I was in the basement of a high rise office building near Connecticut and K Streets, NW when I felt the swaying and tremors caused by the earth quake. I looked around and perhaps may have mentally captured what was occurring around me. Then, I may have frozen in my spot when everyone started running. I heard rounds of screams, and continued to look around. Then I heard more screams. It was at that moment I gathered my belonging and headed for the escalator that was already shut down. I used the escalator as stairways to reach the upper ground level of the building.
Outside the building, I scanned the many high rise buildings that have provided shades to pedestrians along this street. Now people dreaded the thoughts of enjoying the comfort the buildings provided, and were fleeing the vicinity. There was a large crowd outside the building, and more and more people kept running from one part of the streets to the next. People were trying to avoid the high rise buildings, which is impossible unless you were completely outside of that part of K and Connecticut Streets.
To look at the throng of people on the street was like watching a high current wave on the ocean. All I could think about was my reaching my son. I tried calling his school, but my phone services were down. I tried calling friends, and colleagues, but I realized my phone, like most others were not receiving or sending out calls. Then my thoughts ran to the beginning of the war, and how families became separated just by the mere fact of being slightly away from one another for a brief moment. The thought of being disconnected from my friends and love ones was unbearable. I tried even harder, hitting harder the key pad on my phone to reach Wanda White, Angie, Baba, Mrs. Blackwell, James Fasuekoi, Thomas Toteh, my sister Munah, among others, but without success. I even tried sending a text to Sarah Morrison’s USA cell, even thought she is out of the country, but the text wouldn’t go through. My hope was that she would get my text upon arrival in the USA. I looked around me, aside a few persons who had highly advanced phones and handheld gadgets, many of us appeared frustrated by our inability to connect with families or friends. 
Then I heard shouts that there would be another quake, my mind went into a dazed. I couldn’t bear the thoughts of being further separated from the ones I love. I sincerely felt that the situation I was in at that moment was a replay of the senseless war that engulfed my country for over a decade; or my years in exile when I was forcibly separated from my family, my friends and loved ones because of my journalistic practices in highlighting human rights abuses carried out by the Charles Taylor’s regime against citizenry of my country, and my work in promoting human dignity. I knew I didn’t want to be separated from my son. I hope he was also not frightened by the tremors, or the frantic manners others were responding to the situation.
I quickly dived in the first public transportation that came my way. As we rode on the bus, I was stunned by the throng of people on the streets of Washington, DC. The human occupation on the streets of District of Columbia reminded me of many places that are almost always crowded, including Waterside market in Monrovia, especially during the holiday seasons, and the Night markets in Taiwan that is a popular tourist destination. Many people visiting the People’s Republic of Taiwan visit the Night Markets to have a taste of Taiwanese food, for entertainment and to do lots of shopping. However, unlike Waterside, and Taiwan’s night market where I was in a somewhat joyous mood, our presence on the streets of DC today was primarily because of the 5.9 earthquake that struck, covering 83 miles southwest of the city. The quake forced the evacuation of government buildings, including the White House, Pentagon and Capitol, and shaking homes and structures up and down the East Coast, and was felt from Atlanta to New England, and as far west as Ohio and Michigan, according to reports.
Offices were abandoned, customers and staff fled businesses, most schools evacuated buildings, and parents were anxious to pick up children from schools.
As I looked out, I saw on the faces of people, white, black, yellow, the physically fit, the handicapped, the employed, and unemployed, the homed, and homeless, and people from various religions, including the ones wearing veils, and or hijab, those wearing robes, yarmulke or kippah; we all carried a face of apprehension.
Already, Washington, DC is a beacon for visitors. During the summer, people from all over the world flock DC. At the moment, officials in the district are preparing for the dedication of the Martin Luther King’s memorial scheduled for August 28th on the National Mall. The dedication of the memorial is scheduled to take place on the 48th anniversary of the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom when King delivered his historic “I Have a Dream” speech. The effort to build the memorial took more than 25 years. In addition to residents, DC is also a host to tourists, and civil rights leaders and advocates, who are interested in witnessing the event.
While I stared at the faces of the crowd, I heard someone near say, “Look, this is probably what Martin Luther King wanted – everyone to come together.” Another voice said, “Maybe this is a sign since his memorial will be dedicated in a few days.” I turned away and realized that police had set up a barricade ahead. The bus I rode came to a standstill. Fire fighters and ambulances tore the streets- up and down, left and right. And the bus I sat on remained in that spot for more than two hours. Riders were screaming, and then I started experiencing a piercing headache. And a sharp pain ran through my back. The noise level on the bus continued to escalate. More and more passengers got on the bus, and many more got off. Later, I got off the bus, and started walking, aware that I could not cover the distance to my son’s school before the end of the day. I decided that, well it is better to do something, than sit idly. As I walked among the throngs of people on the street, I scanned the streets for a faster means of transportation, but taxis were completely off the streets. I was tempted to wave down one of the many police cars that went up and down the streets. After all, my reaching my son was an emergency. I couldn’t call anyone for help because my phones were down.
I kept walking, and calculating the distance I had covered. So far, it appeared I had covered a distance that was equivalent to walking from Broad Street to Freeport in Monrovia. Will I reach my son early enough? I started feeling alone, and the reality of being alone was not as piercing as the thought.
Later, I spotted a taxi cab far ahead. I stopped, and watched the taxi as it came closer and closer, waiting for the right moment to signal the driver to make a U turn. But just as I opened my mouth, two men nearby shouted for the taxi. I turned around and looked at them. “Damn, they just cut me off, I thought.” But deep down, I knew it was theirs. As soon as the taxi swerved around, the guys, apparently foreigners from Europe, asked the driver if I could also hop in. The driver agreed, and I gave my destination to the driver, and asked how my fare would be calculated. The driver, an African still shaken by the quake he witnessed near the Dulles International airport, said he would accept whatever I give him. I thank God and then once more thanked the guys.
The driver talked incessantly about what he saw, and his experienced, while the two guys made small contributions. I was quiet, and apparently still shaken by the thought of just what would have happened to me in that high rise basement. Then I heard what sounded like beeping sound coming from the car. We all sat up, looking around. I turned to the driver and asked, “Just what is that sound.” He turned to me and said, “It is you. You are not wearing your seat belt.” And for the first time in many hours a small smile lit my face. The two guys in the back heave a big sigh of relief. I then realized that probably, just probably the impact of the senseless war in Liberia, and the pains of being away from friends and loved ones during my life in exile would remain a part of my life forever.
