When it rains in Mali, it pours

By Anouk Delafortrie, Regional  Information Officer in Dakar, ECHO

“I am worried about my parents. I’ve not spoken to them since we came here. They’re old. Travel is difficult for them so they stayed behind. My husband tells me they’re fine but I find it hard to believe. I would like to return but we have no money. My husband goes out every day to find work in town. If he finds some we eat, if he doesn’t we don’t,” says Assa with a grave expression while her daughter huddles up to her.

 

Assa shares a dilapidated room with her four children. Her husband, his second wife and their six children live in the room next door. She’s afraid to sleep after the first rains sent mud flowing down the walls. The wooden sticks that form the ceiling look dangerously bent as if they could collapse anytime. But they can’t afford to move to a safer place, they already owe two months’ rent as it is.

 

 

Funded by the EU, teams of Handicap International (HI) are on their daily round of visits in Sévaré, a garrison town on the crossroads between the country’s north and south, close to the town of Mopti. Some 40 000 Malians sought refuge here as conflict up north dislocated their lives. Sévaré itself nearly fell into the hands of non-state armed groups in January 2013 when fighters launched a bold offensive and advanced within 20 km of the town in an apparent effort to take control of its military airport. Fears of a ‘push through’ to the south were what triggered France’s military intervention on 11 January.

 

Six months later people in Sévaré seem to be going about their business except for many of the displaced families who feel stuck in a place that has shown them remarkable hospitality, yet isn’t home. With the onset of the rainy season the window of opportunity to cultivate their land in time for the harvest is slowly closing and with it comes the realisation that they may be dependent on aid for many more months to come.

 

When Assa’s family fled their village in the region of Douentza, with fighters on their heels, they didn’t take any belongings nor did they remember to bring identity papers. Their new neighbours gave them clothes, cooking utensils and a washbasin, but without papers they weren’t able to officially register as ‘internally displaced’ and are thus excluded from certain types of assistance.

 

 

The European Commission´s humanitarian aid and civil protection department (ECHO) funds Handicap International to seek out the most vulnerable families like Assa’s and connect them with services and actors in order to improve their housing situation and provide access to food assistance and health care. HI also helps individuals with physiotherapy or mental health needs. During the visit Assa mentions she has a belly ache.  This could be a consequence of the unpurified water she drinks or a psychosomatic reaction to the stresses of her new living conditions.

 

HI’s psycho-social advisor Laetitia Rancillac has hired five mobile teams, each composed of a psychologist and a social worker, to identify people with specific needs. “It is common for people who’ve lived through armed conflict to experience troubles related to loss and mourning. They’ve lost their bearings, their property, their status; some have witnessed violence which can result in post-traumatic stress disorder,” Laetitia explains.

 

When one of HI’s psycho-social duos visits Fatoumata she complains about a humming in her head, as if continuously reliving the bombardments on the armed group’s  base close to her home. Barely audible she recounts the events: “I was out at the river doing the laundry when the bombing started. Shells were flying over our heads. I saw a woman faint. After that, I couldn’t do anything for three days.” Fatoumata also recalls other events that made a profound impression on her, like when the neighbour’s boy picked up a grenade, threw it in the air and by doing so wounded his friend who, conscious of the impending danger, had started to run away.

 

She took her two children to her brother’s home in Sévaré while her husband stayed behind in Gao to take care of the house. “At first I felt a lot of anger, I felt violated. Now, I’m just sad,” she says listlessly casting her eyes down. Fatoumata’s brother seems happy with HI’s suggestion for her to join a group where she can discuss and share her feelings with people who’ve had similar experiences: “We don’t want her to go back like this. We want her to get better first.”

 

In Mopti, ECHO funds Handicap International to ensure the most vulnerable among the displaced people get the assistance they need. The organisation also provides help to people with mental health or physiotherapy needs and engages in explosive ordnance disposal.

 

For more go to http://ec.europa.eu/echo/
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For Malian Refugees, Peace Deal Does Not Guarantee Safe Return

By Alice Thomas, Refugees International

Under a corrugated metal roof at the Goudebou refugee camp in Burkina Faso, eight or nine families huddle in small groups awaiting a food distribution. These are the “new arrivals,” a UN Refugee Agency worker explains – people who recently fled Mali, Burkina’s northern neighbor, and arrived at the camp in recent days.

 

As I study their faces, I notice the rich ethnic diversity reflected in their eyes, skin color, features, and dress. A group of Songhai women sit silently, their eyes taking in their new surroundings. Next to them, a young Tuareg woman prepares tea for her husband and mother while two small children toddle about. But while their language, religions, and ethnicities may be different, they share a common nationality – Malian.

 

Malian refugees wait for a food distribution in Goudebou camp, Burkina Faso
Credit: Refugees International

 

Goudebou sits on the outskirts of the town of Dori in northern Burkina Faso, and at the edge of the Sahelian zone – a semi-arid landscape where tree cover and water are scarce. Opened last year, the camp is now home to 10,000 refugees who have fled violence between the Malian military, Tuareg separatists, and Islamic extremists. A French-led military intervention in January succeeded in retaking the north’s major towns, but led to additional displacement.

 

I ask the Songhai women when they arrived. “Last night,” the daughter, who is about 18, replies in French. When I ask why they fled, she shifts her eyes about nervously, looking to see who is around her. I ask her again and she looks away, not wanting to answer.

 

Later, I sit under a large tent talking to a group of Tuareg men who fled Mali last March. We talk about the peace negotiations taking place in Burkina’s capital city that day, which produced a provisional peace deal between the Malian government and the National Movement for the Liberation of Azawad (MNLA), a Tuareg separatist group.

 

I ask the men if they will return to Mali if an agreement is reached. They scoff at my question, shaking their heads. “We cannot return – it is not safe.” 

 

One of the men recounts a story. “Two or three months ago, two Tuareg traders who had been with us here in the camp decided to return to Mali to check their herds,” he says. “We heard that they were killed by members of the Malian army.” Another adds, “Several weeks ago, a young man who was recently married decided to go back to check whether it was safe to bring his wife back. We heard he was also killed. He has not come back. His widow is here in the camp.”

 

A Tuareg man from Mali now living as a refugee in Goudebou camp
Credit: Refugees International

“Don’t you see?” the man explains, “We are guilty by implication. If we return, the Malian army will assume that we fled because we are MNLA. ” Though their individual stories of retribution cannot be confirmed, they fit a troubling pattern of abuses by Malian soldiers – as well as Tuareg rebels – against civilians documented by human rights groups. The very act of return makes these refugees suspect, so creating a safe environment for return could be long and difficult; perceptions will have to change and trust will have to be rebuilt.

 

The next day, I discuss the refugees’ fate with the head of an aid group which has assisted displaced Malians since the crisis began. “There is a great deal of distrust now,” he said, “not just between the Malian army and the Tuaregs, but among local populations – those who fled and those who stayed.” Civilians who sympathized with, or merely submitted to, Islamist groups could also be viewed as collaborators, leading neighbor to turn against neighbor. We discuss whether the implications of this distrust have been fully recognized by the international community as it seeks to move forward with a peace deal and elections in late July.

 

The recent agreement between Mali and the MNLA is certainly a welcome step towards ending the Mali conflict. But the ethnically- and religiously-charged violence that exploded last year not only left deep wounds but also sowed suspicion and distrust, meaning the road to lasting peace in Mali will be a long one.

 

Abuses by all sides must be fully investigated and prosecuted. The UN peacekeeping mission that is now being deployed must also ensure that civilians are protected and peace enforced. But this must be accompanied by a robust reconciliation process led by civil society that has the full support of the Malian government and the international community.

 

Alice Thomas is the Climate Displacement Program Manager at Refugees International, a non-profit organization that works to end displacement and stateless crises worldwide and accepts no government or UN funding.

For more visit http://www.refintl.org/

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