"Saved" by French Paratroopers

This is the only photograph I have of me during those tumultuous several days following the "events," or uprising of the local population and the Zairian military, in September, 1991. I am in an African print dress in the middle, with a few white coated workers, surrounded by the armed rescue force. French paratroopers had been sent in to secure the downtown, which included the ferry across the river to Brazzaville, in the Republic of the Congo, for a massive evacuation of expatriates ("expats," or foreigners).

On the third day after the uprising, I had a late night visit from a convoy gathering the expatriates for evacuation. From Grains of Golden Sand:

"We walked across the institute compound to the waiting convoy of four vehicles that were rounding up expat families to spend the night in safehouses in town. They were to cross the river to Brazzaville in the morning. My friend nervously mentioned how dangerous it was in Kin and said I could leave with his group if I wished. His family had already evacuated.

"You shouldn't stay here,” he contended. “You need protection.”

I told him that I didn't feel threatened now that the situation, with the arrival of the French, looked safer. I needed to stay and take care of the animals—including his own dogs.

“Okay. But don't you have weapons for protection?” he asked. “Do you want me to get you some?”

“Sorry, no. Guns scare the bejeebers out of me. I hate the noise, and I'd shoot my foot off if I tried to fire one.”

We were nearing the convoy, and their headlights turned Jacques-Pierre's form into a large hulking bear. “Here, let me show you,” my friend persisted. “This is the piece I carry.”

With that, Mr. Boulet whipped out the tiniest pug-muzzled pistol I had ever seen. His paw of a hand completely encompassed the peashooter.

“I can leave this baby with you since I'm out of this God-forsaken place tomorrow.”

I had to stifle a snort. “No thanks. You keep it.”

Back at the apartment, I giggled for a half-hour about my scaredy-cat friend and his itty-bitty gun. It was great to laugh for the first time in what seemed like ages. I was certain that my own brand of protection delivered a far louder bark than his revolver's bite…er, nibble."