That was the message I got from my mother two years ago yesterday. She’d tried to call me, but I left my phone in the car when I was out to dinner. I didn’t see the message until I got out of the car at home. I’ll never forget that day.
What??? What’s going on?
I called my mother. She told me the little she knew. That they’d found the motorbike and all their stuff in Congo somewhere, and that Joshua was arrested. But no one knew exactly where he was and how he was doing. And no one knew where Tjostolv was, and how he was doing, if he was even alive.
The day after the media-hell started. In addition I think I spoke on the phone 5 hours a day to the Foreign Ministry, lawyers, the Moland’s, and other people to find out things, organize etc…
The first weeks we were all in a state of crisis, where you only did the things you had to. Pictures of Joshua came on TV; a French reporter had filmed him. His face was censored. It was painful to see him tied up with strips. Shown off like some trophy. Today we know more about what happened to him during the arrest.
Weeks went by, we thought a solution would come. We were tense, hard at work to get the boys home. But they didn’t come home.
Months went by, and finally the trial started. A trial that might’ve been on another galaxy, where logic and context didn’t matter. Money was essential and the verdict was tough. Even if we saw after a few days were they were going, it was a punch in the stomach when 4-5 death sentences were announced. There was in addition standing applause from the people that was present.
Everyone had their opinions in Norway as well. I read too many comments and blogs the first year. It hurt at first, but after a while you learn that some people just don’t have any empathy. It’s just too easy to judge when you can be anonymous. It is in general too easy to judge others without really knowing what you’re talking about.
A year went by, my days became more normal. I didn’t care anymore what others wrote and meant. There were more trials and the sense of crisis didn’t go away. Sentenced to death for the third time…
Now it’s been 2 years. A deal was made with the widow last fall. Right after that they were coming home. That was even the case a year ago as well. I don’t know how many promises and messages we’ve gotten that they were coming home. But does anything happen? No…..
Then I think… I miss my brother so much. It’s been two years. A lot has happened in two years. It generally happens a lot in a person’s life in two years. Myself, I’ve gotten from being 24 to 26 years old.
But in a 3x5 meters cell in the middle of Congo, nothing has happened in two years… time stands still.
Hannah French May 12th 2011
