Bio Konneh, Cote d’Ivoire "It is always us, the mothers, who suffer"

Bio Konneh is 39 and lives at Kouankan II camp for Ivorian refugees with her five children and baby granddaughter. She fled her home in Cote d’Ivoire’s main city Abidjan in May 2004 following a bloody crackdown on opposition supporters by state security forces and allied militia.

“The war brought us here to Guinea. It is good being here, there is no trouble, it is calm and safe for the children. UNHCR (the UN refugee agency) helps us a lot – a woman’s life would be very difficult here without them, I can tell you!

Look at me, I walked 12 kilometres this morning just to find these few bananas and cassava. I’m going to make the cassava into attieke [an Ivorian staple] and then sell them on. But I don’t get much. For example, the bananas cost me 500 Guinean Francs (10 US cents) and I’ll be able to sell them on for 700 Guinea Francs. Still, we manage to eat okay, what with the food rations we get each month.

I’ve heard that those rations are going to be cut. It will be tough. Those who are courageous will be okay, those who are not will have trouble.

I left a lot, everything, behind me in Abidjan. When I fled all I took were my children. For us who are already old, it is one thing to stay there, but for my children who haven’t started their lives –Tsk! They can’t stay in that place! So instead they are starting out like this, in a refugee camp. Aye-aye-aye. At least it is safe.

If the war finishes, we can return but until then we have to stay. It’s difficult – even my parents don’t know where we are. I had a nice house in Abidjan – a proper place – but we left it all. There are no men in this household, so I myself put on a pair of trousers and with the kids made all those bricks that you see over there so that we can build ourselves a new house. It’s always us, the mothers, who suffer.

It was May when we left Abidjan. At night they would come and bang on the door with a gun in their hands. They would take money, women were raped and husbands beaten so that they could get at the women to rape them. President Gbagbo’s youths and the military, too, would come and harass us like that. We had to rely on French soldiers hearing our screams.

We northerners have problems there. Dioula [an ethnic group from the north] women are raped and our men are beaten. At night everyone in our district, Koumassi, would hide inside – men, women, children – everyone! Even the chickens were off the streets by six o’clock!

So we left. At first we walked to the edge of Abidjan to where we could get a bus west, but it was difficult there too. We made it to Duekoue and we were walking again when some militia stopped us. They wanted to take my daughter into the bushes and violate her. We had to joke about it. Make light of it to make them go away. Without a man among us, we couldn’t fight them off. Fortunately it worked, and we carried on walking quickly towards the border.

When we first crossed into Guinea, I found a shopkeeper who would let us sleep on the floor of his shop at night and leave our few bags there during the day. We had to do something because we didn’t know anyone we could ask for help. But I couldn’t do that for long before the money ran out. It was then that I was told about the camp.

We arrived in Guinea with just 1000 CFA francs [about US $2]. Oh, we set off with more, but those guys at their roadblocks searched us every time – even looking in our underwear. What? You don’t believe me? Huh. It’s only the old, old ladies that don’t get searched there for their cash!

Anyway, as for the future. Well, I can sit here and grow old. Or I can work and grow yams for my children – I know how to do that. Perhaps I can even have a little garden plot. The way that I look at it, even if you are married to the president you cannot sit all day doing nothing, with your arms folded – you always have to do something.”