Obama and Congo’s Jail: Proud to be Free... But are We really Free when Others Aren’t?

This was the first time in my life I have ever worn red, white and blue on purpose. Last Tuesday I sat in a room full of Americans and internationals. Crowded around a TV, we eagerly watched Obama’s inauguration. We groaned in exasperation when the electricity shut down on us. The generator started up. Ups and downs, goose bumps and hope marked the charged feelings that emanated through the screen from the crowd listening to Obama, all the way to our little living room in DR Congo. For one moment, the world seemed united as we all held our breaths listening to Obama’s speech, his words painting a picture of hope and reconciliation, of facing difficulties and persevering as one to overcome them.
One statement stuck out to me and still goes around in my head: “Let it be known to those leaders, that they will not be known for what they destroy but for what they build.” (not verbatim)
Not destruction, but the building up of people and nations, including our own.
What are we building?
With these thoughts still running around in my head, I entered the Goma Central Prison early the following morning. I can’t count anymore how many times I’ve been here, but it doesn’t feel weird to be here. Only when I really think about it, it hits me that maybe it isn’t so common after all to have two young, blonde women interacting regularly with prisoners in an overcrowded jail. In one of the most lawless countries today. Through HEALing Arts, we have already been working with the women, teaching them to make banana leaf products. We have sat and talked and joked and prayed together.
Today, I feel comfortable sitting in the empty little room that was burned during November’s recent war. The bare bench and plastic chairs suffice for our project.
We begin receiving all the minors, young boys from ages 11 to 17, who have been tossed carelessly into jail. In a country where you are guilty until proven innocent. Where none of these children have ever had a trial. Some have been here 3 weeks, some close to a year. HEAL Africa’s Choisir La Vie (Choose Life AIDs program) staff, Mama Noella and Pastor Olivier begin the interviews.
Truth be told, a problem that has become so apparent in Goma is the vast numbers of Child Headed Households (CHH). Many families, orphaned by AIDS, fall under the responsibility of the oldest child, whether he may be 17 or she may be 15. All their younger siblings, or their nieces or nephews, must be cared for. During our interviews, some told of living with a disabled grandmother who had no income. Some have no one, no shoes and tattered shorts. We continue down the list of children, hearing their painfully searing stories of abandonment, desperate survival, and unjust introductions into prison. Fear clouds their eyes, deep scars on their faces tell of stories not mentioned, fungus destroys their toe nails. Most have never studied enough to read or write.
We sit next to them and hear their stories and tell them of friends in Australia willing to support them by paying their $50 fees to leave the prison. Of friends in Mexico and Minnesota willing to invest in them by giving them small income generation grants so that they may be able to provide for themselves in honest, sustainable ways, as simple as they may be. Most say they have already participated in small activities like selling shoes, bread or gas on the street. They would be happy to have an opportunity to leave with hope and a fresh start. Most have no “home” to return to. No one but themselves cares about their survival.
Leaving the jail already exhausted, we drive around Goma, visiting other Child Headed Households. We ease our way among the sewer-muddied alleys of Birere neighborhood, trying not to gag at the sights and smells. Trying to not cry when I see the 4 year old boy rinsing the cut on his ankle with sewer water, his little friend trying to fill up a crushed bottle with the same trickle of “water.” We see brave young men of ages 19 and 21, who are each taking care of 4 children through selling things. We drive towards the volcano and tread over loose, sharp rock to other homes. Bleating goats, soldiers, police, dirty children, all of it becomes part of the scenery. We see the joy and hope of the young children that are able to go to school due to the hard work of their older sibling or caretaker uncle.
By the time we arrive home 10 hours after the start of our day, our feet are black with grime, our brains are mush.
However, I can’t help but think. A lot; thoughts seeking resolution, questions demanding answers. I’m struck again by the reality that we are one world. One humanity. Your problems are my problems and my problems are yours. This economic downfall has affected everyone in the world, not only the US. Since December, the local currency has already devalued from 500 Fc per dollar to 650 Fc. These orphans, not given opportunities, could end up becoming young criminals from desperation to satisfy their bellies. Given opportunities, they might be able to give their own children a hope and a future. They themselves could be agents of change in their country.
The bottom line that bothers me is that somehow, I am more “free” than they are because I have a passport and a background and support from others that allow me ‘out’ when things are bad. They don’t.
Am I really free if my brother or my sister is not?
Can our pride for our freedom drive us to fight for another’s liberty as well?