Latest from the camp

We've been spending more time in the camp lately and it's been a very eye opening experience for both of us. Last week we completed a fairly big project involving finding out why Rwandan refugees don't want to go home. The international community's position is that the country is safe for repatriation. The picture we got from interviewing camp residents was completely the opposite.

UNHCR headquarters in Geneva asked our office to go ahead with the task as a fairly routine exercise. We were told that high fives are generally doled out when any office succeeds in convincing people to go home and our bosses felt that Malawi shouldn't be left by the wayside. By the way, the decision to return is voluntary - at least until the country in question is so 'safe' that the world believes people who fled no longer require international protection. So Les and I spent the week before last randomly selecting 16 groups of 14 individuals, broken down by sex, age, ethnicity, and so on. Then we sat down for 3 days and listened to horror stories.

Some of you may know Rwanda for what it's most famous for - a genocide that by some estimates saw 1 million people killed with machetes and screwdrivers in just a few months. A rate significantly more terrifying than the WWII genocide. As is often the case, the problem was because ethic group A couldn't get along with ethnic group B. The Hutus began killing the minority Tutsis that held all the political and economic power in 1994. Kind of ludicrous when you learn that Hutus and Tutsis have been intermarrying for hundreds of years and the only reason the divisions still exist is because the German and Belgian colonial masters divided them up according to height and the length of their noses. Phrenology sounds only slightly less scientific. I digress. The Tutsis eventually took back the country after a civil war and millions of Hutus fled, hence our camp's existence.

So we're in the camp listening to these people's reasons for not wanting to return, and if half the stuff they claim is true, I really don't blame them. They're scared witless. Certain issues were raised repeatedly and I have no doubt that this was because these randomly selected individuals were coached by the community leadership. Nonetheless they're valid points. The first one is one that I was already aware of: 'Gacaca' or grassroots/community courts. The idea for setting these up was to promote reconciliation between Hutus and Tutsis and some of the people we spoke with acknowledged it was a great idea in theory. In practice, the courts have absolutely nothing to do with reconciliation, justice or even the rule of law. In practice, joe blow Tutsi can rock up to the village Gacaca and point a finger at joe schmoe Hutu and claim that he killed Mr. XYZ during the genocide. Sentences of 20+ years are routinely and summarily dispensed. By the way, if I seem flippant or sarcastic, it's because that's how I deal with my outrage.

After you're unfortunate enough to pass through this kangaroo court, you're sent to jail. In jail, torture is allegedly the order of the day. In vogue recently is where they put a plastic bag over your face and light it on fire, essentially melting your face off and horribly disfiguring you for life. My coworker Sebastien took a meeting with a guy who had red spots all over his face from where drops of molten plastic was dripped on him repeatedly. The wives of these men don't have it much better. A few people mentioned that when their partners came to bring them provisions, the guards raped them. One poor lady was carrying a baby on her back as African women do, which fell on its head when she was beaten. This should never, never happen.

Another injustice that I was totally oblivious to - which is strange because Rwanda was one of the countries I studied for my Masters thesis - is the 'Ibuka' or remembrance ceremony. I'm a bit hazy on the details (this was all done through a not so professional translator), but every April during this one week, Rwandans 'remember' the genocide. In practice this means that Hutus are forced to dig up the bones of dead Tutsis, then take them to the river to 'cleanse' (wash) them. God forbid that you drop one of the bones while washing them, because that's an offense akin to killing the person a second time, and you will be beaten to death. Only the losers of the war, the Hutus, are forced to perform this ritual.

Why else would Rwandans not want to return? Oh yes, because your former house is currently occupied by the people that killed your entire family. I heard far too many stories about people returning home to claim their property, only to have the police abduct them in the middle of the night and making them disappear for daring to seek justice. These clandestine abductions seemed to be the main fear. Don't think I need to belabour this point.

Several refugees have also claimed that the current president made a speech last year (Although I can find no record of it despite my google skillz) in which he promised his Tutsis brethren that he would wipe out the Hutus through attrition, e.g. the night time disappearances.

And although the Rwandan government has an official policy of providing returnees with support should they choose to come home, nobody we spoke with believed it exists.

I don't know what to believe. Perhaps the refugees we spoke with were exaggerating, maybe they were lying for some unknown purpose, maybe they were simply misinformed. Certainly some anecdotes or urban legends have been taken and been blown out of proportion. But undoubtedly there are still major problems, and I'd go so far as to say atrocities, ongoing in the country. What an eye opening experience - just another that makes me thankful to live in a safe country.

First days at camp

Three days on the job down, and they have been more than eye opening. On Monday Les and I 'rocked up' (my new fav term) to the Kang'ombe building, the tallest in Lilongwe, at about 12 stories. Being back at work after 6 months of doing 'nothing' is a strange adjustment for me, although it feels great to again have a bit of routine and structure, and of course a purpose. The day started around 8:15 by settling into 'our' new office (yes, i'm using a lot of single quotations - the frequency of things not being what they seem justifies it), which is actually an office we are borrowing while some guy is on holiday. Of course we were only told that after we completely rearranged his office.

Half of the agenda that morning involved trying to communicate with the office manager whose personality you might say is intriguing. Instead of creating our computer accounts the week before, which I mistakenly assumed would have been the logical thing to do, I was told that I needed some sort of form, that of course this individual didn't have, and the only way I could get it would be to bother the head of the mission (aka the top guy in the office, who recruited me.) Thankfully this gentleman is a great guy and didn't hesitate to email off the document to the secretary who then informed us that it was the wrong form. To make a long story shorter the rest of the interaction involved her arguing with the boss, proceeding to tell us that we now didn't actually need the form (which I asked her to repeat twice), later returning to our office to again ask for the form. Her other notable feats in the last few days include maintaing a 100% initial refusal rate to each of my requests, sending me through 5 different people to get the requisition form to borrow a laptop, ultimately producing the form when the boss forced her to, and disappearing for at least 50% of the day.

Around 11am on day one we headed to the Dzaleka refugee camp, which is about a 45 mins drive outside of the city. Things were pretty lively. People that weren't just hanging out were lined up for either food rations or identification cards. Being the only whites in the area, we got a lot of attention from the very friendly residents, all of it cheery and positive. What struck Lesley and I about the camp was its permanence. I went with an idea of plastic sheeting and tents and chaotic rushing about. Nope - none of that. The camp looks a lot like any other rural African village. Brick houses with thatched or metal roofs, a market with fresh fruit and vegetables, a hospital and a police station. And just about everyone is smiling! Although in a way this was a nice surprise, it paints a bit of a grim picture - there can only be this kind of permanence if the refugees are there for a damn long time. While some leave after a matter of weeks on their way to greener pastures, many we spoke with had been camp dwellers for 2, 4, 7 and even almost 20 years.

As we got to dig a bit deeper, however, we started hearing about unspeakable atrocities. The first gentleman we interviewed fled from Burundi after being persecuted because he refused to join a political party that was responsible for trying to exterminate an ethnic group. He was kidnapped and taken with 200 other prisoners from his home. While in transit, the soldier-kidnappers surrounded the group and opened fire, killing pretty much everyone. He escaped only by lying still for 3 hours until the coast was clear. Now in the refugee camp, he fears for his and his family's safety because he is among members of that same political party, and his wife is an ethnic Tutsi, the group the party was trying to exterminate. His wife was raped 3 weeks ago and Lesley and I were the first people he has told since then. She hasn't been to the doctor for an HIV test or the police to report the incident. Outrageously, there is a stigma associated with being raped that somehow translates into the community looking down on this woman, and even blaming her for what happened. Not to mention the police are corrupt. So what do you do?

We spoke with a woman who laughed and joked with us for a few minutes before telling us that her whole family was killed in the Congo. Yesterday we interviewed a man whose relatives were beheaded and who showed us the scar from where he was attacked with a bayonet. This morning had to make a stop so that the Red Cross guy in our truck could check up on one of his cases. Walking up to the house, we met a woman of about my age sitting on a blanket, with a baby and a 6 year old boy lying next to her. The woman made no eye contact with anyone but it's clear that she's given up hope. She is infected with HIV and now has tuberculosis. Her baby is not eating well because she can only have formula. Breast feeding is too dangerous if you're positive. Her son stared off into space and moved little as we were told that he was sick with malaria. He hasn't been to the hospital for treatment yet because his mother can't walk anymore. Their house is bare.

All I wanted to do was pick that kid up and take him to the hospital. But I was told by the Red Cross guy to forget it - he would call for a car to pick him up and take him in today. I didn't see him make the call. And besides, you can't take a kid into the hospital unless he's given a bath.

Heavy.

Ok, on a lighter note, today at the camp was an 'open day', which involved presentations to build awareness and education about rape, HIV/AIDS, hygiene, to give out awards, etc. It was all done on the very traditional African model with drums and dancing and some pretty hilarious skits, including African Jerry Springer. Les and I were given honourary seating and got to hit the microphone a few times and hand out some prizes (umbrellas, thermoses, shirts). Although we didn't get any interviews done today, which was our purpose for going to the camp, we did have about 1,000 people learn who we were and we're getting a pretty good orientation to how things work. So far we haven't done much that I would say is truly productive, except for maybe some filing back at the office, but we're learning quickly what the needs are and who to speak with about various problems the refugees have. I'm absolutely sure that in the next few days we'll be able to do something really meaningful. I'll speak about it then!