Book Excerpt

ISBN: 0-595-51293-3 Copyright #TXu001038467 / 2002-03-29 Chapter 1:

 
The First Attempt

 
Before long, Joe and I began having problems. He began distancing himself from me. My thoughts turned every day to ways of escaping. The problem was how? I prayed that God would open another door to help me. Eventually a plan began to emerge not clearly at first; but it started with a trip to Georgetown, the capitol of Guyana.  How can you get there? I wonder. Then it dawned on me: hide your glasses. They will have to send you to town to get a new pair! I had been wearing glasses since I was 13. They wouldn’t deny me my vision!
 

I carefully buried my glasses deep inside of my trunk at the foot of our bed. It worked! They approved my request to go to Georgetown. Once I got there, I would find a way to reach the U.S. Embassy and tell them what was really happening in Jonestown. Jim had spies everywhere, especially inside the government, but I knew that as I had sought God & intervention, He would make a way for me. It was just as hard to trust your own family. My resolve was to be able to discern how the Spirit wanted me to move. So, feeling at peace with how I was to proceed, I readied myself for the journey. My faith was still strong and no matter what Jim said about him being God, I knew I had God in me also.

When the day arrived for me to leave, I kissed and hugged my son, Jakari. Right away a tingling went through me creating goose bumps. I had left him before in someone else care. But this time I knew what I was doing.

 The ride to the boat on the tractor trailer was rough as always. The thought of getting back on that boat was agonizing, and I did not look forward to the possibility of a restless sea. When we arrived at the dock, our boat the Cudjoe was as I remembered its wooden frame worn from her many journeys. Port Kaituma was surrounded by trees, and as I scanned the little town, I noticed some of the Amerindians watching us. I wondered what they thought of us. Michael told us to unload, and as I jumped from the tractor trailer, the rest of the crew began removing trunks and boxes, walking up the plank to put them on the Temple boat. I gathered my suitcase, stretched my legs, and got on board. The bright light of the sun cast surreal shadows.

 Once on board, I looked for a place to sit, finally choosing a spot close to the back of the boat. There were only six of us going into the capitol. The others were talking, but I was not in a conversational mood. How would I reach the U.S. Embassy? That was the only thought on my mind.

 The engine banged to life, and we began to move. Holding on, I turned to wave to my comrades at the dock. See you when you get back! Someone yelled. I waved, smiling, although inside I was frightened. As the boat rocked and swayed slowly up the river, I talked with one of the other passengers. Angela was going into the capitol to relieve someone who had been there for a couple of months. I think we both knew that she was getting a break and was glad for it. At least at the Peoples Temple house in Lamaha Gardens, she could take a hot shower, use a real toilet with real toilet paper, and enjoy some privacy, all of which were lacking in Jonestown. Angela was part of the regular rotation; she would replace a worker who in turn would return to Jonestown. I had no hope that I would be allowed to work in Georgetown, though. And honestly, I did not want to be far from my child.
As Angela talked, the boat left the mouth of Kaituma River and headed out to sea. I searched for the separation of the water color which I had noticed on the first trip to Jonestown: it went from a muddy, reddish color to a beautiful teal blue. It was Mother Nature at her best.

 
I opened the book I brought and tried to read to take my mind off of what I had to do. Someone eventually called out for supper, and I steadied myself as I walked to the galley. Someone else handed me a plate of wonderful peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Living in Jonestown, I had learned to be thankful for whatever food we were given. As we gathered together, we talked about Jonestown and our families. Later, after dinner, I went back to my spot and opened my book again. I read, feeling the rocking of the boat, and as the sun began to set, the beauty of this almost moved me to tears. This is beautiful, I thought. Why couldn’t the circumstances be different? Why could I not just go along with the program?

My eyes began to get heavy with the boats rhythmic swaying. When I awoke, the moon was high in the sky, and the swishing of the water against the side of boat gave me some peace. The quiet was beautiful. Tonight I would not have to hear sirens wailing or Jim on the loudspeaker, telling us to get to the pavilion. Suddenly, sadness enveloped me as I thought about my child, and the others, possibly being awoken in a shroud of fear. Somehow I had to get him out.

 The stars shone brightly above us. I thought of Harriet Tubman, leading her people out in the dark of the night, with only the moon as her guide. At that moment, I could feel the desperation they felt, not knowing if they were going to make it or not, understanding only that freedom was worth dying for. My eyes began to get heavy again.

 When I awoke again, the sun was beating down on me. Stretching as I did every day as a child, I held on to the side of the boat and bade good morning to those that were awake. I went to the latrine and splashed water on my face. When I looked in the little mirror, I saw a face that looked old and tired. When I went into the boat galley, the cook was standing over a boiling pot. Rice, I knew. Well, at least we were eating. But then, I smelled what I thought were eggs. No way. I had to be dreaming. Did I even remember what eggs tasted like?” What, we have eggs?” I asked. He turned around and laughed. “How do you want them, scrambled or sunny side up?” “Really?” I asked. “Sure, how do you want them?” “Can I have them scrambled hard?” “Of course, they will be ready in a minute.” Scared to miss out or wake up from the dream, I watched him beat the eggs in a bowl and throw them in the skillet. The smell was divine. As he finished, he put them on a plate and handed it to me. “Here you go.” I thanked him, and then took my plate of rice and eggs to show my comrades. They smiled and got up to get theirs. As I sat down to eat, guilt washed over me. No one in Jonestown is eating this. I knew that. My enjoyment of the meal was suddenly ruined. I ate in deep contemplation. This was not socialism: I was having what they were not. What the hell was this? I finished my meal, my stomach full, and took my plate in the galley. “Need some help washing these?” I asked. “No, thanks.” my cook comrade responded. “Relax, you probably need it.” He knew too, and probably felt the way I and so many others did.

Going back to the deck, I looked for a shady spot on the boat where I could read my book. I slept more than I read and conversed during the 24 hours it took to get to Georgetown. I had not known how tired I really was. Most of us slept and just enjoyed the quietness and the calming of the sea. As dusk settled in, I knew we would be there in another couple hours or so.

Finally, we could see the port up ahead. Even for the time of evening, it was still warm. As the boat moved slowly to the dock, I saw some familiar faces. They greeted us with welcoming smiles. It felt very good to be on solid ground, even though I had enjoyed the ride. We gathered our things as they unloaded the boat. There were two vehicles. We got into the Land Rover, and the others unloaded the trunks and boxes into the van.
Georgetown looked as I had remembered it, a city of neighborhoods with houses built on stilts. I always thought this was weird. As we maneuvered from one street to the other, I saw people mingling about, and once we got up on them, I felt their eyes on us. I was sure everyone in Georgetown knew about the group living in the jungle.

 We arrived at the house as the evening meal was being prepared. We were assigned a place to stow our things and a place to sleep. Some would have to make do with the floor, since they were kind of crowded. No problem, I thought, at least this was a real house.

 We were shown the bathroom, and each of us took turns washing the sea salt and smell off of us. When I entered the bathroom, I noticed a lock on the door. Wonderful, I thought. As I got undressed, anticipating the feel of warm water on my body, my thoughts once again turned to the people at Jonestown. Stop worrying, I told myself, they will all be able to experience this again at least those who want to. Just do what you need to do. We were instructed to limit ourselves to a two-minute shower well, some things don’t change, I thought but I was still grateful that God shone his Grace and allowed me these luxuries.

 

When I came out of the bathroom, I was told I could fix my own plate of food. There was fried chicken, eggplant and rice. Chicken, I thought, and remembered the last time I had chicken. I had put my plate down to pick up my drink, and one of the dogs grabbed it. I had chased him, and when I caught him, I yanked my chicken breast out of his mouth, brushed it off and ate it. How long ago had that been? This night, I fixed my plate with small portions, so that everyone would have enough, and sat at the kitchen table. One of the people who had been there for a while sat with me. “How are you doing in Jonestown?” Why is she asking me that, I wondered? Had she heard something about me? “Fine.” I responded. “I love it.” This was what we expected to say. “Good. Where are you working?” “With Larry Schacht and two days in the fields.” I said, smiling. “Oh, that’s good.” she replied. After I finished eating, tiredness enveloped me. She led me to a room with a couch. “Thanks.” I said, taking a place on the floor where three others already lay. I unrolled my sleeping bag and stretched out wondering what the next day would bring.

A moment later or so it seemed; someone was shaking me awake. Thank you, God. I prayed quietly, not on my knees but lying down. Thank you God for giving me another day. Please give me the strength to do this. Please give me the courage to move forward, and please keep my child and those I love in Jonestown safe. Thank you for loving me. Amen.

 My stomach was quivering, not from hunger, but from anticipation. Today is the beginning of my mission. Find some way to the US Embassy, I kept thinking. During breakfast, we were told what our jobs would be. My eye doctor appointment was scheduled for the next day, and that day, I was informed, I was going into the marketplace to ask for donations. What the hell are we asking for donations for? I wondered. I received my instructions on what to say. Tell them Jonestown is a wonderful place and you are of course happy to live in their beautiful country, things of this nature. Don’t share anything that goes on there. We have spies everywhere! Here we go again, I thought. Everything had to be positive but vague.

We headed towards the marketplace, an area of pavilion-like structures, covered tents and lots of tables. There was a sea of women in brightly-colored head scarves, blouses, golden bangles around their wrists, speaking quickly in other languages besides the Kings English. It amazed me. All these people of different hues, selling their wares, making a living. Why are we begging, I wondered? It must be to put up a front for the government, pretending that we did not have anything. We were warned to stay close to each other as people were known to disappear and as Americans we could be targets.

 One of my coaches told me to listen to what she said. She must have seen the apprehension on my face. Following her lead, I approached a Guyanese. “Good morning. Anything for the missionary work?” “Sure ting, hon.” And I felt the weight of something dropping into my basket. I approached another vendor, received another gift. The Guyanese people were wonderful, always smiling and very friendly. I was offered a Coke, something I had not had in months, and of course I accepted. I drank slowly, savoring the taste. Looking at the vendor who gave it to me, I wondered could he be trusted with my secret. Second thoughts entered my mind, and I decided against approaching him. As I kept begging, I searched the eyes from which the gifts came, looking for a special sign of trust. I procured cassava which was like a potato but more bitter, and eggplant, mostly, a bunch of bananas here and there. The women were smiling all the time, happy to be alive. Sometimes their eyes showed wisdom, sometimes they reflected tiredness. All the while I searched for that special person God sent for me to confide in. There were a lot of men looking at me, but I had already decided it would not be a man, since he might have other things in mind. I simplified my plan: just put me near a phone to call the American Embassy.

 I heard my name being called. Across the marketplace my coach was waving to me to come towards her. How did I get on this side, I wondered. I smiled and waved back. I maneuvered through the crowd and finally reached her. “You okay?” she asked. “Oh, yes, this is incredible.””Well,” she continued, “the van will be here in a few minutes. Let’s sit down.” The rest of the group was under a tent fanning them selves. It was stifling. Feeling sticky and filthy from all the dust generated from the marketplace, a warm shower or even a cold one, for that matter was an appealing thought. We continued small talk until our vehicle arrived.

 
Back at the house, we showered, talked, ate dinner and went to bed. Exhaustion still wracked my body. Would I ever feel rested? My thoughts before dozing off were of my child and his father, Joe.

The next day I was taken to the doctor’s office. He examined my eyes and fitted me for a pair of very ugly glasses. My other ones were better looking, but it was worth the sacrifice, I thought. The other pair hidden in my trunk could never be seen again. The medical assistant told me the glasses would be ready in a week. I thought it was a blessing. It gave me more time to make contact with the Embassy.

 And so it went. Every morning after finishing our chores, we would head out to the markets, the streets of Guyana, and beg for food.

 One day, a rare day of leisure I headed into the house’s radio room. What I saw caused me to almost panic. There in plain sight on the table was a newspaper from the United States with a picture of Deborah Layton. My hand was shaking as I picked it up. Deborah Layton had not only left the church, she was reporting the conditions of Jonestown, describing how inhumane they were. This was not a good sign. Deborah was very close to Jim and knew so much about the church, including the financials. Oh, my God! I thought. I knew my instincts had been right. Why were we not being fed properly when there was so much money in banks? Why was it not used for food? Why are we out here begging, like we don’t have anything? This was what I couldn’t understand. We were near starving or at least eating as if we did not have anything left. Something was terribly wrong. This information was so sensitive, that I did not want anyone to know that I had read it. I was scared. I carefully looked around the room, praying there were no cameras about, placed the newspaper as I had found it, and left the room.

 Later that evening, we were told to dress up and prepare to entertain some important people. Someone gave me something to wear, and we got in a car and went out to dinner. The evening ended with a ride up the river with one of the Guyanese officials. He was quite handsome and kept eyeing me. I felt uncomfortable and prayed that he would not ask for me. There were women who slept with men in the government to keep them happy and on the side of Jonestown, but who also gathered and seduced information out of them. I did not have this in mind for myself.

 The official came over and asked me my name. I told him. The next obvious question was whether or not I was married and I said yes. That put a wrench in his plan and I was glad he had the decency not to go on anymore. I respected him for that.

 
When the evening was finally over, we returned to Lamaha Gardens, where there were new arrivals from the States. My heart weighed heavy for them: their journey would not be as they had expected. The next couple of days were more of the same, but I still could not believe what I had read about Deb Layton, and no one was saying anything. This was going to be a bad one; I could feel it deep in my soul.
 
The optometrist office called to tell me my glasses were ready. The boat was scheduled to take off after my appointment. I had never found an opportunity to contact the Embassy. The boat ride back was not the same for me. I knew it was time to get out of Jonestown. The problem was going to be how?

When we pulled up in the tractor-trailer to the compound, I went looking for my son, Jakari. Joe found me first, but instead of welcoming me back, the look on his face that was one of anger. He told me to go with him. “Where is Jakari?” I asked, following him to the cabin. “You can see him later.” he shouted, as he went upstairs. A couple of minutes later, he stuck out his hand to show me what he held: my old glasses. “Oh, where did you did find them?” I asked, trying to appear as surprised as I could. He said “In the bottom of your trunk!” “Really” I said. “Damn, I searched everywhere for them? They must have fallen.” “Why would they be at the bottom of the trunk, Leslie?” The way he said my name frightened me. Stay calm, I thought. Remember what mom said, never admit to anything. ‘Did you plan this?” he persisted. “What the hell are you talking about, why would I plan it?” He asked me if I was trying to leave. “No, of course not!” I replied. “How could I leave Jakari?” I could see he wanted to believe me, but I could also see he was having a difficult time. I was not sure if he would report me or not, so all I could do was pray. I was doing a lot of that lately. Moving towards him, I put my arms around him and kissed him. His body stiffened at first, but finally began to relax against mine. Grabbing my hands, he led me upstairs, where he made love to me, while I whispered in his ear how much I loved him and that was real. Please, God, let this be over, I prayed. Please don’t let him tell anyone.

 
We lay there afterwards in each others arms, me holding on to him with his back to me as we always did. Later he took me to my son. “Mama” he called. I picked him up and held him close. I had to find a way out. God, I needed to find a way out.
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