The Wild West -- part 1

A day like today really defies description.

There was so much packed into just a few hours. We began early, setting out for the airport at 6:45 am without a very clear idea of what the day would bring. All we knew was that we were headed for the west of the country, near the Liberian border. It’s the most insecure part of CdI, where neither rebels nor the government hold much sway (at least not officially). Instead this part of the country is the realm of the militias, a rag-tag assortment of armed ‘self-defence groups’ who are at the beck and call of the country’s political parties, most particularly the ruling FPI.

We started out in a relatively large UN plane bound for Daloa. I was surprised at its size; I’ve taken smaller aircraft on commercial routes. At Daloa we changed our mode of transport; for our onward journey, it was a helicopter.

I have to admit, taking a UN peacekeeping helicopter into the bush is pretty cool. It was a good size, capable of seating perhaps a dozen people along the benches that lined the sides. We buckled in and accepted our headphones. I was fortunate enough to be seated beside an open window, which I spent the duration of the 35-minute flight gaping out of. The rotors spun for a long while before we moved, all sound and fury signifying nothing. At some point I started to wonder whether something was wrong. And then, quite peacefully, we began to lift off the ground. The craft rocked back and forth, the nose dipped forward, and we were off.

The view from the window was spectacular. At the modest altitude of a helicopter, everything that is vague from the plane becomes sharp and clear. Instead of a vast expanse of featureless green, there were individual trees. Instead of a patchwork of brown and rust, villages of thatched roofs, football pitches and goats. Women carrying baskets on their heads as they made their way down winding paths of Mars-red earth. I was particularly taken with the trees. I’ve never seen anything like them. Here and there amid the general riot of foliage, giants stand out. They loom far above the others, fifteen or twenty stories high, naked till the very top, narrow trunks of stark white discernible from a great distance. They’re incredible; I wish I knew what they were called.

We arrived to much ado. Pakistani peacekeepers came to greet our delegation (of three) and, we learned, to escort us for the rest of the day. We proceeded immediately in convoy to Morbatt – the Moroccan battalion of peacekeepers. There, we ate a generous lunch while we quizzed the peacekeepers about protection of civilians. They were effusive in their hospitality. The Commanding Officer personally served me each course, and when I casually observed that the tea tasted like dates, his second in command leapt to his feet, saying, “You like dates! I have dates!” which he then proceeded to fetch. We left with nice new Morocco ball caps (but not much new information). The Colonel assured us we would be under Moroccan protection from henceforth.

We certainly are. In addition to the humvees that trailed us for the rest of the day, I sit in my room secure in the knowledge that no fewer than nine heavily-armed Moroccan peacekeepers are lounging outside the door. There are three of them for each of us. Seems a bit excessive.

Anyway, I’m really tired, so I’ll save the rest until tomorrow.