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?

Blog Post:  Posted January 23, 2009, 3:08 pm by Roger Burks

Inside the Green Rope

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Conflict & War, Displacement, Emergencies, Environment

It's firewood distribution day here in Buhimba Camp. Hundreds of women, most of whom are elderly, have lined up to wait their turn. A green rope goes up along the perimeter of the wood yard where the distribution will take place.

About a dozen people — camp residents hired by Mercy Corps to help out with the distribution — are busy taking wood from a huge pile and arranging it into parcels of two or three logs. They are meticulous about this task, making sure that one parcel doesn't look significantly bigger than the others. After all, these are the wood rations that will last each displaced family for the next few days, and fairness is paramount.

Furaha Maombi, 32 years old and the mother of five young children, is among those helping Mercy Corps in today's distribution. She fled a rebel attack on her village and, with her family in tow, walked more than a day to get here. That was more than a year ago. Since then, nearly all the trees have been cut from the once-forested hillsides that surround the camp — tinder for the stoves of more than 13,000 people.

One of the reasons for providing wood to the residents of Buhimba and camps like it is to keep families from harvesting wood from nearby Virunga National Park, habitat for some of the world's only surviving mountain gorillas. Mercy Corps brought this wood from a town south of here on Lake Kivu. It was chopped and collected from sustainable wood sources such as acacia and eucalyptus plantations, taken by boat across the lake, then trucked a short distance to the camp. 

Provision of firewood is a short-term solution to a precarious situation. Not only does the status quo threaten Virunga National Park, but when women travel long distances to get wood, they often fall prey to rape and other violence along the way. These distributions, combined with wood-efficient cookstoves and tree nurseries for reforestation, protect both women and the environment.

At 10 a.m., the distribution begins. Mamy Muvughe, a Mercy Corps field assistant for this camp, begins calling out names. "Maria Konga ... Mohinda Kasheka ... Nira Kabanga," she shouts. Then a young man yells out each name again to make sure it's heard.

When their name is called, each woman bends under the green rope and enters the wood yard. The first three women walk with canes. They come and stand by the small piles of wood — which average 15 pounds — that they will take home.

After all 10 names for the first group of women have been called, they simultaneously stoop, pick up their firewood, tie it on their backs or place it on their heads, and then exit back under the green rope.

The next group is called. One especially elderly woman tries to pick up her pile before the others. Furaha asks her to wait. A bit of an argument ensues, but the old woman's friends calm her down. There must be order and procedures, but also dignity and respect — and that's not easy in a situation like this.

As this group bends to pick up their firewood, an old woman with a very crooked back is having trouble. Furaha rushes to help the woman, then proceeds to carry it all the way home for her.

The spaces that have been emptied are now being filled with new stacks of firewood. In all, 500 families will be served today. That amounts to more than 7,500 pounds of wood. And there's another distribution scheduled for Monday.

Furaha and the others who helped today will receive £18 She has been chosen by a camp committee based on need; the ones selected were especially poor when they arrived here or can't find work. In another 10 days, her rotation will be over and more camp residents will fill those jobs for a chance to earn precious income.

Four hours after it began, the distribution is over. The green rope comes down and the area clears of crowds. 

Soon, there's the distinct — and very African — scent of cookfires. And despite the daily hells of life in eastern Congo, for a moment it smells like home.

Blog Post:  Posted January 22, 2009, 1:03 pm by Roger Burks

Stoves vs. Guns

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Conflict & War, Displacement, Emergencies

Today is going to be a busy day: I'm visiting four separate displacement camps with our environmental teams. But before that, we have to get out of Goma, and that's not proving easy with heavy traffic, crowds of people and truckloads of soldiers everywhere.

Right after leaving the office, we drive past a transport full of boisterous Congolese government troops. They're singing something at the top of their lungs. I make eye contact and smile, which immediately feels like a mistake. At least a dozen gazes turn to mine, and the soldiers start shouting and gesturing. It's a tense moment that seems to last all morning. But when the traffic finally moves, we continue toward the camps and they make their way north to the emerging battlefront.

And that's what it seems like here around Goma: there are the soldiers, and then there is everyone else. I've been around military forces before in places like Uganda and Kosovo, but it feels different here. Uneasy. Unpredictable.

Near to the edge of town, I see a boy of not more than ten pushing a cart laden with cabbages. A soldier is berating him for something. The boy's t-shirt reads "Peace and Reconciliation" on the back; the shirt is torn and dirty, but the words are bold and clear.

Minutes later, we pull through a police checkpoint into our first camp: Buhimba, a place with almost 3,700 households comprising 13,200 people. Then comes Mugunga II, where there are at least 4,600 households and 15,000 people. I talk with courageous camp leaders, civilians who've been through hell but have stepped up to help their neighbors endure. They're Mercy Corps' partners in lifesaving work here, which includes delivering truckloads of fresh drinking water.

I visit plant nurseries that hold the hope of thousands of seedlings, trees that will be planted around the camps and, someday soon, bear fruit and firewood that will be collected by the hands that planted them.

I walk with children, sometimes giving them friendly fist-bumps, drawing out laughter that spreads across the lava-crusted terrain.

The third camp we visit is called Bulengo. It is a beautiful place, really, set among green hillocks that overlook Lake Kivu. There are 5,720 households here right now — at least 25,000 people. The camp stretches a full mile from one side to the other.

We walk around and are soon invited into the tiny thatch-and-tarpaulin hut of 25-year-old Nibizi Rusako and his family: Block 28, Number 19, Bulengo Camp. Nibizi wants to show us the improved cookstove that he and his wife constructed with Mercy Corps' help. They are very proud to show us how it works and quick to mention how much wood it saves (it uses less than half of the wood consumed by traditional cooking methods). It also connects them to the community: since October, more than 4,000 such stoves have been built, vastly reducing the amount of wood that has to be chopped and collected from nearby forests.

While he puts kindling on the fire that will cook their lunch, he tells us his family's story. Eighteen months ago, he, his 20-year-old wife Zaniga and their three children walked more than a day here from their home village of Karuba. They had to flee suddenly, leaving everything behind as rebel troops advanced. The family lost everything, including Nibizi's business as a beer merchant.

Since their arrival here, Zaniga has given birth to another child — a daughter. Two of their children are in a school here at the camp. They are receiving water and firewood regularly from Mercy Corps.

But Nibizi wants to work. Zaniga wants a place where she can grow — or even buy — food for her family. They both want peace. It is what they deserve.

On our way from Bulengo to our next destination, a camp called Mugunga I, we pass by a group of children. One of them is brandishing a handgun that looks frighteningly real. I ask the driver to stop for a picture, which I took and am attaching to this journal entry.

I wondered what the gun meant to the children. I wondered if I should take it. I wondered what good or harm anything I did could do.

And then I considered the question of stoves versus guns. In the chaos of eastern Congo, where fear of the present can easily overwhelm hope for the future, which holds more appeal?

Blog Post:  Posted January 21, 2009, 11:25 am by Roger Burks

Patience

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Conflict & War, Displacement, Emergencies

It's 10:30 in the morning, and I'm in a Mercy Corps vehicle on a road eight kilometers north of Goma. We're trying to get to the Kibati displacement camp, which is another four kilometers from here, but are stuck at a military checkpoint. So here we sit in a line with a couple dozen vehicles from various humanitarian agencies, passenger buses, trucks brimming with commercial goods, water tankers and UN troop transports.

The smell of gasoline from idling, decrepit engines fills the air and stings my nose. It's putting everyone in the car on edge.

It looks like Congolese government troops have blocked the road ahead. They're definitely on the move around here, hitching rides on trucks headed north. Aside from the guns, the soldiers look strangely like they're going to summer camp: neon-green flip-flops hang from their backpacks. They climb up the sides of trucks filled with people, furniture and other goods. And then, post-haste, those trucks zip past the checkpoint.

Just now, a jeep with two blue-helmeted UN peacekeepers pulls alongside our vehicle. They have patches on the shoulders of their uniforms that read "Uruguay." A young man in a crisp white Doctors Without Borders vest walks up and asks the soldier at the wheel to light his cigarette.

A couple minutes later, Mercy Corps' security officer — who is accompanying us today — comes back with an update from the checkpoint. 

"They're saying that civilians and commercial trucks can pass, but not humanitarian convoys or UN vehicles," he says.

Wait a minute. The UN can't even get through? What the hell is going on here? I begin to wonder why they might not want us to go up to the camps.

Another one of our field staff explains that there is a massive lack of trust between the Congolese government and UN peacekeepers over dealings with rebel groups.

"I don't like being parked next to this UN vehicle," she says. "It's just not good at all."

A man from Handicap International ambles past the UN jeep and offers a half-hearted "Hola" to the Uruguayan soldiers. Not a minute later, the solider at the wheel gets on his radio and, in one fluid movement, does a U-turn in front of our vehicle and heads back toward Goma. 

We keep waiting as another few trucks full of Congolese government troops thunder past. 

A young Congolese woman comes up to the passenger side window to speak with our staff. She smiles broadly as she talks and seems very interested in our predicament. She tells us her name is Patience. Indeed.

A few humanitarian aid vehicles that were in line before us turn around and head off back toward Goma. We keep waiting. It's been more than an hour now.

Our security officer, who's been negotiating with the military commanders for a while now, comes back to talk with us.

"I was just told that they'll let us through, on the condition that there are no journalists with us," he says, looking squarely at me. I think for a moment I will have to go back to Goma as well, then realize differently.

"So, today I'm part of the assessment team?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"Yes, no photos unfortunately," he says.

We roll up to the roadblock. They want to search our vehicle. One of our staff members asks for my camera, which she surreptitiously conceals under her vest. I slide my notebook and pen into a pouch on the back of the seat.

A Congolese government soldier strolls confidently up to the driver's window. "Are there any journalists in there?" he demands in French. No smile, all business.

"I am not a journalist," I think to myself (which is true, I'm a humanitarian aid worker, but the tools of my trade and my intentions could make me easily confused with one). My three colleagues shake their heads "no."

We are allowed to pass. And, just as we get on our way to Kibati camp, we see a truckload of Rwandan soldiers heading south toward Goma.

Blog Post:  Posted January 20, 2009, 8:52 am by Roger Burks

Plans Change

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Conflict & War, Displacement, Emergencies

I got up at 6:30 a.m., packed my bags, ate breakfast and sent off a flurry of emails this morning in preparation for our impending journey to Nyanzale. Our departure as part of a caravan of Mercy Corps vehicles was scheduled for 10 a.m., but various meetings kept delaying that departure.

At the office, I put the items that I wouldn't be carrying upcountry in a safe. I stowed the things I would be taking in one of the vehicles.

But after a security briefing and a brief overview of Mercy Corps' operations in eastern Congo, things suddenly changed.

"I'm not going to send you to Nyanzale today," said Luke King, our country director. And there was good reason.

Earlier today, as many as 2,000 Rwandan soldiers crossed the Congolese border just north of Goma. They were apparently invited by Congo's government to assist in military operations against the pro-Hutu FDLR forces. Joseph Kabila, Congo's president, called a meeting of all ambassadors in the capital, Kinshasa, to discuss the situation.

As I've mentioned in previous journal entries, no one was quite sure what the truce between Congolese government forces and the CNDP rebels meant. Now we have a somewhat clearer picture. (Read Alertnet.org's coverage of events here.)

All travel north of Goma has been suspended for the time being. Some pretty serious security protocols are now in play. Local hotels have filled up — I will be staying at Luke's house tonight. 

For the most part, there is radio silence about what's going on outside of Goma. And to think, if we would have left on schedule, we likely would have found ourselves caught up in the gathering storm.

So, tonight, I will stand fast here in Goma. As another huge plane rumbles overhead, I am again unsure of what tomorrow will bring.

In America, today's inauguration of Barack Obama promises longed-for change. Here in eastern Congo, despite the most desperate longings of millions, it seems like things are exactly and heartbreakingly the same.

Blog Post:  Posted January 19, 2009, 4:19 pm by Roger Burks

Fallen Leaders and Uncertain Times

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Emergencies, Displacement, Conflict & War

Today is a holiday throughout Congo to commemorate two fallen leaders: Patrice Lumumba and Laurent Kabila. But, in sharp counterpoint to Martin Luther King Jr. Day in the U.S., no one is really talking about this occasion's significance. It seems simply to be a day off.

Then again, it seems to be a day to forget rather than to remember: the present crisis has much to do with the assassinations of these two Congolese leaders.

Lumumba's murder on January 17, 1960 — Congo's first elected Prime Minister after independence lasted less than three months in office — led to the rise of Mobutu and his decades of brutal rule.

Kabila, the man who finally deposed Mobutu in 1997, met his end at the hands of a bodyguard. His death on January 16, 2001 came amidst the tumult of the Second Congo War, which at one point involved eight African nations and killed 5.4 million people.

Those events lead us directly to Congo's modern era, the so-called Kivu Conflict that has engulfed the area where Mercy Corps is working. Like the regional wars that preceded it, it's often difficult to understand all the forces involved. But I'll try.

Basically, the current conflict is between the a rebel group called the National Congress for the Defence of the People (CNDP) and Congolese government troops. The CNDP is led by General Laurent Nkunda, who led Congolese government forces during the Second Congo War but then left under the auspices of protecting ethnic Tutsis in eastern Congo against still-active Hutu militias. His position was that the Congolese government was not protecting these minorities.

What has followed in the wake of Nkunda's uprising is more than four years of often-horrific fighting, atrocities and human-rights violations committed by all combatants. It has displaced hundreds of thousands of people.

Over the last week, however, CNDP officials and representatives of Congo's government signed a truce here in Goma. Allegedly, CNDP soldiers will now be integrated into the Congolese army, effectively ending the uprising and releasing the rebel force's hold on large portions of eastern Congo.

But there is no celebration yet: As I've written in my previous journal entry, no one is sure what exactly this truce means.

There are assumptions — and fears — that the two fighting forces are uniting to go after the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR), a pro-Hutu group comprised of many participants in the 1994 Rwandan Genocide. This other rebel force is currently holed up deep in North Kivu's forests. I heard today that troops are massing near Masisi, a city to the west of Goma, preparing for an offensive against the FDLR. According to many, that action would displace many thousands of people and put them in harm's way — creating another humanitarian catastrophe in a place that can scarcely afford more tragedy.

Tomorrow is uncertain, as it has been for decades here in Congo. But, for me, it holds the promise of visiting those we're helping and hearing their stories. We're traveling to the city of Nyanzale tomorrow, which is located six hours north of Goma. We will be without Internet access for a couple of days, but I will try to find a way to communicate what we find while we're there.

Blog Post:  Posted January 18, 2009, 12:14 pm by Roger Burks

Just Below the Surface

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Emergencies, Displacement, Conflict & War

Goma is proof that appearances can be deceiving.

This morning, we rode along winding mountain roads past bustling villages in Rwanda to reach the border with the Democratic Republic of the Congo. There we caught our first glimpses of Lake Kivu, one of Africa's biggest lakes — and, at nearly 5,000 feet elevation, one of its highest. The entire body of water is skirted with lush green forest, some spectacular houses and flowers that are too beautiful to be believed.

Yet below the lake's placid waters are deadly quantities of methane and carbon dioxide gases. Volcanic activity can release the methane and cause a massive explosion, while a simultaneous release of carbon dioxide can suffocate nearby residents. The timetable for this event is unknown — but it will be catastrophic for the more than two million people who live within the lake's basin.

Lake Kivu is almost too fitting a metaphor for this part of eastern Congo, where nearby perils threaten the area and its people almost constantly. The prolific vegetation throughout Goma conceals jagged pieces of lava rock, hiding the scars of a volcanic eruption that nearly destroyed the city just six years ago. Rebel forces lurk in pristine rainforests. And all along the city's outskirts, tens of thousands of war-displaced families huddle in whatever shelters they can construct from natural and donated materials — hoping to return to their villages, but waiting for the next catastrophe.

As I type this, I'm listening to boisterous Congolese music coming from a nearby bar. Someone is having a birthday party. People are singing along, whistling, whooping and hollering.

There is some broader cause for celebration: news of a truce between one of the main rebel groups and the Congolese government. It was agreed upon right here in Goma just yesterday. It's been greeted with skepticism; people don't quite know what it might mean. I hope to find out more tomorrow.

For now, though, there is joyful music in Goma amid the dangers hidden in one of the most beautiful landscapes I've ever seen.

Blog Post:  Posted January 17, 2009, 10:42 am by Roger Burks

Tracing History's Route

Country: DR Congo

Topics: Conflict & War, Displacement, Emergencies

Most of the next three days, we will be en route to our destination: the eastern Congolese city of Goma, capital of violence-plagued North Kivu province. Because of war and damage to the airport from a volcanic eruption in 2002, we can't fly directly into Goma. Instead, we will fly from Brussels to Kigali, Rwanda, and get a ride to the Congo border, where we'll meet up with Mercy Corps staff.

In my opinion, there is enormous significance in our routing: traveling by way of Rwanda and Belgium, we will touch down in two places that have much to do with Congo's current crisis.

Congo was Belgium's most prized colony for more than a half-century, from 1908 to Congolese independence in 1960. For more than 20 years before the colonial period, Congo was — unconscionably — the personal property of Belgium's monarch, King Leopold II. Altogether, those eight decades witnessed the pillaging of Congo's vast natural resources and blatant human rights abuses. Even as late as the 1950s, forced labour was commonplace and life expectancy didn't reach 40 years. An apartheid-like system kept Congolese people at the bottom of the social and economic orders.

Congo's natural resources are vast and rare enough to make the country wealthy: cobalt, copper and diamonds abound. Unique minerals used in modern electronics are abundant. And the uranium from Congo's mines were used in thousands of nuclear weapons during the Cold War. In fact, the uranium used in the atomic bombs dropped on Japan during World War II was mined in Congo's Katanga province.

But this blessing of resources was also Congo's curse, dooming it to meddling by European and other powers that led to the long reign of Mobutu Sese Seko, whose time in power brought the term "kleptocracy" into the modern lexicon. Even after independence, Mobutu and his patrons plundered and terrorized Congo's people, keeping them mired in poverty and plagued by horrific violence.

It was such violence that signaled a new, but no less terrifying era in Congo. In 1994, the Rwandan Genocide meant the deaths of as many as one million people over the course of just 100 days. Militias from the Hutu ethnic groups slaughtered mostly citizens from the Tutsi people in violence touched off by the assassination of Rwanda's president. Thousands of refugees — both Hutu and Tutsi — streamed into eastern Congo during and after the genocide. This mass influx created new problems for an already-chaotic region of Congo, leading to the epic conflict of the First and Second Congo Wars, which finally toppled Mobutu but also caused the rise of several rebel groups. That brings us to the situation in eastern Congo today: millions dead or displaced, thousands dying every day and no end in sight.

We are tracing more than a century of exploitation and tragedy on our journey to Goma. And these are the historical facts that are available to anyone interested in looking; I am sure that the people I meet once I reach eastern Congo will add their own thoughts, wisdom and words to what I've written here.