The Fula are pastoralists who have long lived in the country, but almost all are at risk of statelessness.<\/p>\n
By\u00a0Don Murray and Horaci Garcia Marti in Kong, C\u00f4te d\u2019Ivoire<\/p>\n
In the heat of the afternoon an old woman leans forward in the darkened room.<\/p>\n
Aminata Sidib\u00e9\u00a0calculates her age by the year of her marriage and C\u00f4te d\u2019Ivoire\u2019s independence. Both took place in 1960. She thinks she was 15 then, which would make her 74 now. She might be older.<\/p>\n
She may not know her exact age but she does know that, as she puts it, \u201cI was born here, I was married here, I had my children here, and I have grand-children and even great grand-children here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPeople think of me as a foreigner here. It\u2019s not good at all, but what can you do?\u201d<\/p>\n
Aminata Sidib\u00e9 and her family are Fulas, an ethnic group of herders spread over a dozen countries in Africa. Although she is the matriarch of an extended family of 45 with roots in C\u00f4te d\u2019Ivoire reaching back generations, in the eyes of the country she lives in, she, and all her family, are foreigners.<\/p>\n
Her family\u2019s problem is that C\u00f4te d\u2019Ivoire only confers citizenship by bloodline \u2013 at least one parent has to be Ivorian.\u00a0It is not enough to have been born here.<\/p>\n
Officially, Aminata, and the rest of her family, are \u2018Burkinab\u00e9\u2019, descendants of people from neighbouring Burkina Faso, a distinction that places them at risk of statelessness. This results from the fact that, after many generations away, Burkina Faso may not recognize them as citizens.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe have no position here,\u201d says Animata\u2019s son, Seydou Tall, 56, who was born in C\u00f4te d\u2019Ivoire and has a birth certificate. He owns a large herd of cattle. \u201cI don\u2019t want a consular card saying I\u2019m from Burkina Faso. I\u2019m not. I want to have the nationality of my country.\u201d<\/p>\n
Worldwide, there are millions of people without nationality. They face a lifetime of inequities and impediments blocking access to basic rights such as education, healthcare, employment and free movement.<\/p>\n
In C\u00f4te d\u2019Ivoire, the numbers of people like the Fula without documents and at risk of statelessness are worrying. Cote d\u2019Ivoire assessed their stateless population at nearly 700,000 at the end of 2017. But a thorough mapping effort currently underway is expected to yield a more accurate and much higher number of people who are either stateless, or at risk of statelessness.<\/p>\n
Seydou says that, with Ivorian nationality, family members could find good jobs. Without nationality certificates, they cannot apply for formal jobs, open bank accounts or get a driving license.<\/p>\n
They are pastoralists and raise cattle, without the right to buy property. The family\u2019s right to their land depends on a private agreement with the old owner which gives them no legal rights.<\/p>\n
For the family, the path to citizenship is a long one. Monique Saraka, general secretary of the Ivorian Association of Women Jurists, visited\u00a0the small town to give advice to the family\u00a0on their status.<\/p>\n
\u201cMany of the Fula people have no formal education, and they fear approaching the authorities,\u201d she says. \u201cMost don\u2019t even have birth certificates.\u201d<\/p>\n
Saraka says that, unfortunately, their path to nationality is narrow; they would have to apply for naturalization.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a long, slow process,\u201d she says. \u201cPeople who apply can wait 10 years, or even longer. On top of that, there is the cost. So people, particularly in rural areas, look at all that and get discouraged. They don\u2019t bother.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her association, with backing from UNHCR, has been campaigning since 2015 for changes to the system. The first goal is to make getting basic documents, like birth certificates, easier. The government is about to bring into force a law making the process free for one year.<\/p>\n
Easing the obstacles to obtaining Ivorian nationality will take a much longer campaign. A temporary Ivorian law making naturalization easier expired in 2016.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re hoping to have this law re-introduced and added to the nationality law. These people have been here for four\u00a0generations,\u201d Saraka says. \u201cIt\u2019s hard to imagine them having another nationality than Ivorian.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThese people have been here for four\u00a0generations … It\u2019s hard to imagine them having another nationality than Ivorian.\u201d<\/p>\n
The good news is that, with the exception of Aminata who lost her papers after her husband died, all the generations of her\u00a0family have birth certificates. While their quest for citizenship remains ongoing, the younger children are at least able to attend school, and imagine a future with the benefits nationality would bring.<\/p>\n
\u201cI like history, I like learning about the past,\u201d says 15-year-old Boukary, who has been going to school for five years. \u201cI would like to be a policeman. I want to talk to people and separate the good ones from the bad.\u201d:<\/p>\n
Adiba and Aisha are 13 and 12 respectively, and both say they want to be teachers. However, without nationality papers, they cannot continue beyond secondary school.<\/p>\n
In her room, Aminata, the matriarch, seems resigned to her current status but hopeful.<\/p>\n
\u201cI leave the decisions about papers to my sons,\u201d she says. \u201cPeople can say what they want, I\u2019ve never been threatened. Even if they say I\u2019m a foreigner, I pardon them. It\u2019s God\u2019s will.\u201d<\/p>\n