While the militias and government troops battle it out in Port Harcourt, Nigeria’s premier oil-producing city, an uneasy peace has descended on its twin sister in the west. For eight years the city of Warri in Delta State was convulsed by violence far worse than that in Port Harcourt today. At the height of the crisis, tens of thousands of people were displaced and thousands died.
The current violence in Port Harcourt has similar causes to the Warri conflict. Poverty-stricken local people complain about corruption and a lack of democratic representation. Accusations were made that the distribution of oil wealth was unfair, that one ethnic group was being cheated. Gradually, militias were formed. Communities were destroyed.
Now, slowly, the survivors of the Warri crisis are returning home.
Ode-Itsekiri, referred to as “Big Warri”, was one of hundreds of settlements abandoned during the conflict between the Ijaw and Itsekiri tribes. The houses along Irigbo Street are roofless and green covers the tarmac road. Streetlights sprout from the shrubbery and vines intertwine with dangling electric cables.
Once a thriving community of more than 15 000 people, most inhabitants fled after an attack by armed Ijaw youths in 1997 destroyed the town and killed eight people. Subsequent attacks frightened away the few who tried to remain. But following a peace settlement negotiated by the main militias and local government in April this year, the people of Ode-Itsekiri are gradually coming home.
“Now there are 50 people here; 30 of them came in August,” commented 28-year-old Matthew Tuli, camping in the ruins of his childhood home. “Mostly young men come to start renovating their houses. More come in the daytime and at weekends. You can see that we have cleared the road. But the water and electricity, they do not work anymore.”
Ironically, these poverty-stricken villagers live on top of Africa’s richest oil reserves, but corruption siphons off most of the revenues, causing violent clashes over who will control lucrative local government positions.
There are already signs that the resumption of production will inflame old grievances. Those living near oil facilities are often awarded jobs or development projects, favouring one community over another. The violence has suspended all activity in the region, but with peace will come the resumption of conflict over scarce privileges. There have already been several clashes between returning refugees and their neighbours.
John Ogbini (42) used to work as a contractor in his village of Opumami, where TotalFinaElf has a tank farm. In March 2003 Ijaw youths arrived, set the town on fire and killed four people. Ogbini now lives in a room in Port Harcourt with his wife and four children; the rent is only 3 000 naira a month but he must ask friends for help. He and other villagers have tried to return to Opumami twice, but each time they have seen armed Ijaw youths approaching in boats and left.
It is not only Itsekiris who have suffered, points out Bello Oboko, president of the Federated Niger Delta Ijaw Communities. “Go to Awoh, Warri Corner, Ogbudu or Gbudu and see the ashes of thousands of Ijaw homes burnt by the security forces,” he says. “We have nothing against the Itsekiris per se, but are angry that soldiers can use their communities as bases to attack our people.”
Although there is an uneasy truce between the Ijaw and the Itsekiri, the feud between Ijaw leaders and the military seems simply to have moved east.
Within the Warri, the original disputes over local government are still being debated. The outcome is likely to please no one. The authorities are struggling to contain Asari in the east. Warri is already heavily policed by the army and navy. If it explodes again, the Delta will be ungovernable.
Until the underlying issues of poverty and democratic representation are addressed, the truce will be as fragile as the blackened walls of Matthew Tuli’s family home.