by Heather Fortuna
A few weeks ago I was sitting at a table near a swimming pool eating dinner at a newly built and very nice hotel in Kigali, Rwanda. Sylvia, the photographer my work had hired to take pictures of women in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), was retelling her experiences in jest to me and two of our directors.
She joked about the soldier that accompanied her to take pictures, the guard dog that accidentally ripped her shirt, the barbed wire around the house, and the armed men on the streets. I joked back with her about hearing gun shots in the background, thinking she would deny my claim, but she didn’t. Instead, she elaborated by talking about the people she saw that had no hands. “I called my son and he told me I probably shouldn’t visit places where people have no hands” she laughed. I had a hard time really appreciating the humor. What I realize now is that using humor was her way of dealing with the very difficult reality she had just experienced. To laugh about it was her healing and processing mechanism. But it wasn’t for me. For the first time since I arrived in Rwanda five days before, I became concerned. Although I had heard and read about the situation in the DRC, and about the violent rapes of the women that participate in our programs, I knew the reality they had experienced last year as another war broke out was no longer the reality at the moment. Technically, the eastern region was still a war zone but the war had erupted and ended in a few months. I’d been to post-conflict countries in Africa before without experiencing any difficulty, but Sylvia’s stories caused me to question the place I was about to enter along with my own decision to go.
However, my work had flown me halfway around the world to assist in our program operations and I felt a need to be there so the next day I piled into our SUV and began the 6 hour drive north into one of Africa’s largest countries. About half way through the drive I noticed our driver switch tapes of music as the road entered a dense forest. “He always puts in church music when we enter the forest,” Judithe, our DRC Country Director, filled me in. I didn’t ask questions but just nodded my head. I’d heard stories about the rebel groups who lived in the forests because there were women in our programs who had been abducted by them for months at a time. Their stories seemed much more real to me now as I sat in the front seat swaying back and forth with the motions of the SUV on the windy road, staring out the window into the wide expanse of trees. An hour later, my thoughts were interrupted as our driver switched tapes back to his dubbed copy of Michael Jackson’s greatest hits and people began to appear on the side streets again. We had reached the border. Upon arrival, I didn’t hear any gun shots and I saw no armed military troops, just a guard here and there which was normal. At the house where I was staying, the guard dog was well behaved and, although I saw the barbed wire and shards of glass atop the fence to discourage intruders, I felt things had been clearly exaggerated and was relieved. “This is no big deal,” I chuckled to myself, “I saw more corrupt soldiers with their sawed off shot guns in Nigeria.” But what I came to realize was that the void of armed militias and gun shots began to be filled with the cruel reality that comes with the aftermath of war; a reality I had never really seen before.
A few days later, after traveling again to the office on the same very unpaved road, I saw a woman sitting on our tattered couch in the front office with her arms folded. I didn’t see her hands but thought nothing of it as surely they were tucked beneath. I walked past her and upstairs to talk to Judithe who asked me if I’d seen the woman whose hands had been cut off by her attackers. She was in the process of helping her with some questions and began to tell me a little of her story. “Her husband wanted to leave her but the priest told him not to so he stayed.” As I walked back downstairs I casually glanced over at her and smiled but didn’t want to stare. I sat down at my laptop again but soon found my eyes welling up with tears as I thought about her life and the stigmas she faced as a woman in a very poor community who could not care for her family without help. I also thought of the many things I take for granted in being able to use my own hands: brushing my teeth, picking up my bag, typing a report. What would I do if I had no hands? In human rights work, empathy can be a dangerous thing because it can induce second hand trauma. Although seeing this woman would not necessarily cause this, I know of two people who have experienced this debilitating situation in their plight to really understand the many women we work with, and have become emotionally incapacitated for periods of time. It is as if another person’s reality becomes your own and in the DRC this means you live someone else’s nightmare. Because of this, I have distanced myself at times from these issues, despite my deep concern over them. Last year it took me a few days to read through a ten-page trip report from our founder describing the situation of these women. Every time I picked it up my stomach would turn and tears would form, but I could also look up from the report out my office window, take a walk outside, or talk with my colleagues who would quickly lift me out of these women’s daunting stories through a simple conversation. I lived a different reality.
The same day I saw this woman, I walked outside into our adjacent office to talk with a few more staff. On my way there I met Nabito, a widow with 14 children who was attacked by the Interahamwe. She was raped so many times by different men consecutively that she became unconscious. Her attackers finally left but not without cutting her bloated stomach with a knife and breaking her right arm in two different places. They also shot one of her sons in the leg because he refused to rape her or hold her down at their request. I had heard Nabito’s story several times and had seen her picture but didn’t recognize her at first. When the staff pointed out whom she was, I felt like I was meeting someone I already knew and so I gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so happy to finally meet you!” I told her. She looked at me and then showed me her arm that had healed poorly, leaving her hand flopping around. The expression on her face said to me, “What do I do with this?” What does she do? Women who experience these attacks are often shunned in their communities because they are viewed as unclean. Not only do they face severe emotional and physical distress but their support networks are also destroyed. In these types of situations I frequently reflect upon how the gospel would affect their lives. But, it first has to be able to. When a woman is not only poor which means she often lives with hunger, but is also emotionally, psychologically and physically traumatized, it’s hard for her to grasp onto anything beyond immediate physical relief in the form of food, medical help, or counseling. Eventually, some are able to move beyond what they have experienced. “Tell my story to others,” said Nabito, “but just don’t tell my neighbors.” Many, however, remain in a state of numbness in order to endure another day. They have been robbed of their spirits; their eyes are empty and their faces are expressionless. The gospel therefore cannot reach them until they receive other forms of assistance but once they do, they can start to rebuild their lives and reclaim their former selves.
I feel like I have seen an incredibly dark side of humanity which is very different from the bubble I live in, in Washington, DC filled with many friends and a very supportive gospel network. Such darkness is not something I wish to dwell on but it is there. Knowing this only helps me to better realize how many blessings so many of us have that we often take for granted — a stable government, a well trained police force, food, security — all things that create an environment in which we can truly live what we know to be true. To me, this now defines privilege, opportunity, and responsibility in a way it never has before.
Heather Fortuna lives in Washington, DC and works for an organization called Women for Women International but also goes to school in Boston. Figure that one out 🙂 Served a mission in Quebec and currently teaches Institute in Northern Virginia.
Thank you. It is so important to be aware of things like this. Reading about these women can only give a tiny glimpse into their lives, but many of us don’t even do that.
I am speechless with emotion. God bless you, Heather, I will pray for you and your organization.
What can you tell us about Women for Women? How can we help?
Heather,
Thankyou for posting, I don’t think enough attention can be brought to the Congo. I would also like to add, as a sidenote, for those who do not know it that children are currently enlisted in some of these rebel forces as young as 8-10 years old. The “leaders” train and arm the children and then hop them up on hard drugs and alcohol and set them lose. They become as animals and rape, pillage, and kill as effectivly as any adult. I pray that the United Nations sends in more peacekeeping troops and that the efforts continue. This is a dark part of the world with terrible things happening to wonderful people. May God bless these efforts and the people that further them. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Heather.
It is almost beyond belief that such atrocities can be so commonplace. And then you have people like Jimmy Carter saying of the likes of Charles Taylor that “he is shrewd, competent, a good politician, and is eager to be accepted as legitimate and responsible by the international community and especially by the United States.” Something has got to be done, and from the sound of it, you’re doing something.
Julie, they have a very informative website. It certainly is something worth being involved in!
Heather, thanks so much for sharing that, and for devoting much of your life to help people who really, really, really need help from all of us. I wish that more of us were like you and devoted time, resources, and emotional investment to the problems of all the miserable people in this world. I believe the reason we don’t do more for suffering people is that we aren’t exposed to these suffering people enough. We need to begin talking about the plight of suffering people and what we can do to alleviate their pain. We need to put away any selfish, insignificant fears of seeming self-righteous, pretentious, hypocritical, overly-ambitious, etc. We need to incite each other to action by sharing more of these stories and encouraging people to become involved. Most people would respond if they saw their neighbor being raped or murdered or orphaned. We just need to expose each other to the atrocious suffering of people more, and that will happen through discussion, article links, success stories, etc. Thanks again. God Bless.
Good point, Sharkman. “Lord, who is my neighbor?”
That is an absolutley apalling situation and it breaks my heart and get’s my gorge up at the same time.
Sharkman,
I agree with you that many of us are ignorant, and that we need to be more aware. But, and Heather I hope you can help me with this–what can we do? I would gladly do what I could to help these people–but I feel frustrated at my lack of ability to do so–I can’t leave my family to go over there, I don’t have extra money, etc. I want to alleviate suffering but feel somewhat helpless. Can you tell us something productive we can do to help? In addition to praying–which I shall earnestly be doing.
Braden, obviously all of us have different capacities to offer to these problems; from being able to give gobs of money, legislative effort, and on-sight help, down to sacrificing one of our favorite t.v. shows and using that one hour a week to write letters about a some social problem to influential people or volunteering at the homeless shelter. And while most of us do have money to donate, I think we all at least have some time to devote. This thought leads me to another thought.
All suffering is not equal (the orphaned, starving Sudanese child probably presumably suffers more than the man in the local homeless shelter), but our ability to help one cause might not be equal to our ability to help an alternative cause (you might be able to do more for the man in the local homeless shelter near you than for the Sudanese child). Therefore, i think we should try our very hardest to help those who are suffering the most (Sudanese child), but not allow over-ambition and frustration with logistical difficulty freeze us into complete inaction. If you simply are not in a position to help the Sudanese child, use your energy to help the local homeless/geriatric/mental patient.
But if we are committed and creative, we are all in positions to come up with something to do for the worst sufferers in the world. If you trace any idea/institution down to its most minute beginning, they all began with one person. The Red Cross, World Bank, Democracy (arbitirary examples, but I’m tired); all these things began because someone was committed to something and made some effort toward it. We can make a huge difference if we really, really try. Our actions might directly help many people or they might very indirectly, but significantly, incite the next Mother Theresa to action.
Here’s one idear. Tell me what you think.
I’ve thought about the practical (not philosophical/religious) reasons for the atrocious suffering in the world. What is preventing the sufferers from getting food, water, protection from rape, protection from genocide, protection from disease? It isn’t natural scarcity; the earth has enough resources for all to live decently (from a global, not regional perspective). And, while this is arguable, I don’t think it is a lack of goodwill; I believe that enough people who control adequate resources/influence to help the sufferers are theoretically willing to share. Logistics and politics are huge impediments, but people control politics and people can overcome logistics with enough money. Here’s what I think the basic practical reason for all the unattended suffering is: LACK OF EXPOSURE. Two premises here:
1.The people with goodwill who have the most resources, by definition, almost exclusively live in the places with the least suffering, and therefore have the least exposure to that suffering.
2.The more good people see suffering, the more they do about it. It’s human nature. That’s why you see Lance Armstrong giving time and money to cancer efforts as opposed to the sex slave trade.
So we need to see the atrocious suffering. We need to expose each other to it. So here’s my simple idear. Start a website (feeltheirpain.org or something like that) that has…. (too tired, must sh…ut…d..ow….n….wi..l..l..fi…n..ish….la…t…e…r……………
I’m sorry I’m jumping on so late here. Thank you for your comments and your desires to help out. It makes me feel so good to know that more people are aware of what’s going on — it’s the first step towards working to alleviate some of these things, realizing that it can be quite a long, arduous process. Nonetheless, there are bright spots along the way.
Jane, you’ve probably already looked at the website as Amira suggested. You can actually sponsor a women in the DRC or another post-conflict/conflict country (we currently work in Iraq, Afghanistan, Nigeria, Rwanda, Bosnia, Kovoso, Columbia and are now looking at Sudan and the West Bank/Gaza). Through this process you build a personal relationship with one of these women through letters and you donate $27.00/month to her. It’s a really rewarding experience and enables you to have a direct impact in improving her situation. Another important way to help out is simply to spread the word. As I mentioned above, simply raising awareness in a very important first step.
Arturo, if you haven’t already read it, A Continent for the Taking : The Tragedy and Hope of Africa
by Howard French outlines a number of these situations and the US’s involvement/lack of involvement including how kleptacracies have been enabled by so many governments around the world. While I definitely tow a more conservative line than most of my colleagues, I still believe more can be done by the US and other governments financially and diplomatically. It’s tough, though, because the US has wanted to and does help improve situations but within the framework of an overall agenda that can produce very short-sighted results in Africa.
Sharkman, I agree that being exposed to knowing about this suffering creates individual initiative. Down the line comes managing expectations about what can be done and when. One of the tough things about this work is that positive sustainable change takes a long time. But, I’ve seen it occur again and again, even if it has been on a more micro-level with individual lives rather than on a level that spans governments/countries. What I have come to realize, however, is the power of personal impact. Each person contributes to the larger whole which then builds momentum towards macro results. To me, it begins with the individual — the most important factor in the whole equation, then in drawing out the links with those individuals to the larger society.
Braden, thanks for putting the desires so many of us have in such practical/realistic terms. The question you ask is one I hear often. I appreciate Sharkman’s response and think he makes some very good points about helping to relieve suffering over things you might be able to have a more direct impact on locally. I also think that there are small things you can do within the constraints of your own life that can make a difference in people’s situations in other countries. The donation of your time as a volunteer to organizations who work in these areas is a valuable contribution. And, of course, spreading the word – even just in casual conversations with friends/colleagues – can have a broader impact than you may realize. It’s tough because you want to feel like you area really helping. Sometimes that requires having faith that what you are able to do within the constraints of your own life and priorities is helping – prayer certainly helps. Heavenly Father knows you desires and your efforts within the parameters of your life. Although you may not be able to measure this impact as directly, rest assured you are making a difference. Let me know of other thoughts or questions you have about this.
Finally, Sharkman, you raise a lot of interesting points — more than I feel like I can adquately address right now — but I’ll address what I can. I do think there is a link between good people knowing about suffering and then doing something about it. Where I have seen this go awry is when good people with a lot of resources feel like they get taken advantage of. Unfortunately there are a number of people and some organizations who use people’s negative experiences for their personal gain. In the DRC, there was a tide of “rape for sale” orgs where rape victims were sought out to use as a way to get other people’s money. Unfortunately this money would never reach the rape victims but would go in the pockets of these orgs. It’s hard to see. This, of course, facilitates a lack of trust in the donor community and hinders money (individual, governmental or nongovernmental) being put into these causes. But, that’s just one thing to thing about. On the whole, I completely agree that where there is more awareness there is positive change. Just thinking of some practical implications in the process.
Heather and Sharkman,
Thanks for your responses. I don’t have much time at present to reply, but I am doing a great deal of thinking. P.S. In case anyone wants to extend congratulations, Sharkman just got engaged.
Congrats Sharkman! Sure Davis is really feeling the pressure now…but that’s a whole other blog 🙂