There are two kinds of vomit-evoking sensations that can happen in a car. First, looking down into the ravine below with just a few pieces of grass standing between me and death, clinging to a nylon seatbelt as if it could save me as our ancient SUV squeaked along an unpaved, and very hole-y road, I realized what I’ve always known deep down- I’m afraid of heights. Second, bouncing along this winding road, narrowly dodging cows, goats, and women balancing enormous loads on their heads, I remembered how sensitive I am to motion sickness. Eeek.
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| View of Camp from above- Courtesy of J. Fish |
So, this morning we made the hour long drive (only an hour because of the road conditions) to the refugee camps nearby that houses Congolese people seeking refuge from the violence just on the other side of the border. It’s been in place since 1996, so everyone in that camp has been living there for ages with no end in sight. We got a great look at the village from above as we wound around the mountains toward the entrance- over 19,000 people call this village “home.” It turns out our contact misunderstood where we were meeting, and he’d gone to the hotel to pick us up. We waited at the thing rope that bars any cars from moving forward into the refugee camp as the man in the UNHCR tarp lean-to scribbled our driver’s information into a tattered book. Finally, they allowed us through and we made our way to the “office” of the camp.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Whatever it was I thought it would be – it was not that. We spent at least an hour in this tiny dark permanently temporary shack that housed the official refugee camp leadership. With a wooden table, two wooden chairs, and flimsy benches all around, we sat and hashed out the do’s and don’ts of visiting their camp. Our driver, in Kinyarwanda translated into French and then from French to English by our professor, negotiated that we could take pictures but no film and that nothing was to end up on the news.
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| Potty hallway- courtesy of J. Fish |
First, the potty break. The desperation of having to tinkle made me willing to brave anything…and anything I got! So, in this building that looked like an abandoned horse stable too low to stand upright in, we entered and let our eyes adjust. It was covered, on the inside, with cobwebs…and…well…I’ll leave the rest to your imagination. It was awful. I will say that. But, not the worst I’ve been in- though that’s not saying much.
We toured (with the entire camp elected leadership in tow) the market and a local school. The people here, in contrast to the last market experience I posted, seem to truly enjoy getting their pictures taken. A tiny tiny toddler covered in dirt ran over to me with her arms out-stretched. I picked her up and her mom laughed hysterically– far more pleasant an experience than an old man grabbing my arm! We were followed around all day by children, mainly tiny ones around 2 or so, and sometimes by school-aged kids in uniforms. It’s very noticeable the difference in parenting styles– though I suppose there’s not as much to worry about when you’re caged in like that. We spoke at length with the principal of the school about their needs and struggles. We also visited the local hospital- though I won’t try to pretend like I was even remotely academic at that point- I could barely keep my eyes open I was so exhausted.
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| Housing picture- courtesy of J. Fish |
The houses in the camp are definitely not top quality– the storage facilities for food are completely empty and they’ve yet to receive soap to distribute to the population since they ran out last. The roofs, which look to be metal from a distance, are actually plastic UNHCR tarps. The doors are made of flattened metal USAID containers that used to hold oil. The rations for the camp are very, very meager. Oddly though, the surrounding villages live much worse than those in the camp. In fact, recently, the camp opened it medical facilities to those outside because there was a bit of tension developing over the lack of services available to nearby Rwandan citizens. We learned today that these refugees have all been here so long, they’re eligible for Rwandan citizenship, but they all want to return to the Congo, so they prefer to stay in limbo waiting for the day when they can go back home. Despite all the poverty and temporary-ness in the camp, there didn’t seem to be any bad feelings. People weren’t moping about, depressed by their lot in life. They were spirited and friendly- open to interacting with the muzungus (foreigners). The market was small, but flourishing; the school was ill-equiped, but full of bright-eyed students. Somehow, there seemed to be an ordered harmony in all the chaos.
Tomorrow will be another full day at the camp. We’re hoping to sit down with some students and talk to them (in English because they’re supposed to be practicing) about their hopes for the future.