Discovering the Kivus - WOW!!!

For years I have been hearing the two names, Bukavu and Goma. Just like Rwanda, these places have been universally associated with the horrors of war-based pillaging and human atrocities. By last count at least 5 million people have died in the Kivu conflicts for which these two capitals in the northeast of the DRC have been the greatest flashpoints. ( For more on the wars, see Wikipedia – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Congo_War and for more specifically on sexual violence as a strategy of war see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual_violence_in_the_Democratic_Republic_of_the_Congo)
I finally had the opportunity to see these places first hand when as part of my work as Training Advisor for a US government sponsored program on good governance in DRC, we have planned a series of workshops on using information for advocacy, involving civil society organizations in 4 provinces, one of which is South Kivu, the province whose capital is Bukavu.
I am still trying to get my head around the persistent antagonism between these two “lands of 1000 hills” (RWANDA and Northeast DRC) as I have yet to read a coherent, truly enlightening analysis on the issues that feed a seemingly insatiable appetite for violence and destruction. I know that Nicholas Kristoff, the New York Times reporter has been writing a series of pieces from here. I have read one so far and look forward to reading the other pieces. After reading the first, I wrote him an e-mail requesting him to find a means of thoroughly educating those of us who are both near and far-flung from the center of this inexplicably terrifying conflict. I must say, Wikipedia does help.
While I do have a general sense of the source of the problem as the Rwandan genocide and the subsequent flight of the perpetrators into Congo to regroup, it is clear that there are many other factors, not least of which is the mineral and agricultural richness of this place. And from my point of view, both of those would pale in comparison to the tourist potential which features among other attractions, the stunning beauty of interlocking lakes at the foot of endless verdant hills and mountains, the Gorillas and other wildlife.
But what has become increasingly clear to me is that what perpetuates the conflict are the many stakeholders who have a strong interest in maintaining the status quo. And in that group, I would not leave out humanitarian agencies who receive funding for helping victims. Those of us who focus more on the larger issues which could contribute to ending the victimization in the first place get less support since we deal in abstractions – i.e. peace, democracy and governance. But our failure to achieve an end to this conflict with whatever means we have, suggests also that our approaches must need updating or perhaps a completely fundamental overhaul.
There were many firsts on this trip for me. Because of the frequent mishaps on Congolese airlines, they are no longer deemed safe and the vast majority of those who have means and/or authorization, fly the alternative aviation services provided by the various humanitarian agencies such as those offered by the large UN military operation – MONUC, or the UN Humanitarian Air Service UNHAS operated by the World Food Program (WFP).
Our logistics staff booked me on the UNHAS flight for Thursday the 18th of February. Our workshop was planned for the 19th and 20th. While the flight to Bukavu on UNHAS was direct, in order to return to Kinshasa by Monday, I was told I would have to take a boat from Bukavu to Goma as there was only a return flight from the latter which is the capital of North Kivu. I’ve seen pictures and films of overcrowded, unseaworthy passenger boats in the DRC and so this suggestion did not exactly fill me with positive anticipation.
Upon entering the airspace of Bukavu, signs of pillage and desperation are in clear evidence - from the white tops of rows of tents that make up overcrowded encampments of displaced persons to roads rendered nearly impassable by intentional destruction.
But that is the last paragraph in this blog installation that will sound like a typical news report coming from this part of the world!!! There are A LOT of positives to speak about!!!
What one is most struck by upon entering this place is the overwhelmingly breathtaking landscape where there is hardly a flat piece of land for miles and miles. Everywhere as far as the eye can see are rolling green “colines” the word for hill in French. Added to that is everything you’ve ever described as beautiful in a landscape, i.e. tall majestic trees that form wooded areas give way to the hills which play host to a variety of tropical plant life. They in turn give way to The Grand Lake Kivu, a lake such as I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. No wonder they call this place, the Great Lakes Region, which can easily rival ours!!! Lake Kivu is one of the few “exploding lakes” in the world rendered so by its proximity to the imposing Nyiragongo Volcano in Goma.
Against this backdrop, the resilient locals go about their daily business on the multiplicity of small motorcycles that I associate more with West Africa than Central Africa. These seem hardly suitable for the bumpy routes whose “bumps” rival some of the “colines” that travelers pass along the way, which perhaps explains the look of determination on the faces of some passengers simply to stay on the bikes.
The good news is that Chinese roadworks and road workers were in evidence on the route from the airport to the town of Bukavu, a journey which took just over an hour. The other good news is that the majority of roadworkers at least are still Congolese. As tragedy always has a silver-lining, this is no exception. Rebuilding always brings employment.
Like so many mineral rich towns in Africa, Bukavu has the look and feel of “Midwestern Goldrush,” but just against a backdrop of a dominating lake dotted by peninsulas and skirted by those endless colines. At once peace and prosperity are being pursued at a feverish pace. Perhaps only Dubai in its heyday rivals the pace of construction here and banners (“banderoles” as they are called in French) announcing all manner of seminars and marches for peace overlap each other in their competition for the attention of passersby.
Vantage points from which stunning views of the lake, hills and trees can be taken in are plentiful in the town and from its periphery. My hotel, Hotel Orchid’s was no exception. My room overlooked tropical gardens followed by the lake itself. The garden cascades down to the lake. Despite that, I never did get a chance to get to the beach.
My only problem with the Orchid’s was its lack of a smoking policy, no doubt attributable to the chain-smoking habit of the owner himself. Thus the poor local waiters and staff have to contend every night with the smoke-filled expat revelry. The combination of the European origin of the majority of them and the humanitarian nature of their work means that where they are involved, smoke-filled rooms are inevitable. There is something about adventure and danger that goes hand in hand with cigarettes. It seems all those Marlboro ads and the like paid off for tobacco companies. This work is essentially divided into two – there are the humanitarian workers – the cowboys and cowgirls who “rescue” folks and us the development workers – the ones who try to support the process of nation-building, economically (more Richard’s thing) and politically(more my thing). A preponderance of smokers is found in the former group. Of course, there are exceptions to all rules.
Our workshop was in a venue (a seminar room) once again overlooking the ever-present lake. Over 40 participants packed a long and narrow meeting hall and were thus seated around a long open rectangle. A fourth of the participants were women, some young, some older. Two of the three older women were quite confident and outspoken. But several of the younger women were also quite active.
All participants were eager for any knowledge that would assist them with holding a very inattentive government more accountable to public will and public needs. In my halting French, in my opening remarks, I talked about the need for civil society organizations to protect their credibility by promoting only verified, factual information, and effective advocacy can only be based on such information. Luckily our very able local facilitator who led the workshop was able to reinforce that message and keep the audience engaged for a highly participatory two days of exchange.
Behind all this were the victims of violence who I’ve heard about and who were talked about much during the course of the workshop but whom I never got to meet face to face. Although perhaps I did meet them and just didn’t know it. In Africa, victims of all sorts often wear their victimhood under a cloak of belying serenity and contentment. We recently engaged a former Minister of Gender Affairs as a gender expert and she confided to a colleague quite casually that she herself was a rape victim.
Throughout all, people still get married. The second day of the workshop was a Saturday and that apparently is the “grande jour de marriage.” I must have witnessed at least 4 different wedding motorcades on my way back to the hotel.
At break time of the workshop, I got the chance to cross the border into Rwanda. Now I know what a friend who had spent time on that side of the border was talking about when he raved about the beauty of those colines. Rwandese and Congolese alike were freely crossing the border. No signs of conflict – only commerce – mainly market women taking their goods across to sell in their country. The Rwandese take what they lack and the Congolese have in abundance and vice-versa. But both the topography and the people from both places appeared to me as one.
Early the next morning it was off to my feared boat ride where not only were my fears not realized but once again, I was awed by 2 hours of non-stop scenic grandeur occasionally dotted by villagers and fishermen just trying to make a living. I tried to capture some of the fishermen form themselves and their long arching fishing poles in a wonderfully artistic circle.
The charm of the boatride which was made on a 20 seater with indoor and outdoor seating was disturbed only when I had to chastise a local for throwing an empty plastic water bottle into the lake. "This is your country," I said, "and you need to protect it." Perhaps she did not speak French since all I got was a blank stare in return. But that moment spoke volumes about the cavernous distance between us. For her, this stunningly beautiful passage was just part of the place where she lives - a place to fish and make money but also to use as a dumping ground. Although I must hasten to add, had westerners discovered this place in the '50s, there would probably be a need to launch a massive lake clean-up right about now. The good news is that despite this small littering incident, the lake is still mostly pristine. But a major effort to educate all who engage with this lake on the need to protect it is desperately needed to keep it that way. And the cursed plastic bottle must be eliminated from the way of life of all of us on the planet!!!
I decided to come to Goma a day early so that I could get a chance to see the twin city of “horrors.” The city of Goma is the capital of North Kivu definitely the poorer of the two provinces. Its centerpiece is a that looming volcano that gives the city its ubiquitous black rock. There was nothing to do in Goma but look out onto the lake and write this blog. I made a brief sojourn into town and picked up some cheese for which Goma is famous. I bought it from one of the few cheese-makers who were working on a Sunday. The visit down an alley draped with laundry did not exactly match the images we conjure up when we imagine an excursion to a quaint cheese-making village in Europe with open pastures and happy cows donning heavy bells. But I was happy to find it nevertheless.
Back at the hotel, numerous locals come to enjoy the serenity of the lake. It looks like it’s a regular Sunday past-time. So too was the early morning jogging of a significant number of citizens of Bukavu –from the tiniest boys and girls to older people. That scene, I witnessed on my way to the port of Bukavu.
As with all places that the world sees as “no-go areas,” despite what everyone thinks -- life goes on – just like anywhere else. That is not to say that the 5 million who have lost their lives senselessly here are easily forgotten. They are not. Those of us who still live, Congolese and Internationals alike must use the memory of this tragedy as inspiration to ensure that the normalcy of life that I witnessed remains -forever!!