Christian Jungersen - The Exception

Iben is lying on her side. She is very still, but now and then she stretches out her index finger and pushes at the beetle, as if it were a button and pressing it could stop something from happening. She knows that the others are awake too, but none of them speaks.

She has never felt fear like this. It is not like a sudden shock, a passing state. The hostages could be taken out and shot in five minutes, or in ten, or in fifteen. Half a night has passed, but the shots might still be fired at any time. Nothing changes. There is no let-up in the awareness of danger, only increasing fear.

The fever makes Iben limp and exhausted, but even so, she only manages to sleep for short breaks. The others have had a worse time of it, though. Yesterday she had to clear away what Roberto had thrown up when he was groggy with fever. It seems that the Luos regard her as stronger than the rest and now they turn to her when they need to address the captives.

What does this mean for her chances of survival?

Four other aid workers from another section of SEC had been taken not that long ago. The negotiations to free them had ground to a halt and the hostage-takers decided to shoot one of their prisoners, and then one more, before they agreed to let the other two go.

Who from their group would the Luos pick first? Would it be the prisoner whom they regarded as the strongest?

But she couldn’t have left Roberto to lie there in his own vomit. Something had to be done. They all have to keep drinking because they are losing fluid fast, but it has meant that their only alternative to thirst is to continually boost their gut infections.

She washed the vomit off his face and helped him out of the hut when he had to go out to the trench. Cathy and Mark, who are partners back home in Illinois, held each other close all through the first evening, whispering how much they loved each other. Now they lie apart without moving, staring into the air or at the wall. Iben isn’t sure how ill they really are. Their stillness could be a strategy they’ve worked out to keep the guards from getting angry with them. On the other hand, it could be instinctive. Shock and fear might have paralysed them, not illness.

Iben must have slept after all, because the next time she looks at the doorway, light glimmers around the edges of the cloth covering. The windowless hut is always filled with darkness. Only the spaces around the cloth allow air in. The shafts of sunlight hurt their eyes whenever someone pushes the cloth aside to get to the latrine.

They hear men walking past the hut. Many men.

Their movements seem calm and nobody is shouting, so presumably the huddle of dwellings is not under attack.

None of the prisoners has said out loud: ‘When will they kill us?’ or: ‘Who will be killed first?’

From the beginning, Iben has thought that they will hold back from killing the hostages they like best, which means it’s important to build a personal relationship with as many of them as quickly as possible. The trouble is, it is hard to seem congenial to a gang of hostage-takers when you are weakened by diarrhoea, fear and lack of sleep.

The men out there are singing hymns.

The prisoners’ eyes were covered when they were driven to this place, but on her trips to the trench Iben has calculated that their hut is part of a group housing about twenty people. All of them seem to be men. There are definitely no children.

Iben recognises many of the hymns from her father’s two LPs, sung by an English church choir. He played them every Christmas.

They sing harmonies in their deep voices, sounding surprisingly organised, as if a conductor were leading them. Iben decides to join in their singing. At the end of each hymn, she repeats one of the verses loudly. She wants to make sure that the men outside can hear her.

It works. She had felt certain religion would be their soft spot.

Now Odhiambo, one of the guards who wasn’t present at the hostage-taking in Nairobi, comes in to fetch her. They don’t want to prevent a believer in Jesus from taking part in their service.

Iben hasn’t eaten for more than twenty-four hours, but she doesn’t feel hungry. Her fever is going down a little. She is strong enough to walk straight, even though her legs still feel shaky, and if she squints her eyes she can stand the piercing sunlight.

She is outside. A warm wind flutters in her filthy clothes. The smells are not like the stench of the hut. Here is light to see by. Here are colours and trees.

The men have formed a loose circle. These fifteen or so men should care a little more for her once this service is at an end. They start singing again.

Cross of Jesus, cross of sorrow,

Where the blood of Christ was shed,

Perfect Man on Thee did suffer,

Perfect God on Thee has bled!

O mysterious condescending!

O abandonment sublime!

Very God himself is bearing

All the sufferings of time!

Iben can smell the bush around them. It smells of dry, crumbling wood.

She steals a quick glance at the Luo men’s weaponry. They all seem to have machine guns as well as knives and all within reach. They must fear an attack from outside the village, because they surely don’t think any of their prisoners has the strength to fight off the guards and run away into the wilderness?

An older man leads both the singing and the reading of lessons. He wears black-nylon trousers and a chain round his neck with an amulet knot.

Perhaps illness has weakened Iben, because the sound of these grave, worshipful voices touches a raw nerve and the singing moves her deeply.

Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail,

In Thee do we trust, nor find Thee to fail.

Or is it because she has been forced to stay in the dark for so long? She manages to blink the tears away from her eyes. Something has gripped her, perhaps a combination of the singing, the words and being able to look far into the distance.

Maybe these baobab trees are the last natural thing I will ever see, she thinks.

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free

Thine own from Satan’s tyranny;

From depths of hell Thy people save,

And give them victory over the grave.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

The prayers between the hymns are more difficult to follow, but Iben mumbles her own words in Danish. Here, outside in the light, she can see how depressed the men are. No one knows how this will end. After all, two of their friends have already died.

The moment the service is finished, Iben begins to speak warmly about the injustices done to the Luo tribe. Thinking ahead, she had reasoned that this would be her best chance of being allowed to remain outside for a while. And, maybe, to get to talk to someone.

Five of the men gather around her. They all agree and work themselves up into quite a state. Having to take hostages to make their point troubles them. Iben asks Omoro directly if he was a friend of the driver who died yesterday.

Yes. She asks about the friendship.

The others are still listening. Iben tries to be genuinely amicable towards all of them. She feels pale, light-headed, but hopefully they won’t notice. If the men know what’s good for them they should pack her off to the hut again. Letting her get this far shows how inexperienced they are.

Iben remembers that the first time the Hamburg reservists were ordered to kill the inhabitants in a small Jewish town, each man in the battalion had to escort one Jew to the place of execution in the forest. Once there, he had to shoot the prisoner and then return to get another Jew. These minutes alone with the victim, walking along the forest path, maybe exchanging a few words, were enough to make it much harder to kill and many had given up. Others were plagued by terrible nightmares afterwards.