Four years after the civil war ended in Ivory Coast the economy is booming, but for men like Yaboua Assie, who lost two young daughters in one of the conflict's most notorious massacres, the justice they seek remains as elusive as ever.

The killings took place in a grassy lot behind the government offices in the small town of Blolequin, an event Assie relives almost nightly in his dreams.

"When I close my eyes, I'm here in this courtyard," he says, gazing around the walled compound, which was meant to be a refuge for those fleeing the 2011 war.

He stands at the edge of a rectangular depression that until recently was a mass grave containing the remains of 45 massacred civilians. Two were his daughters: one 12, the other six months old.

Four years later, with Ouattara in power, the quest for justice has lagged behind, hampered by lack of government support, rights groups say.

Gbagbo was extradited to the International Criminal Court in The Hague charged with crimes against humanity. His top political and military supporters were jailed. Dozens, including his wife Simone, were convicted in Ivory Coast this year.

By contrast, Ouattara's military backers have received top posts in the army, despite allegations they too were responsible for thousands of civilian massacres.

Last week, rights groups revealed that around 20 former pro-Ouattara rebels serving in the army had finally been indicted for alleged crimes committed during the crisis.

But the families of many victims have little faith that those who did the killing will pay for their crimes.

A POINTLESS SPECTACLE?

"The slow judicial process and dubious impartiality cast a shadow on reconciliation and mid- and long-term stability prospects," said Gilles Yabi, an analyst and founder of the West Africa-focused think tank Wathi.

Julien Kpahi last saw his brother loaded into an army truck early one morning in 2012 after an attack on a camp for war-displaced civilians outside the town of Duekoue.

Witness accounts implicated government soldiers and pro-Ouattara traditional Dozo hunters in the raid, which took place a year after Gbagbo fell. The government has never acknowledged any role in the violence.

Months later, a survivor led Kpahi to a well where he said his brother's body had been thrown. Under pressure from human rights groups, authorities opened an investigation, removed six bodies from the well and brought them to Abidjan for autopsy.

Kpahi has heard nothing since. Three years later, his brother's remains have yet to be returned.

"I have no hope it will lead to anything," said Kpahi, who was recently prevented from visiting the well by U.N. peacekeepers. "For me, it's pointless ... It's a spectacle."

FIRST STEP

For Human Rights Watch researcher Jim Wormington, this month's indictments of pro-Ouattara commanders were a promising sign but only a first step. Among those formally accused are Lieutenant Colonel Cherif Ousmane, the deputy head of Ouattara's presidential guard, and Lieutenant Colonel Losseni Fofana, another senior commander.

In Duekoue's Carrefour neighborhood, there are plenty who doubt this will happen. On March 28, 2011, hundreds of people were killed in an area predominantly inhabited by Gueres, an ethnic group seen as among Gbagbo's staunchest supporters.

Here, no amount of economic progress will convince the war's victims to turn the page. And residents like Georges Doue, 51, who lost seven members of his family in the massacre, have little faith the government will investigate the killings.

"There's no trust," he said.