I dismantled my blog on Day 2 of this trip because I realized I needed some time to acclimate before attempting to describe what I was seeing. That night, as I sat in a lack-of-sleep daze in the restaurant of our hotel in Goma, I took in the surroundings and could feel a sense of unrest creep into my head. Better to focus on imagery alone, drink in the rich visuals and leave the writing to the expert of the trip, Mercy Corps writer, Roger Burks, until some time has passed.
My eyes took in army tanks, UN trucks, men with rifles, lava encrusted "roads", people standing with blank stares, polio-stricken adults and children, outdoor furniture stores where the heavy rains penetrated the soft couch cushions, and the color gray, gray and more gray. In Goma, there is no easy spirit whatsoever, or at least from my early observation. Even buying carrots at a market seems more of an act of haste to move on than a common deliberation over which carrot is the best. Indeed, this city is a cultural challenge for the soul.
I was told right away that I could not bring my camera out in the city, and that if I was going to photograph anything, it is best to have a letter from the government stating that I was permitted to do so. This seems fair enough. We all know how complex this area is, so why would they want attention focused regarding what is going on here? There are layers upon layers of intertwined corruption, with any given point in time the players switching sides and/or aggressively pursuing the "other side". It is mind-blowing how confusing every moment is. There simply is no infrastructure or order.
The Congolese army and government is "weak, ineffective, corrupt, aggressive". The rebel fighters are "weak, ineffective, corrupt, aggressive". Everything both matches and contradicts the other and just when you think you "got it", you get another passionate view of any given side. If you are not deliberate in your thinking every second of the day, you can start to feel a bit out of control.
Not feeling comfortable in leaving the hotel on our own, Roger and I retreated to our rooms for the next two days as it was a Sunday plus Monday holiday and no one was working. (I was not about to walk around to find a bag of chips in this environment.) We had been briefed that we needed to 1. expect negotiations at any given point in time from any official and 2. to give them what they want if pressed. We also needed to carry small, recently printed and non-torn US bills (the predominant currency) hidden in various locations in case we needed to pay our way out of a situation. I also had to hide my camera equipment, as banditry was frequent.
As I travel more often in Africa, I regret that my second language is not French, which thus requires me to become dependent upon anyone who can utter a few French words to communicate needs. It was at this point that I realized that I was basically immobilized in this city. Since I had time on my hands, I decided to read up on the history and current conditions (which radically change from day to day) of the area and proceeded to spend hours surfing the web.
I started spiraling into personal story after story of the brutality that exists here. How in humanity's name do we have a culture that is capable of raping babies and displaced women who are foraging for food?
"Hopeless" came to my mind when I thought of the lives of innocent civilians in the DRC. How could these people ever find hope when they are forced from their homes, tortured, intimidated, beaten, forced to beat family members under a soldier's eye, brutally raped in front of their chldren, buried alive, deliberately infected with HIV, subjected to the theft of their offspring to be made into child soldiers, and their relief food consistently stolen?
I could see all of these things in the eyes of our waiter at the hotel and in others' faces as I tried, in vain, to engage contact. The relief of a smile was not easy coming. The hotel staff seemed to be gliding as though tied to some electrical mechanism, waiting for something to flare up or shut off.
How could this be anything but a hopeless place? I believe that is what comes to mind for many of us when we think of the Congo. And I had extreme pressure from many not to come here. Why would we want to look at it this closely?
At dinner that night, Roger and I discussed how Mercy Corps stands for hope, and we were here to focus on that. Perhaps the world is weary of the intensity of the Congo and we have given up trying to stop its barbaric practices. Multi-rebel inter-fighting culture that it is, who is strong enough, and willing, to step in and effect change? My mind reaches for a semblance of understanding.
In the dizzying merry-go-round of these first few days while in the Congo, I try to grasp it all: The Hutu Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR) is made up of people who were responsible for genocide in Rwanda? The native Congolese Army is barbaric and ineffective whose members switch sides constantly? The UN has thousands in the Congo but they stand idle and permit the atrocities to occur? The Tutsi National Congress for the Defence of the People (CNDP) support the Congolese crossing their lines? And in addition to all that, Rwandan forces some estimated 7,000 strong were, in such a polite terms, "invited to observe" the flushing out of some 6,000 FDLR troops this week. And what is going on with the ***** army, comprised of childhood-bred soldiers, the most brutal armies of them all?
Until I visited the first Internally Displaced Person (IDP) camp, I had absolutely no idea the depths to which a human spirit is capable in reaching for a fraction of hope.
As the troops amass in Congo and the world watches continuous conflict in this area, we must face this reality. How can we find avenues of relief for these relentlessly hopeful spirits that are at the hands of such a heinously reckless culture? And if we don't, are we not part of the situation?
Resource rich country that Congo is, it should be one of the richest places on Earth. Instead, human suffering is at its utmost desperate level.
Post a Comment