going to support your family? Think clearly for a moment. Please. And for God’s sake, lower your voice.”
“I don’t understand,” Ahmed responded, suddenly sounding weak. “This can’t be happening. If the monitors had helicopters, they could stop this.”
Still gripping him by the upper arm, Khalil hurried him through the streets. He said nothing until they were back in his shop, and then he handed Ahmed a bottle of water without a second thought, out of habit. “Look, you’re not going to help anyone by going out there. Do you understand? Promise me.”
Finally, Ahmed met Khalil’s eyes. He shrugged and then his shoulders sagged, as if he had accepted defeat. “Okay, I won’t go out there. But I need to tell the African Union what I saw because the army will try to cover it up.”
“Good thinking. Now listen, the African Union guys are bound to come through here, and I’ll make sure they find you to get your testimony.”
Ahmed rubbed his eyes. “This is a nightmare. I don’t know what to do.”
Khalil shook his head, also at a loss for words.
* * *
Within a week, people all over the region were talking about what had happened at the girls’ school. The Sudanese army had stayed there for almost two days, repeatedly raping the students and teachers. Several of the younger girls had been taken away with the soldiers when they finally left, and their families never saw them again. There was a rumor that they had been spotted at El Geneina airfield, being forced onto an air force Antonov heading for Khartoum. The older girls returned to their families, never again to be allowed to study away from home. Before they left the school, the soldiers took all the teachers out back and shot them.
The Africa Union monitors had eventually sent one jeep with three Rwandan soldiers and a translator. They had arrived a full 24 hours after receiving the report from the hospital administrator because they had insufficient diesel to make the journey. Though the Rwandans risked their lives by trying to question the soldiers, they were too late to stop the violence. The soldiers wouldn’t even let them enter the school.
The Rwandans also came to see Ahmed, carefully writing down his statement and assuring him they would keep their source anonymous. They explained to him that the African Union had given them no authority to do anything but compile a report, which they did. Ahmed was raging with anger that it had taken so long for the monitors to arrive, but he knew the Rwandan officers had put themselves in considerable danger, just being there and asking questions.
A week later, Khalil told Ahmed that the incident at the school had been mentioned on the radio news. Evidently a copy of the Rwandan monitors’ report had found its way into the hands of a U.S. senator. The senator had asked the U.S. State Department and the United Nations how long episodes like the girls’ school would continue before the world acted. Why didn’t the international community support the African Union monitors with the proper resources, rather than expecting them to do the job with their hands tied behind their backs? he had asked.
For several days Ahmed and Khalil listened to each radio bulletin, hoping to learn how the world’s diplomats would respond. However, the Rwandans’ report was quickly forgotten, buried in the avalanche of dispatches about famine, civil war, terrorist attacks, kidnappings, natural disasters, and tyranny from around the globe.
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