On the evening of September 28, 2011, I had been invited to the home of friends to hear a presentation by Chouchou Namegabe, a Congolese activist, radio journalist, and founder and director of the organization, South Kivu Association of Woman Journalists.  They were hosting a group of friends, neighbors and colleagues to raise awareness about the sexual violence against women in Congo.

I had dressed for the evening and was ready to walk out the door, when I was stopped by my 12-year-old son. “Mom, you can’t wear that shirt out in public.” I had chosen a perfectly lovely lace top that my son thought was too revealing. I was amused, since he had never commented on my clothes before. Smiling, I replied, “I’m wearing a jacket, and besides, I always dress like this.” “Well, you shouldn’t. It’s embarrassing,” was his final verdict. I smiled again and, even though he was staying home and would not be publicly embarrassed by my fashion choice, I went in and changed to something more conservative.

An hour later I sat in my friends’ living room while Chouchou presented the stories she had collected from the victims of sexual violence.  There were audible gasps and visible tears from the people gathered, many of whom were hearing these stories for the first time.  For me, having heard so many stories before, and having sat with women in Heal Africa hospital in Congo, I thought I was more prepared than the others to take in what was being shared.  Then Chouchou told a story that broke my heart open again.  She told of a young boy who was forced to witness, then participate in, the brutal rape of his mother.

I immediately recalled the earlier scene with my own son. Our innocent exchange was prompted by his burgeoning sense of his own sexuality and his sense of my role as his mother. I could not help but contrast that with the image now etched on my heart of a mother and son whose relationship with each other, and their sense of self, was forever shattered by a brutal act of violence.

In that moment, I was able to personalize the violence in a way that I had not done to that point. I understand that I have no right to ask that the world be a safe, good place for me and my family unless I am doing everything in my power to make sure the world is a safe and good place for every mother and every family.

We know that humanity was birthed originally in Africa. Now, the wombs of Africa’s women are being destroyed physically. I believe if we are to birth a new vision for humanity, we must begin by healing the wombs and women of Africa. It is when we connect in empathy and deep compassion that we gain the strength to act in the world with great courage, capable of making profound, lasting change.

United Nations International Council for Rural Women:  Celebration Day

We were delighted to be able to attend Celebration Day while we were there.  It was a big event, and our group even ended up on Rwandan TV the next day as we watched from the crowd.  Among highlights were six women who were honored for establishing a source of income this past year, who had opened their own bank accounts! And, we were able to meet disabled Rwandan armed forces veterans, who were just now able to have water at their government sponsored housing.

Women for Women International

One of the highlights of our trip was for Norma Loeb and Kathleen Casserly to meet the women that they each sponsor through the agency Women for Women International, that helps women survivors of war to rebuild their lives.   After traveling down a dirt road in a rural area, we came to a gathering of a couple of hundred women, and many children.  These were the local women who were there to attend their regular classes through the agency.  The actual meeting of sponsor and sponsored was tearful, emotional, powerful.  A short time later we invited all of the women to hold hands as we began to form a huge circle.  One of the Rwandan women immediately broke into spirited song, and before we knew it everyone was singing and dancing.  One by one, the Rwandan ladies pulled each of us into the middle of the circle to dance with them – an amazing community experience of ‘sisters’.  Later, as we said goodbye, many women expressed emotional thanks that people in other lands who never met them cared so much.  A few women were tearful as they told us how life-changing their program has been.

Saying Goodbye for Now

We joked as we drove and walked through Rwanda, Africa’s most densely populated country, that we had seen most of the 9.7 million people before we left.  It seemed as if everyone was walking, moving, carrying loads of fruits or straw, or pushing a heavily laden bicycle up a hill.

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Imbabazi Orphanage

One day, we drove up into the foothills of the Virunga Volcanoes, over 7 miles of muddy dirt road to the Imbabazi Orphanage, which has provided a home for over 400 children.  It was founded by an American woman from New Jersey named Roz Carr after the genocide, as she opened her heart and provided housing on her flower plantation.  We had a tour of the working plantation, with its amazing beauty and fragrance.  We had brought a monetary donation as well as toys, dental kits, school supplies, soccer balls and brand new fleeces for the children.  We spoke with some of the older children as they peeled tubs of potatoes.  One young woman showed us the beautiful skirt that another ‘sister’ at the orphanage had made for her, and all the other girls at the home.  One young man spoke to us about his hope of becoming a physician.  And boy with a huge smile shared that he was a musician with talent.  When asked what instrument he played, he proudly crowed, “I sing!!”

Eileen Ilardo questioned about dental care of the children, and found out that most or all of the children had never seen a dentist.  When back in Kigali, Vianney, one of our hosts who had opened his home to us, arranged for us to meet with his dentist friend Longin Rudasingwa, a former soccer player who even showed us some good moves with a a soccer ball before we left his dental office.  If we could get the children to his office in Kigali, he would provide their dental care for free.  One girl with a bad toothache would be among the first to get treatment.

Heal Africa

Crossing the border into the DRC had given us quite a bit of trepidation before our visit to the Heal Africa Hospital, which is located in Goma, DRC.  We had a chance to experience a small glimpse of what it might be like to live in an area of the world where lawlessness and atrocity are plentiful… and help is not on the way.  The trip was made easier through Marie’s friend, who had a friend Maggie, who happened to live in the Congo and was married to a diplomat.  She paved the way and accompanied us through the border crossing.  Heal Africa provides free medical and psychosocial help to survivors of gender based violence.  Hospital staff met with us for quite awhile, explaining the basics of the horror and the hope that brings “only the worst cases’ to this special place.  Virginie Mumbere, Public Relations Officer, explained about general problems causing poverty and illness…though the country is mineral rich, ‘the people do not benefit from the wealth’ which currently goes to the military and ‘war lords’.  We talked about our hopes for the outcome of Section 1502 of the Dodd-Frank Act, the US financial reform bill passed in July 2010, that will require companies to report where they are buying their minerals…enabling the caring public to cut off access to funds much as the funds for ‘blood diamonds’ were cut off in the past.

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We didn’t really plan a trip to Rwanda so much as we were drawn there through the love of our friend Marie Ukeye.  Little by little, over the course of one long day a couple of years ago, Marie had shared with us her unfathomable story of living in Kigali during the 1994 genocide against Tutsis and moderate Hutus, and it became part of our story too.  The images we knew from the media depicting the genocide that took 800,000 lives in three months were shocking and repellant.  And yet Marie’s eyes twinkled when she spoke about ‘my beautiful country.”  It made no sense, but we wanted to help.  And soon 7 of us were flying the 17 hour trip from New York to what Rwandans call “the heart of Africa.”

Rwanda is a country where literally everyone has been touched by the years of war and genocide- the inconceivable losses- even if they had not been there at the time, even if they had not been yet been born.  Arriving at the airport in Kigali, t was not surprising that we felt this also.  Marie had laughed when we asked before we left NYC, about getting a ride from the airport when we arrived– she was not exaggerating when she said that ‘all’ of her family would be there.  There were many cars filled with people waiting to hug us, who welcomed us into their homes as family for two weeks.

We had a full schedule planned, and much of our time was spent driving over bumpy dirt roads for many hours to reach a destination.  We also spent warm ‘family time’ with Marie’s relatives and friends, who never seemed to tire of our endless questions, whether conversing directly, or through a translator who knew both Kinyarwanda and English. French was also spoken by some, and Priscilla Hernandez recovered long dormant capabilities with that language.  Marie’s extended family gave us quite a perspective…a government statistician working on the country’s demographics, a pediatrician, an architect, a petroleum executive, a contractor, and university students were among the many people sharing both the problems, and the pride of just how far their country had come in the past 16 years.

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