Guilty, Guilty, Guilty

At exactly 2 p.m. today, before a packed gallery at the Special Court for Sierra Leone (SCSL) in Freetown, the presiding judge, Canadian Pierre G. Boutet, began reading the verdict in the case against three senior commanders of the Revolutionary United Front. Commonly referred to as the RUF trial, it is the international community's attempt at bringing to justice members of the main rebel faction in Sierra Leone's decade long civil war.

Established in 2002 by the United Nations and the government of Sierra Leone, the SCSL's mandate is to "try those who bear the greatest responsibility" for the atrocities perpetrated during the conflict. Contrary to other ad hoc international tribunals, such as the ICTR (Rwanda) and ICTY (Yugoslavia), the SCSL relies on donor countries' voluntary contributions, not on regular UN dues, to operate. Canada is among the Court's major funders.

The joint trial of Issa Hassan Sesay, Morris Kallon, and Augustine Gbao opened in July 2004. Foday Sankoh, the RUF's notorious leader, was also indicted on several counts, but he died while in custody.

After 308 days of audiences, 171 witnesses, and 32,096 pages of transcripts, the three-judge panel was finally ready to share its findings with the Sierra Leone people and the world. The reading of the summary judgment took just under two hours. The full version is expected to total more than 600 pages.

Each defendant stood accused of 18 counts of crimes against humanity, war crimes, and other violations of international humanitarian law. Specific charges included murder, extermination, abduction, rape, mutilation, pillage, enslavement, forced marriage, forced labour, attacks on UN peacekeepers, and the widespread recruitment and use of child soldiers.



Issa Hassan Sesay: guilty on 16 counts.



Morris Kallon: guilty on the same 16 counts.



Augustine Gbao: guilty on 14 counts, with a dissent from judge Boutet on 13 of them.


The verdict is especially significant for the future prosecution of combatants in civil conflicts, where warfare systematically targets civilian populations.

Count 8 refers to forced marriage as an "other inhumane act" that is distinct from sexual slavery. Chief Prosecutor Stephen Rapp calls it "the bush-wife phenomenon" or "conscripting women in the role of consorts to rebels" and argued successfully that the practice should be considered a crime against humanity that goes beyond repeated rapes.

Count 15 makes it a war crime to attack personnel involved in humanitarian assistance or peacekeeping. The SCSL and the International Criminal Court (ICC) are the only international tribunals to explicitly define this crime. Proceedings have begun at the ICC to arrest those responsible for last year's killing of 7 international peacekeepers in Sudan. Last week's bombing of 11 peacekeepers from Burundi in Somalia could bring forward another case. Devastated as he was by the execution of 10 UN peacekeepers in Rwanda 15 years ago, Roméo Dallaire will likely welcome this RUF verdict.

The sentencing hearing will take place next month. Two to three weeks later, both sides will be invited to submit appeal notices. The appeal phase itself will begin shortly thereafter. It is anticipated that the Appeal Chambre will render its decision before the end of the year.

The convicted RUF officers will join 5 other detainees currently held in individual cells built within the fortified SCSL compound. Where they will serve the rest of their respective sentences remains undecided. The president of Sierra Leone has expressed the desire to have them relocated outside the country. In Africa, Benin, Mali, Rwanda, and Swaziland have said that they would consider incarcerating them. Negotiations are underway.

In view of the spectacularly violent acts committed during the civil war, and keeping in mind that the conflict ended a mere six years ago, the atmosphere in the courtroom was surprisingly calm. Not one outburst, not one arm raised either in protest or in celebration. When it was all over, people filed out quietly and it was difficult to discern any feeling on their stern faces.

Scarring a generation's soul, they know, will never be recognized as an indictable offence.

The Children of Yele

Yele sits at the geographical centre of SL, half-way on the dirt road linking the traffic hub towns of Makeni and Bo. The journey from Freetown takes approximately five hours. The village used to have electricity, but the infrastructure was destroyed during the civil war. As they swept through the area, the rebels torched all the nice houses, forcing their occupants to flee. Many never returned. At first glance, the place looks sad, faded, rickety...





Until you move in closer and you begin to notice them: The children of Yele. Everywhere, they seem to magically appear from behind doors and trees and clothes lines and abandoned cars. With dozens of smiling and waving kids calling out “apoto, apoto” (white person) it isn't long before Yele feels like a sprawling kindergarten.





They all want their picture taken, and go absolutely wild when seeing themselves on the camera screen.





Some like to pose... Others rush to extend their little hands to check out what white skin feels like... Or push to the front, where they are too irresistible not to be picked up...







A few look on attentively, approaching with caution...



SL has a fertility rate of 6.5 children per woman.

It also suffers from the highest maternal mortality rate in the world: 18 deaths for every 1,000 women giving birth.

The mortality rate for children under 5 is 282 deaths per 1,000 births. That means 28% of children do not live to the age of 5. Only 54% will make it to 40.

SL's public expenditure on health is 1.9% of GDP.

Like their children, mothers are happy to stop for pictures and show off their bouncy babies...









Interestingly, it is almost always the men who ask white women how many children we have. They strongly urge those of us who do not have any to procreate. "You must have at least one," they say. When I put the same question to them, the answer is never straightforward. They typically have several "pikins" from different women. I often inquire how old their children are. Responses commonly begin with "Well..." and include "about" and "I think" and other vague references.

Somehow, it is a little bit easier to empathize with the mothers...

Diving For Gold

The Tehya river flows through the geographical centre of SL. Also called Jong or Jangay, it is the lifeblood of the country’s heartland. It brings much needed water to the dry region’s valleys, irrigating the fields of Tonkolili District and helping the land deliver its small bounty of fruits, vegetables, and rice.

But in the dry season, when water levels drop, the Tehya, a natural boundary between the Temne and Mende tribes, reluctantly surrenders another precious resource. Hiding in the pale sands of the river bed lies a fine streak of gold dust.

Forever hopeful, chiseled villagers work the river with equal amounts of energy, craft, and patience. Six days a week, from 7 a.m. to 6 p.m., groups of three or four men and women collaborate in a rhythmic sequence of interlocking tasks. The men begin: While one paddles a dug-out canoe with a shovel, the other swims the short distance to the middle of the river. There, he dives to the bottom with a bucket, fills it with sand, and tugs on the bucket’s tether before gliding back to the surface. His partner pulls the bucket out of the water and empties the heavy contents around his feet. This process is repeated dozens of times until the sand is one load away from sinking the canoe.







The men then return to the shore, where they carefully deposit the compact cargo into the waiting women’s sifting pans.







For the next few hours, their agile hands shake and swirl the sand in a fluid, circular motion. Removing rocks and debris, tipping the pan from side to side, letting some water in, but not too much, they gradually clear the mud and extract the worthless pebbles until finally...



... appearing through a thin coat of black sand, a shimmer of gold dust rewards their efforts.



For the right to toil in the river, local authorities collect a weekly "water rate" of 5,000 leones (approximately $2) per person, a fee that is not prohibitive. Determination and some good fortune can yield enough gold dust to make a small profit. Buyers typically come from Freetown, where the re-sell market is fickle but much larger than in provincial towns.

This relatively small quantity, the product of several days of diving and panning, may be worth up to $200, depending on the going price of gold. Divided by three or four, it makes for a meager income, but it feeds children and buys a few necessities.



This modest entrepreneurial spirit may soon be drowned out by external forces on a quest for higher profits and rising market shares.

Milestone Mining Co., a subsidiary of the British Target Resources Plc., is in the process of applying for a prospecting license on the Tehya. Introducing commercial mining could dramatically alter the river's environment and destroy its fragile economic potential for local villagers.

At a community meeting on Feb.15, the company's CEO, Dr. Nissim Levy, tried to reassure a skeptic audience. He promised the area's Member of Parliament, the deputy minister of marine resources, and a room full of residents that Milestone would hire local workers, compensate those whose crops would have to be forfeited, and pave the dirt road leading into Yele, the closest town to the river.

After the meeting, Sunthuba Bai Osara, the Paramount Chief, himself a former mining engineer, would only say that negotiations were ongoing. He urged all parties to keep asking questions, and invited the mining executives to return for further consultations with the people.

Milestone already has exclusive prospecting licenses for gold covering a total of 520 km2 in the Tonkolili District alone.

Meet Alpha

You would not know it from looking at him, but Alpha is 8 years old. In fact, he had previously told me he was 4 and then 5. But his father, Amadou, says he was born on Christmas Day 2000. His mother soon abandoned them.

After his wife left, Amadou met another woman with whom he had a girl they called Tambeh. Even though she is younger than Alpha, Tambeh is noticeably taller. She is very shy and doesn’t talk much. Sometimes, she smiles.



The family lives in the village of Lakka, steps away from the beautiful beach that attracts a steady flow of ex-pats on weekends. To contribute to the household income, Alpha walks up and down the shore selling tiny baskets made by his dad. Whenever there are white people around, he can be seen, his little capped head bobbing along the shore, gingerly approaching sunbathers in the hope that they will part with 10,000 leones (about $3.50) for one of the delicately woven baskets. With his bright eyes and endearing smile, he is the most charming little boy I have ever met. Anywhere.

Last week, Amadou invited me to come visit their house, so today, I accompanied them back to the village. I was prepared for poverty and poverty is what I encountered. Their small shack is made of bits and pieces of flimsy materials, covering a dirt floor that must become a mud bath in the rainy season. But technically, they are not homeless, and they manage to eat every day.



Inside the shack are an open sitting area, Amadou's workshop, and a kitchen with pots and pans around a wood fire on the ground.



At night, the family retreats to a single bedroom they rent in a sort of boarding house that stands close by. The parents sleep on a thin mattress. The kids share a straw mat, a small sheet, and a pillow. The family's clothing hangs from the ceiling.





According to UNICEF, 69 million children are engaged in child labour in Sub-Saharan Africa. Alpha is one of them. Should he be spending his afternoons selling souvenirs under the hot sun? Should his dad be reported to the SL police's Family Support Unit? Is Alpha being exploited? How else could he be spending his time?

The other kids in the village play in the dirt among the chickens and stray dogs. Some just sit in the shade of the two stalls where colourful fabrics blow in the wind and wood carvings rise from the sand. Meanwhile, Alpha learns to socialize and interact with strangers. The owners of the few bars and restaurants know him. Because he is not begging, they let him mingle with their customers. He is often given some water or a bite to eat. He learns new English words.

Amadou listens to him when he talks, and Alpha seeks out his father's hand when they walk together. He says he and his sister go to school during the week. He can count and spell and sing riddles and a song about safety precautions when crossing the road. So I believe him.

What the future holds for poor children like him is unclear. But for now, with his friends, and under the watchful eye of the community, Alpha appears happy. Just look at him.