This Space Intentionally Left Blank

I cannot attempt to creatively and imaginatively respond to a book such as A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah. The book screams quietly, yet passionately about violence, war, suffering, and anger infused with hope. Any thought or insight from my heart pales in comparison to the power of Ishmael’s prose. Thus, I am left with the things that intrigue me, haunt me in my dreams, and continue to claw at the fabric of my being. I don’t anticipate them letting up anytime soon.

To begin, memoirs and good nonfiction have always been my favorite genres to read. I still think about Kaffir Boy by Mark Mathabane which is a horrifying account of a boy growing up in the midst of the South African aparteid, as well as The Glass Castle by Janette Walls which centers on a young girl’s will to survive in a broken, transient family with parents who chose to be homeless. Perhaps it’s that “other” drama that renders my own pain a dull ache instead of a persistent sharp knife blade on the edge of my heart. Stories like A Long Way Gone inspire gratitude and educate readers about life on the outskirts of their own small world. Memoirs open windows and doors and eyes and ears to fears, realizations, and change.

Adding to the emotional impact of the events in Ishmael’s childhood are his intense words. A gifted writer, Ishmael remembers pieces of his past that others in the same situation might be too numb to notice. He colors his memories with a pallet of personified paints that make the images come alive. The forest in particular has a life of its own, richly described by Ishmael: “The branches of the trees looked as if they were holding hands and bowing their heads in prayer” (119). The forest sees suffering and keeps silent secrets. The natural world plays a significant role in Ishmael’s experience, as the trees were the company he kept most often. There are countless beautiful moments nestled in the cracks of a broken world: “The sun’s brightness painted our shadows on the ground” (116). It was often the night and the weather that saved Ishmael and his friends from certain death: “The path had ended, but we kept running until the sky swallowed the sun and gave birth to the moon. The bullets continued to fly behind us, but now their redness could be seen as they pierced through the bushes. The moon disappeared and took the stars with it, making the sky weep. Its tears saved us from the red bullets” (97-98).

It’s one thing to know about civil wars and child soldiers but quite another to read the firsthand, torturous details. Fueled by anger, sadness, and pain, children picked up guns and vowed to revenge the deaths of their siblings and parents. The bodies of young children were poisoned with drugs, keeping them awake for weeks at a time and transforming them into killing machines. At one point Ishmael even says “killing had become as easy as drinking water. My mind had not only snapped during the first killing, it had also stopped making remorseful records” (122). Their innocent childhoods were stolen from them and replaced with something less than human.

I hope one day to go to Africa. My parents have been to Ghana twice, which is only two countries to the east of Sierra Leone. They’ve fallen in love with the culture and the people. I dream of going to South Africa and volunteering at Boikrabelo, a community that models itself like a traditional African village and has an orphanage, a school, a medical clinic, and an organic farm. Education and sustainability are high priorities in a country where 1.2 million AIDS orphans struggle each day to survive. Reading A Long Way Gone reminded me of all of the work that still needs to be done in this country and around the world. I have plenty of emotion to spare. I need to remind myself to channel this energy and passion to those places that need it. I admire Ishmael for his eloquent strength, honesty, and quiet resilience. He is a true survivor.