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

Episode Date: December 6, 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. Hosted by: Jay Allison 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.

Attention Houston! You have listened to our podcast and our radio hour, but did you know the Moth has live storytelling events at Wearhouse Live? The Moth has opened Mike's storytelling competitions called Story Slams that are open to anyone with a five-minute story to share on the night's theme. Upcoming themes include love hurts, stakes, clean, and pride. GoodLamoth.org forward slash Houston to experience a live show near you. That's the Moth.org forward slash Houston. From the Rx, 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 Judit, Sam Pair, 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. Hola, me llamo Judit, soy español, ya mucha honra. But, well, maybe you want me to talk to Tilti Nenglish, right? I don't know. Maybe you can understand me better.

All right, so before telling you my story, I need to tell you a little bit of all my culture and from Spain. So I'm going to let you know how the Spaniards are. The Spaniards we 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 for 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 they're all 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, pain rent or painful food, it was a struggle, and certainly was pain for transport. One day, I was waiting for my bus at the stop,

and I was looking at my bus person 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 closed. So I decided to give a try. And the first time I tried, it was, I was having a scare, but you know, it worked. It worked. So, like, after a couple of weeks, it just became a routine to start my way, clicking

around the computer, hitting print. And yes, that. I was ready to go. So after a couple of months doing that, I was so easy that I didn't feel that I had any anymore fake bass bass. 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 to my music, looking through the window and I feel like somebody's tapping my shoulder. I turn around and I see an inspector asking for my bus pass. So I just handed to him and as soon as I gave him to him, I remember that I'm giving him a bus pass that is fake. And I look at his face, and I cannot notice that skin, I was a tool. So the next thing he does is taking his notebook, name, please. And we thought even thinking, I say, Antonio Gonzales,

which obviously is not my real name. And Antonio Gonzales, kind of the most spiny or name, the most common name that you can find. It would be like here saying, Jones made something like that. But you know, I thought, okay, he's gonna put me a find. He's trying to 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 less beers tonight.

But what can I do? Just will pay, that's it. So the next stop, he made me go down the bus. And there is a line of 10 policemen waiting. Two of them, the Grammy by my arms. So high, that might be can barely touch the floor. And like in a movie, they bring me to the police station really my rights.

When I write there, I manage to sneak my ID into my panties. Because I realize the thing, I'm Antonio González there. And I don't want the thing I lie about my name. So after that, they freeze me and they take everything I have in my pocket, they take my prison, everything, and they couldn't find it. And they ask me as well what 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 if I wanted a court appointed lawyer, and I say, of course, 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 salmonen bed with a blue mat like this one that you can find on the jeans. A metal toilet and in front of it that camera. So they cannot lose any detail.

They can't know 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 started answering but none of my answers seems to please her and she started playing with the fact that my English, that the English is not my mother tongue. So everything I was saying, she just changed 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 recording, leaves the room, my lawyer turned to me and said, listen, this is how the scenes work in England. Like the police here has a 90% of solve 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 still and you don't have much money you knew it was fake You are you know is wrong what you did you regret and you're never gonna 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 I didn't want it to do that. I was like, why have to say that? But you know, I saw, I saw, 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, I'll say anything else. She's told the recording, leave the room. And when she come back, she said that the organo released me. So I say, great, I'm just feeling great. Everything is finished.

The organo released me as soon as they certified my identity. Yeah. Antonio and Files. So at that point, my horror were crumble. I was like, I just start crying, and crying, and the lawyer and the police officers that 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, 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 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, like, having

me the whole night like that. I think they thought it was in the 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, how am I going to get home now with all my bus pass? And obviously, I learned my lesson. After these, I never in my life, even there,

I will falsify all of your bus pass. But you know lately, I've been serving at the MoMA membership card. Because $25 to get in, come on, I should be free. Thank you. CHEERING AND APPLAUSE That was Tudit Sampair Alabaro. Tudite 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 Mike story slam series in New York where WNYC is a media partner with 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 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 like 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, ah, 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, it wasn't matter of fact, yes, I did. And he goes, huh, that's so crazy because like, you you really kiss Sarah Brown? And I'm like, oh, it wasn't matter. In fact, yes, I did. And he goes, huh, that's so crazy, because like, you know, she's here. And I was like, who is 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 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, oh, yeah, like we did.

It's not a big deal. Um. So the next day, I'm eating a turkey sandwich and this, like, the wrong of guys comes up to me and they're like, yo, dude, we talked to Sarah. She remembers her kiss and I'm like, what? I... But, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but, but 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. We make a little bit more small talk and then she goes you know like we don't uh we don't have to keep lying like we can just like quickly uh make this true and she gives me the look and I'm like oh my god 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 I And she looks at me and she like squins 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 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 this story died, I was really thankful that, at this time in my life, this secret was such a burden. And 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 StorySlam that night with this story and went on to tell another story at our New York City Grand Slam, which brings winners from 10 StorySlam across the city to compete. In a moment, stories of personas and costumes, one done 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 Mothradio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. 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 and Ann Arbor, where we partner with Michigan Radio. Here's Dave Moran. Thank you, Patrick. Yeah. Mr. Moran, the deep-bear 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 US Supreme Court before. So I didn't know what I was informed. The first thing you do when you're a lawyer and you're going to a new court, 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 as higher. 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, US Supreme Court argument. And I'm certain he didn't believe me, but I got to sue. And of course, the other part 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. Every case I could to get this ready as I could, possible. But the problem is I never even seen a US Supreme Court argument. So in March 2003, 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 who've been there know this. This is a really small courtroom. And the you who have been there know this, this is a really small courtroom. The lawyer is just a few feet under the nose of Chief Justice William Rincuist. The argument started and it was a death penalty case. The lawyer arguing for the inmate was getting into it with Justice Scalia about what the record really showed.

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 would 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 Renquist 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 rink with 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 suit or not justice Kennedy. Or the worst thing you could do would be to answer a question and start to answer with, well, Judge O'Connor, it's just a so-conner. So I was terrified that I was going to go there and be humiliated in front of my friends and family, all of whom have 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 the other lawyers on the team. We met at a Mexican restaurant just a few blocks from the Supreme Court. I ordered enchiladas, squeezes, 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 until the case was called Mr. Moran. And I walked up there, terrified I was going to be humiliated, hands shaking. 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, 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 1,000, 1,000, 2,000, 3. And I waited until I was sure he was done, and I began to answer.

And the questions came, and I thought that it went pretty well, and it's 30 minutes of argument in front of that court. And the case was over, and I walked out that doors down the magnificent marble steps and thought, that was pretty fun. And I've been back five times since 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 Rincquist. 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 Clinic. He always eats at the same Mexican restaurant the night before a Supreme Court argument

and he always orders the enchilada suizas 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, it 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 Claraban. 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 Ferry Twinkle Toes. At least, I was. I worked at the Ferry's Wishing Wand on Unleared Road for four years. I've been about 400 children's birthday parties. The Ferry's Wishinged was the name of the shop and it was run by a woman called Paul Lane. She used to smoke like a train during the parties that then burned 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 full and 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 are blown out. I met fairy lavender.

She changed me up. Fairy lavender wore like a skin type purple leotard, a big purple fruferous skirt, like this purple head garland thing, and big wings and size and iron silver jiffies. I was horrified when I saw it, it was tizzyed and bowed and belt, and I got given the exact same uniform, but in pink. I was on my way to the first party, Tisied and bowed and bowled 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 a hold-em, burying her up the freeway, giving me tips. She was chugging down the last of her up and go, tell me what to do and what not to do and everything. Whatever you do, just don't give them your wand, she said. Because they'll hit you with it. I looked down at the wand and I was just this spray painted, julin-crusted hunk of MDMS. 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 babysat Chilsey Lambert that lived down the road for mum and dad's house She used to run down the street without telling her dad she was coming Always under the guise 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 plaits, dad can't do them. I always obliged because Chelsea was gorgeous, she was boisterous and bubbly. She came down in one day when I was running off to work. Mum said, no Chelsea, I'll do you 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 enough the lawn and coming up the rear was Chelsea with eight flats flapping. She stopped dead in the doorway. Her lips were pierced 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, very performance of my life.

I don't know, like Academy Award, fairying. She sat down with the little girls in the circle and when I sang the songs at party, I sang like an angel. And I'm time-deaf. When I told her 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 laughing at all up. And I was like, I've got these kids eating cherry bread out of the palm of my hand. I hugged them all and gave them the hugs at the end and say goodbye and everything. And she massaged in and she kept your hug. She put her arms around my neck.

And then when the little sticky marshmallow mouth, she whispered in my ear, black male. Whoa! When she pulled back in the hug, she eyeballed me. She had put a crooked smile and a twinkling one eye. I just blushed. And then she turned a little plighted head and said,

it's like outside and straight to the thing said. She came out on 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. APPLAUSE

Camille Clarbon is a production manager for 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 with 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 877-799-Moth. That's 877-799-Moth. That's 877-799-6684.

We listen to all the pitches and we develop many of them for mall shows all around the world. Remember you can share these stories or others from the Moth Archive and buy tickets to mall 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'll 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. The Mothradio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. You're listening to The Moth Radio Hour from PRX.

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 is 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 that, 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 displays that I grew up. When I grew up with so remote that most of the things that reminded me of what time of the day was where the sounds of nature. I could tell what time of the day 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 30 minutes walk, but I would get 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 encountered on the way. As a young boy in the place where I grew up, 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 will be flugged because of that you had to participate in the greeting fully. In addition to this greeting, an older person will randomly ask you to 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 could 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 wouldn't be coated by the dust. So it was very dust. This is why I walked barefoot and I allowed my mind to protect 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 in 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 yards. So the sound of the brooms meeting the dried leaves filled 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 shepherding their caught lassies and stones, and that sound actually made your titsawas you walked by. And there was the sound of bells being wrong. This was Iron Bear's hung and the arms of mango trees. They were being wrong as a call for school.

When I got closer to my school, which was near a stream, I would wash my feet, and then I would put on my shoes that I would ride, looking very clean. We stood in line, there were cleanliness check up, check your hair, if you were scoamed, 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 modern 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, many occasions, the teacher would come. And he or she would recite to us, we're reading today, so and so play, you know, Julius Caesar, for example, and the teacher was read, friends, Roman countrymen, and we would repeat all the children, friends, Roman countrymen, lend me your ears, I've come to bury Caesar, lend me your ears, I've come to bury Caesar, 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 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 the story in the classroom. And every young boy wanted to be Jim Hawkins.

So we walked around our community pretending that we were Jim Hawkins of a 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 water that I started in my country.

And they spoke about what had happened to them. How do your houses have been burnt? Their families have been killed. How do you've 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 countries I tried to look 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 distance myself from the very sounds that had 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 the pounded rice 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 the 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, 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 help Gassimo to take the bananas to the village. As we were going with the banana He told me, oh, your parents are gonna 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. We 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 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, tin 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 would hit another building or another tree and they would run the other way. Finally the woman stopped moving and the boy sat on the 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 of remains.

As we were seeing these kinds of things that became quite angry because I blamed the Gospel 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 this happened. I didn't understand that he'd 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 blame each other, and we knew that somebody was walking slow, so and so forth. As we were fighting amongst ourselves, we heard a noise of people coming to the village, so we ran and hid into the nearby bushes, and we saw young people coming to 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

carousine 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 seen, that I would 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 I also believed that, when an older person dies, a library is destroyed or burned.

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 worst of all, we were 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 and Sierra Leone. His memoir about his experience, A Long Way Gone, has sold more than a million copies and has 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 Mawth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Katherine Burns, and Meg Bulls, 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 most leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Joneskate-Tellers,

Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Klucce, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Inga Gladowski, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Kaza. Most stories are true as remembered and affirmed by our storytellers. Our theme music is by the Drift, other music in this hour from Blue Dot Sessions, Nikola Repac, The West Ulys, Max Roach, and Blue Cranks. We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX.

For more about our podcast, for information on pitchingness, your own story, and everything else, go to our website, thomoth.org. you