certainly,” Fadoul responded.
“I want to make dinner for everyone tonight, so I should grab some supplies before you drop us off.”
Frisco took her hand and kissed it. “Our first adventure together.”
“Maybe next time we can choose someplace warm with tropical drinks and beaches.”
“Sign me up, ’cause there is nothing better I’d like to do than spend time together in a place where clothing was optional.”
“Shhh.” Cutting her eyes sideways, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t talk about that here.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek and then said against her ear, “I’ll behave.”
Clasping her hands together in her lap, she gave him a prim smile. “See that you do.” When she heard his laugh, she knew he wasn’t going to keep his hands to himself for long, which turned out to be a good thing, because she couldn’t either.
“Is Malaba’s house behind the hospital?” Oumar asked as they slowly moved through the pedestrians.
“Yes. She’s been running it since it was built, and her small home sits adjacent to the small garden.”
“We can take you there and drop off your bags and then walk back to the fish market. I don’t want to leave the car out in the open, because it will invite too much attention.”
“Whatever you think is best,” she replied as she saw a group of women standing in line. Which, in many ways, defined life for the people who lived outside of N’Djamena. Nothing was plentiful in this country except heat and dirt, and the rest of life’s necessities were a daily struggle to acquire.
Clearing the pedestrian congestion, they moved easily in the direction of the hospital when the sharp sound of explosions filled the air and the vehicle shook from the vibration. “What…”
Frisco pushed her head down, slid his gun out of his leg holster, and swiveled his head right to left. “Hospital,” he instructed clearly.
Fadoul hit the accelerator, and they flew the last half mile and screeched to a stop. “Suicide bombers,” he said as he extracted his gun and threw open his door.
“Stay down,” he instructed Brooke as he climbed out of the car, his weapon sweeping the surrounding area.
Heart beating out of her chest, Brooke did as she was told. “Take me inside the hospital so I can prep for patients. I don’t know who’s available, and I have to help.” She pulled her MSF ID out of her backpack and looped it over her neck.
“I’m not leaving you here alone,” he barked as he ran around and opened her door, shielding her.
“Go to the fish market and see what’s happening and bring back whoever needs help.” Moving out of the car, she crouched next to Frisco as he led her toward the doors of the small facility. “I was in Sudan for a year, Frisco. I can handle this.”
“Having you anywhere near flying bullets is not something I’m comfortable with,” he bit out as he took her inside.
“As long as it’s not mortars being blown over my head, it’s totally fine.” Bursting through the door, she took quick inventory of who was available. “Un Kamikazi sur le marche,” she yelled out. “Kai harin kansa a kasuwa.” Clapping her hands, she yelled. “Incoming casualties.”
“What did you just say?” Frisco asked as he checked the magazine in his Sig Sauer P226.
“I said: suicide bomber in the market in French and Hausa. They’re the two most prevalent languages in the area.”
“Stay inside, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
“This is my wheelhouse, Frisco. You go and do your thing, and tell Fadoul and Oumar to keep an eye on the road that leads to the camp. If they’re Boko Haram, then they’re going to want to inflict casualties on the people who escaped.”
“Got it.” He gave her a quick kiss and then jogged out the main doors.
Watching him confer with his friends from the Chadian army, she prayed for his safety. Not only was he needed by his team members and family, he was also needed by her because he was essential to her happiness. Without him, she didn’t see much of a future. Hearing footsteps, she turned and saw Gordan running through the back door. “Explosions in the fish market, suicide bombers.”
“Welcome back,” he said as he spun on his heels and moved toward the supply room. “Seems we’re going to keep you busy.”
“Wouldn’t want anything else,” she said as she followed him and prepared to scrub up for surgery. Another loud explosion made the windows rattle, and she silently prayed for the innocent souls caught in the crossfire.
Another day in the world, another tragedy, and she was ready for whatever was about to walk through the door. As much as the cycle exhausted her, she wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else, because simply…she could. Her life had afforded her the luxury of growing up in a safe home, a safe country with access to education. She had survived her battle with cancer so that she could give back, and the last scare had brought that fact home once again.
The doors to the hospital slammed open, and two men carried in a woman who had to have been close to the blast. Grabbing a gurney, Brooke rolled it over and motioned for the men to place her on it. She slid on a pair of gloves that Gordan handed her, and she started her examination to see where they needed to begin. Holding the woman’s hand, she looked into her eyes. “Zan yi duk abin da zan iya.”
The woman’s fingers tightened as she whispered, “Na sani, na gode.”
Gordan came up and pushed the gurney. “Why do you always promise that?”
“Because I mean it. I will always do everything I can, and that includes bargaining with God.”
“Missed you around here,” he said as they moved into the room.
As Gordan slipped on his own gloves and they began assessing the woman’s injuries, she realized she missed the action. As she hooked up the woman to the monitor, she discovered her blood pressure was dropping. “Internal injuries,” she said.
“Start praying harder,” Gordan said as he cut the woman’s pagnes open, “because we’re going to need a miracle.”
We always needed a miracle, Brooke thought as she inserted a central line. Maybe today was the day they’d get one.