“They make us nervous”
Pierre Terdjman
The long, slow collapse of the Central African Republic suddenly accelerated in early 2013 when the country fell to Seleka armed rebel groups. In Bangui and in the provinces, the Seleka fighters, originally from the northern savannah lands, adopted widespread looting as a method of government. In the space of just a few months, they brought tragedy to the country, a tragedy that has continued in an implacable reign of terror.
Violence perpetrated by the Seleka soon forced local communities into hiding in the bush. “They make us nervous.” This is the dreadful euphemism which has been heard again and again as residents describe the reign of terror conducted by the Seleka. Villages were abandoned, crops burnt, and rural communities set up their own traditional self-defense groups, the anti-Balaka militia. Wearing amulets and charms, armed with homemade weapons, they have been waging their guerilla warfare against the Seleka forces, and also against Muslims considered to be on the side of their persecutors. Next, Peul herdsmen, Muslim traders and dual nationals were targeted, becoming victims at the hands of the initial victims.
In December 2013, France, after much hesitation, being reluctant to take on yet again responsibility and authority in the former colony, intervened to disarm Seleka rebels. While the intervention may have provided a way out of a political impasse, the small number of French and African troops (only a few thousand) could not contain the explosion of violence; neither could the religious or political leaders, for no one was even listening to them.
Preview
Months of fear and violence had triggered great animosity between Christians and Muslims. In Bangui, the capital city, it was time for the “next round.” Once the Seleka had withdrawn, cheering crowds chose to wreak revenge on anyone and anything vaguely connected to their persecutors. Violence erupted in every neighborhood: Bimbo, Combattants, Boeing, Boy Rabe, PK 5, and PK 12. Communities that had been living in terror and whose property had been stolen responded by looting and killing. Entire neighborhoods were deserted; makeshift refugee camps appeared in other parts of the city. Humanitarian workers were unable to cope as tens of thousands of displaced persons descended on the airport, turning it into a huge camp, but with no facilities or proper hygiene. Revenge was the excuse for everything. While the violence had no front lines, it followed its own relentless plans, moving onto small tracks and in between the mud houses with corrugated iron roofs. Crowds went wild, dragging Muslims from taxis, hacking them to pieces with machetes, massacring them. A busy street would suddenly empty; shooting would break out at one point, smoke would be seen at another; there were even scenes of ritualistic cannibalism in broad daylight. French patrols were targeted. Rwandan troops attempted to convince rioters that massacres were not the solution. In a wave of panic, Muslims fled north, while the Seleka forces, in columns, ran rampage through the country, outside the cities.
Pierre Terdjman was one of a handful of reporters covering the story over these months of great tension, following the events as they continued, swiftly and relentlessly. In these circumstances, Pierre was part war reporter part street photographer. The challenge of understanding ever-changing situations, and the personal relationships built up over the weeks in all the different environments, plus his response to the latest event which, invariably, occurred without warning, meant that he was able to tell a story covering weeks, showing the development of the links that formed a tragic chain nobody seemed able to break.
These pictures, sometimes horrifically striking, are not the standard shots showing Africa with reference to a primitive world forever caught up in violence and folly. Pierre’s photographs are both pictures of individuals and eminently human stories, the stories of men and women who have seen their familiar universe suddenly swept away by events beyond their control and understanding, yet involving them as both protagonists and victims. Covering these events over the months, the figure of the photographer, Pierre Terdjman, was seen going through the streets and along dirt tracks at the wheel of his old Toyota, his camera and cellphone close at hand, transporting the injured and taking pictures of what he saw every day. He became one of the last references in a world which had lost virtually all rational references.
*Adrien Jaulmes *
**Exhibition by Paris Match **
I wish to thank Guillaume Clavières, Caroline Mangez and Jérôme Huffer (Paris Match), Stéphane Correa (Le Figaro), Adrien Jaulmes and Pascal Briard, and Annie Boulat for her endless patience there alongside me.
