Divided by war, silenced by fear

War in Cote d'Ivoire forced Ibemi Ouattara to move to government-controlled Bondoukou, leaving her family behind in rebel-held Bouna. Last time Ibemi went back to visit her daughters, she was arrested for being a spy and thrown into prison and now she is too scared to risk another trip. When civil war split the West African nation in two in September 2002, the hospital where Ibemi worked as an orderly in her hometown of Bouna, closed down. Needing work, she asked for a transfer to the nearest functioning hospital across the frontline in government territory. That ended up being 150 kilometres to the south in Bondoukou. “I moved there shortly after the war broke out,” she told IRIN. “But I always used to be going back to see the family. I have three daughters and seven grandchildren there,” she explained with smiling eyes. But Ibemi’s face hardens and her voice rises as she remembers how New Forces rebels that control Bouna turned up while she was visiting one weekend and arrested her. “One day, at five in the morning, they came and arrested me, saying I was a spy and put me in the big prison!" she recalled. “I spent three months and six days there. My family used to come and bring me food. As for a bed? What? There was nothing! I slept on a mat on the stone floor!” the 65-year-old said, waving her arms for emphasis. “They were the captors and the judge,” she said of the rebels. “I only got out of the place after my daughters petitioned the Ghanaians who sent a car to come and fetch me.” There is a company of Ghanaian peacekeepers in Bouna, as part of a 6,000-strong United Nations Operation in Cote d’Ivoire (ONUCI). And another company of soldiers patrols two checkpoints along a 50-km stretch of road that runs through the buffer zone keeping the warring sides apart. No more running the gauntlet Ibemi used to run the gauntlet of government and rebel checkpoints on public transport - an expensive business with troops on both sides demanding cash or levying travel charges. But since her imprisonment in 2003, she hasn’t dared to return, resigning herself to staying in Bondoukou with a family friend.

Bouna lies in the far north east of the rebel controlled half of Cote d'Ivoire, and Bondoukou some 150km south in the government area

Across the frontline in rebel-held Bouna, a small town of some 40,000 people, finding Ibemi’s house isn’t hard. But Lieutenant Ibrahim Ben, the acting head of the New Forces there, insists on an escort nonetheless. He denies that families have been forcibly separated by the war. “It was their decision to go,” he says, leaning back in his office chair. “Everyone is free to come and go as they please.” He assigns one of his men, Officer Camara, as the escort for the visit to Ibemi's house. Camara used to work at the town hall, but stayed and donned a military uniform when war broke out, rather than fleeing to the government-run south along with most civil servants. He’s considered important enough to be issued with a motorbike. The one-storey building where Ibemi used to live is set out around a neat courtyard where her daughters pound yam and her grandchildren play or help with the chores. Camara stands right next to Ibemi’s uncle as he talks on the front porch, his eyes blinking nervously through the thick lenses of his glasses. Before the introductions have even finished, the old man is excusing himself for midday-prayers and ushering the children out of harms way. Camara mounts his motorbike. “I can’t think why the old man doesn’t want to talk to you," the portly rebel calls, laughing as he zooms off in a cloud of dust. No criticism in front of rebels All over town, conversation is restricted to practical matters when the rebels are around. Residents explain how there is no electricity most of the time, no water and that schools and health systems have ground to a halt. They all agree life is difficult but pointedly do not direct the blame at anyone. Bouna is more than 500 kilometres north of the economic capital Abidjan and 60 kilometres behind rebel lines. Cut off by it's remote location, with no phones, no newspapers residents feel particularly vulnerable. Only under the protection of anonymity and away from the ears of informants and rebel fighters will criticisms be aired. “We can’t speak freely, we have to respect them,” said one Bouna resident sheltering from the hot afternoon sun. “If you speak out of turn then they mark you as an opponent and put you in prison.” “There are people being put in prison all the time and if they can’t find the money that the rebels demand, then they don’t get out,” another said. Residents say there are beatings and people have been tortured in the prison. “We know this because it happened to one of us,” said one smartly-dressed young man. The others, some in traditional Muslim garb, nod and mumble their agreement but won’t say who among them was detained. Though some of the rebel forces in Bouna have been shipped in from other northern towns, many were born and bred right there. “If your neighbour is suddenly a rebel, how can that not be a problem for you? Even after the war there will continue to be suspicions as how will we know whether they have cached all their arms?” said one of the older men in the group. Most of the people that left Bouna did so in the first few weeks of the war. Kouassi Kossonou, who introduces himself as the President of the Displaced, has a list of 195 families that moved to Bondoukou. “And there are more. Because they have been absorbed by family and friends I’m sure there are many that are not listed here,” he said. On his list there are teachers, students, traders, soldiers, vets, doctors and cleaners to name but a few. Some rebel families on either side of frontline And even some of the rebels have family on the government side, including Major Ouattara Morou, the head of the New Forces in Bouna whose mother moved to Bondoukou. “We keep an eye on her to make sure that she is not victimised,” said one Ghanaian peacekeeper. Morou’s mother has proved helpful when the Ghanaians have been mediating between the rebel and government commanders. “Last time we had a problem we put her on the telephone and she talked to her son directly and we got our solution!” the peacekeeper said. Many of the people in Bondoukou are from Bouna and chose this government-held town because they had family connections. “I was lucky. My sister lives in Bondoukou. She is older than me and her children are all grown up, her husband is dead so she had plenty of space to put up me, my wife and our four children,” said Cisse Amara.

Cisse Amara with his niece, (back left) and two of his youngest children

“I left Bouna on the 21st November 2002. It was too stressful living there. From the moment the rebels arrived at the beginning of October they were all over the place, firing their guns in town every day and taking what they liked,” he explained. Amara used to run a transport operation of 25 buses that criss-crossed the country. Now he has only one bus on the road. The rebels took most of the others, and the remainder have broken down and he doesn't have the cash to repair them. The big house he left behind in Bouna has been commandeered by rebel forces, and his second home in Bondoukou that he used to rent out is almost empty. “There is nothing in there!” he said, waving a hand in the direction of an open doorway. “My sister had to help me out with everything as all my furniture was left behind in Bouna.” “When we came we had only what we could carry. In fact, I didn’t think that I would be here to stay, just while things cooled down,” he said. “Those that are left behind in Bouna are there because they have no choice.” Ghanaian military officers who have been based in the region and know both sides of the confidence zone well, say that anyone with anything to lose left Bouna a long time ago. “Most of the people who are left in Bouna are subsistence farmers," one senior officer said. "They have nothing for the rebels to take from them and no means of leaving.”