DRC blogtag:www.oxfam.org.uk,2008:/applications/blogs/drc/732008-01-30T15:29:59ZOxfam staff Yao Bongoma and Marie Cacace report on the current situation in the Democratic Republic of Congo.Movable Type 3.33Yao visits Cecile's classroom in BIYELA I primary school, Kinshasatag:www.oxfam.org.uk,2008:/applications/blogs/drc//73.25392007-11-20T15:23:08Z2008-01-30T15:29:59ZIn Kimbanseke, one of the poorer areas of Kinshasa, the capital of the DRC, the committed teaching staff and motivated pupils have just returned to BIYELA I primary school at the start of a new school year. This is despite...
When I talk to her during the short time she's allowed to spare, she tells me, "When there were no benches, the percentage [of attendance] was 55% - 70%. Attendance has risen. Even when it rains, children still come because they know the room is safe."
One of the pupils I met in Cecile's class is a young girl called Mayele. Mayele describes to me what the learning conditions were like and how she now feels. "We used to sit on the ground to work. Now we're happy and can write easily. I can sit up."
After Mayele's speech, a group of pupils speaking all at the same time can't help but express their emotion as each one tries to tell me about how whenever it rained, they couldn't see the blackboard because the room became dark, and that, if it was a morning rain, by the afternoon, it was difficult to study. The air got stuffy.
As I leave BIYELA I, I turn around for a moment to look at the school building today. It's difficult to imagine exactly what it was like trying to receive an education in such an environment. The school building is plush by local standards and learning conditions have clearly improved. In the short time Oxfam has supported BIYELA I primary school through the Parent Teacher Association much has changed.
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The right to life, the right to dreamtag:www.oxfam.org.uk,2007:/applications/blogs/drc//73.23852007-10-31T15:11:50Z2007-11-02T16:19:05ZNdosho is a settlement that I've visited before -a settlement that'll be here today, gone tomorrow because it's a site where people decided to spontaneously set up their shelters, rather than a camp authorised by the local government, where organised...Yao Bongoma
To my pleasant surprise, she is still here. I find Devota sitting with her children and a couple of neighbours in a small clearing a few shelters away from her own. They are all seemingly in good health. Devota recognises me as I walk up between the shelters towards her and her children, and smiles. Devota is a woman with a calm look, always composed. I greet her first, calling out, "Devota! Hello!" Moments later, we're deep in conversation.
"My husband is here, but he has no job!" Devota immediately tells me, sounding happy and sad at the same time. I listen intently. Then, because I'm a little more concerned to know how she's been living since we last saw each other, I ask Devota how she keeps her family safe from the dangers that unfortunately exist in a spontaneous settlement like Ndosho.
"There's no security," she tells me. "Neighbours help me with food. But I fear being robbed or raped. Neighbours have been robbed of cassava flour, oil, and other things we get from food distributions. At night, it rains, and I don't have a plastic sheeting for my shelter. Some nights we go to bed without eating."
I realise that, to Devota, the word 'safe' means securing food just as well as securing physical safety. "Sometimes I sell parts of our food rations to get income to buy other things," she admits.
Upon hearing this, at first, I'm surprised. I don't quite understand how she can sell food items that have been distributed to her when conditions are this difficult for herself and her family. A number of humanitarian agencies are indeed working in Ndosho, distributing food and providing drinking water, although they seek to persuade people to move into the organised camps, such as Mugunga 1 and Bulengo, where Oxfam and more agencies are at work, and where security is greater.
I soon find out from Devota that the 'other things' she buys are utensils for cooking, clothes and footwear. I look over at her eldest son who is wearing a new blue t-shirt and realise that selling off food rations for other items is perhaps Devota's way of securing what little normalcy she can for her family as a mother: the right to life, the right to dream of a better life.
Devota tells me her own dream: "I want the international community to help ask our politicians to bring us peace. I cannot go home until peace returns."
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A never-ending story?tag:www.oxfam.org.uk,2007:/applications/blogs/drc//73.23842007-10-16T14:56:51Z2007-11-02T16:12:49ZIt's the month of October, and I'm once more in the area of North Kivu where gunfire resounds again from the heavy clashes between protagonists in a story that seemingly has no end. Unfortunately, the story is a tragedy because...Yao Bongoma
Ashley Sarangi, Oxfam's programme manager for the emergency response, is a busy man. He has scheduled a visit to the three camps in one day. "We won't be stopping for lunch," I presume. Later on, I find out we will barely even be stopping for the rain that surprises us whilst at Bulengo camp.]]>
As I leave, I too am speechless.tag:www.oxfam.org.uk,2007:/applications/blogs/drc//73.23452007-09-22T12:40:13Z2007-10-02T15:49:46ZRadio in hand, I step out of the office. We are all equipped with radios in the event of danger on our travels. As I look out of the window on my way to Mugunga settlement, I see military presence...Yao Bongoma
Gabriel sees me look over and anticipates the question that I am about to ask him. "These women, when they go to collect wood, they are often chased by armed men. Not every day, but often." I ask Gabriel who he thinks is responsible for protecting him and his family and the people within his community. He sighs, "We ask the government to protect us - it is their responsibility. In spite of our own security arrangements we are still scared. If armed men come in the night, what are we to do? How can we defend ourselves?" I look at him and say nothing - I cannot answer his question.
I walk through the settlement with Gabriel, I cannot help catching the eye of Maisha, who I saw yesterday. I remembered him because he looked so unwell, like many of the children here. I am told that his name means life; it's a tragic irony as Gabriel tells me that this child is extremely unwell and is suffering from malnutrition.
People are walking back and forth through the settlement; some holding jerry cans, others with bundles of sticks in their hands. Gabriel directs me towards his wife, who is sat down with her child wrapped around her waist with material in the traditional way that women carry their children here. In her small shelter a fire burns. Next to it is an old man lying down on a bed of molten rock; I later discover that it is her father, who is 90 years of age. I cannot help wondering how many times he has had to live like this over the years.
Gabriel's wife, Mukishimana motions for me to sit down beside her. After ten minutes of sitting on the rocks, my backside is numb. I cannot imagine what it must be like to try to sleep like this.
Having heard from Gabriel how vulnerable women are when collecting wood to use for the fire, I want to find out from Mukishimana how she feels doing this daily chore in the knowledge that there are dangers.
"If I go to fetch wood to use for heating or to sell I know that there are armed men out there and that I can get raped. As women we are scared. We don't know what we can do about it. I heard about one group of women who went out to gather wood, and they were chased by men with guns, who tried to rape them. One woman fell while trying to get away from them. She resisted and they broke her arm and tried to take her away. Fortunately, she managed to get back here with only a broken arm." I ponder upon the word 'fortunately': what has the world come to when someone is deemed lucky because they have 'only' had their arm broken?
I have already been told that people have little to protect themselves but I want to find out from Mukishimana how women go about trying to assure their own security. "To try and protect ourselves we go in numbers. We get widows and old women who do not have children to accompany us. As a mother, I am scared for my daughters; they sometimes go to work in the banana plantation nearby to get something to eat. I know it's not safe but for a whole day's work they get a banana, which gives them something at least. I worry that I will lose my strength and energy and that I'll no longer be able to look after my family."
I look over at Mukishimana's father, Sehene, about a metre away from me. The lines on his face tell a thousand stories. He asks if he can speak with me and of course I want to hear what he has to say. I go over to sit beside him and for a moment we look at one another and we both smile. The look on his face suddenly changes as he breaks the silence that for an instant seems to speak more than words.
"I have three daughters and three sons. My three sons were killed recently in the fighting. They were taken hostage first when they were trying to flee the violence. My wife died of illness this year - I'm a widower now. My sons' bodies should at least be sent home so that I can bury them, but I can't even go home myself, not until there is peace."
He tells me that this is all that he has to say. His words are few but they speak volumes for him and for so many other people who I have heard over the last few days have suffered a similar fate. As I leave, I too am speechless.
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I don't go to school anymore because of the violence and I now have to live here.tag:www.oxfam.org.uk,2007:/applications/blogs/drc//73.23442007-09-20T12:12:29Z2007-10-02T15:50:13ZI am pleased to wake up this morning with the sun shining through my window, At least the people that I spoke with yesterday will have spent a dry night. However, on the other hand with sun comes heat, thirst...Yao Bongoma
While I am waiting for ASAF's office to open, I meet Fabrice, who is six years old. He is roaming around and I ask him what he is doing, he looks at me and says:
"I don't go to school anymore because of the war and I now have to live here. All of my family are with me. Now I don't go to school so I do nothing all day. I am going to go for a walk. But I'd rather go to school."
Unlike the people I talked with in the settlements and camps yesterday, Fabrice is staying in a host family. It's incredible to see the solidarity within a community that is itself already vulnerable. Most people here live on less than $1 a day and yet they are sharing the little that they have with the displaced people who have sought refuge here.
We move further on to the pumping station nearby, which is no longer working as it should. I am told by Richard that this means there is at least a four-hour window during the day when people cannot access water from the various water points. So to meet their needs they go to the nearby lake, causing cholera and other sometimes fatal health issues.
This is a problem that I have heard all too often over the last few days and it has become evident that if people here fall sick because of water-borne diseases, the majority of families will not be able to afford the treatment they need - which can make the difference between life and death.
"Oxfam and ASAF are going to install water tanks at various distribution points in the system so that people no longer have to resort to fetching untreated and unsafe water," says Ildefonse, Oxfam's water engineer.
He tells me that he and his team here have identified where people are using the system the most so that they can supplement the water system with water tanks. The tanks will ensure that there is a constant supply of water to cater for the increased demands made on the system by the newly arrived displaced communities.
"If these tanks were not put in, people would not be able to have the recommended minimum amount of clean drinking water per day, which is 15 litres per person," Ildefonse explains.
I learn that we are also training members of the community so that they can maintain the water systems themselves and take on ownership and management of their own water supply.
"The great thing about this project is that it helps both the local community and the people who have been displaced. When the displaced communities eventually return home, the community here will still feel the impact of the project so it meets the needs of everyone."
We step back in the car and go to an area where Ildefonse tells me that 90% of the people who use the water point are from the wave of newly displaced people. On arrival, I can immediately see that there are long queues of people waiting to fill up their jerry cans with clean water.
Gabriel, who lives among the settlement of internally displaced people, explains why additional water is needed: "Water is a big problem; you can see the queue at the entrance to the camp. People have to wait from 6 o'clock in the morning until mid-afternoon to get water, so some women end up going to the lake, which is unsafe."
Over the next few days, I will be following the construction of the water tanks that the Oxfam team will install here and in other designated places in the surrounding area.
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Water, source of life and deathtag:www.oxfam.org.uk,2007:/applications/blogs/drc//73.23432007-09-18T11:37:17Z2007-10-02T15:57:05ZI am back in Goma, one month after I visited Oxfam's cholera emergency project in the town. This time I am here to speak with people who have been displaced by the recent conflict in the North Kivu area in...Yao Bongoma
"If Oxfam and ASAF do not intervene now, the water system will not be able to cope with the demands being put on it by the new arrival of communities and people will not have safe access to safe drinking water. Instead they will have to collect water from the lake," says Richard.
He continues to tell me that this puts people at risk of getting attacked, particularly women and children as traditionally, they are the ones who carry out the household chores, such as collecting water. There is also the risk of people contracting water-borne diseases, as I have learnt from my previous trip to Oxfam's cholera project.
When I arrive at the first settlement I am to visit, the Oxfam vehicle is quickly surrounded by a large number of people, some are soaked to the bone it seems and others are holding plastic sheeting over their heads and " Kikwembe" a traditional thin cotton fabric, with colourful designs, which the local women wear.
Immediately, the president of the settlement, Deo Nkundio approaches us and is eager to let us know the community's needs.
" We have no water or medicine . Most people here have to go and get water from the nearby lake, which is about 45 minutes away by foot. There are mothers here, delivering their children in this environment - we really need help. We want the international community and our government to bring us peace, if there was peace we would want to return home but until then we will have to stay here. Just look around you, this situation is deplorable."
A few metres away, I meet Devota and her family outside the shelter that she has managed to put together. She tells me of how she gets access to water, something which a lot of us take for granted when we turn the tap on in the morning. "I beg, and I wash clothes for other people in the city to try to get an income."
Devota has to balance her time between getting water and making a living so that she can feed her family, but it is not always possible to do the two in one day with now, a reduced family. "Some of my family have fled to Rwanda; during the displacement we lost some family members. My husband went over to Uganda and I am here with my three children " adds Devota.
" To get water, I have to go to the lake. Sometimes I buy water from other people. It is about 100 francs (10p). I need about 2 per day, that is 20p worth. On one day I use the little money that I get to buy water, and the next day I use what I have to buy food. "
This is all the more reason why Oxfam and ASAF are rehabilitating water systems close to the settlements. The average income here is 100 to 150 francs per day, 10 to 15p. Not only will the repaired water system reduce the amount of time that people need to fetch water thus freeing up time to do all that they can to get food but it will also reduce the dangers that people face when en route to get water from the lake. I hear throughout the day of people's fear of attacks when fetching water from Lake Kivu.
The rain gets stronger again. The irony strikes me; in spite of the abundance of water around us people still struggle to get access to safe drinking water, something that I am pleased Oxfam is going to address in the coming weeks.
As I take a closer look at what some people might now call home, I am astonished by the skill that has gone into making these temporary structures which are made of a long sticks covered with banana leaves. I ask myself is it because people in the northern Kivu have been forced out of their homes more than once - be it because of natural disaster or man-made conflict - that they have acquired these survival skills?
Now that I have left the settlement and I have reached the end of the long day, I am more than grateful to be back inside the sturdy brick walls of my temporary home, with colleagues, a hot meal and soft music. The settlement is only 15km away and in this moment it seems that our lives are miles apart - yet we all have the right to have our basic needs met and we all need clean water to live.
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After Mayele's speech, a group of pupils speaking all at the same time can't help but express their emotion as each one tries to tell me about how whenever it rained, they couldn't see the blackboard because the room became dark, and that, if it was a morning rain, by the afternoon, it was difficult to study. The air got stuffy.
As I leave BIYELA I, I turn around for a moment to look at the school building today. It's difficult to imagine exactly what it was like trying to receive an education in such an environment. The school building is plush by local standards and learning conditions have clearly improved. In the short time Oxfam has supported BIYELA I primary school through the Parent Teacher Association much has changed.
]]>
I soon find out from Devota that the 'other things' she buys are utensils for cooking, clothes and footwear. I look over at her eldest son who is wearing a new blue t-shirt and realise that selling off food rations for other items is perhaps Devota's way of securing what little normalcy she can for her family as a mother: the right to life, the right to dream of a better life.
Devota tells me her own dream: "I want the international community to help ask our politicians to bring us peace. I cannot go home until peace returns."
]]>
Having heard from Gabriel how vulnerable women are when collecting wood to use for the fire, I want to find out from Mukishimana how she feels doing this daily chore in the knowledge that there are dangers.
"If I go to fetch wood to use for heating or to sell I know that there are armed men out there and that I can get raped. As women we are scared. We don't know what we can do about it. I heard about one group of women who went out to gather wood, and they were chased by men with guns, who tried to rape them. One woman fell while trying to get away from them. She resisted and they broke her arm and tried to take her away. Fortunately, she managed to get back here with only a broken arm." I ponder upon the word 'fortunately': what has the world come to when someone is deemed lucky because they have 'only' had their arm broken?
I have already been told that people have little to protect themselves but I want to find out from Mukishimana how women go about trying to assure their own security. "To try and protect ourselves we go in numbers. We get widows and old women who do not have children to accompany us. As a mother, I am scared for my daughters; they sometimes go to work in the banana plantation nearby to get something to eat. I know it's not safe but for a whole day's work they get a banana, which gives them something at least. I worry that I will lose my strength and energy and that I'll no longer be able to look after my family."
I look over at Mukishimana's father, Sehene, about a metre away from me. The lines on his face tell a thousand stories. He asks if he can speak with me and of course I want to hear what he has to say. I go over to sit beside him and for a moment we look at one another and we both smile. The look on his face suddenly changes as he breaks the silence that for an instant seems to speak more than words.
"I have three daughters and three sons. My three sons were killed recently in the fighting. They were taken hostage first when they were trying to flee the violence. My wife died of illness this year - I'm a widower now. My sons' bodies should at least be sent home so that I can bury them, but I can't even go home myself, not until there is peace."
He tells me that this is all that he has to say. His words are few but they speak volumes for him and for so many other people who I have heard over the last few days have suffered a similar fate. As I leave, I too am speechless.
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"Oxfam and ASAF are going to install water tanks at various distribution points in the system so that people no longer have to resort to fetching untreated and unsafe water," says Ildefonse, Oxfam's water engineer.
He tells me that he and his team here have identified where people are using the system the most so that they can supplement the water system with water tanks. The tanks will ensure that there is a constant supply of water to cater for the increased demands made on the system by the newly arrived displaced communities.
"If these tanks were not put in, people would not be able to have the recommended minimum amount of clean drinking water per day, which is 15 litres per person," Ildefonse explains.
I learn that we are also training members of the community so that they can maintain the water systems themselves and take on ownership and management of their own water supply.
"The great thing about this project is that it helps both the local community and the people who have been displaced. When the displaced communities eventually return home, the community here will still feel the impact of the project so it meets the needs of everyone."
We step back in the car and go to an area where Ildefonse tells me that 90% of the people who use the water point are from the wave of newly displaced people. On arrival, I can immediately see that there are long queues of people waiting to fill up their jerry cans with clean water.
Gabriel, who lives among the settlement of internally displaced people, explains why additional water is needed: "Water is a big problem; you can see the queue at the entrance to the camp. People have to wait from 6 o'clock in the morning until mid-afternoon to get water, so some women end up going to the lake, which is unsafe."
Over the next few days, I will be following the construction of the water tanks that the Oxfam team will install here and in other designated places in the surrounding area.
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" We have no water or medicine . Most people here have to go and get water from the nearby lake, which is about 45 minutes away by foot. There are mothers here, delivering their children in this environment - we really need help. We want the international community and our government to bring us peace, if there was peace we would want to return home but until then we will have to stay here. Just look around you, this situation is deplorable."
A few metres away, I meet Devota and her family outside the shelter that she has managed to put together. She tells me of how she gets access to water, something which a lot of us take for granted when we turn the tap on in the morning. "I beg, and I wash clothes for other people in the city to try to get an income."
Devota has to balance her time between getting water and making a living so that she can feed her family, but it is not always possible to do the two in one day with now, a reduced family. "Some of my family have fled to Rwanda; during the displacement we lost some family members. My husband went over to Uganda and I am here with my three children " adds Devota.
" To get water, I have to go to the lake. Sometimes I buy water from other people. It is about 100 francs (10p). I need about 2 per day, that is 20p worth. On one day I use the little money that I get to buy water, and the next day I use what I have to buy food. "
This is all the more reason why Oxfam and ASAF are rehabilitating water systems close to the settlements. The average income here is 100 to 150 francs per day, 10 to 15p. Not only will the repaired water system reduce the amount of time that people need to fetch water thus freeing up time to do all that they can to get food but it will also reduce the dangers that people face when en route to get water from the lake. I hear throughout the day of people's fear of attacks when fetching water from Lake Kivu.
The rain gets stronger again. The irony strikes me; in spite of the abundance of water around us people still struggle to get access to safe drinking water, something that I am pleased Oxfam is going to address in the coming weeks.
As I take a closer look at what some people might now call home, I am astonished by the skill that has gone into making these temporary structures which are made of a long sticks covered with banana leaves. I ask myself is it because people in the northern Kivu have been forced out of their homes more than once - be it because of natural disaster or man-made conflict - that they have acquired these survival skills?
Now that I have left the settlement and I have reached the end of the long day, I am more than grateful to be back inside the sturdy brick walls of my temporary home, with colleagues, a hot meal and soft music. The settlement is only 15km away and in this moment it seems that our lives are miles apart - yet we all have the right to have our basic needs met and we all need clean water to live.
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