When the Heart Decides

By George Gyude Wisner II

When Sarah Lawsons father is rescued from the claws of death by David Saye, a notorious rebel commander, she believes it is simply a miraculous coincidence. It isnt long, however, before Sarah realises that behind this extraordinary intervention is Davids wish to lure her into his arms.

He is handsome, educated, and generousall qualities that ignite the fires of her heart. But they are from very different worlds. Sarah is the daughter of a respectable middle-class family, while David has been accused of gruesome atrocities. As the heat of the Liberian civil war casts waves over them all, Sarah faces a three-front battle of her own. Despite her feelings, she must contain Davids advances, preserve her familys integrity, and prevent her heart from betraying her.

When the Heart Decides is a story of the triumph of love over adversity and of the strength of the heart that seeks love even in the midst of one of the worlds bloodiest civil wars.

A classic African epic that recounts the realities of war with a dash of romance and Christianity.

Belynda A. Akello, President of the African Students Association and Vice President of the Postgraduate and Research Students Association of the Australian National University.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491706954

George Gyude Wisner II

George Gyude Wisner II lived in his native country of Liberia throughout its civil war. He is also a poet and the coauthor of multiple UNDP-commissioned studies. He is currently pursuing a Masters of Public Policy (Development Policy) at the Crawford School of Public Policy, Australian National University.

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Copyright © 2013 by George Gyude Wisner II.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-0694-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0696-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0695-4 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013916851

iUniverse rev. date: 09/19/2013

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Additional Poems

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To the loving memory of my father, the late Dr. Francis K. Sio Sr.; to my love, Lucy Ephemia Smallwood; and to my mother, Cecelia W. Nimene

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This novel would not have been possible without inspiration and moral and technical support from a network of friends and loved ones. Special gratitude goes to my parents, to Lucy, and to Sister Mary Laurene Brown, OSF, who was the first to comment on my poetic talent and published my initial works of poetry in the magazine Catholic Advocate.

Those who have been directly involved with the novel include T. Semah Johns, who did the preliminary typing and evaluation of the entire novel, and Marsha Cleon, my one-time special assistant, who also performed some clerical services as well as offering useful advice. My college colleague at the Australian National University, Carolyn Mwiinga, and my church colleagues Fredrick Gbatu, Siekula T. Vannie, and Ernestine Ledlum provided technical guidance. I reserve very special thanks for S. Kpanbayeazee Duworko II, instructor of English at the University of Liberia, for his editorial support, and for Belynda A. Akello for providing proofreading services.

To all these wonderful individuals I am eternally indebted. May the good Lord greatly reward their selfless generosity.

When the Heart Decides

When the heart decides,

Love is true,

Love is lasting.

Lovers go apart,

But love stays at heart.

Distance may prove but a fickle farce.

Love leaps the widest gulf.

Time is but a changeless season—

A heart decided never grows old.

—George G. Wisner II

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CHAPTER ONE

SARAH LAWSON AND HER parents walked nervously down the crowded streets as dozens of ragtag gunmen carefully scrutinized the crowd from both sides of the road. In the cool morning mist she could feel the warm blood running through her veins. Her heart rate seemed to triple, and the muscles in her stomach and legs grew tense. She was sweating heavily, the drops rolling down her skin under her jean jacket and pants.

In spite of her fear and discomfort, Sarah tried to look composed. The traumatic experience of the previous night was still fresh on her mind; the deafening sound of guns and bombs still reverberated in her ears, as if the action were taking place near her. Never had she been so frightened and confused. Her thoughts ran randomly.

She had been begging her parents to leave the capital amidst rumors of rebel advances toward its suburbs. The rebels were reported to be extremely fierce and heartless, instituting a reign of terror in the areas under their grip. Everywhere there was whispering about panic-stricken government soldiers deserting their posts and fleeing before the advancing rebels. The rebels were tactically superior, physically strong, and willfully courageous—qualities allegedly enhanced during their time of training abroad, when witch doctors injected powerful charms into their veins. This made them fearless, reckless, and unrivalled, especially before the poorly equipped and demoralized government soldiers. Such constant rumors created a foreboding atmosphere that dampened the hopes of even the most optimistic loyalist of the regime. Many residents were already evacuating the suburbs for fear of being caught up in the web of events.

All this made Sarah nervous. She began to fear for the safety of her family. But her father, Peter Lawson, was headstrong, presumptuous, and perhaps brainwashed by the waves of government propaganda that adorned every newspaper headline and punctuated every radio and television broadcast. He was convinced that the rebels would never reach the capital and adamant that he would never evacuate just because of some baseless gossip being spread by enemies of progress.

Sarah’s mother, Decontee, was perceptive, calculative, and sober. She always looked at all sides of an issue before forming an opinion. Though she wasn’t one who took things for granted, she was not one to easily cave in to panic. This pragmatism was probably due to her missionary background, which had given her more than just faith and religion. She had been adopted and brought up by missionaries who had visited her village when she was only three years old. They had fallen in love with her one evening when they were conducting an evangelistic service and little Decontee was moved to do a solo in her vernacular. They had negotiated with her parents to be allowed to take her along to the city so that she could go to school and further develop her talent.

Like Sarah, her mother had taken a keen interest in the political unrest around her and had some feelings of foreboding. But she knew that it was useless trying to change her husband’s mind. She had been married to him for nearly twenty-four years and knew him too well. Once his mind was made up about a particular issue, it would take nothing short of divine intervention to dissuade him. Decontee had often joked with Sarah that her father’s head was as hard as a steel wall. So when Sarah started becoming frustrated over his intransigence, her mother just patted her on the back and consoled her with one of her religious sayings: God is in control. Let’s give it all to him.

Sarah had obeyed sheepishly. Somehow she had borrowed some of her mother’s faith. Decontee’s words might have been clichéd, but they were difficult to argue against. Perhaps I’m being too hysterical, Sarah had thought. I am only twenty-one years old and naïve. Perhaps my mind is needlessly manufacturing fear and anxiety. Sarah had promised herself that she wouldn’t air her fears anymore. Not until the events of the previous night, and her family’s forceful eviction from their home, did she finally convince herself that her fears were, after all, justified—and that her parents, especially her father, were fools.

Hell had broken loose exactly ten minutes after the Lawsons had said their evening prayer. At first they heard the faint sound of bombs echoing in the distance. As the clock ticked, the booms got louder and louder, closer and closer. With every bomb blast the earth shook, shattering windows and sending household objects crashing to the floor. Soon the sound of bombing gave way to an exchange of gunfire coming from every direction. Empty bullet shells fell on the roof like rain. It seemed as though their neighborhood had suddenly turned into a war zone, and their house was at the battlefront. Pandemonium broke out. Sarah’s father dove under his bed. Sarah felt like her bowels were about to break loose, but she was too afraid to go to the bathroom. Instead she and her mother threw themselves down on the red living room rug to avoid being hit by stray bullets.

Sarah looked at her mother and was surprised to see that Decontee wasn’t as shaken as Sarah had expected her to be. In fact, her mother’s eyes were closed and her lips were moving, noiselessly reciting something. She’s praying! Sarah thought. I wish I had her faith, she sighed to herself as her eyes filled with tears.

The shooting went on for what seemed like an eternity, until the Lawsons heard strange voices in the yard. Soon there was a loud banging on the front door, followed by threatening commands.

Who’s here? Open up or I’ll burn the house down!

Sarah froze, not knowing whether to answer or run for cover. There was a brief silence followed by another bang and more threatening commands. Decontee answered in a clear, calm tone that told Sarah that her mother was not a bit scared.

We are in here. Just wait a minute. I’m coming to open the door.

Hurry up! the person outside yelled.

I have to find the keys. I’m coming, she replied. She picked up the keys from a nearby table and started for the door, but then she hesitated. Go get your father, she said to Sarah.

Sarah could not understand. Why had her mother asked her to go and fetch her father? Decontee obviously knew that the people outside were rebels who wanted nothing but to see blood. She wanted to argue but thought it wasn’t the proper time and place. So she reserved comment and only shot her mother a cutting glance before heading for the room where her father was.

Daddy? she half-whispered as she entered her parents’ room. She got no response. A sheet was still neatly spread on the king-sized bed, over which hung a white night curtain to prevent mosquitoes. The room was cold even though the air conditioner was turned off. The scent of pineapple air freshener infused the air. Sarah called to her father again and peered underneath the bed. He wasn’t there.

She opened the door to the master bathroom on the south end of the bedroom, but he was not there, either. Sarah was nervous. She called to him again with a trembling voice.

Shhh! Her father gestured to her with his finger against his lips. Where is your mother? His voice was shaking too as he emerged from the closet where he had taken refuge behind a cluster of coats.

She wants you outside, Sarah said straightaway.

Outside? he asked nervously. Is there any trouble? He looked bewildered and visibly overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events.

Sarah was trying to remain calm. She began to answer when a loud, uncouth voice came from the direction of the living room.

Who all here? the man voice thundered in Liberian pidgin.

Only my husband and my daughter and… Decontee stuttered. She was uncertain about the houseboy, and so she did not mention him. He had vanished from the living room after the family prayer and did not say whether or not he was going home.

You sure?

Yes, I think so. Only my husband and daughter.

Where them er? the man demanded.

Peter, Sarah! Decontee called out toward the bedroom. Someone wants to see you. She smiled at the fellow and gave him a wink, which had no effect on his hostile posture.

In the bedroom, Sarah looked up at her father and saw fear in his eyes. His hands were trembling and his knees were quivering. After a brief while, he managed to ask in an unsteady tone, We have to go outside, don’t we?

She nodded and led the way to the living room, her father following close behind.

The man with an AK-47 was standing before Decontee. He had the gruesome appearance of a sorcerer. He wore a wig firmly held to his head with a red piece of cloth. His face was painted like a warrior’s, half charcoal-black and half chalk-white. It was evident from his sunken, red eyes that he was addicted to marijuana.

He swung his small, sinewy body around as Sarah and her father entered the living room. Who es inside? he demanded.

No one else is inside, Sarah answered.

Okay, if I fin anybody there, I kayy you, he threatened, his eyes fastened on her suspiciously.

Two other gunmen joined them, looking equally frightening. They began asking what Sarah thought were silly questions: they wanted to know the family’s tribal background, political affiliation, occupations, and so on. Sarah’s mother did most of the answering.

Everybody jumped when Sarah’s alarm clock rang. It sounded six times. The man who had come in first became nervous.

Wha tha? he demanded, shuddering.

That’s the alarm clock in my room, Sarah replied.

Wha thin call alarm? he asked.

Sarah suppressed a chuckle. He doesn’t even know what an alarm is.

The clock in my room rings after every hour. It’s now about six o’clock, she explained.

You lie, he shouted, looking toward the bedroom. If I fin ought somebody there, you die. With that he ordered the two other gunmen to search the house.

The Lawsons held their breath as the men started for the interior of the house, taking cover at every step like professional cops on a mission to nab a hardened criminal. None of the Lawsons knew for sure whether the houseboy had left. Peter wanted to tell them they’d made a mistake—that there was a boy working for them, that they were not sure if he left the house, that maybe he was in one of the rooms, hiding. But something told him that it was too dangerous to start giving conflicting information.

The gunmen returned to the living room with a clean sheet. Nothing suspicious. Each of the Lawsons took a deep breath of relief.

Okay. The first man on the scene, who was apparently their head, spoke. This place da war zone. We still carrying out mopping up. It too dangerous to stay. You gat to leave.

We understand that this place has become a war zone and it would be dangerous for us to stay, Decontee said gently. But where are we going to go, my son?

Jus pac few tins and fallow the people you see outside, the man replied, a little more polite now.

The family obeyed, packing a few personal things and walking outside.

Sarah surveyed the sidewalks, scanning left and right from the corner of her eye, and saw corpses littering the roadside. Most of them appeared to have been soldiers killed in combat; their green camouflage uniforms were soaked crimson with blood that still oozed from their bodies. Sarah also noticed gunmen picking individuals out of the fear-stricken multitude that swamped the street. Many of the people were begging as they were being led away. She did not fully understand what was going on, but something told her that those individuals were victims of collective guilt and that their friends and relatives would never see them again.

Suddenly Sarah heard someone behind her calling her name. Her knees nearly buckled before she realized that the voice was a familiar one. She turned and saw Musu, a classmate and friend since childhood. Musu was sobbing—a reaction to the general state of affairs, Sarah assumed. But then Musu drew close enough to be heard. They killed my father! she said, her voice half-choked with tears. All they accused him of was being part of the government.

She began to explain more, but Sarah’s mother stopped her and patted her on the back.

God will see you through, child, Decontee said to her.

Sarah felt a crushing fear that was immediately subdued by empathy for her friend. She was particularly afraid for her own father; her sense of foreboding made her heart beat even faster. She thought that if the rebels killed Musu’s father, who only worked with the government but held no political office, how much worse would it be for her own father, a senior government official?

Daddy, I am really afraid for you! she said, voicing her fear.

Shhh, don’t talk too loud! Some of the men among us must be listening, her father cautioned between clenched teeth.

Don’t forget what we discussed in the room, honey, Decontee whispered. If they ask your name—and I mean your tribe—just say you are black American and you’ve been here with your family for a long time, okay?

I haven’t forgotten, Deck, Peter assured her, even though my heart is still in my throat lest someone recognize me.

Let’s leave it to God. I know he won’t let us down, Decontee said firmly.

I have faith, Daddy, Sarah said, buttressing her mother’s encouraging words.

Well, I hope it works in wartime, my child, her father said.

It works all the time, her mother said.

Decontee’s words echoed