kid·nap / ˈkidˌnap/• v. (-napped , -nap·ping ; also -naped, -nap·ing) [tr.] take (someone) away illegally by force, typically to obtain a ransom.
Everything was very clear, I remember that much as I lay there hands underneath my weight, jammed between a mans armpit and the trucks metal floor. The screeching from the radio of some white noise endlessly on repeat made me think of Drum & Bass music, the floor of the van of pavement manhole covers in a city. I remember trying to remember the path the van was taking, giving up and focusing on sure things like how many men jumped us, and what reasons had we given them to do this. I also discovered that I fight false hope, and that makes me focus on better types of hope, re-modelling the situation, each minute I have a strange control because I am that asset, I am that property worth keeping alive. False hope such as knowing that our governments don’t make deals with these types of political and social groups.
I am actually in Moreton-in-Marsh, Cotswold’s. You couldn’t be further away from the front line than this idyllic English village. Two days before I was sipping cold local cider in The Bell Inn, oblivious (or more likely ignorant) that in a few days I’d be kicked from the ground as I lie shoeless in a puddle, shouted at in Arabic for an answer to a question that would cost me my life.
I did have an idea, ever since I sent the cheque off to RedR UK, a disaster training charity that helps, trains and guides future aid workers into the field. The snippet of information that I received on the potential abuse we were thus about to receive, briefly described loud bangs…and that any old ladies make sure they don’t sign up to the course.I did though, just to get the required training just in case it wouldnt happen to me. Athiest forbid.
The course was fun for two days, inside this I gained Field Communication training with VHF (Small Radios) and the importance of in-depth views of all sides in the conflict or emergency to help work with better judgement. Surviving hostile environments by learning how to cover from gunfire, grenades and hopefully RPG’s. Cover, minefields and observation were covered in a second day small simulation. From all this and various discussions on threat, risk and vulnerability brings us full circle to how I act in the situation.
I had no idea I would become protective towards women I didn’t know, and that I keep my mind occupied on facts when in a dangerous situation, rather than the impending doom. Plus I gained some small confidence in diffusing situations between me and a potential kidnapper by striking a rapport with them. I learned that wearing slight military clothing could get me in deep shit, that UN American guards don’t want to be asked ‘How’s the weather mate?’ Because you may get an answer back you may not expect ‘Face forward and don’t open your mouth again you cocky shit!’ As I did. I don’t know why I was collectivly chosen as team leader in the field, I guess from my initial sense of humour and relaxed fun demenor. But it bothered me that those two things when and WILL get removed, how will I act? Will I even be able to control a team?
My small and limited words in Arabic came in handy when talking to IDP’s at the DZ (getting the lingo as well), basically the local lads who own the field we want to purchase for a few bob. My white skin was the question most raised during the 5 location driven, surprise ambush, AK47 firing madmen who lept out of god knows what blade of grass and surrounded us screaming blue murder. I was pushed against the wall and told I was American, so I didn’t argue but agreed with everything he said. Until he got frustrated with me doing that, and started with actions and questions directly.
First was the splitting of the male and female hostages, I couldn’t see where they went but I heard them gasping, breathing, getting shoved around. A general muttering of voices were heard as the cold rain, beautifully timed fell on us in this disused warehouse alley. I had already closely witnessed the rape and execution of two actors, the actual blood of a trainee bouncing off the gear stick and leaving her face on it as we slammed on the brakes prior to ambush, were still fresh on mind. I was tense and had already asked for water for the girls, being team leader not alpha male I knew if I kept up asking how the team was doing they may understand humanity.
“Your American, Stephen. You Love George Bush” Head against grey wall, hands and arms up high, can’t make up who’s next to me.
“You Love George Bush, and you agree with the War in IRAQ!“. Arms getting heavy, stop asking these questions. Understanding situation, know I won’t go home, want to sit down.
“Answer Me, Stephen” Weired stone gable end I’m staring at. PAUSE. Gun now pressed against the back of my head. BANG. Still alive, different person firing…or one of us dead. Better answer.
“I don’t love him, I hate him and what he did to innocent people in Iraq, the sanctions, the bombing, the thousands of dead children. No. I don’t love him.”
“But you voted for it, you voted for George Bush…you are to blame. You pay your taxes.” Not sure whether to have a political argument or stay quiet. Stay quiet. Sense of humour gone, strange feeling that I can control the situation. They have big guns. I have a mobile they haven’t……Man searching me. Mobile gone. “I’m taking your picture now”
“May I ask, Why?” “So I can send it to your family to get money, then still kill you” “What do you gain from killing us?” Have to be careful now, tread softly. Arms heavy and weak now by my head. “We gain money, we gain power, we tell your friends in New York that we are strong yes? So Answer me one question? Who do we kill first? Which One?” Confusion, sock fully wet after losing my boot..gaining adrenaline, can’t use it.
“Which One Stephen? Who First? Your Team Leader? They are waiting for your answer?”Me” Oops, no shit. Rewind. “errrm…you don’t have to kill anyone.” Why did I say me?? Was it so I don’t bare witness to the mass rape and execution to generally nice Tesco friendly consumers of Britain?
After confusing him with quick fire agreements, a family conversation and a discussion on rape. He bundled me into the van, one boot gone so I’m a foot smaller on one side as I limp in. Again the white noise bleeds my ears, driving, driving. STOP…EVERYONE OUT! This came to a conclusion around this point, after a UN rescue, bomb disposal and a debrief before sponge cake and custard in the canteen.
I gained a nice attendance certificate and I would definitely recommend training programmes by RedR UK again to anyone going into conflict or relief zones.
Filed under: aid, cotswolds, drum and bass, fire service college, George Bush, horror, Iraq, kidnap, moreton in marsh, photojournalism, redr, redr uk, relief workers, U.S, universities, world
