The Foreign Service Journal, July/August 2018

44 JULY-AUGUST 2018 | THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL where I felt very safe, with Marines at Post One; a place I believed was terrorist-proof. I was wrong. The choking smoke was toomuch. I knew I was going to die any minute. After fumbling for my badge in vain, I kept thinking howmy body could be identified. It botheredme. I had no peace of mind. I could not breathe or openmy eyes because of the dust and choking fuel smoke that filled up the building. I gave up and lay still. The cries of my colleagues trapped under debris were so painful that I startedmoving onmy belly, reaching out to those I could. I reached for one of my colleagues. His head had been shattered. By the time I reached where he was, he lay motionless. I kept moving, not inhaling toomuch. Suddenly I felt fresh air, and started crawling toward it. Little did I know I was moving toward the edge of one of the windows which had been blown off! I said to myself: “If I can die outside this building, my body will be found intact, and be easily identi- fied!” I have never understood why it was so important to me that my dead body be identified, maybe because my dad and family loved me so much that they would not have believed I was dead until they sawmy body. At the window, I saw the garden outside and decided it would be okay to die there. It was far down; but because I was going to die, I didn’t care where I landed. I closedmy eyes and threwmyself out of the window. I did not want to survive having seen the remains of what used to be my lovely colleagues. I landed, unconscious. I was shocked when I realized I was still breathing. I had a feel- ing that if the embassy had been attacked by terrorists, they would be waiting to kill the escapees. I wanted them to see I had jumped out so they could shoot me. Somehow, I was convinced I had frac- turedmost parts of my body but because I was still in shock I could not feel it. I could see I was bleeding but didn’t knowwhere the blood was coming from. However, death was not forthcoming. I decided to go over the perimeter fence with the help of the gar- dener, who had also been injured and was just lying on the ground. My fingers were bloody and too slippery to hold on to the iron bars of the fence. I managed to climb over it, jumped and landed on the pavement outside. I was bleeding, shaken and terrified. At that moment, one of the ambassador’s windows came falling down onme. At first I did not knowwhat it was. I thought it was a chopper sent to rescue us, but it was coming down onme! I rolled under one of the vehicles parked outside embassy parking … all this took just seconds. It fell with a big bang, and glass particles flew in all directions. I crawled out and started toward the embassy door, drawn by the cries of my colleagues trapped inside. When I realized I could walk, I moved fast. Before I could start up the stairs, I saw an American lady with two little girls crying for help. They were trying to run out of the fence, but there was no opening. I started toward where the kids were. Bob Godec, the economic attaché, and I lifted the little girls over the fence and handed them to Linda Coulson, the admin secretary. I do not knowwhat happened to their mother. I still don’t knowwhether she survived. I started toward the entrance when one of the Marines came out with a gun: “Stay out of the building! This building will collapse anytime.” I ignored him and continued. “George! Stay out! I will shoot you!” the Marine barked at me again. “People are dying inside, and there is no way I am going to stay here and watchmy colleagues die. Go ahead and shoot me!” I shouted back in anger. He gave up and let me enter the building. There is one thing that has been bothering me over the years: There was a man I helped out of the building, but I do not know whether he survived. The photograph appeared in Newsweek and Time of Aug. 17, 1998. He lost so much blood. I would be happy to know that he survived. After walking this man to the vehicle, I went to recover more victims. I managed to hang on to what was left of the staircase and reached the first floor. Because it was still smoky and dark inside the building, I started calling out, “Is anybody there? Can you hear me?” It was quiet except for the noise that was coming from outside. I felt devastated, sad and weak. I did not know who among my colleagues was still under the collapsed walls. I did not understand why those I was laughing with a few minutes ago could not answer me. I did not understand what had happened to my staff and the visitor from Kigali. At that moment, a woman’s voice called out my name: “George! George! Please help me!” Still on my knees, I moved in that direction, tapping bodies to feel any motion. “Yes, I got it!” I convinced myself. Without looking at the person I was pulling, I started for the stairs, forgetting it had collapsed. We fell, landing on top of Marine Post One! Rescuers came running and grabbed the person fromme. They wanted to take me too, but I refused. I told them I was okay. I raised my head to see if the person I had pulled out was the woman who had called to me. It was not; it was a man instead. I was happy I had saved him, but devastated. I have been waiting all these years for this woman to come and ask me why I did not help her! I still do not sleep when I think of that moment. I still hear it so clearly. One of the Marines, who had earlier warned me not to go into the building, spotted me and ordered the rescuers to take me to