The Moth - Fabricated, Forged and Forgotten: The Moth Radio Hour

Episode Date: June 16, 2026

This episode originally aired on November 29th, 2022. In this episode, stories of who we are and what we present to the world. White lies, falsified documents, playing dress up, and big transformations. This show is hosted by Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media, producer of The Moth Radio Hour. Judit Samper Albero uses her artistic talent to save money. Shaun Gohel accidentally manifests a girlfriend. Dave Moran prepares to argue in front of the Supreme Court.  Camille Qurban almost has her cover blown at a child's birthday party.  Ishmael Beah describes his transformation from innocent child to cold-hearted soldier. Podcast # 793 To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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Plus, that signature, wait, for this price, moment. Old Navy's drapey denim wide leg. This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host, Jay Allison, producer of this radio show. In this hour, stories of identity, fabricated, forged, and forgotten. First up is Judith Sampere Alibero from our 2014. Moth Community Showcase. The showcase features some of our favorite stories

told through our community workshop. Those favorites include this story, which revolves around a forged bus pass in London. Here's Judith, live from the Housing Works Bookstore in New York City. Hello, me name Judith. I'm a much honor. But, well, maybe you want me to talk in English, right?

I don't know. Maybe you can understand me. me better. All right. So before telling you my story, I need to tell you a little bit about my culture. I'm from Spain. So I'm going to let you know how the Spaniards are. The Spaniards will love to get things for free. The more we can get, the better. Just imagine you have a bowl of candies, and the Spaniard will get one for themselves, and one for the cousin, one from the father, for the father. the sister, the daughter,

for all the whole family. If there is nobody in the room, they will take all the candy and the ball because it will look amazing in the living room. Well, when I was 25,

I was an artist student in London, and I was broke. As you can imagine, paying rent or paying for food, it was struggled, and certainly it was paying for transport.

One day I was waiting for my bus at the stop, and I was looking at my bus bus and thinking, this will be so easy to falsify. You know, like I'm an artist, I can't do things. I was thinking, oh my God, I can't do this with my eyes close. So I decided to give a try. And the first time I tried, it was, I was a bit scared.

But you know, it worked. It worked. So, like, after a couple of weeks, it just became a routine to start my week clicking. around the computer, hidden print. And just that. I was ready to go. So, I don't know, after a couple of months doing that,

I was so easy that I didn't feel that I had any more fake bus pass. It was totally real for me. So another day I was just going to downtown London for a party, and I was going in the bus, like listening my music, looking through the window. And I feel that somebody's stabbing my shoulder. I turn around and I see an inspector asking for my bus pass.

So I just hand it to him and as soon as I'm giving to him, I remember that I'm giving him a bus pass that is fake. And I look at his face and I can notice that he knows it too. So the next thing he does is taking his notebook. Name, please. I thought even thinking I say Antonio Gonzalez which obviously is not my real name

and Antonio Gonzalez is kind of the most Spaniard name, the most common name that you can find. It would be like here saying John Smith, something like that. But you know I thought okay he's going to put me a fine, he's fine that they give to everybody when they don't pay their tickets like it's 20 pounds and

that's a shame because that would be a few lesbiers tonight but what can I do? Just we'll pay that's it. So the next stop he may me go down the bus, and there is a line of 10 policemen waiting. Two of them, they grabbed me by my arms, so high that my feet can barely touch the floor. And like in a movie, they bring me to the police station, greeting my rights. When I arrived there, I managed to sneak my ID into my panties.

I realized they think I'm Antonio Gonzalez there and I don't want they think I lie about my name. So after that they freeze me and they take everything I have in my pockets, they take my prison, everything, and they couldn't find it.

And they asked me as well when I bought the bus pass. And I say, I bought it on the street. I didn't know even it was fake. So I don't know. They didn't believe me too much, but they have to ask. They have to ask, if I wanted a court-appointed lawyer. And I say, of course, you know, I needed to defend my innocence.

So I have to wait for a couple of hours until he came, and they brought me into a cell. They took off my shoes, they opened the door, and I see like a cement bed with a blue mat, like this one that you can find at the gyms, a metal toilet, and in front of it, that camera. So they cannot lose any detail. They cannot even if you are constipated there. In those two hours, I was thinking about my story, what I was going to say. Like thinking about where I bought it exactly, from who I bought it. But without trying to give too many details, I didn't want it to point to anybody in concrete because I'm a good person, you know?

So my lawyer came, I tell him all my story, and they bring us to an interrogatory room with another police officer, with a police officer. And she started recording and make me all kind of questions. I start answering, but none of my answers seems to please her. And she started playing with the fact that my English, that English is not my mother tongue. So everything I was saying, she was just changing the meaning of everything. And after like 45 minutes, like going back and forth, back and forth, she just asked me if I want to translate her.

And then my lawyer, again, like in the movies, look at her and say, can I talk to my client, please? So she stopped the recording, leaves the room, my lawyer sent to me and say, listen, this is how the things work in England. Like, the police here has 90% of solved cases, and that's because you need to say what they want to hear.

So when she come back, just say to her that you are a student, you don't have much money, you knew it was fake, you know it's wrong what you did, you regret, and you're never going to do it. again. At that point I was so convinced of my story and my innocent that I wasn't, I wasn't like, I didn't want it to do that. I was like, why have to say that? But you know, I thought, you know, I was like the whole night there. I was like five, six hours with them. And I was thinking,

okay, maybe he's the lawyer, maybe I should follow his advice. And the police officer came back and I say my speech. And after that, she doesn't make me any more questions or say anything else. She stopped the recording, leave the room, and when she come back, she said that they are going to release me. So I say, great, I'm just feeling great. Everything is finished. They are going to release me as soon as they certify my identity. Yeah. Antonio Unfallis. So at that point, my whole word crumbled. I was like, I just start crying and crying, and the lawyer and the police officers, they were handing me cleaners, they didn't know what was going on, I couldn't even talk, keep crying, until I managed to say to them that I lie about my name. And then the lawyer was looking

at me and he was kind of smiling, thinking, I think he knew I was a young person, I didn't know what I was doing, but the police officer, the police officer thought that I was a terrorist. So after that, it took me like hours to make them believe which one, it was my real identity. and demonstrate that I wasn't a criminal because they thought that too. During all that time, I never once pull out my ID. Because, you know, I thought it was going to be an insult

to the police officer who frees me before. So I think at the end they just felt sorry for me and they thought it was, you know, like having me the whole night like that. I think they thought it was, not punishment. So they let me go without any fine at the end. No fine, nothing. So when I get out at 6 in the morning from the police station, the only thing I could thought about, it was, oh, I'm going to get home now without my bus pass. And obviously, I learned my lesson. After this,

I never in my life, even there, I've been falsified another bus pass. But you know, lately, I've been of serving at the MoMA membership card. Because $25 to get in? Come on, I should be free. Thank you. That was Judith Sampere Labarro. Judite is from Vienna, a Mediterranean city in Spain. She moved to the U.S. nine years ago

and currently teaches at California State University and works as a virtual reality specialist and illustrator. while continuing to develop her passion for art. She loves camping with her dog, too. Judy told us that luckily, her bus pass forgery has only come back to haunt her one time. Last year, during her Green Card interview,

this issue came out, and she had to request her criminal records from England. They let her go home without a warning, and it didn't affect the process of her permanent residency beyond an extra three months of paperwork and some anxiety. She told us, thankfully, youthful stupidity gets cured with time. Next up is Sean Goal, who told this story at our Open Mic StorySlam series in New York, where WNYC is a media partner of the moth.

Here's Sean. So it's the first night of summer camp and I'm trying really hard to bond with the other guys in the dorm when one of them goes, hey, Sean, it tells us about your first kiss. And I'm like, oh. This is my nightmare question for two reasons. One, I am a huge dork. At this point in my life, at 16, I've only kissed my PSAT book for good luck.

And two, I am in the closet, so anything about intimacy in general makes me retreat into my body like a shy turtle. But luckily, I have prepared an answer for this very specific question, fake answer. So I turned to him and I go, my first kiss was Sarah Brown. We met at Disney World.

Sparks flew. We had our first kiss outside the France Pavilion at Epcot. But unfortunately, you know, we lost touch. And the guys are like, oh, very good, yes. So we're leaving the room and one of them goes, hey, did you really kiss Sarah Brown? And I'm like, oh, as a matter of fact, yes, I did. And he goes, huh, that's so crazy because, like, you know,

She's here and I was like, who's here? So it turns out that there may or may not be a Sarah Brown in Florida, but there definitely was a Sarah Brown at this camp in the girls' dorm. That in itself is not a problem because then I was going to go to Plan B. Oh, wrong Sarah Brown, common name, common mistake. But what I didn't anticipate was that this news would pinball across camp and get to Sarah, and that made her nervous because, Sarah, like me, had never kissed anyone.

And she didn't want people investigating her kissing history and then making fun of her for never having done so. So instead of saying, no, I don't know who this guy is, she said, uh, yeah, like we did. It's not a big deal. Um, so the next day, I'm eating a turkey sandwich and this like throng of guys comes up to me and they're like, yo, dude, we talk to Sarah, she remembers her kiss.

And I'm like, what? I, but, but, but, but, like, but, but, but, like, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, But I didn't think she'd remember. That's so crazy. And they're like, yo, this is great. Like, you're going to have a reunion. And this summer, you're going to hook up. And I'm like, oh, crap.

So I kid you not, the next six days, I basically hid in the bathroom for 45-minute intervals, trying to avoid this hormonal, twilight-obsessed, roving mob. of teenagers hungry for a romance to make happen in real life. But all good things must come to an end, and I emerged from the bathroom one day,

and lo and behold, there is Sarah Brown. And she comes up to me, and she goes, hey, Sean, I'm Sarah. I think it's really funny that you told everyone we kissed. And I was like, oh, hey, Sarah, I think it's really funny that you exist. Like, it's like the legend of Bloody Mary Like, I've said your name enough times

that you've manifested yourself and are, like, going to ruin my life. And we make a little bit more small talk, and then she goes, you know, like, we don't have to keep lying. Like, we can just, like, quickly make this true. And she gives me the look. And then I'm like, oh, my gourd. I, like, I'm just processing the fact that

my fake gay beard has manifested herself and is now proposing the summer fling that everyone thinks we already had at Epcot. And the second thing growing through my mind is, I don't want to make this real, but also I don't want to keep lying, and it's like I am in this weird in-between where I don't want the social capital.

I'm lying solely as a defense mechanism, but my lies have backfired, and instead of making me disappear, they've been pushing me further and further into the spotlight. So I realize in order to stop this roller coaster, I just have to be honest with this girl. And I'm like, Sarah, I can't. And she looks at me and she like squints her eyes

and I could see the wheels turning. And she goes, you can't. And I say, yes. And she goes, because of your religion. And I go, kind of, yes, yes. So actually, that pretty much settled the matter. When you bring up Hinduism in rural Pennsylvania, people are just like, okay, cool.

But not only was I thankful that the story died, I was really thankful that, you know, at this time in my life, this secret was such a burden. And I was really thankful for that moment so I could see that in an environment as difficult as high school, there were other people sort of putting on a performance and it made me feel a little bit less alone. So thank you.

That was Sean Gold. Sean won the story slam that night with this story and went on to tell another story at our New York City Grand Slam, which brings winners from 10 story slams across the city to compete. In a moment, stories of personas and koshabes, costumes, one donned by an actor at a children's party, one worn by a lawyer, arguing in front of the Supreme Court, when the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Jay Allison. In this episode, our stories are about crafting your image, playing a part, faking it until you make it, and dressing for the job you want.

That's what our next storyteller, Dave Moran, has to do when called upon to argue in front of the Supreme Court. Dave told the story to Grand Slam in Ann Arbor, where we partner with Michigan Radio. Here's Dave Moran. Mr. Moran, the deep bare-tone voice rang out. I stood up with my hands shaking violently and walked to the lectern of the Supreme Court of the United States. Four months earlier, the court. had granted review in a case that I was representing an indigent defendant who had been convicted of a crime greater than he should have been convicted of. And I had never been to the U.S.

Supreme Court before. So I didn't know what I was in for. And the first thing you do when you're a lawyer and you're going to a new court is you read the court rules. And I read the court rules. And one of the first things I noticed is that a counsel shall appear, and I quote, in dark conservative business attire. Well, I'm a law professor and I dress badly. So I went to the department store at Briarwood Mall, and I went to the men's department. And after teaching a class at the end of the day, and I was wearing pretty much what I'm wearing today,

khaki pants, polo shirt, five o'clock shadow. And I said, I need a dark conservative business suit. And the man looked me over, and he said, job interview, sir. And I said, no, U.S. Supreme Court. argument. And I'm certain he didn't believe me. But I got to suit.

And of course, the other things you do when you're preparing for US Supreme Court is you do a lot of preparation. So the case was about the double jeopardy clause of the Fifth Amendment for those lawyers present. I read everything I every case I could to get as ready as I could possible. But the problem is I had never even seen a US Supreme Court argument. So in March, 2003. three a month before my scheduled argument, I flew to Washington and went to watch an argument

of another criminal case. And the argument started, and first thing that I noticed was that this is a really small room. Those of you've been there know this, this is a really small courtroom, and the lawyer is just a few feet under the nose of Chief Justice William Rehnquist. And the argument started, and it was a death penalty case, and the lawyer arguing for the inmate was getting into it with Justice Scalia about what the record really showed. And it turns out Justice Scalia had this weird habit of he would ask a question and you would think he was done, and it would be a deep breath and a long pause, and then there'd be more question coming. And the lawyer was very eager, and he kept starting to answer the questions, and then Justice Scalia would ask some more.

And this happened two or three times, and suddenly Chief Justice Rehnquist leaned forward and said, you will let Justice Scalia finish asking his questions. There will not be two people talking at the same time. Now, the lawyer at the podium didn't seem phased at all. He just went on with his argument after a quick apology. But if cameras were allowed in the courtroom, you would have a video of all of the blood draining out of me. So I came back home and I told people in Michigan about this terrifying experience, and everybody had a Chief Justice Rehnquist story, how he loved to chew out attorneys.

If an attorney sometimes got the name wrong, the justices don't have name plates on the bench. And so some attorneys mistake the name. And he would say, that was just a suitor, not Justice Kennedy. Or the worst thing you could do would be to answer a question and start the answer with, well, Judge O'Connor, it's Justice O'Connor. So I was terrified that I was going to go there and be humiliated in front of my friends and family, all of whom had been invited to go to Washington for me. But I prepared as best I could. I wore my suit, made sure to fit. And we flew to Washington in April 2004.

Now, the night before the argument, we all agreed to meet the friends and family and other lawyers on the team. We met at a Mexican restaurant, just a few blocks from the Supreme Court. I ordered enchilada suezes. They were delicious. I thought, you know, margaritas might help me sleep.

So I had one margarita, and then I had another margarita, and I thought three margaritas, not a good idea. So I had two margaritas, and I got a good night's sleep. and I got up the next morning and we walked to the court and waited and waited until the case was called Mr. Moran. And I walked up there, terrified that I was going to be humiliated, handshaking.

And I said, Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the court, and started the argument. And quickly the question started coming and the tension melted away because as a lawyer, I'm very happy to answer questions. It's easier than just making a speech like this. And Justice Scalia asked a lot of questions, and I counted to myself 1,0002,0003. And I waited until I was sure he was done and I began to answer. And the questions came and I thought it went pretty well. And it was 30 minutes of argument in front of that court. And the case was over and I walked out the doors down the magnificent marble steps and thought,

that was pretty fun. And I've been back five times since the case. then. And I've won some and I've lost some. But every single argument has been fun, and I haven't been chewed out by any of the justices. And I must say that Chief Justice Roberts runs a much nicer, more friendly court than Chief Justice Rehnquist. But every time I walk out of there, walk out those great doors and down those magnificent marble steps, I think to myself, damn, that was fun. That was Dave Moran. Dave is a professor at the University of Michigan Law School, where he co-directs the Michigan Innocence Project.

He always eats at the same Mexican restaurant the night before a Supreme Court argument, and he always orders the enchilada suezas and two margaritas. And he buys a new suit. This is the second story of Dave's that's aired on the Moth Radio Hour, and while this story features him dressing up, his first story was about him dressing down, way down, and posing nude for a drawing class. To hear that story, as well as see a photo of Dave, fully clothed, on the steps of the Supreme Court, visit the moth.org. Next up, Camille Quiraban.

Camille told this story at a story slam in Sydney, Australia, where we partner with the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, ABCRN. Here's Camille, live from Sydney. Hello. I'm fairy twinkle toes. At least, I was. I worked at the fairies wishing wand on Unle Road for four years, so I've been to about 400 children's birthday parties. The fairies wishing wand was the name of the shop,

and it was run by a woman called Pauline. She used to smoke like a train during the parties, but then burn marshmallow incense to cover up all the tobacco stage. I did all the parties either at the shop, or he went out to their kids' house and if you did it at the shop then you had to do it in the enchanted forest. It wasn't that impressive really.

There was like a big bunch of fallen gum tree leaves in the corner that Pauline had spray painted gold. That was the enchanted tree. It had some fairy lights in it but most of them were blown out. I met Fairy Lavender. She trained me up.

Fairy lavender wore like a skin-tight purple leotard, a big purple for a red flower. through skirt like this purple head garland thing and big wings and size nine silver jiffies. I was horrified when I saw it was tizzyed and bowed and belled and I got given the exact same uniform but in pink. I was on my way to the first party and I was in very lavender's car. She was fanging at Hold'em, Berena up the freeway, giving me tips. She was chugging down the Lassar her up and go, tell me what to do and what not to do and everything. Whatever you do, just don't give them me wand, she said,

because they'll hit you with it. I looked down at the wand and it was just this spray-painted, jewel-encrusted hunk of MDMF, and I was really scared. But she said, chill, just follow my lead. So I did. Before too long, twinkle toes was in demand. I was really good with kids. I'd babysat for years.

I'd babysat Chelsea Lambert that lived down the road from mum and dad's house. She used to run down the street without telling her dad she was coming, always under the guys of wanting her hair done. She'd have a brush and a handful of bubbles and whatever, and she'd push through the door and say, I need Platt's dad can't do them. I always obliged because Chelsea was gorgeous. She was boisterous and bubbly.

She came bounding in one day when I was running off to work. Mom said, no, Chelsea, I'll do your hair today because Camille's got to go to work. at subway. When I rocked up to the fairy party that morning, I heard the normal cheer and chatter in the lawn. I walked in to the lounge room and the mum called out that the fairy was here

and I saw them all come running in off the lawn and coming up the rear was Chelsea with eight plats flapping. She stopped dead in the doorway. Her lips were pursed and her forehead was just wrinkled with confusion as she stared at me. I was horrified.

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't break the fourth wall man, but I didn't know how I could get through it. And I just decided I was going to have to give the most convincing fairy performance of my life. I don't know, like Academy Award, ferrying. She sat down with the little girls in the circle, and when I sang the songs at that party, I sang like an angel.

And I'm tone deaf. When I told all the stories, I put on all the voices. When I painted their faces, I put in extra detail, I covered them in glitter. I gave out all the marshmallows. I wanted to convince her. And by the end of the party, she was smiling and laughing and lapping it all up.

And I was like, I've got these kids eating fairy bread out of the palm of my hand. I hugged them all and gave them little hugs at the end and say goodbye and everything and she muscled in and she gave me a hug. She put her arms around my neck and then when the little sticky marshmallow mouth she whispered in my ear by Camille when she pulled back from the hug she eyed she had a bit of a crooked smile and a twinkle in one eye I just blushed and then she turned a little platted head and, like, outside and straight to the swing set. She came around a couple of days later, and she said to me, that was you at that party, Camille, wasn't it?

Sometimes believing in something for the sake of other people can be really magical. So I looked at Chelsea and I said, no, that was very twinkle toes. Chelsea's now 22 and I still can't admit that I'm very twinkle-toes. Thank you. Camille Claire Bonn is a production manager for a broadcast news and current affairs network. She says she's also a sometimes actress,

terrible coffee snob, a neat freak, and a mother. Do you have a story you'd like to tell at the Moth? You can pitch it to us right on our website by leaving about a two-minute message summarizing your story, or you can call us at 877-7-799 Moth. That's 877-7-99-6684. We listen to all the pitches, and we develop many of them for Moth shows all around the world. Remember, you can share these stories or others from the Moth archive and buy tickets to

Moth storytelling events in your area all through the Moth.org. We have Moth events year-round. You can find a show near you, and come out and tell a story. You can find us on social media too. We're on Facebook and Twitter at The Moth. When we return, writer Ishmael Bia chronicles his transformation and that of his village when war comes to Sierra Leone. That's when the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

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I'm Jay Allison. Our final story in this hour comes from the writer Ishmael Bia. Ishmael recognizes the identity of his village by its soundscape and recognizes himself by the narratives he stores in his mind. Both of these are soon changed by war in his country. A caution, there are some vivid descriptions. He told this story at a Moth event celebrating the 100th birthday of the New York Public Library. Here's Ishmael Bia.

The evening always began with several commotions. One of them was the arrival of people from their various places of work, from their farms, from whatever form of employment they had, and they all came, greeted each other, and went into their houses. The second commotion was by children, boys and girls being sent to knock on the doors of these very people who had just arrived to invite them to dinner, to have this grand meal of the day. And during this meal, all the young boys and men ate from the same plate

and all the girls and the women ate from the same plate as well. When the eating started, which I was part of, the eldest or the oldest person at that gathering of the male, particularly the one that I ate with, would stop eating first, and then the second oldest would stop, and as it went down the line, then the boy,

and the youngest person would be left at the plate with enough food for them to eat. and this was how the evening began in my small village in the south of Sierra Leone, West Africa, where I'm from. After we finished eating, the fire had already been set with firewood, and the darkness had come in very quickly that the only source of light were the flames of the fire that leapt into the air. And we sat around and waited for stories to be told to us. This was how we learned how to understand our history, the history of our families, of ourselves, our roles in the community, how we would function as children, but also as adults. These stories also, this oral tradition started many, many years ago before I was born,

and this was a way that brought to us a way of listening actively so that we can hear not only with our ears, but also with our heart, with our eyes, and we can hear beyond the words that were being told to us. At one of these gatherings, I must have been about nine years old, my grandmother sat next to me, and she whispered into my ears. She said, I want to let you know that each person's mind is their own personal library. And as life breeds this moment through you,

those moments becomes memories, and those memories become... narratives and those narratives become chapters and books that you put on that shelf of your personal library. And this is the only library that you have access to whenever you like. You can open and close it whenever you like. You can decide to nourish it. You can decide to use the information properly or improperly as it suits you. After my grandmother told me this, I began on a quest to decide,

Well, if I'm in charge of this personal library of mine, I want to make sure that I stack on those shelves in my mind the best possible images, sounds of my background, of my upbringing, of this place that I grew up. Where I grew up was so remote that most of the things that reminded me of what time of the day was were the sounds of nature. I could tell what time of the day it was

by the position of my shadow and I didn't have a watch or any of these kinds of things. So the next morning, after my grandmother told me this on my way to school, my school was about a 30-minute walk, but I would get up very early to go to school because going to school was very unpredictable. You left about an hour and a half to two hours because you didn't know what you encounter on the way.

As a young boy in the place where I grew up in, every adult was responsible for you. every adult was your aunt, uncle, or could even be your mother and father. And so on the way to school, you greeted people elaborately, not the New York greeting, hello, goodbye. It was more of, you ask, how are you, how is your family, how is school, and you went on and on. And it was rude to just say, I have to be in school, I'm going to be late, and I'll be flogged because of that. You had to participate in the greeting fully. In addition to this greeting, an older person would randomly ask you to put,

perform a task, which could be, could you fetch firewood for me? Could you go to the river and bring water for me? So young people had to get up very, very early to make sure that they can actually, you know, for this 30 minutes, right, they can think about two hours, and sometimes it took that much. On my way to school, I had a plastic bag that had the one X notebook that I had in it, and also my shoes were wrapped in this bag so that it won't be coated by the dust. She was very dusty, so I walked barefoot, and I allowed my mind to partake in the beautiful sounds that welcome the morning.

First, there was a call for prayer that was very loud, a zan that went deep into your heart, and then in addition to that, there were various birds singing. The vigorous ones were the sparrows and the doves, and my grandmother also told me that they sang vigorously because they wanted to wave goodbye to the night and welcome the day. And they did that every morning very vigorously.

As I walked on, there are also sounds of brooms as people swept their yard, so the sound of the brooms meeting the dried leaves fill the air as well. There are also the sounds of buckets that clattered in the arms of children as they went to the river to fetch water. There are older people sitting outside

clearing their throat to remind young people who were still sleeping that it was time to wake up. There were people who were sharpening their cutlasses and stones and that sound

actually made your teeth sour as you walked by. And there was the sound of bells being wrong. These were iron bears hung in the arms of mango trees. They were being wrong as a call for school.

When I got closer to my school, which was near the stream, I would wash my feet and then I would put on my shoes so that I arrived looking very clean. We stood in line, there were cleanliness check up, check your hair. If it was combed, I wouldn't survive at this point.

And then, you know, we went into the classroom, which was the very one building that we had. It was a mud brick house with no roof, and we would take out a few benches, and some of us would sit outside under the mango tree, and there was a blackboard, and the teacher would start teaching. Now, we didn't have very many books. So if we had one book, it was only the teachers.

So, for example, when we read Shakespeare in many occasions, the teacher would come, and he or she would recite to us. We're reading today, so-so-and-so play, you know, Julius Caesar, for example. And the teacher would read, friends, Roman, countrymen. And we would repeat all the children, friends, Roman, countrymen, lend me your ears have come to Barry Caesar. Let me your ears have come to Barry Caesar. that this is how we learned. You made notes. And in order to gain access to these books,

you became friends with the teacher. So after school, you could go to the teacher's house so that you'd be able to read the book. Now, based on how you behaved in the community, how you took care of the book, the teacher will slowly trust you to allow you more time to read, but also lend you the book to take away and bring back. Now, if the book was dirty, then you lost that privilege. So we became very close to our teachers. The teacher's teachers also were part of the community where they would actually come to your house in the evening to make sure that everyone was doing their homework. I didn't like this very much when I was a kid. But in retrospect, it helped me. So in order to gain access to this book, you had to become

part of the life of this teacher. I remember when we read Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. The teacher made a good deal of making us react a story in the classroom, and every young boy wanted to be Jim Hawkins. We walked around our community pretending that we were Jim Hawkins of our very small village. Now all of this sound and all of this nurture and this knowledge began to change a few years later when I was 11 years old. When people began to come through my town, these are people who had been affected by the war that I started in my country.

And they spoke about what had happened to them, how their houses have been burnt, their families have been killed, how they have been walking for days, weeks, months. there was a gloomy feeling that came about. And later on, when I was 12 years old, the war reached my part of the country. The sounds that I heard in the morning that woke me changed and they were replaced by gunshots. I was separated from my family during the first attack. I started running from this war, and I didn't know where they were. The belief that they could be alive was what kept me moving, and I was with a group of boys, seven of us.

We constantly started walking in the countryside trying to look at. for our family. The sounds were no longer the same. The very sounds that woke me up as a boy, the birds singing, the call for prayer, people going to the river to fetch water, we are no longer there. Nature itself was afraid of what had come about. The only sounds that greeted night or day or the wind that sailed was the sounds of guns or grenades exploding in a distance. And this was what filled my life completely and I began to slowly forget. and distanced myself from the very sounds that I'd heard as a kid. Now, I began running from this world for about close to a year.

I was constantly running. Everything had changed tremendously. And I came across somebody who told me that my family was in a small village that would be able to find them. So we started running to this place, and we began to hear the sounds of the village. And these were sounds that were familiar from when things were peaceful. There were women singing as they pounded rise in mortar. We could hear that.

And we began to rush. We could see, we could hear sounds that promised that life was possible somewhere. When we got closer to the village, under the bushes in a banana farm, we heard somebody chopping up the bananas. And it was a man that I knew as a boy named Gassimo. And he came from under the bushes, and he said to us, oh, can you boys help me carry the trunks of banana into the village? And of course, even though we were in a rush, then we could not refuse to do this,

so we helped Gassimo to take the bananas to the village. As we were going with the banana, he told me, oh, your parents are going to be very happy to see you. Your brother is there. Everyone is there. And everyone has been waiting to see you. They've been worried that you may not be alive. So I was very excited.

I started hurriedly going down into the village. We began to hear gunshots. We began to see smoke. and fire coming from the village. We began to hear men screaming at the top of their lungs, their screeches covering the sounds of women and babies that were crying, and there were gunshots and bullets flying in the air.

So we ran from the hillside and tried to lay in the bushes so that we wouldn't be struck by stray bullets. After everything died down, we arrived into this village, and we realized that everybody who had been in this village had been killed. People had been put down, face down, and shot in the back of the

their heads and their blood was the only thing coming out of their bodies was the only thing connecting them. As we walked around the village trying to hope that somebody would have been alive in this village, we heard in one of the buildings that were consumed with fire, nails popping, thin roofs flying into touch roofs and creating more fire, we heard this noise coming from this building. And people were banging on the doors and the fire was consuming the house. and when the door broke open, the two people that came running was a woman and a little boy. Everything happened so fast that we became rooted

where we were standing, we couldn't move at all. They ran back and forth. They would hit a tree, and they would run the other way again, and they will hit another building or another tree, and they will run the other way. Finally, the woman stopped moving, and the boy sat under a mango tree and put his head down and stopped moving. As we walked around, we began to see other bodies as well.

people in different postures of pain, some holding their head, as life departed them in that particular position. And we saw different kinds of things, ashes of people, bunch remains. As we were seeing, these kinds of things that became quite angry, because I blamed Gassimo for making it possible for me not to see my family again. And I attacked him. I wanted to hurt him tremendously. Because at this point, the pain of knowing what had happened was so great that I wished I had seen my family one last time before. what has happened. I didn't understand that he had actually saved my life, so I actually

wanted to kill him. My friends removed me from him, and between ourselves, we started fighting because we blamed each other for me. Somebody was walking slow, so and so forth. As we were fighting amongst ourselves, we heard a noise of people coming into the village, so we ran and hid into the nearby bushes,

and we saw young people come into the village. Two of them, particularly were about my age. At this point, I was 12 years old, and the world military outfits and guns. One had a gallon of petrol or kerosene with matches. The other had weapons, and they were laughing about how they got this village really good, how they were able to get everyone and kill them,

and nobody escaped. As we lay in this bush under the shrubs, without being seen, looking at these young people, I did not realize that a year later, I would be one of the same people, one of the same young men that I was saying, that I'll be one of those people going around and stacking a different kind of narrative

in the library of my own mind. But not only that, I grew up in a place where we also believed that when an older person dies, a library is destroys or burns. And now we were going around destroying the very same knowledge, the source of knowledge,

that could add to our own narratives. And we didn't know what kind of library we were creating. And worse of all, we are destroying the source of knowledge that perhaps could help us understand how our narratives would actually pan out. Thank you. That was Ishmael Bia. Believing his family was dead, Ishmael was pulled into the violence and recruited as a boy soldier in Sierra Leone. His memoir about its experience, A Long Way Gone, has sold more than a million copies, and it's been translated into 40 languages. That's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour.

We hope you'll join us next time, and that's the story from The Moth. This episode of The Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Catherine Burns and Meg Bowles, co-producer, Vicki Merrick, associate producer, Emily Couch. The stories were directed by Jennifer Hickson

and Larry Rosen, with additional Grand Slam coaching by Jody Powell. The rest of the Moss leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin, Janesse, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Clucay, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Inga, Gladowski, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Kaza. Moss Stories are true, is remembered and affirmed by our storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour is from Epidemic Sound and Blue Dot Sessions. Podcast music, production support from Davy Sumner. We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

Special thanks to our friends at Odyssey, including executive producer Leah Reese Dennis. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us, your own story and everything else, go to our website, the moth.org.