A day in Seguela

The blue helmet peacekeeper was not in his usual fatigue and bullet proof jacket today. He was taking his time off, enjoying the sunshine and long drive to Seguela a small town in the north of Cote d’Ivoire under control of the rebels. He started his journey late in the morning from Daloa. It’s a government held town almost in the centre of the war ravaged country. Busy as it could be. He hated rushing people, crowds and smog. As he slipped in to the leather slipper and came out of his room very early in the morning in his blue faded denim and sky blue half shirt, inhaled deeply the fresh and unpolluted air from last night’s heavy rain. The prospect of serene and tranquil Seguela curved a thin smile on his lips. By the hour the heat, the smog and the crowd will make it worse to stay in the bustling town. He felt the urge to flee as far as he could. Not until late in the morning he did so.

Their convoy of three vehicles stopped at the market place in Vabua, an hour drive from Daloa to the north. Shahed was following his friend from the Engineers who was on the way to inspect the newly established camp location in Seguela. He has all the time till the evening to devour the countryside, breathe the fresh air and wonder at lush green. He even did not mind to opportunity shopping in this market place.

Vabua market place is like a beehive made of thousand shanties, arrayed in ranks and files like the soldiers stand in the parade. Nearly dark narrow alleys reminded him of similar places in Bangkok, Dhaka and Karachi. These are the places for commoners living difficult life who want to be looked better, clad better but could not afford the glittering shopping malls. Look, is not it gorgeous, said Kamal. Shahed came back to the places wherever he was hovering. Yes, it is, he replied. Together they kept on searching for more gorgeous cloths those would suit their beloved. They settled on five different designs some laced and some pure cotton. The most excruciating part is to settle on a price where both think they won. Omar, the bearded shop owner, sounded adamant on the asking price. He is not allowing any breathing space. He is making very small profit for his blue helmet friends he announced in half English and half French. Shahed could not take his eyes off the three colours he has picked for his wife and daughter. Baby pink coloured piece of cloth would certainly look marvellous on his daughter who is growing up to be a lovely young woman. He in no way could miss the smile on their faces. He made up his mind to agree to pay whatever it takes. On the thick of mulling he heard a gun shot. Or was it some thing else. People all around started running in frenzy. The shop keepers hurriedly brought down the shutters of the shops. The shop owner cursed in local vernacular and was about to drive them out. Shahed quickly grabbed the packet of selected cloths and brought out his wallet. Without waiting for change He almost shouted to others, “Let’s go.”

Vendors with head loads ran to all directions. So are the shoppers, bystanders, and shop keepers. A small child stood on the darkened alley with surprise in his eyes. The panic and fear did not touch him. He must be thinking that it was part of his game. His mother came running, grabbed him and sped away to the other side. Shahed and his mates rushed to their vehicles parked out side the market. They boarded in, quickly consulted and thought it better to leave the place. Rest of the journey to Seguela was without any noise. Acres of cashew nut garden sped past them. They were still thinking what had really caused the panic.

Nasir, the Camp Commandant, was eagerly waiting for his friends. He bear hugged them as they got down from the jeep. He was in a high moral. He is going back home in couple of weeks. The group settled in the ‘Gol Ghar’. Nasir proudly calls it his command post. Nasir drew his eyebrows together in thought as he was informed about the shooting incident in Vabua. Don’t worry, you are in safe haven. I will get some one to know what has happened. Relax, enjoy your time, he said with confidence in his voice. So they continued their usual friendly chitchat and pulling each others leg over the hospitality offered to them.

Shahed said, “Do you hear what I hear?” yes, I do, said Fahad. Gun shots from a distance suddenly sounded very near. Nasir, not in his best shape though, jumped to his feet and said, “Wait my friend I am going to check”. So we waited with a grim face.

An agonizing hour passed without Nasir returning with his information. Soldiers of blue helmet appeared to the nearest post, battle dressed and alert. Shahed sensed something wrong has happened. He got up and went in the same direction as Nasir went. He found him in deep conversation with the security officer and military observers. He turned to Shahed, “there have been few shots fired in the other side of the town. A group of rebels have been seen around the residence of the Zone Commander of the rebels. Armed movements are also noticed through out the city. I have sent a patrol with APC to know more. I am sorry that I had to leave you in the ‘Gol Ghar’.” “Do not apologize. Its duty call” said Shahed.

Tranquillity and serenity of Seguela were convincingly broken now with more shots fired in the close vicinity. A foot patrol of the rebel soldiers are approaching the main entrance of the Camp, reported the sentry. Nasir barked some cautionary instructions. Every body went outside the line of fire from the main gate.

A heavily built man of medium height, bulky in the middle, approached the main gate. He, in his broken English, demanded to meet the Camp Commandant. Nasir knew him very well. He is Major Kullybally, the Deputy Commander of the Zone.

She cried in fear as the shell whistled over and past them, then landed hundred metres away from the jeep on the playing field. Vallery Svensson, a volunteer with International Rescue Committee, was working with the destitute people of Cote d’Ivoire for last three months. The long working hours, gruelling journeys over the earthen tracks to far-flung villages, no running water in her rented home dissuaded her from the work. She loved to be here in Africa. Her father was a surgeon who worked in Congo a long time ago. She visited him as a kid. The passion for humanitarian activities of the surgeon fascinated her. Deeply moved by the plight of the people she vowed to stand beside them. It’s not an easy task, she was told. Jam packed, all nine of them, were being escorted by the armoured car to the safe place in side the Bangladesh Battalion camp. She prayed, prayed not for her but for those impoverished people she left behind in the city. The young and agile captain jumped out of the pick up and indicated the first two vehicles to park beside the main entrance of the camp. He waived the IRC jeep to pass through the gate. Vallery mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to the captain; an honest one indeed.

With anger in his eyes Major Kullybally informed that a group of soldiers under Corporal Outtara has taken one of lieutenants as hostage in the morning at Vabua. They also have three other soldiers apprehended. The coldness in his voice shuddered Nasir through the spine. Kullybally refused to eat anything until the war is over. He showed ‘the band’ tied on his left forearms. He has to act very quickly to prevent more bloodshed, Nasir thought. He knows all these people like his bosom friend. That makes his role all the more difficult. He does not want his friends to die for nothing.

The splinter has sliced off a chunk of flesh from his right thigh. The gushing wound in his abdomen looked very bad. Eric did not feel anymore pain as he was being strapped in to the stretcher. He felt numb in his toes and fingers. It has been six years since he joined the ‘Forces Nouvelle’.

The school is closed for the last few months. He was remembering the words of his teacher. She assured them to continue where she stopped after the war is over. Please, children remain with your books, she pleaded. He was fondly caressing the exercise book and thinking of what she said. He is in seventh grade yet almost touching his father in height. Silky hairs have appeared on his cheek and the pelvis region. He was deeply engrossed in thinking about the offer of his cousin. They wanted him to join the group. His father is an Ivorian and mother is from Burkina Faso. They met each other in one of his trade trips to Burkina Faso. She fell in love with the hard working, young trader. They settled in Seguela and started their journey together. That makes Eric vulnerable like so many others. They are caught in the political gambit said his cousin. They must now fight; fight to establish their right. He fled his home with his cousin to join their group in the bush with dews bathing his feet and radiance in the eastern horizon. He took it as an auspicious sign. He was not allowed to handle a weapon for two years. He cleaned them, carried them for others but never fired. Yet he felt very powerful with one of the Kalashnikovs slung to his shoulder. One morning his section commander came to him and examined his biceps like the way some one buys fruits in the market. You are ready, he said. He threw an AK-47 to him. Eric grabbed the submachine gun greedily. Finally he has his own piece.

Eric remained with his group in Seguela after the cease fire was brokered. He contacted his teacher and sought her advice as to how to cover up in his studies. He used time offs as guided by her. Eric mostly remained in the check posts. He despised the squeezing of money from the people crossing the check post. He declined to take his share of the booty. There have been rumours of betrayal. They were asked to deposit their weapons and uniform; then merge in to civilian life. They were also promised financial help to begin with and a job later. He neither wanted financial help nor a job. He wanted to go back to school and start where he stopped.

Eric went out in the morning with his section to besiege the residence of the commander of the zone. Being fired upon the section quickly took cover. He was behind a pile of bricks in the playing field. The sound of shell landing on his right gave him no time to readjust his position. He fell backward on his back. Another shot from the front hit him in the abdomen while he was trying to rise. He was pulled further back and put in to stretcher. Slowly the numbness overtook his pain. He breathed his last in the ambulance carrying him to the hospital with dream in his eyes.

Frantic calls were exchanged between Nasir and higher up. All fell in line to talk to him. His commanding officer, the force commander everyone demanded first hand information. It seemed everyone wanted to be a part of the exciting game. He was annoyed and rightly so. Neither Corporal Outtara did not want to withdraw his troops and go back to his camp nor did Major Kullybally assured to stop taking vengeance. Hours ticked by. Nasir is gone again to negotiate with the warring factions.

Shahed was worried of retribution in his area. He made calls to his operations officer and updated him with the incidents in Vabua and Seguela. He further instructed them to remain alert and establish contact with local commanders. He does not want a repetition of the same. He felt hungry when he was making his calls. Lunch tables were laid in the officers’ mess. None has appeared yet. Nasir would not be in a mood now to eat, opined Fahad. So we sat for lunch without our great friend. A beautiful face peeped in through the door. Vallery asked, “Do you mind if I join in?” By all means do join us, we said in chorus. Who could refuse a paragon of beauty?

Nasir dropped in to see how we were pulling on. He updated us with good information. The ice is broken. He would place his troops guarding the approaches to the city in order to prevent reinforcement for Major Kullybally and stop further blood shed. Corporal Outtara has agreed to withdraw to his camp ‘Camp Genie’. And then off he went. He did not return until next morning.

The night fell. We remained in the same cloth that we wore in the morning. We were supposed to go back in the afternoon. So we ransacked Nasir’s closet to find whatever we could wear. I was not certainly looking smartest of the group given the fact that Nasir out sizes me two to one. Everything seemed to have quieted down in the northern front. The moon rose as usual. The prefabricated accommodations glittered in its light. We sat again in the ‘Gol Ghar’ to enjoy the serenity flushed with moon-light.

While he waited in his armoured car for the dawn to appear, Nasir was flooded with mixed feelings. He did not feel it right to be out in the open at the fag end of his tour of duty. He also did not want any one to die while he was on duty. Hectic events of the day made him very very tired. He wanted to sleep but that is the last thing he could do tonight. He remained awake amidst chirping of the crickets.

Shahed woke up in the middle of the night with loud bangs. It took a while to understand what is happening around. He was sweating, the mouth was dry and the head felt empty. Did hell break loose again? No. Fahad was snoring. I went back to sleep again. Of course Fahad denied in the morning that he snored and said, “You did it.”

C’mon wake up! Shouted a beaming faced Nasir. You need to grow up should you want fit in to that track-suit, he said. He is back. Everything is under control, he announced and going to be normal soon he added. French forces stationed in Daloa are sending reinforcement to help mitigating the crisis. He requested us to stay few more hours for the clouds to be clear. We jovially accepted.

The first check point we crossed at about mid-day was heavily armed. They are from the rebel faction of Corporal Outtara. We were given a friendly smile and waved through. Apparently the news of Nasir’s effort to negotiating has spread.

Ali Mohammad cursed as he tumbled over a piece of pebble on the shoulder of the road. He balanced himself and continued whistling the soft tune. He picked up the tune when he was in his mother’s womb, he was told. His mother Alida used sing to him when she worked on the field. She had gone through very hard times after his father did not return home from one of his trips with the herd. She was pregnant with six months. She had dreams of small round cottage, a court yard, a few goats and plenty of jungle in the back. Now that he is gone, her dream was shattered. No body in the clan tried to help. No one can. They are from very poor ‘Malinki’ clan who lived on herding cattle across the vast land of the West Africa. She kept her and baby she was carrying alive by growing ‘cassava’ at the back of her dilapidated thatched hut and finding whatever eatable she could. She was not afraid of the want but of the drought that loomed around when he was about to be born. Those were the difficult days. The songs she learnt from her mother who learnt from her mother and so on, kept her going.

Ali never saw his father. What he would look like, he wondered. He is thin, has long chin, curled hair and lighter skin than others of the clan. His skin made him stand separated from others of the neighbourhood. The children did not play with him for his tanned skin. He got it from his father, his mother said. He wished he could see him. He grew up very lonely and lonely he is now except those cows he loves so much. He had his first group of cows to be shepherded at sixteen. That was a small trip of few nights. Yet he liked it. The smell of the herd, the shrubs, the trees, and the sky make him more comfortable than having people around. He does not understand people actually. Shepherding was an addiction, he could neither avoid nor did he want. Alida tried to persuade him to stop shepherding. She gave up but made him promise that he would return. He was her only link to this world.

He has been on the road for last five months since he left their village bordering Mali on foot. He has a bigger herd this time with thirty cows. His owner has sold these to a man in Daloa of Cote d’Ivoire. We met him at Teguela just outside the town of Seguela. He was shabbily dressed, smelling foul and looked very tired. Taking bath is a luxury in his profession. He passed his nights under the umbrella of the stars above and soft grass beneath. The herd remained mostly road bound never going far inside the jungle. He had to keep them close and safe, safe from the motorists and thieves. We shared a bottle of water, a packet of biscuit with him and wished him safe journey. He said with a wry smile, “that is what you need most now.”

We overtook a motor cycle going towards Vabua. The soldier had his Kalashnikov on the lap and his wife riding at the back. The child wrapped with a cloth and tied at the back of the mother giggled. We saw a few more motor cycles moving to the same direction. The followers of Outtara are on the haste to move their families to safer places.

Hundreds of rebels were moving aimlessly in the streets and the market place of Vabua. There was a sense of accomplishment hung in the air; and yet confusion and lack of direction persisted. We drove very carefully and waived at every soldier with a broad friendly smile. We did not want them to think otherwise. Zakir received us in the entrance of the office of Sous-Prefect. He in his usual colloquial tone inquired, “Sir, eikhane aichhilen ki morte (did you come here to die)?” I know him from our training period together. He was not only anxious but did not hesitate to rebuke us for the trip we took.

As we approached to the last check post of manned by the rebels, tensed Fahad gripped the steering wheel firmly, the knuckles became white. I could see his eyes through the specs. They were fixed on the asphalt avoiding the gazes of the sentry. A giant masked with camouflage cream approached to the window. A thought came to my mind, why did he need that camouflage cream for. Seeing the look he bore, a child would pee to the pant. Sound of approaching helicopter alerted all the soldiers manning the post. They quickly took up position and pointed their weapons to the sky. Well, it was our turn not of the child. A convoy of French Licorne forces was moving from the front. Few tensed moments passed with us sitting in the jeep and silently praying not to become a prey of friendly fire. The convoy stopped a hundred meters away from the post. A captain got down and cautiously approached the road barrier. He talked to the post commander. The post commander was agitated and denied access to the convoy. The captain frowned with tightened lips. He brought his cell phone dialled few numbers, talked furiously. He then handed over the cell phone to the Post Commander who then reluctantly allowed the convoy to pass. We breathed a sigh of relief. Driving for a mile from the post Fahad slowed down and rested briefly his forehead on the steering wheel. He lifted his forehead and softly said, “We could smoke now!”

(Author’s note: Nasir, Zakir and their Commanding Officer received Force Commander’s Commendation for skilfully negotiating between the warring factions and saving lives of innocent people without having to fire a single round although. As a Bangladeshi I am proud of their achievement.)