A tale of Monami, biscuit and bullet

After more than three hours on the road, I arrived at a village unlike any I'd seen in Bangladesh. No welcoming smiles, no peace in the air—just a heavy sense of sadness. I found shelter under a tree near the school grounds, its hut-shaped branches offering little relief from the sun. Locals, drawn by curiosity, gathered around us—outsiders in blue helmets and military fatigues.

The village's name was as curious as its location: Bangbo Kwadikro, 400 kilometres northeast of Abidjan, the Ivory Coast's capital. The nearest town was three hours away. A single, broken road connects the village to the outside world, barely navigable except on foot, bicycle, or motorbike. So it was no surprise that the presence of UN peacekeepers caused a stir.

We had arrived on the heels of an impending by-election—one of many called across the region after unrest marred the last general election. This village, a critical polling centre, had seen voting cancelled due to violence. Now, we were tasked with ensuring the safety of the electoral process.

At the morning briefing before deployment, our contingent commander reminded us of our mission: to follow the UN mandate and stay safe. But the operations officer warned us of the area's dark history. UN troops had previously been attacked here; even a peacekeeping vehicle was torched. We were shown footage from the last election—processions turning into mobs, a man parading around with a severed arm, another burned alive while a cheering crowd watched. It was gruesome and unforgettable.

Despite this, our commander remained hopeful, "Most of the people here are peace-loving. It's a few powerful hands and foreign meddling that have created this mess." His words stayed with me.

On election day, I left camp at 6 AM with 20 soldiers in two vehicles. The road was too rough for an APC. By 10 AM, we reached the polling centre. Just then, a tiny voice called out, "Monami, biski biski!" A little girl asked me, her new "friend," for biscuits. I gave her a couple of packets and held her in my arms. Her smile, her gratitude in a language I couldn't understand, touched me deeply. In that moment, I was no longer just a soldier. I was "Bangla Captain," as the villagers later nicknamed me after learning I was from Bangladesh.

The polling proceeded smoothly. By 5 PM, the votes were cast, and I was tasked with escorting the ballot boxes and 15 civilians, including UN staff and a local policeman, back to the city election office. The villagers lined up to bid us farewell, grateful and warm despite their hardships.

The return journey, however, was fraught with danger. The forested, mountainous road was dark, narrow, and without a mobile signal. Our convoy—two civilian vehicles between two military ones—started strong. But two hours in, everything changed.

A call came through the walkie-talkie. "Sir, there's a barricade ahead. Our car is stuck. The situation is not good." I grabbed my SMG and rushed forward with my interpreter, Romeo and my runner, Iqbal. The soldiers dismounted and took defensive positions.

There they were—around 35 armed men behind a makeshift barricade. They shouted in a local dialect, waving weapons and gesturing aggressively. I raised my hands and asked Romeo to use the megaphone: "We are UN peacekeepers. Let's talk." But the response came fast—a bullet zipped past my head.

Gunfire erupted. Bullets hit the windshield of the car behind us. Chaos took over. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. I dove for cover and remembered our training: Dash down, crawl, observe, fire. For over 10 minutes, we returned fire, holding our ground. Our attackers likely expected us to retreat, as others had during previous ambushes. But we stood firm.

My SMG's third magazine was nearly empty. Liaqat, our LMG man, laid down covering fire, joined by the rest of the section. Slowly, the enemy's firing weakened. We suspected they had retreated into the forest.

I ordered a forward push to clear the barricade. As I turned to call Iqbal, I saw one of the civilians sprawled on the ground, trembling in fear and praying loudly. Even in that tension, the absurdity of the moment made me smile.

With caution, we moved up. Romeo had gone missing. Someone suggested he might have found a weak mobile signal nearby. I called him, and after three tries, he finally answered, whispering that he was hiding in the forest and planning to flee to Abidjan by morning. He wasn't risking his life over a few dollars.

I told him the danger had passed and urged him to return. We couldn't gather the civilians without him. He agreed, reluctantly. Eventually, the civilians were reunited, though the local policeman had vanished—rumour was he ran away as soon as the shooting started.

One civilian had a bullet wound to the thigh; others had minor injuries. I had the medic treat them while we prepared to move. Vehicles bore the scars of the battle—shattered glass, bullet holes—but we had survived.

We finally reached camp at 9:30 PM. The civilian staff, teary-eyed, celebrated us. They said if it weren't for the 'Bangla Captain' and his team, they wouldn't be alive. Later, we learned four attackers' bodies had been recovered nearby.

Two days later, I was summoned by the force commander. "Captain," the general said, "not long ago, terrorists burned one of our vehicles. The peacekeepers inside knelt and begged for their lives. It was a stain on us. But you've shown how a peacekeeper should act. You risked your life and protected civilians. I will issue a special commendation."

He then gestured to journalists waiting outside. My story would go public, he said. I felt awkward. "Sir," I replied, "I only did my duty. Any officer would have done the same."

The general stopped me, stood up, and walked over. No words were needed. That moment said it all.

Lieutenant Colonel Md Mohseen Hasan was commissioned from the Bangladesh Military Academy in the Corps of Artillery. He has held many prestigious appointments, including Commanding Officer of two of the Artillery Regiments. He received the prestigious Commendation from the Force Commander of the United Nations Operation in Côte d'Ivoire and the Distinguished Service Medal "BSP" from the Bangladesh Army for his outstanding bravery and professionalism while working in the UN Peacekeeping Mission.