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Escape From Liberia

When the looting and killing began, World Relief worker Brian Johnson and his family needed God's protection

-by Bonne Steffen

The 8x10 family photograph for sale in the Monrovian marketplace in May 1996 looked familiar to the family friend of World Relief's Liberian Director Brian Johnson. On a second glance, the truth hit: It is the Johnsons with their four children! The Johnsons' friend knew it was one possession that the family treasured-taken at gunpoint from their home during six days of terror. But with no money to buy it, the photograph soon disappeared into someone else's hands. The memories of what had happened weeks before as war ripped through Monrovia would take much longer to fade away.

More than two-and-a-half years ago, Brian Johnson, 47, returned to Liberia with Christian agency World Relief. He and his family been forced to leave in 1989 when civil war erupted after the unsuccessful attempt of rebel Charles Taylor to overthrow Liberian President Samuel Doe. Eventually, Doe would be murdered by another disgruntled tribesman.

Johnson had first come to the country as a missionary in 1973. He met and fell in love with Ruth, a Liberian, when she volunteered to help him wash his clothes by hand. They married and raised four children in Liberia and enjoyed the peaceful times. But with political instability, they braced themselves for what could happen at a moment's notice.

After the 1989-90 civil war, the Johnsons returned to Liberia. Hope for a unified country was strong. Ruth was busy assisting Brian and homeschooling their two daughters Keyshia, 14, and Kristina, 15. Two older children, Tangie and Nyutu, were in college in the United States.

But Brian's new role with World Relief was dangerous. His assignment was to get the country's tribal and factional leaders to work together peacefully as well as challenging the churches to do the same. At a December 1994 reconciliation conference, nearly 700 church leaders from 16 tribal groups and 23 denominations assembled. This conference successfully launched the Association of Evangelicals of Liberia (AEL), into relief and development work, an institute for missions, and programs geared to church renewal.

Politically, in 1990, ECOMOG, a West African peace-keeping group, stepped in to quell the hostilities. But violence continued randomly throughout the country. In May 1995, Ruth Johnson's father, aunt, and two cousins were murdered in a village raid two hundred miles from Monrovia-three weeks before another reconciliation conference.

The West African peacekeepers proposed a new strategy in March 1995: ask three factional leaders and three civilians to move to Monrovia and work together as the country's collective leadership for a year. At the end of that year, a national election would determine who would run the country. Johnson admits the proposed political change seemed strange: putting warlords into leadership roles didn't seem to be a step in the right direction. His hunch was right.

As each warlord arrived in the capital, each gradually brought heavily armed fighters. Monrovia swelled with young thugs-some only eight or ten years old. They were made to feel grown-up with a steady supply of drugs and weapons. It was only a matter of time before trouble ignited.

Less than a year after the six-member State Council was established, men were killed near the house of one factional leader. The others in power tried to arrest him on a murder charge, but he wouldn't surrender. His claim was that all warlords were guilty of murder. If he was arrested, every warlord should be arrested. When they attacked his house, he escaped. The struggle for control intensified.

The stakes were high. Liberia is a country rich in resources. The areas teeming with diamonds, gold, timber, and rubber were all held by different factions. Selling resources-most traffic coming into Liberia from the Ivory Coast-fed the power-hungry warlords, who bought weapons.

Though Johnson rejoiced at the changed lives witnessed at the reconciliation conferences, he knew his work was facing a formidable foe-the business of war.

Terror By Day And Night
At first, the fears were mentioned only in discreet conversations as atrocities in the country's interior were reported on the radio. But in March, a warlord's son (a long-time family friend) visited the Johnsons at their home, seven miles from Monrovia. When daughter Tangie (visiting from the States) came out with water for him, a teenage boy ran over from a nearby basketball court, knocked the pitcher out of her hand, and said angrily, "You didn't give me a drink. Why are you giving water to a murderer's son?" Trying to remain calm but shaking inside from the vicious verbal exchange, Tangie explained he was a friend. Nothing more happened.

Tension was rapidly building. The Johnsons' shortwave radio tuned to the embassy station continually repeated, "All Americans stay home today. Don't go into the streets."

But there was work to be done. The first week of April, Brian was helping unload twelve World Relief food containers waiting in port, supplies which would be looted by rebels in the next few days. With the tribal leaders in Monrovia, he hoped the city would avoid violence. Then, as hundreds of rebels poured into Monrovia's streets, shooting erupted, and anarchy ruled.

Brian managed to get safely back to his house. Young rebels with familiar faces-children and teenagers whom the Johnsons had fed and clothed-now began to harass the neighborhood. First, they came for vehicles. Carrying AK-47s, huge knives, and anti-aircraft weapons, they called each other by Hollywood names like "Rambo." To the Johnsons' horror, the rebels seemed to be playing a game, boasting of how many people they had killed. Most of them were high on drugs.

Over the next three days, different warring bands came to the house ten times to demand possessions. Day or night, the Johnsons never knew when the next band of rebels would appear. Meanwhile, missionaries and people from different tribes sought shelter in the Johnsons' home, including some from the tribe that had murdered Ruth's family.

When a gang of rebels came to the house, Brian would step out front of the house to hear their demands, knowing that if they discovered who was inside, everyone would be killed. Befriending people from other tribes and factions was now deadly.

Over the radio, the Johnsons could hear people throughout the city pleading for help. Their cries mingled with the prayers of the Johnsons and their friends, scattered in every room, in the hallway, away from any windows.

Without weapons, everyone in the house knew they couldn't resist the rebels' demands. After everything had been looted, one gang made a more frightening threat: "We'll be back for your women."

That night, Wednesday, April 10, three rebels, each about 18 years old, came to the Johnsons' porch. Brian, as he had done previously, came out and sat down. He didn't want the gunmen to simply walk into the house.

For forty-five minutes, no one said anything. One rebel was smoking marijuana; a second stood with head down, exhausted; the third was sitting near Johnson. All cradled AK-47s on their laps. Johnson closed his eyes and silently prayed.

After an hour, he couldn't stand the strain any more. He slowly stood up and went inside the house. No one moved.

At first, Johnson stood behind the door, thinking the gunmen would try to break it down. Then he lay down on the floor, praying for four hours. At daybreak, to Brian's surprise, the gunmen simply walked away.

A Ten-Minute Window
Brian knew he had to get everyone to move, and move quickly. On the mission compound, there was an old bus. Groups of looters had noticed it, but though each group had talked about stealing it, none had. The tires were flat, and Brian knew it took a half hour to warm up. But it was their only hope.

Thirty people jammed into the bus. Amazingly, when the driver turned the ignition key, the motor started right up. He drove across the street to the Sudan Interior Mission (SIM) and radio station ELWA compound.

Brian told the driver to go around to the mission's air pump and fill the tires. Just when everyone got inside, the American embassy radioed a message to sim: "You have ten minutes to prepare for evacuation. An armed convoy will arrive at the mission to get any foreigners out. If you're not ready in ten minutes, you'll be left behind."

Brian couldn't believe God's timing and provision-the prompting to leave early that morning with bags packed and the "miracle bus." And they were able to take other missionaries, too. Without the bus, the missionaries would have been stranded.

Within ten minutes, the embassy convoy arrived.

"We're going to drive very fast and you must keep up with us," the leader said. "If you don't keep up, we can't wait for you."

Now behind the wheel, Brian placed himself in the middle of the 20-vehicle convoy. They careened through the back streets of Monrovia amid heavy shooting and the smoke from burning buildings. The seven-mile ride to the military base seemed to last forever. Arriving unharmed, they waited until the next day before a helicopter arrived to make the final evacuation to Sierra Leone.

The Johnsons were among the last Americans to be airlifted out of Liberia. They had lost all their belongings and left Ruth's family and friends behind. More than six months later, Ruth Johnson still thinks every day about the people left behind, homeless and starving. She misses little items-the drawings her children made, the family photos. Important documents that were stolen will be difficult to replace. There are moments when Keyshia and Kristina can laugh over the absurdity of what they went through, but they also miss their Liberian friends. In June, a suitcase full of homeschooling books that had to be left behind during the evacuation, found its way back to the Johnsons. The two teenagers were able to complete their studies this summer.

Brian has returned to Liberia twice since April to help with relief projects. Faced with the enormity of the country's losses, he just wants to do what he can to relieve the suffering. Each time he returns to the U.S., it's a culture shock from the painful reality of what he sees in Liberia. Trying to get back to a "normal American life" isn't important.

Liberia's current interim government vows to disarm the country by the end of this year and prepare for free elections in May 1997. Johnson and the countless relief workers who are in and out of the country pray for healing on this land.

Copyright © 1996 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
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Last Updated: October 18, 1996

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