[NOTE:  This diary is part of the ongoing series Ten Stories the World Should Hear More About, a group project of the Booman Tribune.]

Look at your young men fighting
Look at your women crying
Look at your young men dying
The way they’ve always done before

Look at the hate we’re breeding
Look at the fear we’re feeding
Look at the lives we’re leading
The way we’ve always done before

I don’t need your civil war
It feeds the rich while it buries the poor

 – Guns N Roses, Civil War

Salim ashes his cigarette off the side of the truck.  Just as he takes another draw, the truck hits a bump, eliciting groans and cusses from his fellow soldiers riding in the truck’s bed.  He finds himself hoping that they were responsible with their safeties as the weapons and ammunition are jolted out of their resting place on the bed floor.

Some of these men he’s just met this night.  Others have been his friends since ‘before’.  Before they were soldiers.  Before the fighting.  Lord, how did we get here, he wonders?  How have we come to this?

Just three days ago on August 7, Côte d’Ivoire celebrated the beginning of their 46th year of independence.  Unfortunately, not much is to be celebrated.  Less than a teenager’s lifespan ago Côte d’Ivoire was a model of peace and economic prosperity, a relative utopia when compared with most of its continent-mates.  Now, it is embroiled in conflict and on the brink of all out civil war.

Much of the Côte d’Ivoire’s past success can be directly attributed to the work of one man.  Félix Houphouët-Boigny, known sometimes as the Sage of Africa, or the Grand Old Man of Africa.  Though his title was that of President, he could more accurately be called a benevolent dictator.  His term as President ran from 1960 until his death in 1993, but it wasn’t until his last re-election that he faced an opposition party as they had previously been illegal.

Though the decline of Côte d’Ivoire’s economic prosperity began well before the end of the Houphouët-Boigny era, it wasn’t until after his death that the inner tensions in the country began to become evident.  Côte d’Ivoire is made up of approximately 60 different ethnic groups, in large part due to a combination of an open border policy by Houphouët-Boigny and the country’s stability compared to its neighbors.

“Salim.  Salim!  What are you thinking about?  Do you think we’re going to make it tonight?”

“I don’t know Adama.  I think we must.”

Adama is one of the men that Salim has known for a very long time.  Over the years they’ve become like brothers.  They’ve been fighting rebels as members of a pro-government militia for nearly 4 years now.

Often they enjoy talking about life before the war, and trading amazed stories of the fights they’ve somehow survived.

The new Ivoirian President, Henri Konan Bédié did not share his predecessor’s affinity to foreigners, nor his ability to keep social tensions suppressed.  Under Bédié, immigrants were no longer given the same standing as Ivoirian nationals.  Approximately 26% of the population (over half of them Burkinabés) were no longer considered true Ivoirians.

This new nationalistic ideal was used in order to fragment the political opposition, many of whom were immigrants.  This led to political unrest, and Bédié was removed from office via a military coup in 1999.  The following year, further unrest followed from an attempt to rig the Presidential election, resulting in many deaths and the installation of Laurent Gbagbo as the new President.

Following an unsuccessful coup attempt in 2001, in 2002 rebel forces took over the northern half of Côte d’Ivoire in a major coordinated attack against several major cities.

Salim lights up another cigarette, thinking about how he himself would answer his next question.

“Do you think there will ever be peace here again, Adama?

“Or have things already gone too far?”

“Nobody can fight forever, Salim.  One way or another, there will be peace.  Whether we will live to see it, or be free in it, I don’t know.  But the fighting will stop eventually.”

“And that is why we’re here tonight, right?”

Repeatedly, peace agreements were negotiated, only to breakdown due to the distrust between the sides.  Many of the pro-government militia groups were incited to violence through the state owned and operated media, which flooded the airwaves with messages of xenophobia and ethnic hate.

Eventually, the country finally arrived at a uneasy ceasefire.  In 2004, the UN set up operations in Côte d’Ivoire to help maintain the ceasefire and work towards sustainable peace.  A roadmap towards reuniting the country was drawn, and deadlines for progress were set.

At the expiration of Laurent Gbagbo’s term in 2005, new elections were scheduled to be held.  However, Gbagbo declared that he would simply remain President, and postponed the elections indefinitely.  The UN security council stepped in, and passed a resolution extending his mandate 12 months and scheduling the elections for October, 2006.

The taillights on the old truck dimly signal that the vehicle is slowing.  After taking several turns off the main road, the improvised personnel carrier comes to a halt.

The driver steps out, a man Salim and Adama have known barely a week.  He whispers to them:

“We’re here.  Everybody out.  Don’t leave any weapons in the truck.”

This essentially brings us to where we are today.  None of the sides in this struggle trust each other.  In order to have elections, they have to first identify and register voters.  In order to identify and register voters in the north, rebel forces must disarm.  However, rebel forces will not disarm until a sizeable number of the pro-government militia groups first turn in their weapons.

With each time one side fails to meet a deadline, with each perceived or real violation of the shaky agreement, the entire process takes two steps backwards, and risk of all out civil war escalates.

One need look no further than the last couple weeks’ headlines to see just how narrow the line being walked.

The militia men slowly approached the building with weapons in hand, and rounds of spare ammunition strapped across their chests and in their pockets.

Suddenly a door opens, and three men exit the building with their own guns trained on the small band.

“Put your weapons down immediately.  What is your business here?”

“We are here to disarm” Salim says nervously.  “We are tired of the fighting.  We want peace, and to return to the lives we had.”