Our driver, Tyler and Anthony shook their heads, but within seconds, the reality dawned on us. Unlike the rebels in their mismatched uniforms, track suits and berets, these men were uniformed. Their vehicles were a dark army green, and they lined in the street in military formation.
By chance, we made it through the first line of soldiers, but not the second.
“Keep driving!” Tyler shouted at Mohammed, the driver. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
Mohammed had no choice, and a soldier flung open his door. “Journalists!” he yelled at the other soldiers, their faces contorted in fear and rage. It was too late.