During the days after my return from Sierra Leone there were several topics that I just wasn't quite ready to talk about. My old friend Sheku was one of them.

Twenty-eight years ago this past November I spent my first night in Foria. I was alone, for my family had gone back to stay in another village because there were no beds in our "new" house. I stayed behind to construct the waterbed frame for my wife and I and to make some arrangements for our two children. I labored mightily that day, using only a hand saw and hand drill on some tropical hardwood that wasn't completely dry. At the end of the day I was sweaty, dirty and hungry. I don't really remember if I had thought through where I was going to bathe, eat or sleep. But I do remember Sheku. He led me to a stream where I could wash and I remember eating my first meal in Foria with Sheku on his porch.

During the next five years we shared many meals and if I had a "best friend" during then, it would have been Sheku. He was in his thirties, I was in my twenties. He had two wives, I had one. He was Muslim, I was Christian. Nevertheless, we were close. During those times he seemed to be prospering. His rice farm was a model farm, his pineapple plantation brought in a nice income on the side. He never failed to stop by to greet, but had a sense of when we needed privacy. He never used our relationship inappropriately. When I said good-bye in 1985, I felt that Sheku, like Foria, and the surrounding region were going to enjoy brighter days. And so I left with hardly a second thought as to what would happen to Sheku. Little did I know ... .

A decade later, the second and far more brutal wave of Sierra Leone's civil war swept through Foria. During the first wave a rebel army had overrun the village, but did not stay. Sometime during the late 90s they came again, but this time the rebels occupied Foria. A force of over 300 "soldiers" stayed in Foria for over a year. Virtually everyone fled the village, especially young boys who were likely to be abducted to serve in the rebel army. Sheku's only son, Foday, fled to Guinea. Sheku, his two wives and their female children fled to their pineapple farm. There they stayed for over a year in a hut made of palm branches, while their house in town was occupied by rebel soldiers. The soldiers stole everything the family owned. Sheku was left unharmed because he regularly brought fruit from his garden and gave it to the soldiers. This was no ordinary army, it was a band of thugs with no supply lines, that stole whatever it could find to feed itself. They kept the local people under control through countless acts of brutality.

Amazingly, Sheku and many others from Foria survived those horrible days, but they paid a terrible price. Today they are worse off than ever. The road leading to Foria is eroded and uncared for. Consequently, there is no commerce. No commerce means no market for Sheku's abundant pineapples and no fertilizer for his rice. His home, built while I was in Foria, now looks worn and dilapidated. Sheku is probably around 60, though he says he's 80. With no sons to help on the farm, Sheku must do all the heavy labor himself. His rice fields are now filled with weeds and the crop is much thinner than in the past. His wives worry that if he should die, who would they turn to? Twice while I was there they pulled me aside to beg me not to forget them.

This time I made a vow to Sheku not to forget them. I gave him the bracelet I had worn for so long as we prepared to go to Sierra Leone. I told him that the bracelet would be a reminder that I won't forget him this time. I am fortunate to have a job and an income. I can spare $100-a fortune to Sheku. I can make a difference and this time I intend to!