When native Ugandan Susan Sharon Angom joined International Medical Corps as a health management officer in northern Uganda’s Pader district, she hoped that by helping provide emergency health and nutrition services to internally displaced people in the camps, she could play a role in relieving the suffering of her countrymen. After all, their ordeals were her ordeals; in 1996, while sleeping in her school dormitory, Sharon was kidnapped by rebels with the Lord’s Resistance Army. Here is her harrowing account:
“It was Wednesday 9th October 1996. Uganda was celebrating its 34th Independence Day when the rebels stormed our school, St. Mary’s College-Aboke Girls Secondary School. I was in grade Senior Three and 16 years old.
There had been rumors of rebel movements in the northern part of the district. It was at around half past one in the morning when I was suddenly woken up by the sound of breaking glass and torches flashing in the dormitory. ‘Get up and open the door!’ were the commands from both male and female rebels.
When we realized that these were rebels, mainly from the language they spoke (Acholi) and the way they commanded us to open the doors, the girls rushed under their bunk beds. I tried to crawl under my bed but the whole area was filled up with students. I decided to remain seated on my bed.
Our windows had iron bars, and even after breaking the glass the rebels couldn’t get through. So they started digging out one of our windows for the main entrance room. It took them nearly an hour to remove the whole window frame. When it was finally out, they jumped in through the large hole and opened the door to the main entrance room, which led to two dormitories. Some rebels started tying up students in the other dormitories while students in our dormitory remained hidden under the beds.
A rebel entered our dormitory (Dorm four), switched on the light and ordered students to come out of their hiding places. He started lifting up the beds one by one and ordered the girls out.
Outside, in the main entrance, we found rebels, both males and females ranging from about 12 to 40, tying up my classmates.
It was at this point I realized the t-shirt I was wearing was wet with blood. I had cut my lower lip when I hit it on the edge of the bed. My right leg was swollen and bleeding from dodging the man in the dormitory who carried a gun, a big stick and a torch.
In the main entrance, we were told to squat down in silence while the rebels continued tying us up. A rope was tied around one person’s waist and passed on to another person’s waist. We were tied like slaves. Some girls were screaming.
A Long, Terrifying Journey, By Barefoot
At around 3am we started the long journey to an unknown destination, which we later nicknamed “The Long Distance Trade.”
At the main gate, we found rebels looting drugs from the school dispensary. One stole a stethoscope, mistaking it for a Walkman, and later dumped it complaining that it was broken.
Once outside, they grabbed our rosaries and watches. We were ordered to begin moving. It was very dark and cold and we walked in the mud in our bare feet. The ropes were hurting our waists because whenever one girl slipped and fell, the rope would tighten painfully around our waists.
At around six in the morning, we heard gunshots just about 500 meters away. I was scared, thinking we were entering an ambush. When my fellow captives started running away, I struggled with my colleagues to tear the rope. We succeeded and took off running for our lives. But no sooner had we fled than the rebels came hunting for us with their dogs. My friend was slapped. We were told to get back in line and that if we tried to run again we would be killed. The rebels were angry. They lined us up in two rows and told us to walk between the rows. Girls were kicked at random by the rebels.
I was finally untied at around nine in the morning by a female rebel who gave me a bar of blue laundry soap to keep for her. At around ten o’clock the headmistress’ assistant, Sister Rachele Fassera came, along with one of our classroom teachers, John Bosco Ocen. They had crossed bushes, swamps, forests with us, pleading with the rebel leader, Mr. Lagira to release us.
In the afternoon, we were all assembled at a railway crossing where we were separated from other captives and counted. There were 139 of us students. Mr. Lagira, was planning to release us, but this was interrupted by an army helicopter flying over us. So we were ordered to move on. Meantime, there were ground attacks by soldiers and a rebel was shot.
That evening we were gathered together at a home with a large banana plantation. We were told to sit in rows. The rebels selected bigger girls at random and told them to sit aside. I was picked on two occasions by different rebels and asked where I came from, where my parents were, their occupations and many more.
I told them that I was an orphan from Lira district in northern Uganda. I was told to sit down. A third time another rebel picked me but just as he was questioning me a helicopter hovered over us. We were told to take refuge under the banana plantation and remove all red and white clothing as they could be easily identified from above.
After that, the rebels selected 30 girls who they said would help carry their luggage to their headquarters and later would be released. But one of the commanders told us they would be taking these 30 girls to LRA leader Joseph Kony, and that we should go back to school and remain there. ‘If Kony orders us to come and collect you,’ he said, ‘you should be waiting for us at your school.’
At these words, girls started weeping that either we should all be taken to the bush or released. This was because of the love we had for each other. But because of all the weeping, the rebels got angry and carried out serious beatings at random. Luckily I escaped the canes.
Released, But Not Out of the Woods
It was at around half past seven in the evening when we were finally released. Mr. Lagira gave us a torch and we traveled back in silence, tracing the routes we had used. We lost track of our way because of darkness and because we had previously passed through dangerous forests and swamps. We also were afraid that there were landmines.
We came to a small hut where we all took shelter, but it was too small for the 111 of us. We all remained standing and were so packed that some girls soon started suffocating and fainting.
John Bosco had by then gone to look for someone who could direct us home. He returned with the area Local Councilor (LC1) who took us to his home, gave us water to drink and offered us a large hut to sleep in. He laid mats on the floor and made some fire in the room to keep us warm since we had no blankets. The rest of his household as well as the people of that village had all gone into hiding.
The next morning he fetched water from the borehole for us to wash our faces. He then led us to a railway station about two kilometers away. When people saw us coming, at first they mistook us for rebels and ran. But once they realized who we were they sympathized with us and told us to pick oranges and guavas from their homes.
At the station, one of our teachers, Mr. Ogwang Geoffrey, arrived on a bicycle. He was so delighted to see us that he rode back to school announcing to everyone along the road that “our girls are back!” He was later killed, along with his son, by LRA rebels during another attack on his village.
News spread about us and parents came to get their daughters. The first parent to arrive on a bicycle was the father of a girl who had remained in the bush. He wept so bitterly that all the students started crying.
Many other parents had gathered at our school, including my guardian, Rev. Fr. Alberto Rienzner, who had driven all the way from our village to check whether his “children” were back. He had sat praying in front of the school the whole morning. He was so glad that we were all back.
He drove us home where I found my grandparents together with others waiting to receive us. A Thanksgiving mass was offered for us. We kept praying for our classmates who had remained in the bush that they may also be released as the rebels had told us. Most of them escaped, some have given birth to children themselves, but a few are still missing or in captivity.
Our prayers are that the war in northern Uganda ends and we see the girls and everyone else back home.
For weeks after the kidnapping, Sharon was terrified at night and of sudden noises. She and some of her classmates later transferred to another school, where some students nicknamed them “rebel wives” and “residues,” and there was constant fear that rebels would return to kidnap them again.
Today, Sharon considers herself lucky to have survived. “I could have been raped, killed during a crossfire, died of starvation or fatigue or even had limbs amputated as punishment. I am grateful I am back and healthy.”