Above In the area around Birak, close to the border with Sudan, hundreds of refugees live in simple straw huts. (©Espen Rasmussen/Courtesy of Dewi Lewis Publishing).
‘Displaced people are not a sudden catastrophe, but a tragedy that plays out day after day, year after year,’ writes Panos Pictures photographer Espen Rasmussen, who has devoted the past six years to documenting and recording the stories of the worlds displaced citizens, in his series Transit. Today with a lack of action by the global community and its politicians, there is an estimated 43 million people displaced from their homes — we do not even know how many millions more are struggling to survive as undocumented migrants — the highest number recorded in the last decade.
‘Too many of these people will be left to their own devices,’ says the Norwegian photographer ‘with their own governments as onlookers to injustice and murder, shrugging in response to the persecution and killings.‘ It is the footsteps of these people — ‘marked by war and unbearable anxieties‘ — that Rasmussen has followed in, bearing witness to their stories.
Above Displaced people seek refuge in a church in the village of Rubare. They fled Ntamugenga after rebels attacked and burned their houses. (©Espen Rasmussen/Courtesy of Dewi Lewis Publishing).
‘Rasmussen has travelled the world for the past six years documenting some of biggest unfolding dramas of our time,’ writes Jan Egeland, a former Director General, of the Norwegian Institute of International Affairs and UN Emergency Relief Coordinator, in his essay The drama on our watch. ‘He has met with, lived among and photographed people who have had to flee from their homes in – or to – Afghanistan, Bangladesh, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Sudan, Chad, Colombia,Georgia, Serbia, Syria, Yemen and Norway.’
In only a few short days, more than 100,000 men, women, children and the elderly — the newly displaced — arrive in the Democratic Republic of Congo’s eastern city of Goma. They arrive mainly on foot, carrying what worldly possessions they can, seeking a safe place to sleep; and an escape from the intense and brutal conflict between the Congolese army and the rebel militia commanded by the warlord Laurent Nkunda, which has once again flared up, with Nkunda’s troops accused of massacres and torture.
Above In the Roma camp of Salvatore, homes are made from plastic, tarpaulins and containers. When it rains, both the houses and streets fill with water. (©Espen Rasmussen/Courtesy of Dewi Lewis Publishing).
Rasmussen’s images document the sea of people as they stream into the city along its main road, escaping unimaginable violence, fed both by political differences, land rights and greed for natural resources. It is sometimes called Africa’s ‘world war,’ but once again it is the local population — the innocent — who find themselves in the firing line. The refugees find shelter where they can; a church, or maybe one of the many camps such as Mugunga. Their shared experiences and stories, are documented by Rasmussen, forming a visual record. They tell stories of the rebels removing their uniforms, wearing civilian clothes instead, in an attempt to confuse the government troops.
Every night starving and scared Somalis arrive on the beaches of Yemen, having made a fearful journey. ‘A journey you would only consider if you were desperate,’ says Rasmussen, ‘But in the collapsed state of Somalia most people are desperate and looking for a safer place to live.’ Those that arrive on the beaches are the lucky ones, who have survived a treacherous two-day voyage across the Gulf of Aden, where many loose their lives as they escape Somalia in search of a new and better life.
Above Many of the thousands who fled from the fighting in the north settled in old office buildings, disused kindergartens and schools in Tbilisi. (©Espen Rasmussen/Courtesy of Dewi Lewis Publishing).
‘In old boats they have sat huddled together, without food and with little water. A few dollar bills, gained from work, family or friends, are all they carry. Later they will tell of blows, kicks and threats from people smugglers, and of those thrown overboard and left to drown. Some of those who get to Yemen travel to the capital city in the hope of earning a living. For others, Yemen is just one leg on a longer journey.’
Out of the desert ride the Janjaweed militia — ‘devils on horseback.’ Heavily armed, this small group of men are responsible for killing and rape in the Darfur region of western Sudan. ‘Their victims are the populace caught up in a conflict involving rebels, the Sudanese army and militant nomads. The Arab Janjaweed soldiers, with support from the authorities, are accused of the genocide of the non-Arab part of the population and held responsible for the displacement of more than 2.7 million people.’ The vast majority of those that have fled now live in camps in Darfur; whilst the lucky few have managed to cross the border into neighbouring Chad.
Above Three-year-old twins Hassan and Hossin and their two-year-old sister Hannan are tied up for six hours a day while their mother is at work. ‘I have to tie them up,’ says Selma Ahmed Adem. ‘There is nobody here to look after them and I am afraid they will crawl out of the window while I’m away.’ (©Espen Rasmussen/Courtesy of Dewi Lewis Publishing).
It would take 73 year-old Arbab Adam Abdullai five days to make the journey into Chad, finally arriving exhausted and hungry, at the Farchana refugee camp, where he now lives with his my wife and their three children. ‘We left everything, we have nothing,’ he says. ‘The Janjaweed militia came to my village. They killed my two brothers and uncle before they began the rapes,’ and before they left, they burned down every house in the village. ‘We have no future here, and what will happen to my children? I don’t know. How will I get food and education for them?’ he asks.
‘More than 7,000 refugees live in tents in a desert where daytime temperatures approach 50°C; the UNHCR provides tents and distributes water,’ writes Rasmussen. But new refugees arrive each day with many choosing not to use the three large camps, such as that at Farchana, but to errect small huts constructed of bamboo and plastic along the 600km border between Chad and Darfur. Many more camp along with their animals in dry riverbeds — where what little water there is, maybe found in wells — unwilling to abandon their livestock, as it is all they have left of any value. But outside of the official camps they ‘live in fear of new attacks from Janjaweed soldiers, who often roam the border looking for victims and food.’
Above A Janjaweed militia soldier in Darfur, Sudan. The rebel group has terrorized the local population since 2003. (©Espen Rasmussen/Courtesy of Dewi Lewis Publishing).
Within the town of Vranje, in the south of Serbia, four Roma families make their home in a single cramped room; they are the forgotten legacy of the war in Kosovo. ‘When NATO began bombing the province to force Serbian troops out, not only soldiers fled, more than 250,000 Serbians did too, ending up as displaced persons in their own country,’ says Rasmussen, ‘They found refuge in old motels, disused kindergartens and campsites over all Serbia.’
‘Between shacks made of scrap metal, cardboard and plastic, comes the sound of an accordion. It is night and the Roma who live here have retired to the warmth of their small homes,’ writes Rasmussen, ‘In one of them live Redza and his two brothers. He takes out his accordion and starts to hum. “Music keeps us alive,” he says.’ He along with his brothers, fled from Kosovo during the war; now they are displaced. ‘Few dare to return to Kosovo. We are afraid of the Albanians and that they will seek revenge,’ says Redza. Slavica, her husband and children live in the same camp. ‘Kosovo is part of Serbia. Do you think we will go back if Kosovo is ruled by Albanians?’ she asks. Her father-in-law Dushoes Nikolic lives in a village inside Kosovo, some hours from the camp. He is waiting for his son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren to move home again. A few Serbians and Albanians live side-by-side in the village. The area is patrolled by soldiers every hour. ‘My house was burned down when we fled. It was rebuilt after the war and I chose to return home again,’ says Dushoes. ‘I am an old man and get on well with everyone. I have to, these are the last years of my life.’
Above During the bus trip refugees were stopped many times by local Iraqi militias and often forced to hand over their money and possessions. (©Espen Rasmussen/Courtesy of Dewi Lewis Publishing).
‘Having travelled or worked in more than 100 countries there is a question I am frequently asked by students, journalists and refugees,’ writes Egeland, ‘is the world in general getting better or worse? It is the big question asked by each generation: are we making progress on our watch?’ He continues, ‘I am convinced that the world is getting steadily better for a sizeable majority of the world’s population. There is greater peace, and, for example, more children receive education and health care than when the Cold War ended. There has been a marked increased in life expectancy on all continents and in nearly all countries.’
But despite these huge steps forward, and as we experience in Transit, and the powerful photographs of Rasmussen — who stands witness to the displaced citizens of the world — there is still much that must change in our shared societies. ‘Through the United Nations and other international organisations I have seen how we can organise, against all the odds, tremendous processes of change when we have a sufficient minimum of political support from the most powerful and resources from the richest nations. So there is, despite all the troubles and threats, hope for humanitarian action. This book explains what is at stake,’ concludes Egeland.
Transit, is published by Dewi Lewis Publishing.