Calling me a criminal and a pirate? I'm not like that. I'm a General Fighter in the Niger Delta.
What we see and the reality is that the Niger Delta still looks like a conflict zone. You know they can stop it. You know it, but they're all hungry.
They're part of the business. The export lines are the targets. The refineries are the targets.
The filling stations are the target. Nigeria. One hundred and fifty million inhabitants, more than 500 oil fields, more than 7,000 kilometers of pipelines, and an annual income of around €50 billion.
A vast underground wealth concentrated in the Niger Delta. It all began in 1956, when the first reserves were found. The Nigerians were hoping for an El Dorado.
Today, they're living their worst nightmare. The oil exploited by the world's biggest companies is a symbol of repression, poverty, and war. On February 4th, 2011, just two days after our arrival in Nigeria, we read in the press that one of the rebels combating the oil companies has given the authorities an ultimatum.
His name is John Togo, and he's threatening to blow up the oil facilities in the Delta. I managed to reach him by telephone. Why do you intend to resume attacks?
First, it's to draw the attention of my government. We're going to attack the oil facilities. If the corporations or the government don't react, we'll start kidnapping.
Togo's men have set up camp in a secret location in the Niger Delta. I suggest that we meet. The military surveillance is very tight, honestly.
The area is full of machine-gun-mounted boats. I don't want you to be attacked if you come. I can't vouch for your life.
Since November 2010, the fighting has intensified between the army and the rebels. On December 1st, military helicopters bombarded a Delta village close to the guerrilla's camp. As we try to organize our meeting with John, we decide to visit this village.
Our guide's name is Enaibo, who used to live in the community. There's a gunboat there. When you get there, they'll check what you're carrying.
If you want to go anywhere, you have to surrender, raise your hands, and do all kinds of things. That is what they do because of the crisis they have with John Togo. When it's 7:30, you're not allowed to pass that area.
You're not allowed because of the military. That place is out of bounds and people are living there in the afternoon. We don't want that kind of thing in whole area.
We're very scared. There's no total freedom. After just half an hour, we hit the first blockade.
Discretion is called for and filming is not easy. Where are you going? -To Ayakoromo.
-Ayakoromo. -Where have you come from? -From Warri.
Take your hat off. Good afternoon. Every quarter of an hour, there's another checkpoint.
At the third, we have to turn around. Enaibo's village is out of bounds for foreigners. We could never land there.
As a testimony to the army's attack here, only a few photos remain. The bombings killed 11 people and wounded around 50 others. The Niger Delta still looks like a conflict zone.
Even though there are no oil pipelines being blown up, the checkpoints are still there and people are being harassed. There are all sorts of extortions going on and constant bribes. Imagine a local villager or trader in the Niger Delta going from one town to another and being constantly harassed on a daily basis by police and JTF soldiers.
That's completely unacceptable. What are the reasons that have led to the Nigerian people taking arms? As we wait to meet the rebels, I decide to begin the investigation in Yenagoa.
The trees I can see from my window, I'm told, hide the biggest oil slick in the history of oil. A pipeline leak occurred on the site of the Italian company Agip. After a 45-minute drive along the Delta's rough roads, we reached the scene of the disaster to be welcomed by angry villagers.
On Friday, I saw a column of smoke from afar. You can see that these are planting farms. The farms are very close.
These are farming environments. What we're seeing here is a regular thing in the Niger Delta. Sometimes, we do experience genuine spills and sometimes it's a result of sabotage.
You can see that that place is really degraded. If you go further, you'll see more of it. For some ten years, Morris has been tracking the infractions committed by the foreign companies and the Nigerian government.
With these people, there's no compensation or anything. If you see my community now, there's nowhere to bathe or drink, and no way to survive now. Do you see this road?
We have the right to have a road and bridge to our community, No lights or anything. Go to the other side and you'll see what's going on. Do you also suspect that contractors of the company come and cause sabotage?
They are because there's no negotiation or anything, so we suspected them. We suspected that this is a business and it's a political system they have. We need roads and we need hospitals.
We need roads and hospitals in our community. It's okay. The history of black gold here dates back to the 1950s, when the first well was dug, barely ten kilometers away by the Shell company.
On each site, Morris takes water samples. Analysis has revealed that the water drunk by the villagers contains 165 times the quantity of aluminum authorized in France, which in the long run can lead to brain disorders and Alzheimer's disease. Before Shell arrived, palm oil was made here, but the oil industry has completely choked the environment.
Witness this river of crude oil in a surreal natural setting. The environment speaks for itself. When they say the Niger Delta environment is the most polluted and degraded environment in the world, this is a very typical example.
Fire is still on every water resource for the community. It has been polluted. The environment is known for a series of spills.
Like all oil companies, Agip is obliged to work in partnership with the NNPC, the Nigerian National Oil Company. Equally responsible for maintaining the installations, they both also share the profits. The federal government has a share in a joint venture.
That's what we know. However, we identify Agip, Shell, Chevron, and Total pipelines. All that is written.
When you go, you'll know. The community will identify and tell you this pipeline belongs to this company. What we know is that the federal government is in business with the oil companies, and take a greater share.
That's why the government is not acting in support of the community because their business holdings are at stake. Every year for 25 years, the oil dumped in the Niger Delta has been the equivalent of the Exxon Valdez disaster. Agip, Shell, and Chevron set up in the Delta State in the early 1960s.
Without the authorization of the JTF, the Nigerian army's task force, it's impossible to approach the American companies' facilities. Our request was denied, but we bypassed the military blockades with the locals' help. Our contact is to meet us with a speedboat at this small landing stage.
We're trying to beat the resistance of the JTF. The route from here to my community doesn't have those checkpoints that have been placed by the JTF over there. We're passing through the Ondo Road, but I'm thinking that maybe they're consulting with the oil companies, whom we're indirectly fighting.
Whatever they're doing now is dictated by the oil company. That's the way I look at it. Tsekelewu, Midwest's hometown of around 20,000 people, is located just a few miles from Chevron's plant.
On arriving, we comply with the local welcome traditions. Midwest introduces us to the elders who have to authorize our stay here. The negotiation is over.
We follow the riverbank. Before Chevron arrived, there were raffia plantations here, an important economic resource for the region. Today, everything has disappeared.
Saltwater came in as a result of the white minerals of the oil companies. When they opened, they altered the Atlantic Ocean. Saltwater came in through the Atlantic Ocean and destroyed all the trees that were here.
There's no solid soil anywhere. This has left all the elderly and the youth jobless. As you can see, all of them are not working here.
Except Patience. To eke out a living, she sells water she fetches every morning from the foot of the oil rig, four kilometers away. We have to fetch the water at the foot of a platform.
It's all we can get today. Before the companies arrived, the river water was pure and very good. We could drink it.
They've polluted it. We can't drink it like we used to. We're forced into drinking water that comes from a pipeline.
For a 20-liter canister, the locals pay €1, and yet they say the water is impure and causes dysentery and hepatitis. The hospital is too far. My son is sick.
-Is it because of the water? -Yes. -Is there a doctor?
-No, there are no doctors. -A real doctor. -No doctor.
No doctors. It's too far and certainly too expensive. We take advantage of the dawn light to get closer to the American companies' installations.
Chevron knows that they caused the problem. When you get to the NPCC, there are areas they wouldn't want you to ask about. It's just like what we're experiencing here.
They don't want this story to go beyond the shores of this country. After just 24 hours here, the military is already aware of our presence. The game of cat and mouse starts over.
Midwest tells us that a Navy patrol is on the lookout in the channel around the platform. We slip through two surveillance rounds and go ashore, where a local villager is to escort us. We hike the last few kilometers on foot under the cover of the forest.
Caution is vital. We mustn't alert the Chevron security to our presence here. Afari.
What's happening here? They're fetching water. They're fetching water.
This is the only water we can drink. This water is not good. This is the water that they use to cool their engines down.
This is the place where Patience gets her water. Not far away, a flare stack burns gas from the platform 24/7. Do you see the gas flaring?
They told us there'll be no gas flaring or whatsoever. Today, you can see there's gas flaring from then until now. From 1992 until now.
When this gas is flaring up, there's a black smoke. That black smoke is over our heads, and when the rain fall, you can see some black particles inside the water. You cannot drink it because of this gas flaring.
You can see there's no land. In fact, everywhere we're dying. We're dying.
No fish or anything whatsoever. We're dying. Pollution, devastation.
The hopes created by the discovery of oil half a century ago are ancient history. In the Niger Delta today, oil is regarded as a curse, and yet the country exports almost two million barrels a day at $100 a barrel. Where does the money go?
The revenue from oil generated from oil exploration in the Niger Delta, according to the statistics, is benefiting maybe 1 to 5% of the population of Nigeria. For the people of the Niger Delta, they can see the oil money in Abuja. The Nigerian government built a brand-new, swanky state federal capital in about 15 years, and it's there for everyone to see.
It was built with oil money, but you'll also see few very rich individuals. Billionaires, Nigerians, oil money, politicians. Government officials are really rich from oil money.
One of these politicians is the Governor of Bayelsa State for the past four years, responsible for 1. 7 million inhabitants and oil revenues of hundreds of millions of euros every year. An important man, for whom the army deploys around 30 men from the Joint Task Force.
His name is Timipre Sylva. When production is at its peak, we earn something like a billion or not up to a billion, but maybe about $800 million in a year. Right now, we earn about $500 million a year.
About the pollution, do you share the money with people? Yes, in fact, I've been very mindful of that because I believe that you have to look after your people first before yourself. We'll probably be the first state in Nigeria to guarantee uninterrupted power supply.
We also decided to work on the water supply in the community, and we've been able to supply water, and we're now regulating the water. We also decided to tackle the health system because we felt that it really should be tackled. We decided to build some of the best health facilities you can ever find in Nigeria.
It's almost an insult to the people. I think that, for a governor like Timipre Sylva, who's been in power for almost four years now. That's enough time to show the people, through the revenues he has collected from the federal government, what he can do for them.
Does Timipre Sylva represent the image of corruption in Nigeria? That will be a bit too simplistic. I would say that he's not alone.
It's a system. It's a patronage system. In Nigeria, oil has, therefore, become a symbol of corruption.
Five hundred million for the Governor of Bayelsa, while his population survives on just €2 a day. Caroline runs a movement battling for the rights of the Ijaw, indigenous to the southern Delta regions. What we're going to see now is local bunkering going on now.
That's what we'll see. They refine in a local way. Crude oil is very dangerous.
It explodes. Sometimes people die. The way to do it is in standard refineries.
That's not a refinery, so it's very dangerous. In this village, bunkering has become the locals' main occupation. A lucrative activity that's vital to their survival and illegal.
How many liters of crude oil are used to produce a barrel of petrol? -Seven cans. -Seven cans or 20 liters of crude oil.
Yes, containing 20 liters of crude oil. When you've obtained the fuel, diesel, or kerosene, what do you do with the residue? The residue is tar.
You throw the tar away because you don't know what to do with it? Yes, but tell them they'll see all that when they're there. Okay, all right.
The community's refinery is not far from the village, less than a kilometer away on the edge of a creek. It was built on the land of a local inhabitant. After being stolen, the crude oil is stored on this boat.
It's then pumped to these tanks before being burnt. The petrol will then be sold across the Delta region. Six petrol boilers work in shifts throughout the day.
They're producing 10,000 liters a day. -Of fuel? -Yes, 10,000 liters of fuel a day.
-Is it very dangerous? -It's very dangerous. Sometimes it even catches fire.
This whole place is bushy. The bush sometimes catches fire. They risk their lives.
Sometimes, they even get themselves burned. You cannot tell what they need for the day to do this or how they'll manage their lives. What's happening here is going to make their lives very short because, in this situation, if you are here for maybe six months, you'll see that the effect will gradually come.
I feel really bad. Even inside my mind. I'm very ill.
Every day, the sun and the fire is eating. It's very disturbing to my heart. There are no jobs.
I just manage for the moment. Are you crying? Why are you crying?
Fire is burning us. We go to the hospital and some people die. We spend a lot of money.
See my back. Life expectancy in Nigeria is barely 48 years. For these people, it's reduced by several more for a reward of just €100 a month.
Throughout the Delta, the riverbanks are darkened and sullied by clandestine refineries. The federal government and the army officially intends to destroy them, but they're still here. The JTF is everywhere.
They're everywhere. Whenever they meet them, they take their own share and go. That's what I'm telling you.
If the JTF wants to raid everywhere to stop this thing, you know they can stop it. You know it, but they're all hungry. They're part of the business.
They come, take their own share, and they go. They're part of it. They say that the oil belongs to everybody.
Don't forget that we have other resources that can give us money in this country. We have cocoa and granite. They have minerals that can give us money in the country, but right now, as I'm talking to you, they've stopped everything.
Everybody now depends on oil alone. Like I said, I keep asking the question, when the oil is finished, what will happen next? A military convoy for a Total executive.
After four months of negotiations, the French oil company has opened the doors to its plant in Nigeria. We head for the Akpo platform, 180 kilometers off the coast. Total's biggest.
Terry Bourgeois is in charge of the Africa department. Our visit takes place under the watchful eye of this man, a communications officer, especially flown in from Paris. One hundred and fifty people work on Akpo, including around 40 French expatriates.
Apart from management, we were forbidden from asking questions. Comments are strictly controlled. What interests Terry Bourgeois is the group's figures and performance.
Total produces around 450,000 barrels of oil a day, equivalent to about 10% of the group's production in the world. Looking towards 2015 and 2016, we could double current production levels. Numbers and more numbers.
Almost enough to make us forget that seven French expats employed in the oil sector were kidnapped in October 2010 in Nigerian territorial waters. A few months ago, there were a series of attacks against the oil installations near the coast in the Akpo plant. Things have come down since then and we've suffered no other incidents, neither us nor colleagues or other operators in the first few months.
When this kind of incident happens, we stay on guard for long periods. If the oil companies are targets for pirates, it's because for the past 20 years, the oil money has not been distributed among the locals, and their anger has grown into widespread insurrection. Blessed be the Ogoni people!
Ken Saro-Wiwa was the leader of the Ogoni people. He led the struggle of the Ogoni people against the environmental devastation of their land by the Shell Oil Company. In 1993, for the first time since oil was discovered, thousands of Ogonis, an ethnic minority in the Delta, voiced their opposition to Shell's presence here.
The struggle he led was remarkably non-violent. We only carried leaves and protested against people. As a result of our protest, Shell was forced to leave Ogoni.
To move out of the Ogoni land. The company closed 96 wells. One year later, Ken Saro-Wiwa and eight of his companions were arrested and tried.
Strangely, the accusations had nothing to do with oil. They were merely accused of conspiring to murder four Ogoni chiefs. A parody of a trial began.
At the end of the day, they convicted Ken and the others and executed them. That was the saddest moment for the people of the Niger Delta because, even though it was an Ogoni-led fight, all of us, as young people in universities, felt that this was an angle that we should contribute to. When he died, we were disillusioned, and it made us begin to look for new solutions after the departure of that leader.
We felt that we should transplant what he has done into the Ijaw territories. Over 31 million people in the Niger Delta could be deeply conscientized like the Ogoni people. That's why we did that.
We were then visited with arms by the Nigerian Army. When we went out to protest in our communities against oil companies, they came cracking down on us with arms. Military repression incited certain Ijaws to take up arms.
Groups of freedom fighters were formed, coming together under the name MEND in late 2005. A chronic cycle of violence swept through the delta. Attacks on pipelines were followed by the kidnappings of Westerners.
In 2007, oil production fell by 20%. Two years later, the federal government proposed an amnesty. When the economy, or oil production, is affected that much by the activities of the militants, that means that there's much less revenue coming into the federal coffers, so the federal government had to do something to try to pacify the militants and bring this crisis to an end.
It would take until late 2009 for surrendered weapons to emerge from Delta hideouts in exchange for money and promises that MEND militants would not be tried. I'm under clear and targeted instruction by the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta, MEND, to hand over these arms and ammunition and to demonstrate its commitment to seek peaceful ways and means of resolving the Niger Delta crisis. Firstly, the amnesty program is illegal in accordance with the Nigerian Constitution.
With the laws of the Nigerian state. There's nothing like amnesty. It's just a palliative measure to deceive the people and make them feel that the government has given something.
In Nigeria, oil money can apparently buy anything, including peace. Twenty thousand rebels, like the former freedom fighter leader Asari Dokubo, have so far accepted the amnesty. For how much longer?
We're talking about fundamental issues of stolen sovereignty. We're talking about fundamental issues of stolen resources. We're talking about fundamental issues of stolen land.
We're talking about the fundamental issues of stolen water sources. These are the issues that we're talking about. It's not about bribing people with 65,000 or bribing people with more money.
That's not the issue. It's 8 p. m.
somewhere in the Delta. John Togo has finally agreed to meet us, but in secret. He's the last of the rebels to refuse the government amnesty.
Why? Who is he in reality? A bandit, a highwayman, or a diehard resistant?
I know it's said that he sometimes kills for no reason. It's midnight. After four hours on the road, we finally reach our rendezvous point in the mangrove, where a few militants are waiting to take us across the frontline.
After an hour in the speedboat, we finally reach a village where we have to remain in hiding for five hours, waiting for the rebels to come and fetch us. These are my soldiers. Well-educated.
-You're very close with them? -Very close. This is my beloved.
They're my beloved. Well-trained snipers. We were expecting to meet him in his camp, but John Togo is waiting in a clearing at some distance to cover his tracks.
For the camera, he presents a review of two dozen hand-picked men equipped for the occasion. If the legend is to be believed, he lost part of his face during an incident with the JTF. A nine-millimeter bullet tore off part of his nose.
Calling me a criminal and a pirate? I'm not like that. I'm a General Fighter in the Niger Delta struggle.
The amnesty was a dead point. They said that if I refuse to surrender on October 4th, they'll come and bomb everywhere. I know you have to.
You want to save your family. You want your brothers, sisters, father, and mother to be alive. I'm supposed to go on October 4th and tell them to have this.
Let me live in peace with my people. Nothing was endorsed in the white paper. These people play with our intelligence.
Isolated in the jungle for the past four months, he decided to continue the fight against the oil companies and the Nigerian authorities. We want to blow up the pipelines. That's our struggle, in fact.
The export lines are the targets. The refineries are the targets. The filling stations are the targets.
That is our war strategy. I have given an ultimatum to the Nigerian government and the international companies. Seven-day ultimatum.
That's security and war strategy. It is I and my team that know the right time to carry out an action if there's no good attention. I'm the only one who installed that.
Nobody knows what I have installed. Any time, I will blow up. That is that.
Since our meeting, the ultimatum has expired. Nothing has exploded, but the army has lost 18 men in attacks against Togo. Ignoring the freedom fighter's threats, the oil companies continue to extend their activities.
On the land of the Ije people, a tribe in the north of the Delta, Obagi is Total's first onshore exploration site. In 2011, the company is preparing to celebrate its billionth barrel of oil after 20 years of extraction. Still accompanied by Terry Bourgeois, we head for the gas treatment plant with a wary police escort.
Two hundred armed men protect the site against threats around the clock, although Total doesn't admit this. We began our activity here in 66. With 50 years of shared history, we can't avoid some tension, but we're beginning to get to know one another.
Why so much security? Today, we have policies of prevention and protection. Tensions have developed in Nigeria in recent times.
Not in the immediate environment, but not far away. In the past few years, we've worked on a policy of protecting a certain category of personnel. We don't think we're upsetting the communities, or the people who live close to our production site, by our behavior.
Through the exchanges we have with them, we don't get the impression that there's a problem with the measures. Forgotten then are the inhabitants demonstrations in 2010, demanding a share of the oil money. Last November, a confrontation between Ije youths and the army resulted in two deaths in the community.
In 2004, Total discovered a substantial pocket of gas in a working oil field. Today, 3,000 work here. We're moving from a field that produced 75% crude oil to a field that will produce 80% gas.
For how much longer? The production forecast for the reserves still to be produced indicates 25 years at the moment, with the hope that the techs under development will enable us to extend the life of the field and the ultimate recovery of the reserves. Growth, turnover, profit, percentages.
The official discourse is obsessional and well-rehearsed. Outside, pipelines are waiting to be buried. In a few years, Total's gas will be transported to Brass, the future gas terminal, a site of great expectations for the oil companies.
This town in Bayelsa State is the hometown of Timipre Sylva. The governor comes here regularly. Private or professional visits for which the Italian company Agip provides him with a helicopter.
After a 90-minute flight, we finally reached the extreme south of the Delta. The Italians are working on the island now, awaiting the construction of the gas terminal. The protocol demands the company director greet the governor in person.
Will you stay here tonight? No, I'll just spend one hour and then I'll be off. You have to go at five o'clock.
The president is coming tomorrow, so I have to be back. I'm just coming to see, and then I'll be back in a minute. I'll be back in a jiffy.
You can see this the end of the world. You will see the LNG project and it's going very well so far, although it's taking a long time. We hear that now they will be able to take the FID soon.
If they take the FID, which is the final investment decision, then we should see a lot of work going on. We're hoping that with the Brass LNG, a port will also be built here. This is going to be the first port in Nigeria that will open directly to the ocean.
-People there are quite happy, I guess? -Everybody here is very happy. I'd like you to meet one or two of my people so that you can talk to them and see for yourself if they're happy or not.
It's on this site, forbidden to the press, that the new LNG gas project will see the light of day. At a cost of some €11 billion, the Nigerian state has 49% of the capital, with Total, Conoco, and Agip holding 17% each. A landing stage in Ogbia.
I decide to return to Brass with no protocol because questions have to be asked. Is the local population aware of this gigantic project? How are they experiencing their environment's destruction?
What will the future terminal bring them? On the landing stage, we have an appointment with Celestin, a young activist who visits Brass regularly to sound out the locals. He'll be our guide.
There are crises, especially when you have oil in the place, because one strategy the oil companies adopt here is to introduce divide and rule in every community. While the people are quarreling, they're doing their business, and nobody is asking them anything. To avoid raising the oil company's suspicions and the locals' apprehension, Celestin has not told the villagers we're coming.
Across the river, there's a pipeline. Very high-pressure pipeline. Once on land, we decide to visit Iwoama.
The Brass project is causing divisions among the communities of Bayelsa State. There are those who'll get a slice of the pie and then the rest. Here in Iwoama, they have sided with the moneymakers and solid houses are springing up like mushrooms.
Brass LNG. What do you know about Brass LNG? It's a federal project on Brass Island.
It wants to locate, establish, invest, and also empower the youth. Are they informing the community in all the work they are planning to do? Are they informing the community?
Actually, most of the time, the community doesn't know what's going on. They don't know what's going on. Like we, the Iwoama people, we're suffering.
Fine promises have been made, but they're impossible to verify. Celestin remains dubious and attempts to find out more from the community leader. This is the president of this community.
I'm seeing some beautiful buildings around. -Are they built by LNG? -No, the government.
No, they're built by Timipre Sylva, the governor of the Bayelsa State. This is the first time I've seen that the government is building this kind of structure for people. People are saying that Timipre Sylva is not doing anything, but this is something.
What they won't admit is that they've obtained Timipre Sylva's favor by selling their agricultural land, rich in oil. A house costing a few hundred euros for land potentially worth millions. One morning, on the other side of the island, we reached the village of Okpoama.
Facing the Atlantic Ocean, the villages here have nothing to offer. No oil, no gas, and no land which could be useful to the companies and the government. Okpoama is a different place and a different situation.
See where we're living now. -The oil-producing communities. -See how we're managing.
-It's not fair. -It's not fair. It's not fair.
Like in Iwoama, opinions are hesitant and the fear of the oil companies are apparent. What'll happen if oil and gas companies are coming here in your community? We love them.
We'd love to embrace them. -Are you afraid? -We're afraid.
We're afraid. Since they don't come to us, we don't know the admission of coming here. If they come and discuss things in common with us, then we'll become friends with them.
They've worked and they've not paid. When they come to work, we'll know that. When someone is interested in something from you, you have to show them interest, but they have not done that, so we are afraid.
They promised that they've not done anything. It's only a promise. Okay, they talk about it.
-They don't do anything. -When they have agreed. What do you hope the LNG will do?
We need roads, water, and all those things, but they're not doing anything. I don't know whether the other community… Considering the fact that we have one in Bonny and we know what the presence of LNG have done in Bonny and how they have destroyed things, family life, and everything, are people in this area afraid that the LNG is coming? Yes, we're afraid now.
We're really afraid of what's happened. Nobody enlightened us on what's going on. Nobody enlightened us.
Suddenly, a disturbance attracts their attention. We head for the beach. As we arrive, we see a 4x4 speeding away in the distance.
Our blue sedan is surrounded by the locals. Our presence in the village has not gone unnoticed. Excuse me.
Somebody just told me that Ije people are coming and the government are coming to seize the camera and arrest all of us. That we should stop what we're doing. I don't find that funny.
They have come with threats and vehicles and the first set has come wanting to force us into the vehicle, and we refused. They've left and maybe they'll come with reinforcement. I don't know.
The companies react quickly to the presence of the press. It's pointless asking any more questions. We're not welcome here.
If they come, tell them that we left. Feeling under threat, Celestin decides it's time to leave. The Hilux Jeep is given to them by the oil company.
Do you mean that the oil company Agip is paying this? Yes, the oil companies have paid them. The oil company Agip that is operating here.
The two vehicles that came here belong to Agip. They will kidnap us and destroy this. They will destroy your material.
It'll happen and they'll deny and they'll tell us that we don't take life seriously. Why didn't we go with a security escort? That's what they'll tell you.
In Nigeria, despite the corruption and the killing, it's business as usual. When you fill your tank back in France, 10% of your petrol comes from the Niger Delta.
