CHAPTER 9BELLE YALLA
The weather was beginning to improve and, as a result, the company’s business picked up. I had flights scheduled almost every day. I tried to call Ana when I could but did not always have access to a phone. When I did find one it usually didn’t work.
It was a Friday afternoon when two policemen brought a prisoner, in handcuffs, to the airfield and said we had to fly him to Belle Yalla, a prison in the northeastern part of Liberia maintained by the government. It was a very bad place to go. Mike told them that we couldn’t fly him until Saturday—no airplanes were available. Then he asked what the man was charged with.
“Na yo binness,” said the policeman with the sergeant’s stripes on his shirt sleeve.
“Who is he? Where’s he from?” Mike asked.
“Dat too, na yo binness
