Central African Republic killings send entire town fleeing

Scores of blackened homes dot this town where more than 41,000 people have fled for their lives.

Deadly sectarian violence that has gripped Central African Republic since 2013 is surging again, even spreading to parts of the country that once had been spared.

The number of people displaced could reach half a million by month's end, the United Nations says, a level not seen in more than three years.

Some people have had little time to escape.

"I have nothing. No sheets, no covers. I have nothing," says 50-year-old Marie Edith Mambleka.

She sits on the ground in a squalid camp for the displaced, surrounded by people constructing makeshift shelters. Her son was killed when the clashes erupted in Bria last week. Her house was destroyed.

She has yet to bury her son. "We suffer a lot," she says.

"We don't even have the ability to recover our dead." The United Nations says about 300 people have been killed and 200 wounded in the past two weeks alone in Bria and a handful of other towns.

The upsurge in violence in Central African Republic began late last year. The government, with the support of a 12,000- strong UN peacekeeping mission, has been trying to calm the country that descended into sectarian fighting in 2013 when Muslim rebels overthrew the Christian president.

But large parts of one of the world's poorest countries remain unstable, and the UN mission has said it doesn't have enough troops to protect civilians.

In Bria, more than 20 people were killed in the recent fighting between armed groups, likely elements of a mostly Muslim Seleka faction clashing with elements of Christian anti-Balaka rebels. Dozens were wounded.

The UN humanitarian agency said the unprecedented violence emptied Bria of its population, sending an "uninterrupted stream" of residents toward makeshift camps.

The largest has been set up near the local UN base, swelling to over 25,000 people in just two days.

Elsewhere, hundreds of people are staying in the courtyard of the local hospital, seeking respite from the blazing sun under a large tree. Small cooking fires fill the air with smoke.

Scores of other people fled to a local church.

"Christians thought God would protect us," says 61-year-old Matthias Mackayendji, gesturing at the scene around him.

Children are everywhere. Women chop wood and rinse beef next to a crude fire.

As Mackayendji speaks, torrential rain begins to fall.

Water soaks the mats and housewares strewn on the ground. The deluge drives everyone, sweating, into the darkened church, where the pastor quietly chimes in.

"They didn't attack another armed group. They attacked the population. Civilians," Pastor Andre Sandje laments.

He says his focus has been on offering moral and spiritual support to those seeking shelter.

(This article has not been edited by DNA's editorial team and is auto-generated from an agency feed.)