No time to bury the dead
2004-07-07 09:13
Camp Kounoungo, Chad - On a rocky wind-swept plain in Chad, four men stand with hands lifted in prayer over a freshly dug grave.
Djali Djabir, an elderly father of three, survived the horror of a Janjaweed militia attack and weeks of flight through the Sudanese desert to die in the safety of a Chad refugee camp.
Countless others were left where they fell, their families too frightened to stop and bury their dead.
For more than 16 months, armed bands of herders, most of them Arabs, have torched village after village in Sudan's western Darfur region, driving more than one million black Africans from their homes in a campaign of terror UN officials liken to ethnic cleansing.
The United Nations estimates up to 30 000 people have died in the attacks and in the rebellion that triggered them, but some analysts say the toll could be much higher. If desperately needed aid doesn't reach some two million people, the number of deaths could surge to 300 000, according to the US Agency for International Development.
UN associate spokesperson Marie Okabe said in New York on Tuesday that humanitarian agencies working in the area report that smooth movement of aid is being hampered by an increase in the number of checkpoints erected on some strategic routes by both the government of Sudan and the rebel Sudan Liberation Army - which accuses the government of arming the Janjaweed.
"In addition, in west and north Darfur, clearly marked humanitarian convoys have been stopped and attacked by uniformed men, military personnel and unidenfitied persons," she said.
Long-simmering tensions between nomadic Arab herders and their farming neighbors exploded into violence when two black African rebel groups took up arms against the government in February 2003 over what they consider unfair treatment in their struggle over land and water resources in Darfur.
The rebel groups and refugees accuse the Sudanese government of backing the Janjaweed militias, pointing to coordinated attacks supported by airplanes and helicopter gunships. The government denies the accusation and has pledged to disarm the Janjaweed.
Djabir, 69, was a prosperous farmer with a large herd of cattle before the Janjaweed struck his village. Early one morning, the family woke up to a burst of gunfire and helicopters clattering overhead.
"We didn't have time to take anything with us, we just ran," Djabir's 30-year-old son, Mohammed, recounted on Tuesday.
Chased by gunmen
Gunmen on horses and camels chased after them as they fled.
Djabir's nephew, Mohammed Aziber, watched in horror as a helicopter pursued his son and gunned him down under a tree where he had tried to hide. But there was no time to bury the young man.
"Every day I see my son lying under that tree," said Aziber, 65, fighting back tears.
For more than two months the family walked from village to village, seeking sanctuary. Every time they heard another nearby village was in flames they took flight again.
For weeks, they survived on scant handfuls of millet grains soaked in water they collected from the occasional streams that cut through the vast, arid region the size of France. The adults often went hungry so the children could eat.
Many don't survive the journey. Along the way, the Djabir family saw the bodies of others who succumbed to hunger, thirst and disease. But they didn't dare stop.
"The Janjaweed are everywhere," explained Youssouf Omar, 34, a neighbour in the camp who was also chased from Sudan. "If we stop to bury them, they will kill us all."
- AP