Congo Crisis

Posted April 30, 2009 by Roger Burks

Helping Those With Nowhere Else to Go

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Conflict & War, Displacement, Water/Sanitation, Women's Empowerment

Several dozen women stand on jagged volcanic rock in the pouring rain. The drenched clothes they're wearing are among the only possessions they were able to salvage when fleeing burning homes and brutal violence. They've had to drink rainwater from dirty puddles just to survive.

Young sons are the only men to be found; husbands and fathers have perished in the war. And so, in the midst of eastern Congo's ongoing conflict, shattered families led by mothers have come to places like this: a primary school on the outskirts of a war-torn city called Goma.

Odette Bihoyoki is one of approximately one million people who have been displaced by fierce fighting between government troops and rebel forces in this lawless, chaotic region. The 34-year-old mother of six was forced from her home more than seven months ago, but not before soldiers killed her 4-year-old son and tossed his body into a latrine.

There was no time to grieve. She walked for four days from her village to a sprawling displacement camp to the north of Goma — but, within days of their arrival, gunshots tore through the camp as rebel forces pushed south. Odette and her children scrambled for their lives alongside hundreds of others, eventually finding refuge at this school. They live in the classrooms at night.

But, when class is in session, they have no place to go. So they sit and wait — sometimes in the rain. Since they don't live in an officially recognized displacement camp, they don't receive supplies like food, clothing or shelter supplies. They were completely on their own until Mercy Corps reached out to them last October.

Today, we're delivering more than 10,000 gallons of water per day to the 178 families living here. We've given them hygiene supplies and other small household items to help make their lives a little easier. And we're digging latrines nearby to help prevent the deadly diseases that often sweep through displaced populations in this part of Congo.

Mercy Corps has even found ways to employ women like Odette in the short term — giving them a bit of income to buy food.

"I thank Mercy Corps for providing us water, so we don't have to buy it or drink from dirty puddles," Odette said. "It's one less thing we have to worry about."

Worry — and uncertainty — stalks these places every day. There are not only concerns about how to feed their children, but what the future holds. And in this part of Congo, that has been unclear for more than a decade.

"I know very little about hope," Odette laments, "but I want a better future for my children."

You can help us meet their immediate needs — and begin to secure a more hopeful future — with a generous donation today. Life for women like Odette in eastern Congo is about survival. Please help us deliver more lifesaving assistance to those who need it most.

Blog Post:  Posted January 29, 2009, 11:08 am by Roger Burks

C'est Le Depart

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Emergencies, Displacement, Conflict & War

Today, I am leaving Goma to go back home — more than 35 hours of flights and layovers on my way back to Portland, and my family. And, over the course of the morning, I have heard one phrase over and over: "C'est le depart?"

It means, literally, "Are you leaving?" But, as with many things in Africa, the phrase has deeper meaning. There's a sense of loss. Affection. The expectation of return.
 
For me, that return will come some day, I'm sure. Each time I leave Africa, I bring back more stories. And those stories hold part of me to the red soil — or rocky ground — of this continent.
 
When I came to Africa exactly 15 years ago, I was a fresh-faced 23-year-old. My age and appearance conspired to give me a particular nickname among those in my village: "Petit," which means "young one."
 
But today, with gray hair prominent in my beard and at my temples, I gained a different nickname during my short time in eastern Congo: "Papa." I noticed younger men and women referring to their elders this way. And so I carry that remarkable distinction back to my home, where my 4-year-old son anxiously awaits.
 
I will show him the photographs I took in the displacement camps, and tell him stories of the people I met. After all, many children in the camps know him as well: After taking pictures, I'd often stop and show them the few pictures of my son that I keep on the camera. They would marvel at that tiny window into America. And, honestly, it made me feel somewhat guilty and sad.

There is also a measure of guilt and a sense of uncompleted work in my departure. I'm leaving after two incredibly eventful weeks, when the future of eastern Congo appears more promising than at any time in its recent history. But, most likely, that promise of change will result in even more need for assistance. Villages have been burned and lives shattered. The work of picking up the pieces, then rebuilding, looms large.
 
When I return to Portland, I will seek out news about eastern Congo more intently. I will write stories about my time here until I've exhausted my notes and memory. And I will take every occasion to tell folks about what I've seen, heard and experienced here.
 
This place, and the people who are bidding me "farewell" today, are infinitely deserving of your support, prayers and thoughts. Please don't forget about them. I never will.

Blog Post:  Posted January 28, 2009, 11:07 am by Roger Burks

History's Traffic Jam

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Emergencies, Displacement, Conflict & War

This afternoon, on the way back to the office from Mugunga II Camp, our team was caught in massive gridlock almost as soon as we hit Goma's city limits. As we inched forward, everyone in our vehicle wondered what could be causing the snarl.

An accident, maybe? A parade? Or worse, some trouble up ahead?
 
No, it ended up being CNDP rebels at a local gas station. They were climbing into huge open-bed trucks with their erstwhile enemies, Congolese government soldiers. Literally hundreds of citizens had gathered along the road  — some standing on top of their cars — to watch this event. After all, it was history being made.
 
This very public mixing of two former adversaries is called "brassage" here in Congo. It's used when militias such as the CNDP integrate into the national army, forming a unified fighting force. The truce that was signed just as I arrived last week — along with the recent arrest of rebel leader General Laurent Nkunda — paved the way for this moment.
 
And it is, according to everyone from displaced people to regional analysts, a critical step toward a long-awaited peace. So everyone gawked as Congolese government soldiers in their drab olive-green fatigues stood shoulder-to-shoulder with their camouflage-clad CNDP compatriots. I'm sure few ever thought they'd see it happen; most feared a much different outcome once the rebels reached Goma.
 
But the soldiers seem surprisingly at ease. Some are laughing. They are packed into the truck like cargo — fearsome human cargo bundled with automatic machine guns and rocket launchers.
 
A local policeman dressed in yellow stops traffic so that the military trucks can pull onto the road from the gas station. The trucks head westward; it looks like they're ready to rumble. Most likely, that rumble will be felt across eastern Congo for the foreseeable future.
 
I just hope it will lead to peace, because so many in Mugunga II and other camps are depending on it.
 
Meanwhile, I've heard and read that General Bosco Ntaganda, Nkunda's former CNDP chief of staff and second-in-command, has been spending his days in Goma. In fact, one article stated that he was seen sipping coffee at a local café that overlooks Lake Kivu. This is a guy wanted by the International Criminal Court for war crimes, including conscription of child soldiers.
 
I was at that particular caf´ on the day in question, on that same balcony. In fact, I am seriously wondering if I might have said "bon soir" to an indicted war criminal.
 
But that's the state of affairs in and around Goma: rebel generals are relaxing by the lake. Their former subordinates are on their way to fight fearsome insurgents who hide in primeval forests. Most everyone else is convinced that peace is finally at hand.
 
Still, questions linger: Is the enemy of my enemy my friend, or a means to an end, or an unpredictable companion on the road to peace?

Blog Post:  Posted January 27, 2009, 6:11 pm by Roger Burks

Congo's Hidden Displaced

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Hunger, Emergencies, Displacement, Conflict & War, Children

Her name is Laurene. She lives in a church. She is 10 years old.

Three months ago — as CNDP rebel forces surged south toward Goma — Laurene fled with her family from the city of Rutshuru. It took them four days to reach Kibati Camp, which sprawls across the northern boundary of Goma's city limits. But, before they'd had the chance to settle in, the camp was caught in the crossfire between rebel forces and government troops.

They were forced to run for their lives, and struggled across nearly nine miles of jagged lava rock to a church in Goma's rough-and-tumble outskirts. There they found some measure of security, alongside almost 100 other families who'd fled last October's ferocious fighting.

Laurene and her family squeeze into the church at night to sleep. They must awaken and go outdoors during the day — even if it's pouring down rain.

She is among thousands of children who have taken refuge in urban Goma's gritty neighborhoods rather than risk dangers in the camps. They're being housed in churches, schools, community centers and other public buildings — but they're neither getting the food nor most of the other assistance that those in the camps are receiving.

Mercy Corps has stepped up to fill the void and meet at least three of their most critical needs: clean water, sanitation and hygiene. We are supplying 80,000 liters of water per day to those living in the church — plenty for everyone to drink, cook, bathe and wash their clothes. We are building latrines. And our teams have provided soap and other cleaning supplies, as well as helping displaced families learn about proper hygiene.

But it's not easy to explain why we didn't bring food today. After all, it's been almost two months since another humanitarian organisation supplied these families with rice, beans and flour. Mercy Corps has its area of responsibility in this area — provision of clean water, hygiene items and sanitation facilities — but those are operational issues that don't mean much to a child who is hungry.

So Laurene sits quietly on a church pew, in the place she now calls home, and waits for something to eat.

Blog Post:  Posted January 25, 2009, 3:39 pm by Roger Burks

What is Happening Here?

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Conflict & War, Displacement, Emergencies

It's now been two days since the arrest of General Laurent Nkunda, the ambitious and charismatic rebel leader who terrorized this part of Congo for more than five years. Rwandan troops nabbed him as he tried to flee across the border. This was a stunning series of events by all measures, and almost completely unexpected by everyone here.

When Rwandan troops crossed into Congo just north of here earlier this week, the overwhelming speculation was that they were going to pursue and fight the FDLR rebels, many of whom are culpable in the Rwandan Genocide. (I mentioned this in my Tuesday journal entry.) But, instead of bearing west into the gigantic forests where the FDLR takes refuge, the Rwandans kept marching north and, by all accounts, surprised Nkunda — a former ally of Rwanda's Tutsi leadership.

No one is quite sure of where Nkunda is now — certainly in Rwanda, but that's where the trail ends. Some say he's in Gisenyi, a city just over the border from Goma — within walking distance of the Mercy Corps office and the hotel where I'm staying.

Perhaps a more relevant question is: What happens to Nkunda now? Will he be turned over to Congolese authorities? If that happens, he will almost certainly be brought across the border just down the road from where I'm staying. The convoy hauling him will pass right by my hotel. And he will be flown to the capital, Kinshasa, from Goma's shattered airport.

But, ultimately, will any punishment for Nkunda — even a death sentence for treason, which seems likely — improve the situation here or even assuage the fears of millions? After all, more rebel groups lurk, including remnants of Nkunda's own faction who still allegedly pledge loyalty to him.

The news this morning is that the joint Congolese-Rwandan military force has found and attacked FDLR rebels about three hours north of Goma. Nine rebels are reported dead.

And, of course, that likely means more villages will come under fire as the offensive presses forward. Innocent civilians will die because they're suspected of collaboration. Homes will burn. Women will be victimized. And thousands more will be displaced or, if they're already displaced, they will be forced to find another squalid place to seek refuge.

Over the last week — a time of relative calm to the west of Goma — at least 44 newly-displaced families registered at Buhimba Camp. That added more than 230 people to the camp's already bursting population.

What will happen in towns to the north such as Nyanzale, which is even more isolated and likely to host some of the most intense fighting? And when will that fighting end?

Over the week I've been in eastern Congo, everything seems to have changed. The headlines proclaim that breakthroughs are imminent and security is finally within reach.

But I challenge anyone to look out over a sprawling displacement camp, or talk to a grandmother taking care of four war-orphaned children, and tell me that's really true.

Blog Post:  Posted January 24, 2009, 7:02 am by Roger Burks

Charlie

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Emergencies, Displacement, Conflict & War, Children

Yesterday afternoon in Buhimba Camp, after the firewood distribution had finished, I played football with a ball made out of plastic bags and twine. I sat on a log and made tiny cars and airplanes out of natural clay. But mostly, I just talked — and listened — to some of the children who'd followed our every move since we arrived at the camp hours earlier.

And that's one of the things I never forget about the time I spend in Africa: the curiosity of children here. They want to know everything about you, and about what you know. They want to walk hand-in-hand with you wherever you go. There's a such sense of anticipation from them — like everything you do is new and completely unexpected. The slightest silliness on your part — or clumsiness — elicits giggles that make you forget, for a moment, about the dire situation and surroundings.

I must have had an entourage of 60 children at one point at Buhimba Camp. But there was one young man, standing bolt-upright in a crisp white shirt and wearing a serious expression, who stood out from the crowd. His name is Charlie.

He boldly strode up to me and asked, in perfect French, what I was chewing. I told him it was mint gum. He asked if I had any more and I said, in all honesty, that I didn't. And so then he asked me if I could give him 50 cents to go buy some of his own.

Charlie had it figured out. Over the next few minutes he asked me for a cookie. A ballpoint pen. My notebook. But, mostly, he just wanted to talk. And the subjects he wanted to tackle were not kid's stuff.

First of all, he asked me why some people received firewood while others did not. I explained that the distribution was mostly for the elderly, physically disabled or young single mothers. Then he told me that he was too old to receive clothing from another distribution that was happening nearby.

I asked him how old he was. "Fourteen," Charlie said. I was surprised. From his appearance, I wouldn't have guessed more than 10 or 11 years old.

Charlie then launched into an incredibly articulate analysis of the situation here: Congo's capital, Kinshasa, is so far away from here. Everyone is divided. Things don't work, including food aid.

He said that food distributions don't come often enough. And, even though this area has a bounty of bananas and passionfruit, Charlie hasn't had a single piece of fruit in more than a month.

"So what can you do?" he asked, looking me straight in the eye. I told him I will do what I can. I will come back to Buhimba Camp another day. And with that, Mamy, our field assistant, signaled to me that it was time to return to Goma.

I won't forget Charlie. He is inquisitive. He is smart. He is brave enough to approach a complete stranger, and eloquent enough to engage them in conversation for as long as they have to talk. And he needs a chance.

So what can you do?