Having heard similar promises before, the Darfuri refugees at Gaga camp are wary of Sudanese president Omar al-Bashir's recent ceasefire declaration and his pledge to disarm the feared militias, writes Mary FitzgeraldForeign Affairs Correspondent.
THEY CAME to Sheikh Ali Yahya Omar's village at dawn, and when they left that afternoon dozens lay dead. They rode in on horses and camels, Sheikh Omar remembers, their faces obscured with scarves, and when they opened fire, it was to shoot at anything that moved.
Countless such stories are to be found among the interrupted lives that now play out within the perimeters of Gaga, a sprawling refugee camp in eastern Chad. The camp, less than 100km from where Chad ends and Sudan begins, is home to some 20,000 Darfuris who have crossed over the border to escape the violence that has wracked their homeland for more than five years.
That is how long it has been since Noor Rasham Hasabullah fled her village, but what she witnessed before she left still haunts her - marauding militiamen pitching children into fires or pots of boiling water, and the twisted bodies of her dead neighbours lying on the sand. Other refugees can vividly describe the terrifying roar of an approaching Antonov, the aircraft used by the Sudanese government to carry out bombing raids. "When the children hear the sound of a plane today, they run and hide," says Sheikh Omar. Many still bear physical scars as testament to what they endured - Hawa Abdullah Omar lifts up her sleeve to reveal the puckered mark that remains on her upper arm after she was shot the day her village was attacked.
All are survivors of a conflict that erupted in early 2003, when rebels took up arms against the government in Khartoum, accusing it of marginalising the western regions of Sudan. Since then, fighting between rebels, government forces and allied militia groups known as Janjaweed has forced more than 2.5 million Darfuris from their homes. The UN estimates that more than 300,000 people have died since the conflict started, most of these as a result of starvation and disease.
The Sudanese government has bombed villages and mobilised the Janjaweed in a scorched-earth campaign. These militias became notorious for the way they laid waste to entire communities, slaughtering the men, raping the women and looting everything of value before torching the village.
Attempts to resolve the conflict have foundered due to several factors, including fragmented rebel demands, tribal tensions, animosity between Sudan and neighbouring Chad, and what many consider to be a half-hearted approach by the international community. But recent events have triggered a momentum not seen for some time, raising tentative hopes that an end may be in sight.
IN 2005, A UN commission found that, while the Sudanese government and militias had acted together in committing widespread atrocities in Darfur, it did not amount to genocide. Earlier this year, however, the chief prosecutor of the International Criminal Court called for the arrest of Sudanese president Omar al-Bashir, accusing him of genocide, crimes against humanity and war crimes in the region.
Many believe this is the reason why, two weeks ago, al-Bashir declared a unilateral ceasefire in Darfur and pledged to begin disarming the militias that had become so feared in the region.
The chief negotiator of the Justice and Equality Movement (Jem), one of Darfur's leading rebel groups, told me in the Chadian capital N'Djamena this week that his organisation would judge al-Bashir by his actions and not his words, pointing out that government forces had attacked rebel positions in Darfur just days after the ceasefire was announced. UN secretary-general Ban Ki-moon has expressed disappointment that military activity continues in the region despite al-Bashir's promise.
Noor, queuing outside Gaga's clinic with her daughter, has not heard of the ceasefire but she is quick to dismiss it when told. "As long as al-Bashir is in power, there will be no peace in Darfur," she says.
Hassan Abdullah Ahmed, a spirited twentysomething refugee who leads a drama club in the camp when he is not studying, agrees. "I don't trust al-Bashir - he has announced a ceasefire so many times before but they proved meaningless, and even after this latest one he attacked the rebels," he says. "Al-Bashir is only trying to protect himself from the international court. We don't take what he says seriously."
Across the camp, past women wearing veils that make for dazzling bolts of colour against the bleak desert landscape, Sheikh Omar sits on a rug in the shade. Asked if he trusts the ceasefire declaration, Omar's reply is swift. "Laa ," he says, shaking his head. "Laa, laa, laa."
How can he trust a man like al-Bashir, the sheikh asks. "The world knows what he has done in Darfur. The only solution is for him to go."
Gaga is one of 12 refugee camps strung along Chad's eastern flank. The newest of the camps, it was set up to accommodate tens of thousands of Darfuris who were transferred from other camps that had grown too large and unwieldy. The most recent arrivals include those who fled to Chad in February following a fresh burst of violence in Darfur. In all, about 250,000 Darfuri refugees languish in Chad, according to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). Irish Aid, the Government's overseas development arm, has contributed more than €2.2 million towards UNHCR's work in Chad this year, and Irish troops are participating in an EU force tasked with helping protect civilians, including refugees and displaced Chadians, in the country's east.
In Gaga, the refugees have built mud-walled, thatched huts similar to the ones they left behind in Darfur, and many cultivate small vegetable plots. There is a bustling market, and countless tethered donkeys. "We try our best," says Sheikh Omar, "but it's not really home, is it?"
Those living here insist Gaga has largely escaped many of the problems that plague other camps, particularly the issue of militarisation and recruitment by rebel groups. Annette Rehrl of UNHCR says the matter has become a source of significant concern for humanitarian agencies working with the refugees.
Jem's chief negotiator, Ahmed Tugod Lissan, acknowledges that the presence of arms in the camps is a problem and insists Jem is trying to tackle the issue. He rejects, however, accusations by some NGOs that Jem recruits refugee children into its ranks.
Many of the refugees speak of their wish for justice to be done, and those who are aware of the International Criminal Court's moves to indict al-Bashir say they invest much hope in international law. I meet one man in eastern Chad who has given testimony to the court for its case against the Sudanese president. Fifteen members of his family were killed in Darfur. Fearing for his life, he agrees to talk to me only if his identity is not revealed. "I witnessed the killing of pregnant women and children. It was the worse thing I have ever seen," he says. "I gave evidence because we must ensure that crimes of this sort are never committed in Africa again.
"Al-Bashir is to blame because he gave instructions to his men. The atrocities that were committed are so terrible, it is difficult to say what punishment he deserves."
THE LATEST EFFORT to resurrect some sort of talks process between Khartoum and the rebel factions is a Qatari-sponsored initiative to get all parties around a table in Doha. The challenge will be how to unpick a conflict that has hardened and fragmented over the past five years.
Azhaari Ali, a tall, distinguished-looking man who brought bags of books with him when he escaped across the border, is sceptical. "We've been here before," he sighs. "Theoretical peace is not enough, we also need peace on the ground and that seems far away. We have no confidence in the government and while there may be peace talks soon, the refugees have no voice at the table."
Aside from the wariness the refugees feel about Khartoum's recent overtures, there are other concerns. As the days spent in the camp have turned into months and then years, for many the notion of returning home has become more remote. Some refugees wonder what they will return to if that day ever comes. Others push that question further and insist a form of compensation for those who lost homes and livelihoods should be part of any future deal.
Sheikh Omar dreams of the day his entire family, now scattered throughout camps in Chad and Darfur, will be able to rebuild their lives in the place they call home. "We will go back when the problem in Darfur is solved," he says. "But only God knows when that will be."