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Liberian refugees leave frying pan, enter broiler
A woman and three small children emerge from gloomy bush at a sunlit river bank marking Ivory Coast's western border. On the far shore - 50 metres of swirling brown water away - is Liberia's dark rainforest, and long-running civil war.
Behind Rose Eshun and her family is another war, a new one, in which they and thousands of Liberian refugees like them are targets.
Some people just can't win for losing.
"This used to be a good place, we had no troubles," says Rose, 34, in the soft accent of America's deep south, brought to Liberia by freed American slaves. "Now, they're beating us, killing us. Even our neighbours, people we lived with for years."
| Welcome to West Africa. The Guardian writes this like the American blacks were brought to Liberia a few years ago, instead of 150 years ago. The country was a good idea that worked moderately well until Samuel Doe. |
The change came three months ago, when rebels rose up in western Ivory Coast, backed by fighters from Liberia. "When Ivorians see us, they see rebels," says Rose, as nearby a gang of Ivorian youths watches in silence.
| She's referring to the bad boys Charles Taylor has been sending to assist with the festivities... |
Their faces are smeared with charcoal in the belief that this will protect them against bullets; in their hands, they carry shotguns and clubs. According to refugee reports, local militias such as theirs have murdered hundreds of Liberians in recent weeks, as Ivory Coast, formerly one of the Africa's most harmonious countries, fractures along tribal lines.
At some point African leaders might wise up and let each tribe have their own nation. I don't think we'll live to see it, though.
"They have to leave," says one 21-year-old warrior, Lucien Sery, of the hundred-odd Liberian refugees preparing to recross the Kavali river. "They came to Ivory Coast to kill our people."
| In Rose's case he's probably wrong, in most cases he's probably right... |
A lurching canoe ride later, and Rose clambers back into the country she fled a decade ago. "It feels good," she smiles, brushing down her blue polka-dot dress. But her eldest daughter, Grace, 13, looks troubled. She remembers nothing about Liberia; prefers French - Ivory Coast's main language - to English; and says she will miss her friends. "Just say you're happy," Rose teases her, "because we're staying."
| And nobody's hacking you to death with machetes, as long as you keep your head down. For awhile. |
Rose and her children face a few weeks in a transit centre run by the UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), while she tries to locate her mother and seven sisters. Her husband, Francis, faces greater danger: stuck 100 miles into Ivory Coast, surrounded by roadblocks mounted by charcoal-coated fighters. "By the grace of God, he'll make it, and we'll be together again," says Rose. "Then we'll be happy."
Until Charlie Taylor comes a'visiting.
Five months into Ivory Coast's war, which began with a rebellion in the north by longstanding migrants from Burkina Faso, the government is making no obvious effort to end it. In the west, the extent of the disaster is unknown because most of the area is considered too dangerous for aid workers to enter. "But we know there are 8,000 Liberian refugees missing in Grabo zone," says Anne Dolan, UNHCR's field officer for western Ivory Coast of a district just 40 miles north of her headquarters in Tabou, close by the Kavali river. "We're assuming they're being killed up there."
| Probably a good assumption. Taylor's not the one who feels the effects of his meddling, is he? |
In a crowd of desperate Liberians outside Ms Dolan's office, Christopher Sankon, 21, has a missing right hand to justify her fears. Two weeks ago, militiamen in nearby Tarariye accused him and seven other Liberians of being rebels, and bundled them into the forest. Four were shot dead; three were wounded and left for dead. Christopher was badly beaten and his right hand blown off. "What can I do now?" he mutters, hunched over his bandaged stump. "I can't go back to Liberia; there was no work there when I had two hands."
| Automatic weapons are more important than jobs in Liberia... |
Even as he limped towards Tabou, Christopher was attacked by the militiamen again, he says, showing a fresh stab-wound in his shoulder-blade. Asked where he will go now, he simply shrugs. Other refugees, several thousand of them according to Ms Dolan, cannot return to Liberia because they would be killed there. Atolphus Ivy, 38, is one. His father and two uncles were murdered by fighters loyal to Charles Taylor, the former rebel who is now Liberia's besieged president, for being senior officials in the previous administration. "The minute I'm in Liberia, I'm dead," he says. Last week, Atolphus left his wife and seven children hidden in the forest outside Tabou, to visit the American embassy in Ivory Coast to discuss resettlement. Now he is too scared to travel the 200 miles to Abidjan, Ivory Coast's commercial capital. "My appointment was last week," he says, showing a letter from the US immigration agency to prove it. "But with all these militiamen, the roads aren't safe for Liberians. I'm fearing for my life."
Meanwhile, across the swirling Kavali river, Rose and her three children take up their pathetically few possessions, to venture further into violent Liberia. "There's war here too, but I thank God," she says. "At least we're home."
Am I ever glad I was not born in Africa.
Posted by: Steve White 2003-02-17 |
