B009G3EPMQ EBOK by Anthony Flacco, Jessica Buchanan, Erik Landemalm Page B

systematic method of terrorizing an entire population. The dark purpose was to effectively stigmatize the captured children among their own communities and ruin their family base, traumatizing them so thoroughly that they never wanted to go home again. Shackles weren’t needed; the kids had nowhere left to go.
    I knew of few places other than that orphanage that were making any serious attempt to reacquire and rehabilitate children who’d seen every source of hope snatched away. For most of these very young people, their grim situation was amplified by a drug regimen forced on them and sustained until addiction took over and drove them on its own. Getting away from the drugs was only the first step of their long recovery, if there was to be one at all.
    After an awkward and confusing first day, we joined some of the student chaplains in their hut back at the compound during the single hour of electrical power provided for the night. They were fans of the TV series 24 and made it plain this was how the hour of electricity would be spent. It was so odd to see that very American program in this place, when the locations on the screen were as foreign to this audience as another planet.
    I’ll never know what sort of headway Susan and I might have made at the orphanage. That night, in the stillness and darkness of that isolated place, automatic weapons fire abruptly broke outall around us. Chaos exploded and bullets flew everywhere in the darkness. The explosions of gunfire were so loud the sound itself was painful. The armed men of the compound grabbed their weapons and began returning fire, creating an instant war zone.
    Instinct took over. Susan and I pressed our bodies flat against the ground and crawled through the darkness to a hut farther away from the shooting. We lay there in stark terror while gunfire and screaming went on all around us. Somebody whispered that the attackers were from the Lord’s Resistance Army.
    This meant we were under attack from fighters who were known to torture and kill their victims. The gunfire raged around us while the defending soldiers put up a stiff fight. We were unable to move. There was nothing to do but wait and hope the defenders were up to the job. If the LRA soldiers overran the place and took prisoners, they would undoubtedly consider women like Susan and me interlopers in their struggle. After all, we were there to aid an organization whose mission was to draw fighters away from their “army.” They would almost certainly want to set a public example in the way they killed us.
    I am alive only because the attackers were either driven back or stole what they were after and departed. We escaped the gunfire by lying low, and learned many of the children ran off into the wilderness to escape being kidnapped again. At that time there was no way of knowing how many would be reacquired by the LRA or killed trying to run, or how many might live to return. The aftermath of the adrenaline overdose left me nauseated and shaky.
    Welcome to Africa, Great and Heroic Saviors. What now?
    It later turned out that the attackers didn’t seem committed to killing or torturing, but just fired into the air to scare people away and then raided the compound’s supplies—the local version of grocery shopping. They were successful in that no bodies were left behind, so they would have every reason to repeat the raid at will. It seemed plain that our capture was only a matter of time—afterall, we were just two schoolteachers with no combat training and no weapons. My first attempt at volunteer work in Africa turned out to be sadly brief.
    Susan was able to contact the pilot of our puddle jumper and arranged for us to evacuate the next morning. It was completely disorienting to be retreating so soon, but our mission was to attempt to nurture and educate orphaned kids, not engage in combat with gangs of marauders. Even trained soldiers hate to go up against fighters who are drugged into