WITNESS: Rebel gunfire, the music of Chad

Finbarr O'Reilly, Reuters chief photographer for West and Central Africa, was born in Swansea, Wales in 1971 and started as an Arts correspondent. He joined Reuters in 2001, turning to photography in 2005 and winning the World Press Photo Award for picture of the year in 2006. In the following story, he describes a recent encounter with rebels in eastern Chad.

By Finbarr O'Reilly

GOZ-BEIDA, Chad (Reuters) - Harsh light and shifting shadows in the windblown desert of eastern Chad can conjure strange images, but this was no mirage.

Lurking in the shade of a thorn tree was the dark outline of a pick-up truck carrying a dozen men brandishing weapons.

In this lawless corner of Africa, the shapes under the tree meant trouble. As our battered Suzuki Samurai accelerated away, kicking up sand, the sharp "crack-crack-crack" of gunshots split the air.

We had stumbled upon a mobile column of anti-government rebels, on their way to raid Goz-Beida -- a sandy town ringed by hills and camps housing tens of thousands of refugees.

In the conflict stemming from Darfur and now destabilizing Chad and Sudan, many raids are blamed on "Janjaweed", Arab militiamen who roam the borderlands on horseback, raping and pillaging.

The oil-producing rivals accuse each other of backing rebel fighters to topple their respective governments.

But these gunmen were too numerous and too heavily armed to be Janjaweed. They rode in 100 or so mud-smeared Toyota pick-ups known as "technicals", without windscreens, with roofs cut off and replaced by heavy machine guns, anti-aircraft weapons and artillery.

Each battle wagon carried up to a dozen rag-tag fighters armed with AK-47s or Rocket Propelled Grenade (RPG) launchers.

Fingers on triggers and itching for a fight, these were Chad's rebels. They made a lightning strike on N'Djamena in February, besieging Chadian President Idriss Deby's palace during days of heavy street battles, but failed to topple the government.

Now, they were targeting isolated lightly defended border towns where a European Union force is protecting Sudanese and Chadian refugees. They were raiding and retreating before the rains swelled rivers and blocked their movements.

We stopped our vehicle.

Seconds later hordes of sweaty gunmen swathed in turbans and "magical" leather amulets swarmed around us, shouting and shoving their weapons in our faces, pulling us from the car, banging their fists on the roof.

Grabbing our driver's mobile phone, documents and cigarettes, and a satellite phone belonging to my traveling partner, an American human rights researcher, the gunmen ordered us to follow them back into the desert.

Fearing abduction or worse, I said I was a journalist, held up my cameras and gestured I wanted to take their picture.