TRAPPED IN A CIVIL WAR IN COTE D’IVOIRE

Russia and Ukraine should talk and save lives, writes Rajendra Aneja

The traumas of the war in Ukraine, rekindled my memories, of being besieged during a civil war in Cote d’Ivoire in 2002. On 19 September 2002, I woke up around 4.30 am to thudding sounds. The thuds fell into place. They started making sense. They are bullet sounds. I got a call from a colleague, that an army coup was on and I should not go out of the hotel. Awakened now, I realise the full fury of the bullets around me. At times, there are explosions too. The firing from the machine guns is continuous now.

Sometimes, the firing is dangerously close, as if it is in the room next to mine. It is as if a pitched battle is being fought around my hotel. I thought the troops or rebels may be undertaking house-to-house searches and shooting people. I switch off all lights, air-conditioners, bolt all doors, windows and switch on CNN at zero volume. The idea is not to be visible. Make no sound. Bullets again. And again. Continuous. The air is static. The place is so eerie. Bullets again, much more strident, now.

The morning is frozen. Nothing moves. Nothing stirs. The gunshots continue, at times dangerously close. Almost next door, in the street below. The crackling sound of gunfire, is acute and intense. They pierce the eardrums sharply.

I have never heard so much gunfire in my life. I heard a pistol being fired, for the first time in my life in Manaus in Brazil, on a street, in 1997. Today is different. There are many triggers around, in the hands of unknown people. Everything is still. Except the incessant, monotonous crack of bullets.

The neighbourhood cock does not understand all this. He keeps crowing since early morning, as usual, unconcerned. He does not realise today everyone was awake before him.

I identify hiding spots, in case the hotel is attacked. I dress up and keep my passport with me. I also keep adequate money, for an emergency departure. I am concerned that since the shelling is so close to the hotel, some part of it may be blown away.

I open the window, just a wee crack. There are gunshots in the street below, so I shut it again. The windows of all the neighbouring homes are tightly bolted. Sharp bullet sounds, again. Always unremitting. Always in a chain.

Another day, nothing stirs. The view outside is frozen, as in a photograph. Again, gunfire sounds. Some loud explosions too. From the kitchen window, I see two birds flying high up in the sky. A lone bird is perched on the roof opposite. It is chirping in the early dawn. Gunfire again, in front of the hotel. The firing continues, steadier now. It is all around, now. In all directions. Continuous.

I did not have any lunch or dinner, many days. If you hear bullets outside your room, the whole day, there is little place for food in the belly. I take a “Valium” tablet, on many nights, to sleep through the gunfire. However, it does not always work.

The sounds of bullets being fired constantly, are very chilling and exasperating. In movies, bullets make a sharp, crackling sound when they are fired. In real life, they make thudding, dull sounds.

I move into an apartment. There are daily curfews in the nights. Every night, I bolt the service doors on my floor and shut the elevator gates. My laptop is my saviour. I write and absolve myself of all my ghosts and tribulations. I pour myself into the machine and exorcise myself, ephemerally.

The houses are eerie. Silent tombstones. They are tightly shut, as if the residents do not want anyone to know, someone is inside. I cover the glass panes in my home, with towels, so that no ray of light is visible outside.

Some of the soldiers are young, 20 to 22 years old. Two soldiers normally hide behind a bus stop, below my apartment. Gradually, they recognise me, my car. In a few days, we are waving to each other, as I go to work. They hide, without hiding. I pretend that they are hiding. Their fingers are always on the triggers.

We are moving towards a Level Four emergency, in security terms. This means that the police cannot guarantee our safety. If the situation deteriorates, evacuations can only be through intelligence agencies or mercenary troops. They bring an aircraft stealthily, move into specific homes and evacuate citizens. One lives these pulsating, excruciating moments, with anger and helplessness.

This is a surreal experience. Every night when you sleep, you do not know, whether you will wake up alive the next morning. Therefore, you postpone the very act of sleeping. Not good. I hope, someday, I can sleep again, like an ordinary human being, without being roused by ghosts and bullets.

How many bullets did I hear, in the last few months? Hundreds? Thousands? I do not know. Each bullet stabbed my heart and body. Each one is unforgettable. Each bullet will echo all my life, in my head.

I telephone my father in India and tell him, that I may make it back, but may lose all my belongings. He replied, “That is the last thing you should think about. You just come safely.”

“Carry your valuables with you,” is the advice, when you evacuate under armed escort. When the chips are down, you just pack your passport, cash and vitally, your family photographs. The family photos become the most crucial valuables when you leave suddenly, with no prospect of return. You walk out alone into the cold night. And learn not to look back.

Now, 20 years later, I reflect if all the warring parties had talked, instead of firing bullets, hundreds of lives could have been saved. A thought, for Russia and Ukraine too.

 Rajendra Aneja*

Aneja was the Managing Director of Unilever Tanzania. He is an alumnus of Harvard Business School, and a Management Consultant.