In the shadow of a volcano

At the breakfast table, our driver introduced us to a man who is in the tourism industry and is a good friend of his. The tour guide is also from the Congo originally, but now is trying to develop the tourism industry in the Gisenyi area to jumpstart the local economy. He has a fascinating new touring option that is now on my Life List of things to do: Hike/bike/boat over 270 km along Lake Kivu. The tour would include staying at 10 different base camps, one of which is an orphanage that is on its way to becoming the only self-sustaining orphanage in Rwanda. It would be an amazing adventure if I could get myself fit enough to do it!

Processing center near the border

The breakfast discussion somehow turned to relationship in the Congo and the flow of refugees across the border—actually, my professor and I keep bringing it up because it’s so interesting. Our new friend told us that just around the corner from the border where we were yesterday, there is a UNICEF processing area for incoming refugees, particularly women and children. We couldn’t come all this way and not see it, so he led us to the gated courtyard that served as a pre-preprocessing area before refugees would be taken to the local transit camp. The lot was empty, but it turns out that just last Sunday, around 5,000 people had come through this crossing. We met an older woman in that courtyard who, because she had hurt her leg, had lagged behind the others and was now waiting for UNHCR to come get her. It’s hard to describe the courtyard: empty, rocky, devoid of the neatly trimmed hedges and tropical flowers that define much of Rwanda’s other public landscapes. A young man who claimed to be the head of local immigration approached us. He didn’t have much to say in the way of Rwandan policy toward Congolese refugees except that his job was to ensure they all got to the transit camp. In general, despite the linguistic link to local people, the government’s policy seems to be to contain the situation as humanely as possible. Integration with the Rwandan community is possible—we have met so many Congolese people operating in various parts of Rwandan society—but it logistically impractical. Instead, they are bused to transit camps and then transferred to other camps where, much like those in Kiziba, they can expect to spend a very, very long time.

Looking toward the DRC – Photo by Dr. J

Well immersed in the border-crossing scene in Gisenyi, we trekked like field researchers to the “other, smaller border” where most people would do their daily crossings by foot. Unlike the other border that was lined with trucks and shipping containers awaiting clearance to move to the other side, this border was swarming with people carrying an array of daily staples into the Congo. According to our driver, allthose at this border crossing (both coming and going) were Congolese. They walk across into Rwanda to get goods and then walk back across to unload them. Our driver told us that when he lived just 1 km on the other side of the border, everything—including his daily water supply—came from the Rwandan side of the border. On that side, Congolese currency is useless. Everyone deals in U.S. currency as if it’s their own. Note, this is in contrast to the Rwandan side where US dollars are generally only acceptable in $100 denominations and printed on or after 2006. We heard this story over and over again over the course of the most recent days. From the calm, orderly side of the border it was almost a joke—but really, more like a testament to the chaos—that the Congolese had even abandoned their own currency.

Rwanda side- Photo by Dr. J

The Rwandan side of this smaller border didn’t seem small at all. In a display of it’s governmental and economic prowess, a beautiful, modern, new building houses immigration and proudly displays a giant sign on either side that designates “Arrival” and “Departure.” Masses of people walking toward the border merge into a single file line and hand over their IDs to be checked by the Rwandan police who mingle about without much of a fuss. People move toward the Congolese border laden with all kinds of things: cases of soda, buckets of cow heads, boxes of shovels, and telescoping bundles of cooking stoves. On the other side of the street, people quietly file back into the country through two sets of Rwandan police. The first checks IDs by the small guard station, the next (two women police) check to make sure nothing is being brought in. People calmly walk past the guards, tipping their buckets and opening their packs to demonstrate that nothing is being smuggled back in. Several officials wondering what we were doing there approached us. One police officer in particular stood by us and was relatively open to questioning. All the while snapping clandestine photos to remember this moment, we informed them we were just curious and not planning on crossing today (or any time soon!).

Goods go in, empty bins come out – Photo by Dr. J

The space between the Rwandan and DRC borders at this crossing is much smaller than the other. Rather than peeking between the trees to catch a glimpse of the DRC flag, we were a stone’s throw away from the flag, the people, and the city itself. Congolese soldiers wearing intimidating black berets barked orders at people crossing and other soldiers as they mingled about the orderly, calm Rwandan police. One young soldier walked up, snapped his heels and saluted before approaching is superior. The intensity of their border patrol served as a reminder that, though people may cross relatively freely, this frontier was nothing to take for granted. Despite this militant form of border policing, to the left of the post, some children leaned in through the gaping hole in the chain link fence. They were looking at their three friends, about four years old, playing in the dirt on the “Rwandan” side of the border. As with many land borders between countries (U.S./Mexico not included), the international border had little relevancy to the lives of those who live in the border region.

While the Rwandan side is not the pristine image of civilization that one finds in Kigali, the town looked downright well developed compared to its neighboring community in Goma. A clear no man’s land less than a quarter mile long gave the visual distinction between the two cities. Rwandan side: substantial houses made of mud and clay with matching shingled roofs and mansion-sized houses under construction rising up throughout the city. Congolese side: shacks of patched-together wood and corrugated metal leaning in different directions against the weight of poor construction, packed, chaotic dirt roads littered with volcanic rocks that bath the entire city in soot. The Rwandan immigration bureau: expansive paved park with parking lot, marble floors, large waiting rooms, clear signs marking in and out, and manicured gardens. The Congolese immigration bureau: a store front painted yellow amidst a line of tattered shops that stretched into the distance, a DRC flag, a door, a few windows. There is quite literally a heaven/hell or dark/light feel to that space. As we stood there, waves upon waves of people moved past us. Full soda bottles go in, empty ones come back out. Buckets of fresh vegetables in, empty buckets out. I am slowly coming to understand just how closely human security is woven into opportunity. Security in and of itself does not create the conditions for opportunity, but opportunity cannot exist without some measure of security. People are dying on the other side of the border because corruption and civil conflict disrupt any chances of eking out a living just to cover the basic necessities of life. They flee conflict and starvation to the security and order of the Rwandan border only to find themselves penned in camps that provide stability and personal security without any chance of opportunity.

Photo by Dr. J

On the way out of the border town of Gisenyi we passed by the refugee transit area for those fleeing the DRC into Rwanda. According to international conventions, refugee camps can be no closer than 150 km from the border. This camp, originally set up to help Rwandans returning after the genocide, has now been converted into an emergency processing center. Nearly 6,000 people await placement and transport to one of the camps along the border in Rwanda If they know someone in an already settled camp, they can be taken there as part of the priority placed on family reunification. Otherwise, they will be transferred to the new camp that is being built in the southern part of the country. The rain was pouring down, and the black volcanic earth below the camp pooled in muddy pits among the expanse of warehouse-sized tents. The director of the camp agreed to meet us for a short interview, and we learned that 88% of the camp is comprised of women and children and everyone can freely come and go into the community to get supplies (with what money??). The camp is only temporary, and as they get processed into the UN system, they will be transferred to the new refugee camp in the south. The placements have currently been stalled, however, because there are not enough houses available so the government must purchase more land around the camp, terrace the mountains and begin to build new shelters.

Again, today, the only question that continues to resurface again and again among the displaced Congolese I meet is, why can’t the international community help the Congo to become stable and safe for return? Ultimately, though the Rwandan camps are a model of order and security, no one wants to sit in voluntary prison for 20 years just waiting for the next WFP truck to deliver more corn, beans, salt and oil. Yum.