Liberian refugees return to terror they fled at home

PROLLO, Ivory Coast -- Terrified Liberian mothers sang hymns to Jesus and, to the wail of tiny children, climbed into dugout canoes for a harrowing ride home to danger after years of safety in the Ivory Coast. With brutal violence aimed at them, they saw little choice.

"Yes, it's terrible there, but it may be worse here," said Morris Lahai Kanneh, a Liberian volunteer, as he affixed wrist tags to evacuees at the mobbed U.N. refugee agency compound in nearby Tabou late this week. "It is like running from a fire only to fall in a river."

At least 2,400 Liberians have asked for help to get home, and perhaps 37,000 have already fled on their own, U.N. officials say. More than 25,000 remain in the southwestern part of Ivory Coast, and many of them are expected to follow.

Kanneh and other Liberian community leaders say at least nine refugees, all young men, have been executed in three separate attacks by youthful Ivorians belonging to self-styled militias since a rebellion that erupted on Sept. 19 spread to the west of Ivory Coast.

Attacks reported

Jacques Franquin, emergency coordinator for the U.N. refugee agency, said some Liberians had been murdered, but he was still trying to pin down details.

"People have been killed, definitely," he said. "There are serious beatings. The refugees are panic-stricken."

A French army source, who asked he not be identified, confirmed Liberians had been put to death by youths acting on their own. He said accounts were sketchy because many attacks were not officially reported.

Militias accuse the Liberian refugees of taking part in the Ivorian rebellion even though most of them have lived peaceably here for as long as 13 years.

Liberians began fleeing their home country en masse in the 1980s when vicious factional fighting tore apart the nation, which combines coastal African tribes with descendants of freed American slaves. Their president, Charles Taylor, is a former warlord who continues to pursue opponents.

"The tragedy is that these refugees came here to escape fighting in Liberia and now they are being linked to the very people they ran from," said Astrid van Genderen Stort, a U.N. refugee agency spokeswoman.

Lt. Col. Jules Yao Yao, the Ivorian army spokesman, said he had no reports of refugees being killed, but he added that in some places hard-pressed soldiers could not control overzealous individuals acting on their own.

Emmanuel Wah, 25, and his friend Cyrus Barclay, 17, display deep cuts on their wrists and ankles, evidence of two days they spent at the hands of young Ivorians who threatened to kill them. They managed to escape and reach the U.N. compound, where thousands huddle for safety.

"They beat us so bad I was swollen up and could hardly move," Wah said. "We had nothing to eat or drink. They taunted us and said we would die because we were rebels."

The first ragged convoy of 87 evacuees were taken from Tabou to Prollo on Friday, where they were to be ferried across the broad, swift Cavally River to Liberia. But the boat hired to come from Tabou never showed up.

After the first 28 women and children were paddled over in canoes, Franquin stopped the operation as too dangerous. It is to continue this week with larger boats.

Last year, the U.N. refugee agency brought a $200,000 ferry to Prollo for cross-border operations, with the intention of giving it to local authorities.

But after Sept. 19, the Ivorian army crippled it with three hand grenades out of fear that Liberian fighters would use it for a possible invasion.

Meantime, thousands of other refugees have sought shelter within the U.N. compound walls at Tabou, harassed by young Ivorian toughs. Each had a story to tell.

John Joe Brumskine, a 38-year-old Baptist preacher, wants to go back, but he does not dare.

"Many of us are on a black list, charged with being dissidents, and they will seize us at the border," he said. "We can only wait for whatever miracle the good Lord has in store for us, and pray for it to come true."

If it were not for French troops who keep a fragile peace, he said, he is certain young Ivorians would storm the compound.

"The worst part is that these are Kru men, like us, who are making all the trouble," Brumskine said. The Kru are one of the larger ethnic groups in Liberia.

Refugee officials say the Liberians and Ivorians have lived together in harmony, partly because of similar ethnic ties but also because of a peaceful tradition in the Ivory Coast.

Suddenly, former friends were bitter foes.

"We have to get these people out of here," Franquin said, warning that in the atmosphere of growing hostility, a spark could ignite calamity.

He and his French assistant, Frederic Cussigh, operate on a shoestring. An original request for $20 million was cut to $6 million, but barely $1.5 million has been pledged by donors. "Nobody cares," Franquin concluded, glancing out at the desperate crowd.

Garabed Bekmezian, 62, wore a battered baseball cap over a sunburned red face. An Armenian from Beirut, he spent 34 years as an electrician in Liberia's Maryland County before war pushed him to the Ivory Coast nine years ago.

"Now war is carrying us back again," he said. "They don't want to take us anywhere else. What to do?"

Bekmezian has a family, somewhere. His daughter, now almost 22, was taken in by missionaries and left Liberia. "I have a boy, 18, but I don't know if he's alive or dead," he said. His sister, Shoushan, is in Fresno, Calif., maybe, with a married name he does not know.

Alice Wah tugged at the sleeve of a visiting reporter, eager to add her story. Her husband, a police official, was locked in the family home and burned to death with two children in 1990. She fled with 12 others.

"What do I do?" she asked. "If I go back, I can't hide in the bush. If I stay here, what will happen to my family?"

Yancy Carr, 46, managed to get his wife and six children to Atlanta. He was in Abidjan about to complete the paperwork to join them when the rebellion started. Now, back on the border, he fears he will end up trapped in Liberia.

Kouame Bouaki, subprefect of the Tabou district, insisted that refugees were well-treated. "Of course, they are safe here," he said, watching the aborted evacuation at Prollo.

Back at Tabou, most disagreed.

"I'll help all those who want to go back to Liberia, and then I'll probably go myself," Kanneh said. "I can't stay here by myself."