Day of the Pili-pili Gas

"The Americans are attacking the bank!"

American Embassy, Bujumbura, Burundi.

Back in 1995 Corporal Burke served with the Marine Security Guard Detachment at the embassy in Bujumbura. Buj is the capital city of an interesting nation just south of Rwanda. They shared similar ethnic cleansing issues between Hutu and Tutsi tribesmen along with cultural pastimes like taking a machete to their neighbor, shooting up villages with AKs, and an event we liked to call The Night of 1000 Hand Grenades. While normally this kind of violence wasn’t directed at Americans it didn’t pay to be hanging around the bus stop during a drive by hand grenade-ing.

Periodically, the embassy staff conducted tabletop emergency action drills covering various scenarios involving things like rioting, attacks on the embassy, etc. As part of one particular drill the Marines reacted to the embassy to respond to some internal defense scenarios. In full battle rattle we smoothly took our positions throughout the small two-story building in order to have a 360 degree view of the compound. The State Department shared the compound with the Burundi National Bank.

Our protective gear included Kevlar helmet and flak jacket festooned with pockets and pouches filled with assorted ammo for our shotguns and .357 revolvers (Smith & Wesson Model 19 for you afficianados). In two back pouches we carried canisters of CS (tear gas). These resembled a small plastic can of coffee with a pin and spoon set-up which dispensed approximately 100 grams of 2-chlorobenzylidene malononitrile powder. Some of this equipment was older than we were, particularly the CS canisters. After years of bouncing around in those pouches the plastic parts holding the pins had worn out and cracked.

In the Detachment Commander’s office one of the Marines settled in a chair taking an overwatch position. He heard a soft ‘pop’ and looked down to see he was covered in a thin blanket of green powder. One of the canisters had gone off in his gear and doused him in CS. CS “gas” isn’t really a gas so much as aerosolized crystals. The sharp edges of the crystals are what cause irritation particularly to soft tissue areas like the eyes, nose, and respiratory tract. They are a lot of fun at parties.

The Marine at Post 1 later related that all he saw was a chair fly out of the Det Commander’s office, followed by a set of flak gear hurling into the hallway. Then came the unfortunate owner of the faulty canister as he sprinted down the hall toward the front door of the chancery.

“I knew I had to get out of there before the CS hit me.” Valiantly he hit the first crash bar on the inner door leading to the waiting area. As he hit the second crash bar of the front door he collapsed in a heap as the full force of an entire canister of CS took effect. Crawling, he clawed his way toward an outside faucet where he finally turned the water on his face and lay there inert, like a snail liberally sprinkled with salt.

Noting a CS canister had gone off inside the building, Post 1 donned his field protective mask and immediately ordered everyone to evacuate the bottom floor. Being human, everyone strode from their nearby offices indignantly demanding to know why they had to leave, particularly the local nationals who no doubt had never experienced or considered the effects of tear gas.

“Why? Why must we…Arrgh! *cough* Run away! *retch*!” Now fleeing, the gagging, snot flinging mob clawed out their eyes as they spilled into the small parking area between the embassy and the bank.

The Foreign Service types knew our Det Commander as Bernie. We knew him as Staff Sergeant. Bernie was not widely regarded as the sharpest bowling ball in the drawer. In the upstairs conference room, he calmly approached the Regional Security Officer during the emergency action drill and merely said, “We’ve got a little problem downstairs.” Thinking one of the Marines had injured himself, the RSO made it about half way down the stairwell before…

“So what’s the…gah!…Aw Bernie!…You dick!”

Bernie never did get that license to practice brain surgery.

By the time I got the word it was, “We need you downstairs. You might want to put your mask on.” At least I got more heads up than the RSO.

After surveying the carnage, we opened a large side door to the building and began decontamination of the first floor. In this case decon consisted of throwing the chair and flak jacket outside and sweeping and swabbing the deck. As a side note, readers may find it interesting in the world of chemical, biological, and nuclear incident response, hot soapy water and bleach are the number one decontaminating agents for most situations. Radioactive alpha and beta particles? Hot soapy water over here please!

We swept the CS powder out of the side hatch in great billowing clouds. Being Africa, most folks leave their windows open for fresh air. We cleared the national bank out in a matter of minutes. A local military commander later called our RSO and remarked, “I hear the Americans are attacking the bank!”

A wider shot of the compound. See the building behind me? That’s the bank.

Cultural differences are interesting to experince. In the United States it is considered quite rude to stare at people. Within the brain housing of alpha males such as you find in the Marine Corps, staring must mean you wish to fight. In Africa and other places worldwide, staring at folks isn’t viewed in the same manner. I couldn’t say why, but in Central Africa, anything a mzungu (foreigner) was up to was infinately fascinating. Certainly a mzungu wearing a gas mask and carrying a broom remained something far too interesting to ignore. As such local guards and a small crowd of nationals gathered along the back fence.

So intense was their interest they never once did the math and figured out their noses were running and eyes itched because of what we were doing. I laughed to myself as they continued to rub their eyes and sniffle while crowding in to get a better look through the bars. Being a young smart ass, I kicked up as much dust as my broom allowed.

At one point a man with his shirt pulled over his nose and mouth ran from the bank to his car. Once safely within his vehicle he rolled down the window before pulling away. We never did find out how well it worked out for him.

Once we cleaned up the gross contamination, the embassy staff were able to return to their offices on the ground floor. Some remarked they could still smell the “pili-pili” gas as they pointed to their noses. Pili-pili is an African hot sauce, very spicy. I found the comparison hilarious.

In the end what is really important is to note that a handful of Marines with one CS canister can shut down an entire city block and a national banking institution in a single afternoon. Imagine if we really meant it!