Who's Troubling Africa?: Memoirs of the 2002 Uprising in Côte d'Ivoire

By Mark Darko

While the author was on a business trip in Abidjan (Côte d’Ivoire) in September 2002, the military insurrection that partitioned the country into two with a de jure government in Abidjan and a de facto administration in Bouake took place. Mark witnessed the violence meted out by both factions to ordinary people, including women and children, and the horrors encountered by those fleeing from machine gunfire. The author was indelibly marked by what the quest for power and wealth by a few could do to the innocent, helpless, and vulnerable populations. He was appalled by the manifest hypocrisy of the international community in their handling of the conflict and the incendiary role that the local and international press played in the conflict. He felt compelled by the sights and sounds of war to document the conflict, and this book is the outcome of his daily painstaking records from group discussions, interviews, as well as local and international print and electronic news media.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662472251

Book preview

Day 1

September 19, 2002

Côte d’Ivoire

Beep, beep. My cellular phone sounded. The time was 3:30 a.m., and the date was Thursday, the nineteenth of September 2002.

Pasteur Mark, c’est Jérome the depressed voice sounded. My mind suddenly went scanning through my memory bank. What had happened? Were any of the kids sick? Was Jérome going through another moment of demonic attacks?

There is an uprising in town, there is the sound of machine-gun fire all over town. I listened for a few seconds that lasted like an hour. I strained my ears to catch the sound he was describing, but to no avail.

Is that so? I asked tactfully so as not to sound doubtful.

Can’t you hear the sound of guns? Jérome’s voice betrayed a mixture of shock, respect, and uncertainty.

No, I don’t hear anything. I sounded rather blunt this time.

Wait a minute… Jérome left me in suspense for a few seconds, and then suddenly, the all-too-familiar sound came through.

Rat tat tat booooommmmm rat tat feeeeooouuunnn jigiiimmm kay kay kay jigim jigim…

Seigneur! My mortified voice managed. O God, so they are going to destroy this beautiful country too, I said to myself.

Allo! Pasteur Mark, do you hear it now?

Yes, I do, let us immediately begin to pray.

Yes, Pasteur, that is why I called you. We have to pray.

I rushed out to the balcony of the apartment that I had rented on the third floor of Lot 1, 55 Bis, Plateau Dokui, where I had moved from Jérome’s house in Riviera Golf just the previous Tuesday.

I had managed to procure a plastic table and two chairs that Tuesday morning after Jérome had dropped me off downstairs. He had offered me another gift of a fifty thousand CFA, and it was part of this money that I used to buy the table and two chairs at the central market of Adjamé.

Jérome, we have to pray, I called out. I was by now on the small balcony facing Abobo with the full sound of cracking munitions saturating the still night.

Yes, we have to pray, Pastor. I will stay in touch. Jérome faded off.

O Lord, intervene in this crisis. Do not allow evil to prevail in this country, I whispered to my father.

The rumbling sound of mortars and grenades rolled closer and closer.

O Father, take control. Do not allow evil forces to prevail in this affair, I repeated.

Suddenly, a rolling sound that sounded like several empty barrels being rolled together came through the early morning waves. It sounded so close I stretched my neck to see if I could catch a glimpse of something—cracking fires, collapsing buildings, anything.

I saw nothing. This must be far from me. The dead silence of the dawn must certainly have helped this sound to seem so close. I rushed into my bedroom and knelt by my bed.

O Lord, take control and protect your children, I pray. Don’t allow evil to prevail in this country. Father, remember your children and let not any one of them perish.

I went back to the balcony. A few stressful moments passed. The first feeble rays of a reluctant sun had begun to defuse their somber radiance through the large darkish gray clouds that persistently hung in the atmosphere.

This diffusion produced excellent hues of lilac blue, purple, and silver in the horizon, and for a moment, my attention was there.

What a beautiful…

A rattling sound of ra-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta came piercing through the air. I quickly came to.

O God, do not let evil prevail in this beautiful country. Father, preserve your children, those who look to you for salvation. And, Lord, protect innocent people from danger.

The sound of war was now everywhere. I continued to pray and intercede for my spiritual children one by one.

O Lord, protect Jérome and Anne-Marie and all the N’Cho and Achi families.

O Lord, protect Georgette and her husband and children.

O Lord, protect Dr. Lasme and her husband and children.

O Lord, protect Gaby and her husband and children.

O Lord, protect Marie-Jeanne and her husband and children.

O Lord, protect Eholié and his wife and children.

O Lord, protect Anastasie. Protect Ida, protect Mr. Turkson and their families.

O Lord, protect Consuela too. She already has too much trouble to suffer another.

I paused.

*****

Downstairs a small pocket of people had gathered around a radio. They were listening to news on Radio France Internationale (RFI). I had no radio, no television. All I had was a table, two chairs, books, and a student bed. I quickly toileted and rushed down to join the small pocket of people. They were talking—everybody was talking, though they had actually gathered to listen to news form RFI.

They should kill them all, one young man shouted as he drew closer to the pocket. It had been announced at RFI that there was an attempted coup d’état and that 750 disgruntled soldiers who had been recruited by General Guéï and who had participated in the first coup d’état in Côte d’Ivoire were once again in action.

They had asked to be absorbed into the regular army, and though the government of President Laurent Gbagbo had somehow agreed, they were yet to begin to enjoy their share of the military cake. These young men had not received salaries ever since and now were about to use force either to oblige government to meet their demands, or else to overthrow it.

Those 750 gendarmes were the ones staging the uprising simultaneously in Abidjan, Bouaké, and Korhogo. This was the résumé of what had been announced on RFI as recounted by the pocket of people. When I got there, the news had ended, and they were now talking about other countries. The vivid discussion continued within the pocket.

These people will succeed. I hate the loud mouth of Gbagbo, one man fumed.

Nothing will happen, God loves this country, and we are praying hard.

Nothing will happen, interjected the fair-skinned woman who was sitting next to me. She was wearing a bright-red boubou¹ which, though fading, still had the typical Dakarois touch.

My heart was soothed by these later words. I got up and rushed to the nearby Boulangerie² where I bought one loaf of hot bread.

Back to my room, I continued to pray that God would not allow the situation to degenerate into a civil war. I went in to the kitchen to heat some water for tea. I switched the electric coil I had purchased for 3,500 CFA the previous week at Anono. The coil heated red, and I put the kettle on.

About fifteen minutes later, I observed that there was no steam coming out of the kettle. I was surprised and decided to check the coil. The red had vanished, and the water remained warm. What had happened to my newly bought stove this dark Thursday? I tried to open it up and see if I could repair the electrical fault. The only knife I had could not screw open the stove. I gave up and drank lukewarm coffee.

Breakfast over, I washed down and descended the stairs. As usual, the pocket was there, only this time it was bigger. It was now about 7:30 a.m., and the sound of machine-gun fire had subsided. Only sporadic shooting could now be heard far away. A middle-aged woman came down the stairs, brandishing her mobile phone and, with a contagious smile that looked Ghanaian, declared, Coup de fil à 200 CFA! Several people in the pocket reached out to her at the same time, wanting to call their relatives in Bouaké. This lady had taken the opportunity of the situation to commercialize her cell phone. Everybody wanted to call to know how their relations were faring under the circumstances.

The news was that the loyalist had succeeded in pushing back the mutineers from Agban and the Ecole de Gendarmerie³ where the attacks were most violent. They said some gendarmes were dead; no one knew how many. I called Anastasie, Georgette, and Ida and told them not to get out. I called Anne-Marie, and she told me that her family had been instructed through a telephone call not to go out. I told her that we had to pray.

At 9:00 a.m., I called Jérome, and he told me that he had heard that the Minister of Interior, Boga Doudou, and Amechia, the Minister of Sports, had had their homes attacked by the insurrectionaries and that the two men could not be traced.

O God, protect these men and their families, especially their wives and children.

At 11:00 a.m., there were rumors that General Guéï had been killed and that Boga Doudou had also been killed. Amechia had been abducted and his wife too.

O God, lift up your hand and speak peace into this nation.

O Lord, let the blood flow stop. Preserve this minister and his wife and children.

By now, it was clear that the insurrection had been curtailed in Abidjan. The mutinous groups had either taken shelter in the forest surrounding the city or mixed up with the civilian population. However, the streets were deserted, and no vehicles could be seen except military trucks.

In Bouaké, the story was different. One man within the pocket who had his relations in Bouaké kept calling, and they kept telling him that the city was under the control of the insurrectionaries. Then news came in that the army general commanding the camp at Bouaké had been killed by the insurrectionaries. They had thus absolute control over the barracks and the munitions in Bouaké and Korhogo. So far, the authorities in Abidjan had not yet acknowledged that there was an attempted coup d’état. They preferred to call it mutiny or grievances.

O Lord, prevent a full-blown war in this beautiful country. Please, Lord, take control and preserve innocent people.

One thing is disturbing—no news from the national radio and television networks. The only news we had was from friends and relatives through mobile phones and the hourly report from the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) and RFI.

Why are they keeping us in darkness? I mused. Had the insurrectionaries really been repelled or had they captured the radio and television stations? These thoughts were fueled by rumors that there was a fierce battle going on in the morning around the Radio Television Ivoirienne (RTI) of Cocody. Today, everybody is a journalist. I am wondering where all the loud-mouthed sensational journalists in Abidjan have gone to. Why are they all silent? Scared, I suppose.

Later in the evening, the Prime Minister was granted an interview by the RFI, and he confirmed the death of General Robert Guéï but declined to confirm or deny the death of the Minister of Interior, Boga Doudou. He said he would rather prefer not to say anything about the minister for the moment. However, he admits that the minister has been wounded.

I tiptoed around the house to a nearby atiéké seller, where I helped myself with some atiéké and fish to keep me for the rest of the day. I had also bought some papayas when I went to Adjamé on Tuesday. The only food I now had was a half loaf of bread, three papayas, and 200 CFA worth of atiéké.

O Lord, let this mutiny end quick, don’t allow it to degenerate. It will bring untold hardship upon the people of this nation.

At 6:30 p.m., the national radio announced that a curfew had been imposed throughout the country from 6:00 p.m. to 8:00 a.m. From Thursday, September 19, to Tuesday, September 24.

President Laurent Gbagbo had been on an official tour in Italy. When asked about the mutiny in his country, he answered rather lightly that he had given definite instructions to his ministers and that he would continue his tour. This afternoon, it was rumored that the president was willing to come back home, but the Minister of Interior said it was still too dangerous for the president to come. He said there were still pockets of resistance in and around the capital and that he preferred that the president would come when the situation gets much better.

I called Leon Pierre to find out how he and Gaby were doing. He told me Gaby was already in bed and that they were okay.

At this time, the pocket had to disperse because of the curfew. Each one to his own house and room, each with his own thoughts, wishes, and fears. No one knew what this meant, no one knew how it would end.

O God, have mercy on us. Deliver us from evil. Save us from destruction.

Back in my room, I cut the papaya open and carefully digested its sweet contents. This was enough for me for the night. I beeped Jérome, and he called back. He told me that it appeared that both General Guéï and his wife had been killed and that it was rumored that forces from Burkina Faso were also involved in the insurrection. He further told me that loyalist troops had almost surrounded Abidjan and that the mutineers had failed to capture Abidjan. He said, however, that the situation in Bouaké and Korhogo still remained the same. The mutineers were still in control.

Thank you, Lord, for Abidjan. But, Lord, please save innocent people in Bouaké and Korhogo. Let this uprising come to an end.

From about 8:00 p.m., sporadic gunshots upsurged again, and this was going on even as I write. Back in bed, I was thinking about my wife and kids. It was now over six weeks since I left them to come over here. How I miss my wife and kids.

O Lord, preserve my dear wife and kids. Protect them and provide every need according to your grace.

I read through a few verses in the book of Isaiah and slept.

---

¹ Long flowing dress worn by women in many parts of West Africa

² Bakery

³ Military Police Academy

Day 2

Friday, September 20, 2002

I woke up at 5:20 a.m. and prayed. Sporadic gunfire could still be heard in the distance. I interceded for my wife and children, my parents, siblings, in-laws, and the governments of Ghana and la Côte d’Ivoire. I also interceded for all my spiritual children here in Abidjan. Then I prayed for my friends and colleagues in ministry: Pastor George Amoako, Pastor Zacharie Adetola, Pastor Justine Gbazaré, Pastor Praise Uche, Pastor Alfred Assinkin, and Pastor Zio Denis Piko… By the time I was over my long list, it was 7:00 a.m.

I toileted and went downstairs to get bread. Luckily for me, the vendor had just come in with few loafs of hot bread. They got