“How does a ship carrying such harmful waste been able to dump its content in the Ivorian capital? How could this happen?” said Bakayoko Samba, a young designer who four years ago against his own will was forced to close his tailor shop. It was located in Abobo Anador near one of the sites where toxic waste was dumped.

By Raïmus Yasel, Abidjan

Samba is very shocked by the case baptised the ''toxic waste scandal'' by the press in Ivory Coast. Like many Ivorians, he is not convinced by the verdict that establishes the Ivorian authorities involved in the case as “responsible but not guilty''. He is still pondering over it.

Rebuffed
Eight months after the dumping took place, he said there is a need to solve the mystery surrounding this embarrassing case and better inform the public.

So I decided to propose the story to my editor-in-chief. I was rebuffed straightaway: “[…] think about another story. I cannot publish the outcome of your investigation,” he told me firmly. My first obstacle: the antipathy of my editors.

''I don’t want to suffer again the wrath of armed men or vandals paid by politicians'', he carried on. ''If this happens, my newspaper will not survive. You saw what they took away the first time [...]''. He spoke softly as if being afraid of being heard. In fact, the fear of losing for a second time his hardly-earned computers and furniture as a result of a previous act of vandalism was haunting him.

I therefore decided to carry on alone with my own investigations and eventually get them published under a pseudonym by other newspapers willing to do so. But I knew it would not come easy.

Threats
During the first month, I travelled at my own expense all over the city of Abidjan and met successively with Charles Sagou and Motto Isaiah, spokesperson for Akouedo village and chief of Djibi village respectively, two suburbs on the outskirts of Abidjan where the dumping took place.

Two months later, I tried to get into the MACA prison (Maison d’Arrêt et de Correction d’Abidjan), one of the largest prisons in the country, to talk to Salomon Ugborugbo, the main accused in the case. He is serving a sentence of twenty years. I was immediately sent away.

Soon after I received an anonymous phone call: ''[...] i am informing you that the department of justice has already closed the case you are currently investigating[...] We do not want alternative news on this subject. You've been warned [...]'', said my caller in a stern voice.

A couple of months later, I tried once more to approach MACA, but this time as a normal visitor. I was not checked thoroughly and I was in. And I even managed to sneak in a small audio recorder.

Later I talked to Ouattara Marvin, president of an association for the defence of the victims of toxic waste and Yacouba Foungbè, one of the drivers who took part in transporting the toxic waste to the dumping sites.

That evening, I got another anonymous call : “[…] we know to whom you just spoke and what kind of information you got. Keep them for yourself.” Again, on a menacing tone. 

Sacked
The following morning I learned from my editor-in-chief that I could not write for his newspaper anymore. The fear of seeing his offices vandalised or burned down, has brought him down to sack me.

Investigative journalists suffer from a lot of pressure in many African countries – intimidation, kidnapping and abuse of authority to name a few.

These tribulations are clear indications what journalists in Ivory Coast who work on sensitive issues such as toxic waste, misappropriation of funds from oil exploitation or child labour in cocoa plantations, go through to get there stories out.