DRC: Notes from a Young American in Congo: Rape Continues (Opinion)

A recent graduate from Colorado College in Colorado Springs, Amy was volunteering as a rape crisis counselor in Chicago when she learned about the alarming levels of sexual violence in Congo. When Amy told family and friends that she wanted to relocate to the Democratic Republic of Congo, her cousin gave her the email address of Father Charles, a Catholic priest from the war-torn province of North Kivu. Father Charles found housing for her with the Crosiers, an order of monks and priests, and also introduced her to Maman Marie Nzoli, who works with victims of the ongoing war, especially rape victims. As a guest blogger, Amy will write about her work with Nzoli in North Kivu and her experiences in Congo in general. More of Amy's stories and photography can be found on her blog.

“C'est ca,” as everyone says here. That's how it is.

When the 20 year-old woman sitting in front of me tells me her story, what I notice most are the frills on her white shirt. “It was seven soldiers who kept me in the forest for four days and raped me,” she says.

Her name is Joan. As she tells me what happened, she says the words without looking at me, and I can see that she is working hard not to cry. Joan explains that she was with three “mothers,” during those four days. She was 17 at the time, and now has a three year-old son. Her nostrils flare, and she stares at the ceiling as she answers my questions. Asking how many soldiers is a question I despise, but having interviewed several girls before Joan, I know the question is necessary.

Her story is not new to me. I'm doing “identification” for COPERMA, a small Congolese organization trying to help the multiplying victims of violence, including rape, in North Kivu, a province along Lake Kivu in Eastern Congo. As the soldiers move through the region, they leave thousands without homes, without food, and many people, regardless of age or sex, with the horror of rape in their minds. “The soldiers shot my father and stole all of our things,” Joan continues.

Before I came to North Kivu, the words “6 million killed” and “rape as a weapon of war” were hard to connect to for more than a flaring moment of emotion. As I sit in the dark, concrete office in a village near Butembo, a city in North Kivu, and speak to Joan, I am overwhelmed by what those words actually mean. Simple things like bathing her son bring back vivid memories of what happened; he is a product of those four days, and thus a constant reminder of the horror. “I'm always afraid,” she says.

After I speak with Joan, the next in line enters to be “identified.” The Congolese organization helps many victims of the war, not restricted to survivors of sexual violence. I am trying to help them organize the victims and the needs. The line seems to have no end. Each girl gets younger. Each girl's story, worse than the one before.

Charline was raped by a civilian as she fled the soldiers at age 14. Patience was raped by a soldier at age 12. Masika was able to hide in the bush. Also 12, she watched as soldiers shot both of her parents and raped all of the girls she was with. She is small, soft-spoken and looks a bit like a very pretty boy. “I miss my parents,” she says softly.

Congo seems to me like a fad in the developed world. Everyone cares and feels for the people of Congo, yet there is nothing here and nothing changes. Organizations don't travel outside of Goma or Bukavu, where there are some basic services for survivors. All of the work is damage control, and doesn't extend past those two cities.

Most of the girls I speak with haven't had access to medical treatment after the rapes. Women are raped in their fields, because just as people work in offices in the States, Congolese women farm to feed their families and send their children to school. Farming is an occupation; once a woman loses her field she has no way of feeding her children. It becomes, as a Congolese friend said, physical rape and material rape.

The problem is deep; the roots grow from many directions. And as the world allows it to continue, the effects are spreading. It's not always soldiers who rape; more and more I hear stories with civilians as perpetrators. As Congo's vibrant culture is mercilessly debased by war, a generation of youth is learning that violence is an acceptable reaction to or escape from poverty and powerlessness. I do not excuse the actions of the men and boys who commit the horrific crimes, but they too are victims of a war with no direction.

It isn't urgent because of the atrocities that have already happened, but because they are still happening at a ferocious rate. In the North Kivu conflict zone rape has become normal; Joan's story is heart-breaking but not original. What frightens me most is the resignation with which Joan and the other girls speak about their experiences; their knowledge that there's nothing they can do to change it. The world outside keeps moving and the girls of Congo simply try to get by. I ask Masika how she is healing after the things she has seen.

“I have come to know that this is how it is,” she says. C'est ca.