Not Just Rape

Estee picked up his story where he left off. Like all the others, he seemed anxious to share. I've so often said to my interviewees, "Don't say anything you don't want to," but they all brush my comment away. I think they're relieved to find someone they can share these horrors with. I imagine it doesn't work to talk to each other because they've all been through it. Every single person here has faced significant trauma—and I don't mean just a little thing like bancruptcy or the death of one child or a single act of rape. I mean a decade or more of non-stop terror and loss and shame and lack.

Back to the story: The boy had a gun to his head, and Estee considered overpowering him. But then what? He was held hostage in a rebel-occupied village. Even if he got out of this house, he'd never get past the others outside. He waited. And prayed. Every time he heard a gun shot, his body jolted. I watched Estee's face reveal the fear he was recalling.

The man who owned the home in which Estee was hostage, and who had joined the rebels, recognized Estee as the pastor; when the man heard an execution was in order, he decided to help free the pastor. Estee expected to die as he was led to the gate, and was shocked to discover himself free. He found his family back and they lived in the bush, living on berries and roots. Even when other villagers returned to the abandoned village after the rebels left, Estee kept his family hidden. The risk was too great. The memories were too horrid.

"I don't know what was the worst," he said. "The fear? My daughter was 15, and if she were found..." his voice trailed off. "The waiting? I thought good news would never come. I thought the war would last forever." We sat in silence a moment. "The humility?" His voice broke. "The humility..."

I had composed myself thus far, but when this handsome, charismatic leader raised his head and pointed to the Bible—"It was the Psalms," he said, "that comforted me: 'Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.'"—I lost it. I wept. Right in front of Estee.

And all I had to do was listen. He had to live it.