Imani* tightly embraces her younger Congolese sister. Their tears of angst and joy reuniting their shattered sisterly bonds. Their despair of more than a decade of forced separation gradually gives way to hope, to life. In fear of losing each other again, the sisters clutch on to each other, weeping incessantly.
Their pain and happiness permeates the sombre ambience of the Chinyabuguma group of refugees and migrants from Kivu in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). Memories of loss of loved ones aroused: the collective pathos of the DRC diaspora sombrely infuses the sweltering January 2016 summer day in Maitland, Cape Town.
Last week, Imani recalled this magical moment with her sister. We are in a meeting room at the Scalabrini Centre for refugees and migrants in the Cape Town city centre. With her limited English, Imani relives her life’s journey.
Burning tears bravely denied during the interview stream down her dark skin. I reach out to comfort her, gently holding her hand. I feel the tremor searing through her body. I am stunned at the power of the dreadful experiences tormenting the 39-year-old mother-of-six children.
This is her story; a story of love and hatred, of despair and hope, of vulnerability and resilience.
Hate has no bounds – across time and space.
“Life was good. We were living in peace in Katindo in Goma, North Kivu (eastern DRC). I lived with my parents and my sister. When I was in Grade 11 I left school. My parents had no money for my schooling. I married. I was 17 years old. My husband was a driver. I started a small restaurant.
“Then the trouble started. Laurent Kabila wanted to become president. His soldiers were killing people and raping women.”
Regarded as the deadliest conflict since World War II, the war in DRC is estimated to have claimed over five million lives between 1998 and 2003, either as direct casualties of war or due to famine, disease and starvation. Over two million Congolese were displaced. Several million women and girls were raped.
I watch Imani fighting back her tears of sorrow – her eyes crimson, horrific scenes of bloodshed in Kivu flash through her tortured mind.
“When trouble comes, life becomes difficult. I have to leave my home with my three children. We run, run, run. The soldiers steal everything, they kill. We go to Bukavu. Then soldiers come there, we then go to Uvira. Other trouble comes from the Interahamwes (the Rwandese Hutu militia who played a major role in the Rwandan genocide of 1994). They rape, kill, rob. We go back to Katindo.”
Nine African countries were involved in the fighting in Congo. After the tenuous peace deal in 2002, these African armies withdrew, however, with major parts of the eastern DRC (bordering Rwanda) in the control of rebel groups.
“In 2004, Loran Nkunda’s (former general in the DRC army) rebels came to Goma. They kill many people, rape women. Rwanda soldiers come to Goma. There was conflict between Rwanda and Congo. For many years we live peacefully in Goma with Rwandese. My mother was a Tutsi from Rwanda. My father Congolese. The Congolese start to kill Tutsis in Goma.”
Imani pauses, moving her gaze away from me, and stares across the room. Her heavy breathing punctuates the silence. Still staring into the distant Kivu landscape of human brutality, her forlorn voice quivering.
“They break down the door of our home, shouting at my mother: 'You are Rwandese, kill her, kill her'. They kill my mother. My sister run away. I don’t know where she went. For many years I think she is dead.”
Together with her husband and children, Imani flees to Bukavu, then after some time returns to Goma. They are displaced again by the hostilities, so they move to the northern town of Rutshuru.
Hostilities in the DRC continued after yet another peace agreement signed in 2012.
Then in 2013, tragedy returns to Imani’s family: “They (rebels) took my husband away. Then they took my 15-year-old son. I don’t know who took them. There were many groups fighting.
“Someone found my son half-dead on the side of the road. The rebels beat him, they beat him. He could not carry the heavy weapons and other things. Someone brought him to me. I still don’t know what happened to my husband, if they killed him.”
According to the United Nations, the Kivu conflict displaced over two million civilians, calling it a "humanitarian crisis of catastrophic dimensions".
In 2014, Imani resolved that the only way to protect her six children was to leave the DRC. She sold her few belongings and, with support from a church, the desperate family set off to a refugee camp in Zimbabwe on a container in a truck.
During the night, they slept in the hot and stuffy container.
On a sweltering day in March 2014, unkown to them, they cross the Beit Bridge border post into South Africa. The container was not inspected by border officials.
After two weeks of travel across southern Africa, the fatigued family arrive at a church in Musina, a border town. Here they receive food and shelter.
Imani had mixed feelings: respite to be in a country that was not at war, and distress about their future in a new and strange place. She was directed to the Department of Home Affairs (DHA) in Musina.
Just when she thought she had left her troubles in the distant killing fields of Kivu, her battles with DHA officials were about to start. The weary mother, with few English words, related her harowing story to the DHA officials.
“They didn’t believe me. They tell me I am lying. That there is no Mai Mai fighters in my area. We use 'Mai Mai' to refer to the many groups fighting.
“They gave me an appeal form. I didn’t know what to do with it. I was told to go to a lawyer. I was refused asylum for work and study for me and my children. I had a bad experience. My heart was sore.”
Imani then decided to travel to Cape Town as her sister was sighted here. After many months of searching for the last member of her first family, her hope fades.
The distraught sojourner visits the DHA office in Cape Town to renew her temporary permit after three months. “I was told to go back to Musina with my children to renew the papers. I plead with them to check on the computer for my papers. I explain I have no job, no husband, no money to go to Musina. They chase me away. Don’t want to hear my story. They treat me very badly.”
With money from a church pastor, the mother and six children make the 1 925km journey in the back of truck to Musina over four days. Bus fares were beyond their means. They receive a three-month extension from the DHA in Musina and return to Cape Town. Refugee status is denied.
Imani laments: “It was very painful. They don’t like us in this country. Why don’t they like us? Not a better country for us to stay here. When the people from Rwanda came to our country we gave them refugee papers, food, camps – we helped them. We show them pity and compassion. But South Africa does not help. They don’t talk to us nicely.
“We are not secure here. Many robbers. One day I was beaten badly by thieves in Langa. They took my bag. I am still recovering from the injuries to my back and abdomen. My son was also attacked. My children are not happy here.”
She is grateful for the support and training received from the Scalabrini Centre, which has led to her finding jobs in the city.
Six months after reuniting with her sister in Maitland earlier this year, Imani once more felt the throes of separation. The United Nation Refugee Agency (UNHCR) assisted her sister and her nephew to emigrate to Canada.
“I was so happy to meet my sister again. I didn’t know she was alive. Now I just find her and she left me again. I wish one day I see her again.”
Her sister, who narrated a similar story to the DHA, had received refugee status three months after arriving in South Africa.
North and South Kivu remains volatile today. Civilians live in fear of violence, rape and death. Imani is fearful of returning to Goma: “They will kill me, like my mum. I am half Rwandese Tutsi”.
After two-and-a-half years in South Africa, Imani and her children continue to be denied refugee status.
Love is boundless. And so is hatred.
*In fear of victimisation and her safety, Imani’s real name has been withheld.