Their loved ones were slaughtered by Islamist extremists or government-affiliated fighters. Their villages were attacked, their homes destroyed. Exhausted and traumatized, they fled in search of safety, food and shelter.
This is the reality for over 2.5 million displaced people across the West African nation of Burkina Faso, torn apart by years of extreme violence.
But unlike others displaced in the region, they are seen as a challenge to Burkina Faso’s military junta that took power two years ago on the pledge of bringing stability. Their existence contradicts its official narrative: that security is improving and people are safely returning home.
Those who fled to Ouagadougou, the capital, which has been shielded from violence, find fear instead of respite. They are made into shadows, with many resorting to begging. Most of them are not entitled to support from authorities, and international aid organizations are not authorized to work with them.
The Associated Press reached out to several international aid groups, Western diplomats and the United Nations. None would speak on the record about the issue.
With no official displacement sites in Ouagadougou, no one knows how many people shelter in the capital or sleep on the streets. A rare acknowledgement of their existence by authorities noted 30,000 last year.
But aid groups say real numbers are much higher. And as violence increases, and people crowd displacement sites in the country’s remote north and east, exposed to hunger and disease, more are expected to arrive in the capital.
One aid worker, speaking like others on condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation, described the situation as “a ticking bomb.”
‘This is not a life’
The AP interviewed four displaced people in Ouagadougou. All spoke at great risk. Three are with the Fulani ethnic group, which authorities accuse of being affiliated with Islamist insurgents. All three said they have faced discrimination in the capital, with trouble finding jobs and sending children to school.
For decades, the Fulani were neglected by the central government, and some did join Islamist fighters. As a result, Fulani civilians are often targeted both by the extremists — affiliated with al-Qaida or the Islamic State group — and by rival pro-government forces.
A 27-year-old Fulani cattle trader from Djibo, a city besieged by armed groups since 2022, who spoke on condition of anonymity for fear of repercussions from authorities, said government-affiliated forces indiscriminately treated all Fulani in the area as extremists.
“They started arresting people, bringing them to the city, beating them, undressing them. It was humiliating,” he said. His uncle spent seven months in prison because he received aid from a charity run by extremists in part to spread their ideology.
He said he was arrested once in Djibo and beaten by the military, with injuries so extensive that he went to the hospital. He said soldiers told him only that they were “conducting a security operation.”
According to analysts, the junta’s strategy of military escalation, including mass recruitment of civilians for poorly trained militia units, has exacerbated tensions between ethnic groups. Data gathered by the Armed Conflict Location and Event Data Project show that militia attacks on civilians significantly increased since Capt. Ibrahim Traore took power.
The violence has radicalized some Fulanis, the cattle trader said.
“Every day, you prayed to live through the next 24 hours,” he said. “This is not a life.”
He did not want to flee and leave his parents behind. But one day, his father woke him and said: “You have to leave, because if you stay, someone will just come and kill you.”
His father was later killed.
He left in a military convoy over a year ago. Life in Ouagadougou is “very difficult,” he said. He lives with extended family and relies on odd jobs to get by.
“There are mornings when I wake up and ask myself how will I get something to eat,” he said. “I used to live with dignity.”
His mother has joined him in the capital. They have not received support from the government.
Always on the run
A 28-year-old mother from the northwest, who also spoke on condition of anonymity, said at first the extremists came to her village and stole cattle. But last summer, they came to the market and killed several men, including her husband. Then they ordered women and children to leave.
She grabbed her children, and cooking pots, and fled. She walked for hours through the night until she reached her husband’s family home.
Ten days later, armed men were approaching. She strapped her 2-year-old daughter to her back, grabbed her 4-year-old son and left for the capital.
She said she has not received government support in Ouagadougou. She was promised a job as a cleaner but lost the offer once the employer found out she was Fulani.
She secured a place at a rare shelter for displaced women, run with Western-supplied funds by a local activist who tries to keep a low profile. She is learning how to sew and has enrolled her son in school.
“I miss my village,” she said. “But for the moment I have to wait until the violence is over.”
Her stay is precarious. The shelter is full, hosting 50 women and children. Usually, they are allowed to stay for one year. Time is running out.
The demand is enormous, the activist said, and there is less and less aid. Local authorities are wary of anyone working with displaced people.
“I don’t know for how much longer I can keep on going,” she said.
A veneer of normalcy
As much as 80% of Burkina Faso’s territory is controlled by extremist groups and more civilians died from violence last year than in the years before, but in Ouagadougou, it is easy to forget that the government is battling an insurgency.
Busy open-air restaurants serve beer and the national dish of slowly roasted chicken. In recent months, the capital hosted a theater festival and an international arts and crafts fair. The authorities reinstated a cross-country cycling race, Tour de Faso, previously cancelled due to insecurity.
The military leadership has installed a system of de facto censorship, rights groups said, and those daring to speak up can be openly abducted, imprisoned or forcefully drafted into the army.
Burkina Faso used to be known for its vibrant intellectual life. Now, even friends are afraid to discuss politics.
“I feel like I am in prison,” said a local women’s rights activist. “Everyone distrusts each other. We fought for the freedom of speech, and now we lost everything.”
Burkina Faso’s authorities did not respond to questions.
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