Souliaman Diallo thought
the worst days of his life were behind him,
buried deep in the red soil of his native Sierra
Leone along with the butchered bodies of his
father and younger sister. That all changed
one steamy night in June when he heard a pounding
on his front door. He and his wife screamed
for help through the thin walls of their house,
but no one came. After a few minutes of listening
to the rhythmic chopping of an ax, six men
donning ski masks and carrying an array of
weapons entered the house. The intruders held
a gun to Diallo's head, gang raped his wife
and stole all of their belongings. During the
attack Diallo's two young daughters, ages 3
and 6, huddled in the corner crying.
Diallo's
story is not unique. Like the estimated 400 thousand
refugees living in the small West African nation of
Guinea, Diallo fled the horrors of war in his own country
only to end up living in another kind of hell. Refugees
in Guinea, some of whom have been there for over ten
years, live in squalid conditions and are common targets
for harassment, robbery, rape and extortion. They cannot
return home to their native countries of Sierra Leone
and Liberia for fear of being killed in the ongoing
civil wars, and their futures in Guinea look just as
bleak.
Earlier this year
the United Nations called the situation in Guinea, "the worst refugee crisis
in the world." Although the Afghan refugee
crisis now claims this title, Guinea retains its
status as host to the largest number of refugees
in Africa. Unfortunately, it is also one of the
least known and least talked about refugee crises
in the world.
"Please, tell the Americans about us. They
are the only ones who can help," implores
81-year-old Musa Kabba, a Sierra Leonean currently
living in a refugee camp in Southern Guinea, where
he says conditions are extremely difficult, especially
for children and the elderly.
"The place where I lie down I don't have
a bed. There are too many mosquitoes. The toilet
is overflowing." The gray-haired Kabba swats
at a fly and shakes his head in disgust. "I
am cold at night. I am an old man and I don't even
have a blanket. There is never enough to eat."
Kabba is one of 20 thousand residents in Sembakounya,
a refugee camp located in a remote, forested region
of Guinea. Half-a-dozen camps like Sembakounya
are scattered across Guinea and contain the majority
of the refugees in that country. Although adequate
shipments of humanitarian aid prevent starvation,
the refugees living in the camps feel isolated
and dehumanized. The nearest village to Sembakounya
is a two-day walk, and there is little work to
be had in the camp. Because of the bleak situation
there and in other camps, some refugees choose
to live in the capital Conakry instead, where they
face a whole different set of adversities.
"People tell me I should stay in the camp," says
30-year-old Diallo, picking at a festering wound
on his hand that he received the night of the attack, "but
there is nothing for me to do there. At least here
I can work and make a little money."
But while Diallo defends his choice to live in
the capital, the attack in June has left scars
far deeper than the one on his hand.
"It's terrible for refugees here. All the
time I fear I will be killed. I just want to go
some place I will be safe, somewhere my family
will be safe," says Diallo.
Diallo's belief that he was signaled out because
of his refugee status is echoed again and again
in the stories told by other refugees. Last year,
after a series of cross border attacks by rebels
from Sierra Leone threatened to drag Guinea into
the regional conflict, public sentiment toward
refugees took a turn for the worse. In a widely
broadcast radio address, Guinean President Lansana
Conte blamed the refugees for luring the rebels
across the border and called on Guinean citizens
to expel them. Once hospitable locals suddenly
turned against the refugees, looting and burning
their homes. Women were raped and men were imprisoned
and tortured.
Diallo recalls the day he was accused of being
a rebel and taken to Foracariah prison.
"They packed us into a tiny cell," says
Diallo staring at the wall, visibly shaken by the
memories. "Everyday they took people from
the prison and killed them. They would take us
out and put us face up in the sun for hours. Many
people died in there."
Human Rights Watch,
a non-governmental organization that reports
on human rights abuses around the
world, has since called Foracariah prison, "one
of the most notorious of Guinean detention centers."
Conditions at Foracariah prison have improved
since abuses there were exposed in the international
press, but refugees are still systematically detained
without cause in jails across the country.
Ralston Deffenbaugh, president of Lutheran Immigration
and Refugee Service Baltimore-based non-profit
organization that aids refugees, immigrants and
asylum seekers having with arbitrary arrest and
detention.
"It was pretty illustrative that the week
before we were at Kountaya camp, four IRC (International
Rescue Committee) employees were detained. If a
worker for an international aid organization can
be detained like that, imagine how it is for the
average refugee," says Deffenbaugh.
So refugees in Guinea are faced with three, equally
grim options: return home to a country still embroiled
in conflict, languish in one of the remote refugee
camps with no hope for a normal life, or face violence
and harassment in Conakry while trying to eke out
a small living.
"I have been thinking about going home. I'm
old and I don't want to die in this place," says
Kabba, who does not believe the war in his country
will end anytime soon.
When asked if he has heard of US plans to curb
the sale of so-called blood diamonds, which are
blamed for fueling the war, he laughs.
"I don't believe it will work, because the
honesty is not there. Sierra Leonean diamonds are
the best, and people will still buy them," he
says.
Diallo admits he has no idea when the war will
end, but when it does, he has no plans to return
home. He says the memories are too painful.
"I just want to go somewhere safe, wherever
that is would be fine with me," he says. "Here,
in Guinea, I feel afraid all the time. My wife
is even worse. She doesn't want me to leave her
side."
But what can be
done to help the refugees in Guinea? That question
has been plaguing people like Deffenbaugh,
who believes the solutions for the two groups Liberians
and Sierra Leoneans should be tackled separately.
"I think there is a big difference between
the groups because of the situation in their own
countries," says Deffenbough. "For the
Sierra Leoneans, integration (in Guinea) is not
a possibility, so return is the best option."
As for the Liberians, Deffenbough takes the opposite
view.
"There is no reasonable prospect of repatriation
to Liberia given thegƿharles
Taylorb'Pe says, referring to the current Liberian
president who has gotten rich exporting diamonds
from rebel controlled areas of neighboring Sierra
Leone. "Up until now there has been skepticism
about resettlement for Liberians, but now it seems
like a viable option."
Resettlement involves relocating refugees to a
third country, such as the Unites States or Sweden.
Last year the United States resettled around 700
refugees from Sierra Leone, a figure that critics
say is far too low compared to the number of refugees
the US accepted from European countries. Diallo
has filed for resettlement twice, and says that
he prays every night for his application to be
approved so that he and his family can leave Guinea
alive.
As for Kabba, he just hopes to see peace in his
country before he dies.
"All we are asking for is peace," says
Kabba. "But we need help making this peace.
Ten years of war shows we cannot do it alone."
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