Gabriel, Katie-Jay, Joshua and Jeremiah are still N’djamena. Fighting has broken out in the capital, it looks like a revolution is happening. Some humanitarian staff have been evacuated, and we’re waiting for more news. UNHCR vehicles were stolen and the capital is under attack. Amidst all the chaos, our team is still uploading video and journals. Check in here for latest news from the ground.
LATEST UPDATE (2/7/08): our team reaches LA safely!
We would like to express our deepest gratitude to all the beautiful people who worked determinedly to help ensure that our beloved Gabriel, KTJ, Jeremiah and Joshua could make it back home safely.
On Saturday, February 2, Javi received a call from his brother Gabriel, a few minutes after surviving the gun battle in the hotel. Gabe’s last words before his phone went dead were: “it’s starting to get dark…I don’t know if we’ll make it out if we’re still here when night falls.”
Their last few days in Chad were some of the scariest days our families have ever lived. Those days also had the potential of being as dark as a night in Chad. However, whatever darkness existed was overpowered by the Light of your presence.
You brought us hope and strength with every strategic action you took up to make sure their evacuation became a top priority for the authorities involved. Every phone call to the Embassy, State Department and Congress; every call to the media; every entry on the blog; every e-mail to coordinate the next plan of action, conveyed a prevailing sense of hope and strength.
Most important of all, it was all your prayers and positive thoughts, or more appropriately said, your love that served as our companion as we journeyed the fearful terrain of uncertainty.
The most common message entered on the blog was “we are with you”. Your presence is the greatest gift we could ever receive. For this we will carry you in our hearts forever.
Sincerely,
Families of KTJ, Gabriel, Joshua and Jeremiah.
This is just a short note to let you know we are back home. I always felt connected to home and to safety thanks to all of your support in messages, prayers, thoughts, and actions. I feel lucky and privileged to have a huge, loving community around me. You are very much loved. I am going to go outside and play with Gabo now. He looks bigger than when I left for Chad. It’s almost his fifth birthday! Please help me support in messages, prayers, thoughts, and–most importantly–action the people of Chad and Darfur. Many fathers are dead because of the violence in the region. Many of the fathers that are alive cannot go outside and play with their sons.
According to plans, I would have been home three days ago. I know that I must have sounded redundant and boring when telling my three travel partners that many time, if not always, things just do not go as planed in Chad. This journey has taken this notion to the extreme. Clichés are what work best here to explain the attitude that is needed in these conditions: gotta go with the flow; gotta take the good with the bad; and gotta roll with punches. When bullets were flying, I also used “here and now; here and now; here and now,” to stay focused and thinking about what was the best next move. Many of these sayings did not work in many occasions during the last more than three weeks, and they malfunctioned even more in the last three days.
Today, our flight was maybe leaving at 2pm. Now it is maybe leaving at 2am tomorrow. Gotta roll with the punches.
On February 2, just three days ago, it was so surreal and so completely outside of anything I feel as normal to be lying on the floor to avoid real bullets flying through the room we were in. But, sparks of normality still manage to flash through even in those moments. “Here and now” would keep me focused, and then, in an instant, “here and now” would be displaced by “these men are going to come in to the hotel and fight it out with the French soldiers. How am I going to react?” I would quickly have to switch to, “stay low and move fast!”
Libreville feels so different from Chad, but loud noises still make me pause. I am laughing with KTJ, Jeremiah, and Josh. It can be so normal, but then it is not. You would think that, after going through the last few days in Chad, I would want to think of everything but Chad, but Chad, its people, and the people of Darfur is what I keep going back to. It always gets mixed up with thoughts of my family, friends, and all that I’ve been feeling love from. I just cannot help but thinking in terms of that other cliché, “If it was my family going through these horrors in Chad/Darfur, I would want to know that someone out there is thinking of me and wanting to help.”
So, I’m not sure what way the flow is going, but I’m going with it. I’ll be doing some paddling to give myself some direction. You can be sure of that. I said above that this would be my last post from Africa, but Africa might still have something to say about that.
I do love you all, and I can’t wait to see as many of you as possible.
The clouds roll in heavy over the ocean and reach the base with a scattered thunder. The sounds of Gabon, including drumming last night, are refreshing after the sounds of war. We are waiting for our flight to Paris, then to LA. For my sisters and brothers in Portland, I will be home on the 12th (anyone up for an airport run and a Maker’s & ginger?).
My emotions have been all over the place the last few days and I cannot help but think about what it all would be like if I had been walking for 10 days with several kids, a few of which might need to nursed, with no military biscuits or bottled water. Every time something in me shifts, from emotions of anxiety to calmness, to annoyance, to fear to feeling loved and supported by all of you, I cannot help but think how much more they are amplified for the refugees, and how consistent they have been for five years.
Waiting in line in the mess hall for mystery meat encrusted in something yellow…the first food distribution with crowds willing to trample one another to reach a grain for the family. Waiting, waiting and waiting for help from other people…Adam and Fatna echoed one another’s frustration with the international community and begged for more help. I am lucky enough to have regular internet connection to you…but for our friends in the camps, the connection to the outside world mostly consists of aid workers and SGN visiting the camps. Feeling my community through words and emails…remembering the numerous “Shookraan” (thank you’s) we received from refugees after we passed on your words and emotions to them.
It’s been rather hard to find a place to recharge here on base, but once we did, I had a chance to read all of your comments. And I am overwhelmed by the movement that has been formed and momentum we have created, you have created, as a community. I feel your words in my heart and I long for a hug from many of you. Especially my mom and those of you in Portland, who are too many to name here, who have always supported me in anything I have done and who I know will be waiting for my return once I leave LA.
Thank you again for all your support and action that you have produced around the world, our community has grown significantly because of you.
The rain here as stopped for the moment and we are checking on flights. It’s 9am and there hasn’t been much movement outside in the large field where registration tents have been set up for the past few days. In the lounge we were taken to find electricity, we are watching “Little Miss Sunshine,” albeit in French, which makes me laugh and remember home. We will keep everyone updated on our progress and we will see you soon.
A special note to Mimi, Gabo, Irais, and Zahara: I am sorry that my words in my last entry upset you. I know that Gabriel is in a very different situation than myself. And the SGN team will think very carefully about what our next moves will be. Again, I am sorry that they affected you the way they did, please accept my apologies.
Before leaving California to embark on this journey (and that’s the word that most fits for my trips out to the refugee camps–journey), I told others on the on-the-ground team that it would be a life-changing experience. I could never have thought it would reach this level of gut, mind, heart, and soul shaking that this journey turned in to. Visiting the refugee camps in Eastern Chad is such a full, unforgettable experience! Walking with children, all of whom have experienced horrors much worse than our two days war, moves you and shakes you enough to never being able to not think about them again.
Being present and reporting during the N’Djamena fighting has brought us unprecedented exposure. We have been speaking with major news organization from all around the world. It gives us a great opportunity to speak about Darfur and the need for peace in that warn-torn region. I want the press to continue approaching us.
The story from the capital of Chad is very important. Four Americans in danger during forty-eight hours is an interesting side story. Millions of people in grave and continuous danger for over five years, is that enough of a story for the world to stop and look in on Darfur?
Paz,Gabriel
ps. Thanks for all the support. You are amazing! We are now in Libreville, Gabon, spending one more night in Africa but in no danger.
In all the chaos, I have forgotten to take my malaria pills a few times on this trip. But tonight, as we wait outside of the registration office, at the French Military Base lit by a single fluorescent bulb, I remember to take it. This is the worst the mosquitoes have been on the entire trip. A female soldier stands tall on a make shift stool shouting names for the next flight. It’s 9:40pm and the last flight left at 6:40. They finish calling three pages of names. Although Miah (known back home as Jeremiah) thinks that each names is Forest with a French accent, we don’t make the list. They bring coffee, we wait, the mosquitoes feast.
Hours pass by and even those who were called at 9:40 linger in the area. The military transport truck holding the luggage hasn’t moved in hours. Just as news about the fighting is sporadic and unreliable so is news about flights out of here. We hear rumors: one airplane of the two is broken down, they are delaying the other flight due to fighting, the rebels are asking the French to suspend all flights and keep the airport neutral or they will think its an act of war. We shut everything down and I make my way to the kitchen area to plug in the computer, all batteries are down to less than 10 minutes. A soldier tries to tell me that I can’t plug in here, and I ask him to say it in English; with a discouraging shrug he walks away and I plug in!
The same officer stands again above the rest of us. Calling the same names, it looks like a flight will make it out tonight but we won’t be on it. The transport truck returns from the airport drop off and soldiers begin loading the remaining luggage. I reflect about all the things I left back in the hotel: the flip flops I have had since I lived in North Carolina almost 9 years ago; one of my Thai wraps; my zip off pants from Vietnam; Mansur’s t-shirt; and my backpack, another item I have lived out of in many countries and used for over 10 years now. I did gather my special bag of gifts that people have given me for protection and strength. Miah and Gabriel now have a few of these things, the rest are still tucked in my pockets. In Shallah, the luggage will be there when we return. These are just things, I have my life and my memories.
People begin to gather again, this time around a male officer. “Scott, KATie…Jay, Scott.”
“Oui, ici, present!”
“Stauring, Sundberg, Forest!”
We shuffle into the white vans. The hour reaches 1:00am but we are all relived not to be outside anymore. One minute, two minutes, three minutes, we stop. Gabriel jokes, “It’s like the N’Djamena International Airport.” I laugh, oh wait, people are getting out. I think to myself, we’ve got to stop saying this stuff out loud. A moment of reflection, how many times we have stated something in the last three weeks that has then come true, Law of Attraction. The rollercoaster started when I said in the car from Farchana to Abeche, “You wouldn’t want to be out here without a working horn in your car….” Moments later, we approached a herd of cattle and Alpha attempted to honk to move them from our way, nothing sounded.
We are dropped off at a line of green army tents with cots, some with mosquito nets propped above them, others empty. We grab a few with nets, exchange looks, and shoot up one more update; tonight will be more restful, maybe.
We wake to a typical sunny morning. We meet those who have arrived from the Embassy, “ahhh! This is Le Meridien Four.” They know us because of all of you! There is a station for brushing teeth and even a quick shower. I take my time with the cold water, skipping the hot, letting it run through my hair and wash away the plaster still stuck from the gunfire two days ago. Once out in a clean shirt, I am hurried to a new registration point and given a quarter of a pink construction sheet with the number 11 – our flight number, but to make sure we are clear, not the time we are leaving!
As we wait under a tree on the military base, we can still here heavy fighting in the distance, but everyone is calm. We joke around with others from the hotel who have made it onto flight 11 out of N’Djamena. Many new faces also, who are eager to watch the videos from our days in the hotel. We meet a few other American’s. And we wait patiently.
We have not made it out of Chad, but we are in much safer place than the hotel, which was close to being in the middle of the fighting. As stated before, French military personnel extracted us from the hotel and brought us to their military base. It is well protected and at a distance from the main fighting. We have been hearing sporadic fighting in the city, with some heavy artillery at times. Being at this distance, it does not feel as menacing. The memories of the last couple of days are still very vivid, though, so the sounds still cause an impact.
We do not know when we’ll be taken to the airport for evacuation. It is believed that we will first fly to another African nation and from there to France. There has been some fighting around the airport, so that might have something to do with our delay. We are now in military tents to spend the night.
We are not quite out, but closer. We’ll keep you updated as to what’s going on around us. Thanks to all for your great support.
The phones begin to ring, again, finally. Since last night around 10pm there has been no one who could reach us. We received several emails from people letting us know they were trying to get through to us. “Cent sept, 107!” First in French; then again in English.“Here, we are here.”
“Telephone.”
News from the State Department reaches us, the French are mobilizing a convoy, and we are part of the group that will be evacuated. Gather your things and be ready to go within five minutes when they call. I glance at my watch, 1pm. We’ve been ready for four days with our three backpacks of essentials. The wonderful staff who hasn’t stopped smiling brings out plates of food, silverware and napkins fanned out as if serving a formal buffet. Tables are moved back inside from the veranda into the area that had been cleared the night before for sleeping. The heavy curtains still drawn, the overhead emergency light provides the only light.
We go back to our room one more time and glance over the nonessentials we have left. Gabriel tells me to grab the “Humanity for Politics” t-shirt that I was planning on leaving behind. I wore it the very first day in Chad on the way to UNHCR. The picture of me in our friend’s car reminds me of the excitement and determination I had to meet Fatna upon landing in N’Djamena on January 13th. I know we will be back in March, so I am not concerned about leaving most of my belongings behind. We head down to see room 102, which took heavy fire and where a new friend and UN aid worker had been taking a nap when the fire unfolded the previous day. Bullet holes, one the size of a small watermelon, went clear through to the wall and into the shower on the other side. We are lucky no one in the hotel was hurt.
I approach the plates of tomatoes and cucumbers, chicken and mushrooms and rice for one last plate, I hope, before leaving Le Meridien for now. I eat barely anything.
“Cinq Minutes. Cinq minutes.” With relieved hurriedness people begin to gather their luggage. We grab the bgan which has been our primary source of internet and contact with the outside world for the past five days, and the last item we needed to pack. We gather donations for the staff, who have continue to serve us through this all. I hope they are rewarded, as their resiliency is unmatched. I hope Yves, Achta, and Abakar make it home soon and that their families are safe.
Glass crunches under my feet as I walk through the front doors for the first time since before the attack on the hotel. French soldiers have created a line of protection, and have moved the vehicles that had been placed in front of the gate. We pass through and towards the convoy of 10 or so tanks which have lined the street.
Once inside, I am in the front and can get clear footage through the front window of where we are going. My peripheral vision is limited and one of the many soldiers aboard obstructs most of the view with his legs as he rides up top. The streets are deserted. As we turn around and head down the street where two days earlier I had seen a tank, two of the men from the hotel ride off on the motorcycles, using the convoy as protection. I hope they make it home okay. The General Manager of the hotel rides with us and we are grateful for the time we spent at Le Meridien. Ashis’ neighbor has joined us. He describes the hole which has replaced Ashis’ apartment and his business by a rocket. Again, we are lucky that no one we know was hurt.
The nine of us begin to sweat as our ride turns from 10 minutes to 20 until we arrive to pick up others from the Novetell. Beyond a few stops, we arrive safely at what appears to be the French Military Base that others have also been evacuated to. Passports, paperwork, luggage search, medical check, chocolate bar. They don’t tell us much but we hear that we will be flown to Liberia first then either to France or the US after that. Although we can still hear a few gunshots now and then, the pit in my stomach is almost gone and my antsy energy has left me. We are going to be home soon enough.
I want to say thank you to our team, friends and family who have worked tirelessly over the last five days, and also during our entire trip out here to the camps in Eastern Chad. Without your support and notes of love and encouragement, I would have felt alone and forgotten. But I never felt this way through any of the last three weeks, and especially not the last five days. Everything from contacting media to 1:00am conference calls to little notes about coffee and soy milk from my mother have been more than appreciated, more than I can describe in words. I love and thank you.
We have been evacuated from the hotel. French military came in a convoy of approximately ten armed personnel carriers to evacuate all foreigners from our home for the last five days. Yesterday and today were packed with a little too much excitement. It started with hearing fighting to being in the middle of fighting and bullets just missing us.
After many calls from family, friends, and simply good-hearted people to our government officials, someone from the State Department called me at about 1:00pm this afternoon, only two hours ago, to tell me that they had requested assistance from the French in getting us out. It turned out that the French military was taking all foreigners out. We are now at the French military base in N’Djamena, and I can tell you that it feels very safe here.
We left behind dozens of Chadians, including hotel staff and other civilians that made it to the hotel in the morning. I feel heavy-hearted at not knowing what will happen to them. They were more than wonderful in taking care of us, and the only thing we could do in return is make a collection to leave them a little cash.
The next step is finding out how do we fly out of here and when. We again go in to wait mode, but it is a world of a difference not to be having to dodge bullets while we wait. We can hear shots in the distance, but they are not menacing at all.
Thanks for all the incredible support from all of you. I felt your company for the entire ordeal. Quite a few of you went without sleep to spend time with us, and I cannot say how much I appreciate that.
We will keep you updated as to the latest out here. We are still to hear the official results form the fighting, if there is one. We have read reports that were completely opposite from each other and coming from very reputable sources. The Chadians know that you just have to wait.
There are now many children here in the kitchen area. This morning, local Chadian women came to the hotel with their kids. They are beautiful, happy kids. They are patient! They eat whatever the hotel staff brings them, and they receive it with a smile.
My wife, Zahara, tells me that my little Gabo started to pick up all his toys yesterday, cleaning up for the coming-back-home of his papi. That made me happy and very sad. Gabo is a very happy boy. They have not told my daughter, Noemi, what’s going on over here. She’s very mature at eleven, but better if she does not know the details for now. She’ll love the stories when I get back. She’ll also love to see the bullet that came close to us!
Wow…there’s just no reason why all children cannot just be happy—or at least have the chance to be happy! I’m looking forward to seeing my smiling children soon.
Small arms continue to fill the air with sounds of battle. Every so often we can hear a helicopter and then their guns firing upon the rebels who have now taken almost the entire city. The electrician here in the hotel has rigged up a TV in the kitchen for us to watch. A local Chadian station reports that Deby is in his palace, refusing to leave. I heard once that he said something like: I will never be an ex-president, only a dead one. He continues to launch counter offensives on the rebels.
We hold tight, the Embassy is closer to the Palace than us and under more fire. Their two vehicles, in a different location, are also under heavy attack. The UN convoy that left last night with UN staff, French and other European nationals was hit with small arms fire on their way to the Novatel (Hotel) to pick up others before heading to safety, wherever that might be.
I am antsy. Ashis and I joke around that if only we had a futbol we could get some energy out. In everyday life I don’t take kindly to people telling me where I can and cannot go, and at this moment, I feel the same disdain towards those who are shaking their heads as I express my desire to leave the kitchen. Just to feel the sun on my face, to know that the world continues as it always does.
Two small kids play on the pool-side cushions that were brought in for us to sleep on. Their giggles remind me of Hassan, Hissein and Guisma from Djabal; once one of them began to laugh, all three fell victim to contagious happiness and smiles. The laughter of the kids and the Chadian staff reminds me the world continues.
Many of the male staffers huddled in the small hallway in front of the TV are reminiscent of the men huddled under the shade of trees in the camps. Although an entirely different situation, and many of these men are simply on break from their duties, I can’t help but to close my eyes and think about the camps we just came from. The world in the camps continues.
The team on the ground in Chad and their families in United States really appreciate all the support you’ve shown us. On behalf of everyone, thank you for staying in touch and offering your help to bring Gabriel, Katie-Jay, Joshua and Jeremiah home. More furious fighting has just broken out, and it’s not certain that they can be evacuated if the fighting continues.
We urge everyone to click on the two links provided here. One is for the US Senators and the other is for the House of Representatives. Please ask both the senators and the representatives that you contact to put pressure on the Department of State. They have promised to help get the team protection but please continue to contact the congressmen asking them to follow through until the they are in safe hands.
I think it is important that we remember our friends that are in the camps without protection in a time like this. It takes us all a bit closer to what its like to live in fear without help on in the way. Lets all work together to get our ground team home, then harder than ever for the refugees because this is their reality everyday.
A bullet came through the door to the dining room and hit high in a wall. I have no idea where it came from, since we have the river in front of us. We again moved in to the kitchen area. Yesterday it was mostly foreigners gathered here in kitchen; now it’s mostly Chadians with us. Gabriel
We have often characterized our friends in the camps as resilient. I see now, that this is a characteristic of many Chadians as well. I am in the kitchen using the light since the dining room/sleeping quarters for those who have not been evacuated is too dark for my senses. From this, I can already that my tolerance for the days events will be tested. I need to keep my even keel sense of confidence. The staff here at the hotel, all of whom have been held up at this hotel for three days as well have family in N’Djamena.Yes, we are thousands of miles away from you all and we have a fancy internet connection to reach you. Here, where many run off Celtel phone cards, many have not spoken to family members in days. And each time the hour for food or beverage rolls around, they are smiling as asking “Ca Va? Bien Dormir?” They are calm, squatting in the hallway of white tile near the kitchen where Gabriel and I gathered yesterday after the attack.
Day broke only 20 minutes or a ½ hour ago and the heavy artillery has already begun. We are again hiding in the kitchen after a quick cup of Nescafe on the veranda. Start early. Hit them hard. The rebels have not stopped and there was a glance of someone approaching the front of the hotel. Again, the phone call to the Embassy produced nothing but more wait time. “Gabriel, you are our top priority,” the man on the other line said. But unfortunately, he also added, it has begun again this morning and we cannot leave our compound, its too dangerous. This was their responses yesterday as they sent out a notice on the State Departments website calling for Americans to make their own way to the Embassy. And again at the moment that 36 or so UN, French nationals and European nationals were being evacuated to a nearby French military base, its too dangerous for us to leave. And they wanted us to make our way to them? Something tells me if I wandered to the street where we have caught taxis before that it would be impossible to find one. So for now, we wait. Since no one is coming.
I walked around the kitchen area of the hotel, and the Chadian hotel staff that spent the night here (which is all that were here yesterday, since they cannot go home because of the dangers of the street) is waking up. They seem in such a good mood. Two of them come up to me and, in English, told me “Don’t worry, no more war.” They can only have heard this from their non-existent pillows, but I also believe that they have a feel for their country. They are getting ready to work, and that is just amazing. Yesterday, as I saw different staff around the hotel, I would ask how they were doing. They all said OK, and that all we can do is wait. They kept working to make our surreal stay more comfortable. Please keep them and other Chadians in your thoughts and prayers.
A few times this long night, I have been stopping to read all of your comments. I truly feel a part of a large, loving community that has come together to try and do something for the displaced people of Darfur. We, here at the hotel, are so lucky that, in helping bring together this loving community, it has now joined in supporting us, as we get through this one.
Thank you for the amazing show of support. It is humbling. We do not have time to respond to each of your comments at this time, but we’ll get around to it soon.
The sun should be coming out soon, and I’m hoping that calm comes with it. We’ll be in touch!
It is past 1am in the capital of Chad. There has only been sporadic fighting, since the sun went down. I assume and hope that fighters need the rest and will take it easy for the night. Another better hope is that the fighting is over, and the people of Chad will begin a peaceful rebuilding of their city.
We were not evacuated, as we had hoped for. More than half of the people here were evacuated, including UN personnel and others (I’m not exactly sure of criteria, but they did not want Americans at that time). The people here are all huddled in to the dining area, where they brought in some of the cushions from the outside chairs for people to sleep on. Most are sleeping, after an exhausting day.
Right now, mosquitoes are one immediate, annoying problem. Snoring could be one, with some lions in the snoring department in the room, but it sounds even comforting to hear people resting and not talking about what happened or what might happen next.
I just cannot help but reflect on the days before coming back to N’D, the ones we spent in the camps with Darfuri refugees. The little children that we met went through horrors many times worse than we are going through here. As I sit here on the floor of the hotel restaurant after a day of craziness, I cannot imagine what it does to a child to endure living through extreme violence and then be sitting for years for help to come.
It was a close one. Bullets flew over our heads and parts of the walls and objects around us came raining down on us. We were already lying on the ground because the attack on the hotel had started just a few minutes before, when we came running down from the third floor. We made it to the bar area and went belly down behind a low partition wall.
The shots broke through the lobby glass and in to the bar, with heavy shooting in return from the French soldiers positioned around the hotel. KTJ and I crawled towards the low wall to feel more protected, but it just did not feel safe, to tell you the truth. As I crawled, I touched a small metal object that was burning hot, a bullet that had just ricocheted around the room. I have a little souvenir to remind me of the excitement. The shooting continued, and we were yelled at to make it across the bar area, right through the line of sight from the outside. “Low and fast, KTJ,” and we made a low run for it to the kitchen area, where everyone was congregating. French soldiers, very intense French soldiers, were running from one side of a long corridor that went from hotel front gate area to the yard in the back. We moved out of the way to one side, then to the other.
There are approximately fifty people in the hotel, maybe a few more. It has been calm for the last two hours, and the soldiers have escorted us, one by one, to our rooms to get essentials. We are leaving many bags and carrying only three backpacks.
If things remain calm, there might be an evacuation tonight, but it is all in a wait and see mode. We hear conflicting reports about what is happening outside, but the most consistent one is that the President is being taken out of the country by the French, but I decide not to really believe anything until it is completely confirmed and reconfirmed.
Now it’s a waiting game. I am hoping that the airport is controlled by the French and that the evacuation will take us there. I struggle to write all of this, knowing that my family will read it, but I will repeat what I have said in other posts: as crazy as this all is, we are relatively safe and following the instructions of the people that know more of what is going on. I know that I will soon be posting from a safe area.
Thanks for all the love, and we’re sending it back from N’D.
Only the screen of my computer and the small emergency fixture above the African statue light the dining room. I can hear familiar voices and urgent news in French passing through the crowd. We have all gathered here after the attack and are waiting to be evacuated from N’Djamena. A plane flies close to the banks of the Cheri and several people jump. My heart sinks to my stomach, it sounded like a bomb.
An hour and half ago, Le Meridien was under fire. From who, we don’t know and have no intention of pointing fingers in an all too complicated military offensive on the city. Gabriel was in room 306 connecting to the bgan and uploading our recent video. I was in front of the room filming French military setting up their stations at either end of the L-shaped building. A think brown layer of smoke incases the city before the blue of the sky takes over.
Gabriel retrieves me and brings to the back porch, you can see more artillery in the sky from here. We wrap up, he goes to the bathroom which is at the front of the room, facing the street and I stay to send one more email.
Bum. Bum. Bam. Bam. Bummbum. Plaster shot from the side of the wall. The smell of smoke creeps under the door. Sh*!. F*-#. Okay. Grab the bgan, grab the bag, we need to join the others. My heart races and we make our way to the door. The bullets riddle the wall and door of 306. S-*^! No wait. Okay. Retreat to the behind the bed until it stops. A moment of silence, our only chance. Staying well below the waist high wall, my legs carry me to the staircase, my momentum almost tipping me over forward. Down three flights of switchback stairs and to the left through the doors to the lounge. Everyone is gone but a few people lying flat on their stomachs or backs.
I duck into the corner. The men surrounding me speak English, wondering where we came from and what we saw. I explain the situation from the top floor. A few of the men get up and move, like others, towards the all glass window entrance at the front of the hotel as silence settles around us.
Oh Sh*!. Its begins again and this time it is aiming for me. The vase above me breaks. A bullet enters the wall a foot or so above my head. I get closer to the wall. Scratched radio messages and shouting “C’est la ba. C’est la ba.” Move over there. The bullets aren’t stopping. The building shakes as French troops continue their attack on our intruders. Leaving everything but the Panasonic behind, Gabriel and I quickly crawl through the lounge, past the bar and into the dining room. Go. Go. Go. Into the kitchen.
My eyes adjust to the light as we weave through; I begin to see the faces of those who have been camped out with us most of the day. The shooting doesn’t cease for another good ten minutes. I breathe. In and out. In and out.
I am feel relatively calm huddled in the corner of the kitchen leaning against the cool tile walls. French military weave back and forth resituating the machine gun in front of the lounge.
You never know how you are going to react until you are in it. I have often thought about this. My reaction was quite simple. Breathe. “F#*-!” Breathe. Okay. Go. Wait. Avoid the glass. Breathe. Go. Wait. Ahhhhh, calmness. Breathe.
As I write this, screams come in over the radio and dusk is falling on N’Djamena. The French escort people to their rooms to retrieve their papers and luggage. We have been asked if we want to evacuate. And we said yes, as most others in this room have said.
Gabriel returns from the grounds to use our satellite phone. News reaches me that Teresa contacted the embassy and the embassy stated that we refused to leave when they came to get us. My relative calmness turns to annoyance and then anger. F*!#ers. What liars. Nobody but the MINUCAT head located here in the hotel has asked us, and that was less than 30 minutes ago. Liars. Teresa will call again. Dusk falls over N’Djamena and no certain word on a flight home.
Our team is safe: Josh, Jeremiah, Gabriel and myself. No one in the hotel has been hurt. We wait.
We had some few minutes of quiet, but now there is an all out assault somewhere close in the direction of the Palace. There are so many reports, all unconfirmed, of one side winning and then the other; there’s also been a report that the French are evacuating the President, but, as I said, we just cannot know. The artillery is going on heavy now, and we’re feeling the booms here in the hotel. Nothing to do but wait it out. Again, thanks to everyone for your good thoughts and prayers. We are staying low and as safe as possible.Talk soon!Paz,Gabriel
We go through some quiet minutes, and it feels close to normal, but then, consistently, we get big bangs and non-stop gunfire that brings us back to the reality of N’Djamena. As I write this, a shell hit way too close to us, the kind of bang you feel on your skin.
I start to think, “How long can they keep it up?” Then I think of other war situations around the world, and I know they can keep it up for a long time. The city is taking some heavy hits, and I wonder how the citizens of N’Djamena are feeling and how many are paying for these power struggles.
There is now shooting right outside of the hotel, it feels like it’s coming from the gate, but I’m staying down and not looking out for now.
We still have French military personnel in and around the hotel.
It is clear that the rebels are not here to make a point but to take over power.
We’ll stay put, since there are no other options, and it still feels like this hotel is relatively safe, although a little close to the action.
That stray shelling was a little close for comfort. The hotel, and my heart, shook for a moment, the longest moment I have felt in a while. We hold up on the first floor of the Le Meridien waiting to hear word from the French military or the US Embassy who is closer to the Presidential Palace than we are.
Just five minutes ago, the eerie silence had over taken the hotel and we began to look a little more at ease. Pilots sit in one corner of the lobby while 25 or so other guests smoke in the lounge. The heavy curtains have been drawn in the case the glass breaks from shots.
The normally bustling river bank of Cameroon is empty. The streets have been desolate for two days. We sneak back and forth to the third floor to get a glimpse of anything, something, usually just black smoke coming from the Presidential Palace. Nobody really knows what is happening – not even those armed with humanitarian aid radios or guns.
Who will win this one? The rebels are fighting for power. This might be there last chance to grab anything before MINUCAT enters the country. As I said in my previous post, its ironic that these troops have delayed their landing in N’Djamena then travel to the Eastern region. They are the peacekeeping force that has the mandate to protect refugees, humanitarian aid workers and civilians if under attack. The very three groups currently caught in the crossfire.
I hear a heavy military vehicle for the first time in a few hours. Still no helicopters or airplanes. Information in French streams from the small room at the front of the hotel lobby which seems to be one of their headquarters. This information doesn’t seem to make to us, the =civilians.
Another one, a little to close for comfort. A military tank passes in front of the hotel followed by armed men on foot – Chadian? Rebels? For now I leave with these words and will make my way up to the third floor to set up the bgan, post this, and shoot an email out to our team back in the States. And of course to try to get a few shots of men, smoke, fire, anything that can give me more information.
The US Embassy has told me that they cannot come and get us, so we have to wait it out here. The sounds and feel of fighting is louder and closer. The walls and windows here shake, and we can feel the explosions.
OK, fighting is right at the gate of the hotel. We’re all in the dinning area. There are a handful of EU soldiers around, but we are still hoping that there is nothing in this hotel that the rebels want, which I’m sure is the case. They want to take the palace, and the palace is just down the street.
Fighting has broken out in Chad’s capital, N’Djamena. We can hear and feel the explosions, since the Presidential Palace is very near. I came out to the lobby to see what was happening this morning because we were getting phone calls with people talking in French or asking for someone that was not in our room. Out in the lobby I could immediately hear the explosions, and the EU soldiers were all hurrying outside. Some jumped on a truck and left; the others walked around the hotel with a very intense look in their faces.
We received a note through e-mail from the US Embassy telling us to go there for evacuation, but there is no way to get there! I called, and the person that answered instructed us to come to lobby and wait for call.
We’re waiting. I’m going to go grab some caffeine now, and we’ll be in touch!
Greetings from the N’Djamena, Chad – the capital, and at the moment one of the many hotspots of instability in Chad. First things first, our team is safe. We get regular updates from the General Manager and the French have a regular presence on the grounds, including a few great views of the city from the roof.
Our friends in Eastern Chad, both UNHCR national and international staff members and the refugees of Darfur living in the camps, are in more danger than I, Gabriel, Josh or Jeremiah. The Guereda guesthouse we lived in while visiting Yakoub, Adam, Fatne, Asha, Mohamed, Saleh, Darsalam, and Aziza in Camp Kounoungo and Camp Mile have been evacuated. This means that the last of the food and other supplies they will receive until violence ceases has been dropped off and the staffers have said their goodbyes for now. Only days ago, we were unable to visit little Leila and were forced to return to Abeche early. This road was closed the following day.
The night before we flew out of Abeche, rebels were 35 kilometers outside of the city. These rebels are funded by Sudanese money. They are Chadian, not Sudanese, and not Janjaweed. Many of their generals are defacto Chad military officials. They skipped Abeche and have made their way to N’Djamena to take the Presidential palace and ask for power sharing in the government. Much how the rebels of Darfur asked 5 years ago for power themselves.
This leads me to the larger picture of Darfur. Five years ago, experts said if the international community did not put a stop to ethnic cleansing in Darfur, it would spread to the entire region, and destabilize both Chad and Central African Republic (CAR). And this is exactly was a happening: A triangle of Movement.
Guns. Money. Rebel Groups. And Refugees. With relative ease these move between the porous borders. Chad blames Sudan for funding rebel violence. Sudan blames Chad and both blame CAR for not controlling their Northeastern region most of which is highly underdeveloped and thick forest. UNHCR has reported new arrivals from CAR just in the last two days, and during a time when their staff is making decisions about temporarily evacuating.
The Internally Displaced Person’s (Chadians who have been displaced by violence and Darfuris who didn’t cross the border into Chad) and Refugees are the ones in the most danger during these times of instability. They are caught between two countries: their host nation and the home they left. They are caught in the middle of violence: rebels asking for power, corrupt local and national government soldiers and looters who see the instability as a window of gain.
Five years ago, this was predicted and now it’s the very excuse the world leaders use to NOT take action. The decision to delay the deployment of EUFOR peacekeepers is a perfect example of this. At a time when their presence would be most useful, they wait for Chad to become controllable enough to enter. World powers whine that the situation has become increasingly complicated and regional, which means it requires time and patience to unravel the tangle of the triangle. But this is just an excuse. And we cannot stand for it any longer.
We made it safely out of Eastern Chad, right before violence and instability broke out; we could have been stuck there, since the road we last traveled was closed down the very next day. Our friends in the camps are not as lucky, with aid staff being relocated and services being stopped; refugees themselves are now managing the basics, such as food and water. In Guereda, from where we went to camps Kounoungou and Mile, UNHCR staff has been evacuated. Five cars were stolen, and armed men went in to their compound. There is complete impunity and chaos in that area.
In N’Djamena, it is not any more stable. The rebels have surrounded the city, with some fighting going on just a few kilometers outside. Our flight out scheduled for tonight has been cancelled, and it is one day at a time from here out. The airport is closed to all but military flights.
There is an eerie feeling of calm in this city because of the lack of activity in the streets. There are EU soldiers walking through the hotel with their weapons. I am not very concerned for our own safety, but the uncertainty of not knowing when we’ll be able to leave is strange.We are now going to work on organizing our pictures and video material. As I look at some of the faces in our pictures, I feel bad that this instability and not knowing is something that they live with every single day, and they have been living it for five years.
Since we’re here, KTJ and I will continue posting journals and even sending up pictures from the camps we have not sent before. We’ll be in touch, and you let us know your thoughts and any news you hear about Chad and the current crisis.
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