This third largest country in Africa (formerly known as the Belgian Congo, Zaire and other names) is widely considered the richest in the world in terms of its natural resources and raw mineral wealth (they have massive reserves of gold, diamonds, copper, coltan, tin, zinc, oil, the list goes on). Yet, its citizens remain among the poorest in the world and this country has rarely seen peace. The Second Congo War (Africa’s ‘world war’) from 1998 - 2003 claimed roughly 5 MILLION lives and left a massive humanitarian crisis in its wake; eastern regions of the country are still in conflict today. The ongoing violence has left thousands more dead and an estimated 200,000 women and children raped - earning DRC the title ‘rape capital of the world.’
The massive UN peacekeeping mission in eastern DRC, active for over 10 years, has been at times the largest in the world at over 20,000 strong. They are mandated to protect civilians and help with reconstruction and rebuilding. Although I didn’t know this at the time, I arrived in DRC on August 4, 2010 – the same day rebels withdrew from Luvungi, a town situated 140 kilometers south of Goma (where I was). These rebels had occupied Luvungi for just four days and perpetrated a mass rape of at least 150 women and baby boys in that time. This occurred within miles of a UN base! The UN peacekeeping mission came under fire for this and similar incidents; many reports followed of ineffectiveness and an inability to quell violence. (source: BBC, 2011)
For our trip, we first needed to find a driver to escort us around Goma; someone who knew the city well enough to keep us safe and show us around. We found our driver, Andrew, fairly easily and asked him to first take us for some food. He took us to a couple hotels where food was quite overpriced - we ended up at a little fast food joint instead, having samosas and hamburgers.
Andrew then drove us by the airport and one of the UN compounds in the area. I couldn’t see much of the base, but saw a huge presence here in the sheer number of UN vehicles on the roads. I asked Andrew how he felt about the UN and he said many people here think they aren’t doing anything. I know it’s a very difficult and complicated situation.
In 2002, as if everything else happening in Goma wasn’t enough, a nearby volcano (Mt. Nyiragongo) erupted and thick lava destroyed 40% of the city. Andrew took us to an area where the lava had flowed up out of the ground at that time. We climbed up along the hard black remains and got a decent view of the surrounding land. There were some kids hanging around us with curiosity. They had tattered clothes, mismatched shoes and life looked to be missing from their eyes. After following us around for a bit, a few of them began incessantly asking me for biscuits and money. There was no threat and this action must have reflected upon their experiences with white people in their country (who are most likely aid workers or UN personel – none but the most daring tourists here). Perhaps this was why these kids seemed different than those in Rwanda.
A few differences between DRC and Rwanda quickly became obvious to me. The greenness of Rwanda was in contrast to the stark, lava rock strewn landscape of Goma, the mud huts and cement homes of Rwanda were nothing like the wood and scrap homes in Congo, and the local reaction to white people in Congo seemed unwelcoming in comparison to how I felt in Rwanda. These countries both have extremely difficult histories but Rwanda has been able to move forward toward a better future. There is hope in Rwanda – something not so obvious until it’s gone. To me Congo felt like a place short on hope.
Our next destination was the streets of Goma, a drive through neighborhoods and down main roads so we could see what things were like. I saw mismatched wooden homes and a landscape covered in lava remains; people working hard and visiting with one another; small buildings and few signs of ongoing development; a place seemingly devoid of some African vibrancy. It was incredibly interesting and most of the photos I have were taken from inside our vehicle during these drives.
We ended up at James’ uncle’s place. It was a nice concrete house in what appeared to be a safer area. We were invited in and served Coke and Fanta (of course ☺). I sat and observed as they chatted enthusiastically back and forth in Kinyarwanda for an hour or so. One of James’ aunts, Maud, came over as well and then invited us to come and see her place afterward. Jackie told me that Maud had been though a very difficult past with an abusive husband and that she had been struggling for years to survive and support her kids after their divorce. She’s finally been able to build her own house and was very excited to show it to us. We walked up the road to her new home and she showed us around with certain pride. A special moment and a strong and inspiring woman!
Maud and her new home
After seeing her new home, Maud took us to another place special to her. This is a place she visits often, to offer what she can - love and friendship - to some broken and desperate people. This place is a refugee camp, I believe the last remaining in Goma. It was just up the road from Maud’s home. We drove up to the camp entrance and the guards stopped us. They weren’t too happy about the situation and my presence, but Maud was very persistent and negotiated our way inside on the condition that no photos be taken. I agreed, but kept my camera with me as it would not be safe left in the vehicle.
It was a sea of white tents. White tents made with UNHCR (UN Refugee Agency) plastic and built close to each other and row upon row. I think the camp was much bigger than it first appeared, although we never got to the top of the hill to look over the whole place. I don’t have much other information about the camp but know that it was filled with both Rwandan refugees and many Congolese IDPs (internally displaced persons) who fled conflict within their own country.
We walked through the first few rows of tents and were introduced to Maud’s friends. There is a kind father (crippled and on crutches), a beautiful mother and four adorable children. James and Jackie begin to talk with them and I’m left standing in the pathway near their tent. People began to gather with curiosity and I smiled at those gathering around, trying to ignore the fact they’re all staring at me. I shook hands with a few of those close to me, but mostly feel incredibly awkward and don’t know what to do. And as I stood there I began to take note of the tattered and ripped clothing, the mismatched shoes or lack thereof, the minor but infected cuts or scrapes, the constant buzzing flies, the absence of laughter in the air and, most of all, the hopeless, sad and desperate looks behind pairs of beautiful brown eyes. It was completely suffocating; I felt as if I couldn’t breathe for fear of completely breaking down. The injustice and reality of it all was too much. Tears burned at the back of my eyes, desperate and ready to plunge. I resolved not to let them come and forced my thoughts elsewhere. The tears would fall later, but some strength in Jesus was needed there and then.
James called to me and told me I could take pictures of this family we were visiting. They stood in front of their tent for the photos while the small audience looked on. James stood with them and then took the camera while I stood with them for the last shot. That felt weird, as if I were simply a tourist ticking an experience off a list. It was so much more than that; I still feel overwhelmed, grateful, and I will always have a better perspective in life from that afternoon.
After that last shot we were asked to leave. My heart dropped, filled with disappointment. I desperately wanted to stay and talk with these people, to sit down with them, validate their existence and to hear of their resilience amongst such hardship. This was cut so short.
We left the camp and Andrew took us to a nearby lake where we walked around, staring out over its expanse and thinking about what we just experienced.
Then we headed for our supposed last stop - a restaurant where James’ uncle and Maud were waiting to treat us to dinner. Plastic tables and chairs were scattered amongst palm trees and other flora on the gated grounds. We drank our fill of soda and enjoyed the fried potato halves and skewers of tender barbequed goat meat we were served. The sun began descending in the sky and it was a beautiful end to our time with James’ family.
Andrew drove us back through Goma toward the border. It was around 6pm and the evening dusk was almost upon us. We thought we would cross back to Gisenyi and drive home to Kigali that eve, but another of James’ relatives called just then and wanted to see us. He asked if he could pick us up at the border and take us to his home in another part of the city. Assured that we would be back in Rwanda safely later that night, we agreed. We said goodbye to Andrew and promised to call if we returned to Congo. James’s uncle picked us up shortly thereafter.
James’ uncle works for the NGO World Relief*. He eagerly talked about his job and the organization in well-versed English as we drove to his home across the city. We were welcomed into their lovely wood home of modest size. We met his wife and nine children and were seated comfortably on a sofa as the conversation continued. Our gracious hosts served us red cream soda from glass bottles, a delicious treat that went down all too easily. I’m certain I drank two litres myself, although the glass was refilled so many times I lost count (on this I blame my forgetfulness and the susbequent absence of photos from this evening ☹). James’ uncle asked me many questions about Canada, very curious about the life I'm accustomed to. The most memorable was certainly, “why don’t you have more children?” It was amusing that none of my answers were acceptable to him – he was thrilled with his many children and would understand nothing less.
After a few hours of visiting, it was decided that we would head back to the border. James’ uncle’s oldest son drove us safely back through Goma along mostly deserted streets with an ominous feel to them. Asking us to return very soon, he dropped us off and we crossed safely back in to Rwanda. I am so thankful for their kindness and a special end to this day I will never forget. I do hope to be back someday soon.
We went back to our guesthouse and heard how Delfina and Sylvan had enjoyed their day in Gisenyi with Liam. Then early the next day we were on the road, heading east toward Kigali. It was a gorgeous morning drive! A refreshing breeze blew as people began their days work against a backdrop of mist blanketed hills.
Back home in Kigali, I found out further details about our visit to the camp. James had spent time talking with the father there who gave a description of camp conditions and admitted they don’t have enough to eat. I’m not sure the reason for this (maybe corruption, lack of funding, etc) but many people must leave camp during the day to find food or work. Due to his handicap, this father had a difficult time doing that and saw his family hungry. I recalled the brokenness and failure in his eyes that day. James described the dirt floor with shabby blankets where they slept and a lack of much else inside their tent home. He felt it on his heart to give this man some money, borrowing from Patient because he had nothing himself to give. He wept as he told me how the man had accepted the ten dollar gift with many tears of absolute gratitude and thankfulness, telling James he had saved their lives. I finally allowed myself to feel the overwhelming injustice, frustration, sadness and raw emotion of it all as James, Jackie and I cried and prayed for all we had seen.
* http://worldrelief.org
If you want to know more about the conflict in Democratic Republic of the Congo, this is a great Q & A article from BBC
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-11108589
Another way to educate yourself and stand up for Congo
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/27/opinion/27kristof.html
More shots from DRC
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