by Omari Jackson
The young man was nearly 18 years old. He was armed with an AK-47 assault rifle, similar to many others who joined a rebellion on December 24, 1989. By all outward appearances, this young man meant business. He spotted me out of a crowd of 15 other young men and asked me to step out from the rest of the group. I obeyed his command and moved quickly to where he has asked me to stand.
Regarding me in silence, he announced to everyone present that I might be a soldier of the Armed Forces of Liberia (AFL). Unfortunately, the man holding the AK-47 was a member of the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL), a group fighting to overthrow the Liberian government and the Armed Forces of Liberia. As I pleaded, "I'm not a soldier," I quietly recited a prayer asking that God's will be done. Before I knew what had happened, a burst of gun fire exploded between my legs, which caused my legs and my body to shake painfully. I thought I was hit, but I was wrong.
To make sure I was not a soldier, the young commando, as the NPFL rebels were called, ordered me to remove my shoes and my socks. He wanted to determine whether I had boot marks on my legs, which would have been a sure sign that I was a soldier. Like a machine, I responded without even realizing what I was doing. The second round of gunfire went between my legs and I found myself sweating. Death seemed imminent. I was sure I was at the end of my life. All I could do was trust in God to deliver me.
The young armed man quickly surveyed the crowd of captives in Monrovia, which was the Liberian capital. Suddenly, a voice in the distance shouted, "He's not a soldier, but a journalist." This statement was shouted three more times before the soldier looked at me and said, "God bless you. Now, move out of here. Drenched with perspiration, I agreed with his command and moved out. It was a blessing from God. All of those present thanked God for me. When I arrived at my home, instead of rejoicing I broke down and wept. "God, why did you show me your undeserved kindness?, I asked. My tears flowed even more when I realized that many of my countrymen who had experienced similar encounters did not survive as I had.
On another fateful day, I was walking hurriedly through the streets of downtown Monrovia when an AFL soldier shouted that I report to him immediately. Obeying his instructions, I approached him. "Why should your face appear so serious if you are just walking through town?," the soldier asked. I simply stared at him, not knowing what to say. Then he startled me. "I suggest you go with me for interrogation, since it appears that you are happy with the downfall of the government," he said. I froze upon hearing his statement, knowing that many who accompanied soldiers to the Executive Mansion for an "interrogation" never came back alive. I was terrified, and offered him all the money I had at the time (which was about $5 U.S. dollars). Surprisingly, the money bought my freedom. Again, God's compassion was extended to me-a sinner.
By June 6, 1996 the NPFL had aligned themselves with ULIMO-K, another warring faction. They had begun unleashing attacks on Monrovia, which up until that time had been a "safe haven" under the control of a West African peacekeeping force. Lawlessness was rampant and chaos was everywhere. Seven weeks of battle had rendered the city ungovernable. Media houses had been burned and journalists were being sought. Many went underground. Peacekeepers were working diligently to establish control. During this time, however, warring factions were covertly trying to "eliminate" journalists who had become a nuisance.
On Saturday, July 13, 1996, a high-placed source at the NPFL hinted that my name had been mentioned during a meeting attended by some armed men. He advised me to leave Liberia immediately. I was not prepared to run away from my family, but I was aware of the ruthless nature of these "small soldiers." So, I decided to flee from Liberia and take refuge in neighboring Sierra Leone. After I had fled, I received information from back home that armed men had visited my home on the night of July 13, 1996. They were searching for me, but I was already gone. Again, God's saving grace had been sufficient for me.
After going through these experiences, I believed God had a plan for my life. I had a yearning for spiritual things and I wanted to search for the true God. I wanted to see if I would find Him, knowing He is not far from those who sincerely seek Him. I had begun my search for the most Holy God.
In Liberia, I had witnessed the hypocrisy of people who had attended various churches. They would support this faction or that faction. But I determined that Christ would not have taken sides in the war. I had been familiar with the Watchtower Society and its magazines, and I also knew a little about their teachings. I knew about the "good news" they proclaimed regarding the restoration of an earthly paradise, the Kingdom of God, and the effort that must be made by an individual to live in an approved standing before Almighty God. I was also aware that a disfellowshiped member is treated like an outsider in an attempt to make the offender realize the extent of his or her crime against God.
After fleeing from Liberia, I eventually wound up in the United States, in Atlanta, Georgia. One day, while I was riding Atlanta's public subway (MARTA), I was immersed in one of the Watchtower Society's magazines. As I read, a young man named Rob approached me and asked how I felt about the magazine. "It's great," I answered. Rob stated bluntly that he was a Christian and that the Watchtower Society was a cultic organization that did not preach Christ or the true gospel. I was surprised at his remark. Therefore, he promised to recommend an ex-Jehovah's Witness family who could tell me the truth about the Society. If I would meet with them, he said I would be able to differentiate between false and true Christians in the world today. The meeting was scheduled for a Friday evening.
Friday evening came and I found myself at the home of Joe and Helen Ortega. They had spent 20 years as members before leaving the organization, so I decided to avail myself to the opportunity before me, and to listen to the Ortegas to see if I could discern the truth of God. By all accounts, they overwhelmed me with their knowledge of the Watchtower Society and its teachings. By reading 1 Cor. 15:1-7, and several other verses, they were able to show me that the "good news" of God is contrary to what the Jehovah's Witnesses have been preaching. The Bible states it simply: "Christ died for our sins...that he was buried, and that he was raised to life after three days. 1 Cor. 15 says this is the gospel that saves us. The Ortega's also took me to 2 Cor. 11:1-4; 4:3-6; Romans 1:16; and 3:21. We also discussed the fact that a prophet whose prophecy fails just once cannot be trusted with future prophecies.
While I must confess my bewilderment over the revelation of all of these issues, they encouraged me and I accepted Christ as my personal savior with a heart-felt prayer. I was encouraged to read my Bible daily and ask God to direct my steps, and guide me to know him more fully. This was only the beginning.