ACT Photo Essay

DRC 02/06

Congo: Women in conflict

Text by Hannu Pesonen I Photos by Martti Lintunen

As in any armed conflict, women have borne the brunt of the war in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). Women are usually left with the burden of taking care of shattered families in volatile and hostile conditions. They must feed, protect, plant, earn, carry, and avoid physical dangers. And quite often, they have to do these things after being forced to leave their homes.

Washing and measuring rice with her mother at a feeding center run by The Lutheran World Federation (a member of the global alliance Action by Churches Together International) in Eastern Congo near Kisangani, Kombozi Fataki, 14, has ample time to ponder her main problem: how to return to school at the age of 14 after four years of hiding in the bush.

”Before we fled the war, I attended school in Kisangani. But now I can’t even write a letter,” says Kombozi.

A school has not been established in her village yet, but children are studying in the local church building. Kombozi is hesitant to attend.

”Instead, I may search for vocational training, which will allow me to work and earn [money], such as dressmaking,”

Providing support for women and strengthening their role as income earners of their families is an important element in LWF's programs in Eastern Congo.

”We support and work with several women’s associations in the field of vocational training. Courses are provided in dressmaking, weaving, baking, and soap making, among others. The women can also use the facilities of the training centers on their own time in order to sell their products,” says Emile Mpanya, project coordinator for LWF in Congo.

The training includes literacy courses and basic business training on how to run their own enterprises.

”The work has a therapeutic effect, too. The beneficiaries are mostly victims of various forms of violence. Many women have been forced to watch their husband or children [being] killed. Others are raped or traumatized by the fear or loss of their homes,” explains Mpanya.

The women also take part in trauma counseling and workshops on their rights.

”Men mostly know their rights; women don’t. For instance, in the past, women had to have their husband’s written approval in order to search for employment. That was changed five years ago, but few women are aware of it,” says Mpanya.

Selemani Ibonje has done all in her power for the youngest of her six children, three-year-old Jonas.

”I can’t do more. I have protected him through all what we have suffered,” she says.

Selemani and her husband Mateso Ngongo have been on the run since 2002. Mateso was seriously beaten as one of the rebel bands looted and destroyed their village in Makoka.

”They didn’t beat me as all other children surrounded and grabbed me. But they didn’t leave us anything. After the attack, the whole place was like a desert. We had to flee,” says Selemani.

Now the family is trying to settle down permanently in Wanierukula, a small resettlement area almost 100 kilometers from Eastern Congo’s main town, Kisangani.

”But it is difficult. I can’t escape thinking once and again what has happened to us. My stomach aches all the time as I grieve and fear. I don’t think I will ever return to Makoka. We have heard it is now peaceful, but what if all those problems start again? We hope it will turn out to be better here.”

At the LWF feeding center, the scale confirms what is already all too visible: Jonas is seriously underweight. ”He started to go weak and limp two weeks ago. But what could we do? We are hungry all the time. We haven’t had anything to plant, or any employment. We eat cassava leaves and ugali, porridge made of cassava flour. That’s all,” says his mother.

Blankets, two pots and a machete are all the family owns.

”But the worst seems to be over. Very few here die of hunger any more. Jonas is getting slightly better, too. And this year, we will harvest, too - at last,” Selemani says.

Most of the estimated four million victims of DRC's war died without a ingle shot being fired. Child malnutrition, which quickly weakens the body's resistance and turns normally harmless diseases into fatal ones, is a major killer.

At LWF’s feeding center in Wanierukula, the mothers refrain from eating until all children have received their share.

Even if one receives help and advice, making ends meet is still a struggle, Julienne Kajinga has found out. Supported by LWF’s microcredit program for vulnerable women, she sells palm oil in Goma with her two younger sisters, Francine Ombeni and Annie Mbujibungi. The funds they were loaned allowed them to purchase a barrel of 80 liters of oil, which they sell in measures of one tin can.

In principle, the women ought to be left with a profit. In practice, they can afford less and less new palm oil when their supply runs out.

The reason is evident: The poverty forces them to buy necessities for their survival with the money they should reinvest. The family consists of nine children. Their father died years ago, and they live in temporary shacks far from their home region.

Because of their abject poverty, only two out of five beneficiaries succeed in making their credit profitable, says Pascale Kamate, who coordinates he program. But even for those like Julienne and her sister, the credit buys time and helps them overcome the worst pangs of destitution.

”Instead of palm oil, we would like to sell used clothes. We would surely manage better with them,” the women say.

A wall clock without batteries, a few cartons and plastic kitchen utensils. Maliru Muheha was left with not much more when armed rebels looted her house in Mugunga, close to Goma town in Eastern Congo.

”I was already sleeping when they broke in. They hit me and took all what they could grab. Then they continued to the next hut,” she says, two weeks after the raid.

Rural areas in North Kivu province bordering Rwanda are among the most dangerous places for civilians in Eastern Congo. Several armed factions operate in the region, including the former Interahamwe fighters, who fled here in 1994 from Rwanda where they were responsible of the genocide of more than 800,000 people.

Mugunga provides shelter for 7,000 displaced people. They are both war victims and those who escaped the volcanic eruption which destroyed large tracts of Goma in 2002.

Here the huts are new but bare. ”We have been looted several times. Always when I get something, they come and take it again,” the widowed mother of four says.

Since the attack, Maliru Muheha has not stayed overnight in her house. Like most inhabitants in this part of Mugunga, she prefers to hide at night in the open. As the evening falls, she starts to climb to the nearby hills to be there before dark.

”I have three teenage daughters, and I don’t want to take any risks. We put the blankets on the ground and try to sleep. It’s not easy, and we are very tired during the days. It’s worst when it rains. We try to protect us with the banana leaves, but we still get wet and cold. But it is better to be safe there than to wait here anything to happen,” says Maliru.

The gently rolling slopes around Mugunga are green, and the soil is good. However, the lack of food and agricultural activities are visible.

”Before, we used to sell our products to Goma. But now all what we grow goes to our survival. It is very difficult to cultivate or raise cattle as one must be prepared to be raided anytime. We can’t keep livestock or any valuables close to our house. We hear shots almost every evening, and then people flee,” says Elisabeth Maene and her husband, Chabaniere Biakuery, clearing cassava roots in front of their house.

Interahamwe fighters shot Chabaniere's foot in 1994, just after they fled over the border from Rwanda. Robbed and maimed several times, the family refuses to leave the land Biakuery inherited from his father.

”This is our place. Besides, we don’t have any means left to purchase land or house elsewhere,” the family says.

Being caught by the armed bands inevitably changes the lives of thousands of women for the worst.

Two militiamen raped Mukesha Bangejeje when the Interahamwe troops looted and burnt down her village, Mueso.

”My husband ran away, but I couldn’t run, as I was pregnant. That’s when my child died inside me,” she says at the DOCS center for victims of sexual violence in Goma.

Not only childless, she is now without a home, rejected by her husband, and doesn’t have any means of providing for herself. She has been operated on five times because of the rape.

Fearing HIV infection and being ashamed of her fate, Mukesha’s husband rejected her and took another wife instead.

”He didn’t even attend the burial of my mother and brother who died in the ame attack. He says that to him, I’m only dust.”

During the past two years, the DOCS center, supported by LWF, has provided support and protection for more than 4,000 victims of sexual violence. There are currently more than 100 women sheltered in the center, from a 12-year-old girl to a grandmother who is 75.

”Most of them need long-standing trauma healing and medical care. Many of them have received permanent damages to their sexual organs, or they have been shot at or cruelly assaulted in connection with the rape,” says Mrs. Muliri Kabekatyo (left) of LWF's partner organization Church of Christ (ECC/North Kivu) and Julienne Chakupewa, the director of the center (right).

As in the case of Mukesha, the husbands usually reject their raped wives. Other relatives are usually not much more tolerant, either.

”Among our main tasks is to bring them together,” says Kabekatyo. Four out of five of the reconciliation efforts lead to reunification, she says.

In a small hut in Wanierukula, Jean-Pierre Lokondja offers consolation to Elali Mabandu, 25. After having kept to herself for more than two months, Elali finally confessed to her priest that she had been raped. The priest advised her to contact Lokondja, who is leading the LWF-supported program for victims of sexual violence.

Elali sobs that she feels ashamed. She is quickly reassured by Lokondja that the culprit should be ashamed, not her, and that she is not abandoned. Her husband, Nyeambo Muya, 33, stands behind her and takes part in the family counseling.

”I try to offer them advice how to avoid feeling guilty. I’m telling about the importance of supporting each other, and how to proceed with the practical steps, such as a doctor’s consultation and HIV testing,” explains Lokondja.

Legani Mezi, 18, was only 12 when foreign troops abducted her. She was running home from school with her elder sister, Annie, when the attack on their home village started. Freezing in their tracks in the middle of the road, the scared girls were an easy prey for the soldiers.

”We cried and prayed in vain that they would leave us to go as our parents would suffer so much. They didn’t even tie us. They just took us away,” Legani recalls.

Legani was made to carry water and ammunition, clean huts and wash laundry.

”I was small in size and considered a child. But they took my sister, Annie, as their wife. When we were left alone, she was just crying.”

Finally the girls managed to escape.

”We tried to build their confidence by working always very hard. Once when we were left to collect the water without a guard, we just dropped our jerry cans by the river and ran."

The return didn’t provide any consolation. They found their home destroyed, parents dead and two brothers missing.

Since then, Legani’s life has improved. She has married. With her husband, Donatien Mpira, and baby son, Peter, she is set to farm their land again. She has been reunited with her brothers, too, who were found working as mine carriers. At the moment, she takes care of her sister’s daughter, Deg, too, as Annie has gone to search work in the mines.

”She was conceived as a result of our captivity," says Legani of her niece."Some people may not accept her, but to me, she is always my sister’s daughter.”

Many brave women in DRC are putting their personal safety at risk in the fight for women’s rights.

Neema Kyeya Katungu is a university law student in Goma. With other students, she has set up an association that offers advice and information on women’s rights to ordinary people.

”Women don’t recognize their rights. And even if they do, they don’t have chances to make changes because of the injustices in this country. We talk to the people, but we talk to the authorities as well. Nothing will change if they don’t change their attitudes.”

To criticize authorities and men in power doesn’t make life easy in DRC. Neema has been arrested and beaten. Even now her arm is broken and wrapped in thick bandage after armed men, presumably from a rebel faction, raided the family house in search for her father.

”But if we Congolese make now sacrifices for our country, it may make things easier for the next generation.”

Hannu Pesonen is a Finnish journalist, focusing on development issues and war and crisis and catastrophe reporting around the world. His reporting tours have taken him to more than 120 countries since late 1979, including more than 50 war-zone, crisis and catastrophe assignments. His articles have been published in more than 20 countries in Europe, Africa, Asia, North America and Australia, and he is author of four books.

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