The Lowa River Hutu Refugee Massacre

Dr. William A. Twayigize

DR. WILLIAM

THE MASSACRE OF RWANDAN HUTU REFUGEES AT RIVER LOWA IN
WALIKALE

CROSSING RIVER LOWA: A TALE OF MASSACRE AND SURVIVAL

Amidst the heart of the dense congolese jungle in ituri, an harrowing odyssey unfurled, compelled by the urgent need to escape the merciless onslaught orchestrated by general paul kagame and the ruthless apparatus of destruction commanded by kayumba nyamwasa. Their killing machinery was ruthlessly determined to erase our existence, solely due to our hutu heritage. Over the course of two arduous months, an unyielding journey of evasion unfolded, guiding our assembly of over 500,000 refugees spanning all age groups.

This resolute march culminated on the banks of River Lowa, a watercourse that spanned an astonishing 300 meters in width and was profoundly cavernous, its tranquil waters standing poised to quell any who dared to test its depths with both feet. The river, christened River Nyabarongo by the local denizens of Masisi, held within its appellation a reverberating connection to ancestral ties in Rwanda, serving as a poignant memento of the homelands they had left behind a century prior, embarking on a quest for fertile pastures in the expanse of Eastern Zaire, now known as the Democratic Republic of Congo.

The photograph captures a sea of faces – the Rwandan Hutu refugees, driven by desperation to escape the harrowing aftermath of the RPF massacre. Triggered by the invasion led by General Kagame, these refugees were left fleeing as their camps were razed and hundreds of thousands of Rwandan Hutu lives were lost. Notably, these events occurred with the approval of Bill Clinton and Tony Blair, who sought to reconfigure the geopolitical landscape of Africa’s Great Lakes Region to serve their anglo-saxonizing interests in 1996. With their homes destroyed and their lives shattered, these refugees had little choice but to turn toward the West, forging ahead in search of safety and a semblance of hope.

Amidst the dense expanse of the Ituri jungle, two Hutu refugee women were discovered, cradling their infants close. These women bore witness to the unspeakable horrors that unfolded as Tutsi soldiers and rebels unleashed merciless violence upon their husbands and children. Concealed amidst the underbrush, they were forced to watch as their loved ones met a tragic fate, falling victim to the brutality that unfolded in the year 1997. Through sheer determination and maternal strength, these women managed to safeguard their malnourished children, enabling them to endure despite the harrowing ordeal they had survived.

In the heart of the Congo Basin’s northeastern reaches, the serene River Lowa winds its way through a landscape rich with natural wonders. Originating at the confluence of South Kivu and North Kivu provinces, it flows westward, weaving through the Albertine Rift montane forests and the lush embrace of the Northeastern Congolian lowland forests before meeting the Lualaba River’s waters at the intersection of Maniema and Tshopo. The river is full of minerals such as gold and diamond which flow at the bottom of the Lowa River. Within these valleys, indigenous communities including Nyanga, Kanu, Kobo, Hunde, Komo, Tembo, Kusu, and the Mbuti people have thrived for generations, each contributing stories to the intricate tapestry of the land. However, alongside the tranquil banks, a haunting history shadows the river’s flow – a history of tragedy, as over 23,000 refugees from Rwanda, Burundi, and Masisi faced a brutal fate at the hands of Tutsi soldiers under General Kayumba Nyamwasa’s command. Amidst the natural beauty and human stories, the River Lowa bears witness to both the tranquility and turmoil that have shaped its waters’ journey.

Lowa River Bank

The relentless march forward was a trial that unveiled the relentless expanse of an impenetrable jungle, severing our connection to the outside world. The sunlight’s warmth was a distant memory, the compass of our senses rendered ineffective amidst the enshrouding vegetation. With the break of dawn, a profound shift occurred as the murmurs of River Lowa reached our ears. It loomed before us, a titanic waterway of unprecedented proportions, and I marveled at the sheer magnitude of this natural obstacle. Even as I absorbed its vastness, the disconcerting revelation followed that the River Congo, greater still, awaited our eventual crossing. This realization sunk my heart, overshadowed by the imminent uncertainties that lay ahead. As the Tutsi soldiers closed in, a sense of urgency enveloped us. In the face of impending doom, I grappled with haunting contemplations of my own mortality. My mind wavered between the horrifying prospects of capture by extremists, a fate characterized by slow torment, and the audacious notion of plunging into the depths of River Lowa, embracing its watery embrace to evade the clutches of brutality.

Amidst the cacophony of our thoughts, the call to concentrate on the immediate challenge, the River Lowa, resonated with urgency. Though panic and desperation clung to our every step, the river presented itself as both a barrier and a lifeline, compelling us to persevere. The promise of a safer haven on the other side motivated our weary bodies, even as fear tightened its grip on our souls.

The relentless pursuit of refuge propelled us onward, bridging the gap between uncertainty and survival. As we navigated this treacherous journey, the knowledge that the River Congo lay ahead weighed heavily, reminding us that our journey was far from over. Yet, in those moments, we faced a choice – to be paralyzed by fear or to forge ahead with determination. In the midst of the dense wilderness, haunted by the specter of the Tutsi soldiers, the riverbanks of Lowa bore witness to our resilience, and the unspoken vow to keep moving, to find solace beyond the water’s edge, and to defy the darkness that sought to consume us.

Standing upon the banks of River Lowa, we were informed that the ground beneath our feet belonged to the Bamasisi kingdom, while just across the flowing water lay the expanse of the Banyanga realm. The sensation of being immersed in the soil of Bamasisi was both comforting and ephemeral. United by shared ancestry, the Bamasisi and Hutus evoked a profound sense of connection to our homeland. Yet, this very connection became a harrowing reason why the Tutsi soldiers also turned their violence towards the Bamasisi people. Although not Rwandans, the Bamasisi were fellow Hutus, marked for slaughter in the eyes of the Tutsi soldiers. As the Tutsi soldiers advanced into Maisiland, their brutality spared no Hutu soul. The dark truth revealed itself – many of Kagame’s army comprised Tutsis who hailed from Masisiland. Their goal was clear: return to Rwanda, uproot Hutu authority, and seize control. This agenda left no room for mercy, no respite for the Hutus.

In the midst of this upheaval, the Masisi people found themselves in flight alongside us. Their refuge stemmed from a place of grim familiarity, as they had borne witness to the horrors unleashed by RPF Tutsis upon their Masisi brethren. Bound by kinship and a shared destiny, the Bamasisi stood as our cousins, mirroring our own agonies. This kinship was not just superficial; it was rooted in the traditions that guided our forebears. Ryangombe in Ukubandwa and Nyabingi held sway over their devotion, underscoring the sacred thread that tied our destinies together.

Amidst the somber backdrop, a Hutu woman walks with a heavy heart, cradling her ailing daughter in her arms. The path she treads leads to an open cemetery, where her husband’s lifeless body lies in rest. Here, the weight of tragedy and loss is immense, for this place holds not just the remains of loved ones felled by gunshots, but also a more insidious menace. Thousands of Hutu refugees faced not only the brutality of bullets but also the insidious grip of poison, a sinister strategy woven by the hands of Tutsi forces. Employing the services of purported humanitarian agents, they contaminated water, food, and medicines, orchestrating a silent massacre to obscure their deeds, attributing the deaths to the harrowing veil of cholera. In this harrowing tale, the grief of a mother and the lies that shroud the truth intertwine, casting a haunting shadow over the painful journey of survival.

Sitting by the roadside, a young Hutu refugee girl finds herself adrift in the wake of unspeakable loss. The Tutsi soldiers and rebels have mercilessly claimed her parents, leaving her bereft and bewildered. Stranded in a world marred by violence and upheaval, she clings to the uncertainty of her surroundings, too young to fathom the harrowing realities that have torn her life apart. With innocence as her only companion, she faces a future shrouded in questions, seeking solace amidst the ruins of her once familiar world.

Traditional Engineering Knowledge

The Banyanga people, on the other hand, were unfamiliar to us. Their existence had been recorded in books, and tales circulated of their use of venomous snakes for hunting and combat, sending shivers down our spines at the mere thought. At River Lowa, the Banyanga displayed their resourcefulness by constructing a swaying bridge using Traditional Engineering Knowledge (TEK). This bridge materialized when relations were harmonious with their neighbors, the Bamasisi. Conversely, in times of strain and impending invasion, the Banyanga dismantled the bridge over River Lowa. This strategy was employed when news arrived of an impending influx of Rwandan refugees. In their apprehension, the Banyanga people preemptively disassembled bridges to protect their territory.

Navigating the crossing of River Lowa posed a daunting trial, aggravated by the absence of makeshift bridges that had already been dismantled. Yet, the prospect of passively awaiting the Tutsi threat at the riverbanks, vulnerable to either slaughter or the merciless barrage of machine gun fire, was unthinkable. Amid this dire circumstance, a resolute decision emerged – selecting a group of young, valiant swimmers to venture into the Banyanga kingdom. Their mission: secure aid in constructing bridges or obtaining cutting tools like machetes and axes for bridge fabrication. Volunteers emerged from the ranks of Lake Kivu-raised refugees, possessing the requisite aquatic experience.

Amidst the remnants of what was once the Rwandan refugee camp in Sake, a young Hutu girl stands as a symbol of profound upheaval. The echoes of destruction that engulfed Goma, Kibumba, Kahindo, and Katare, where refugee camps once stood in North Kivu, and the parallel devastation in the South Kivu Rwandan refugee camps in October 1996, now resonate in her eyes. With countless Hutu children left orphaned by the ruthless onslaughts of Kagame’s forces, the tragic legacy of loss and displacement weighs heavily upon her shoulders. Despite the pain of her circumstances, the girl also embodies the harsh truth that the so-called international community’s actions, or lack thereof, cast a haunting shadow. Their decisions, guided by geopolitical interests, became a tacit sanction for the potential massacre of these innocent children, exposing the grim underbelly of a world driven by complex agendas.

This photo offers a glimpse into the lives of the Mbuta people, one of the indigenous communities we encountered during our escape from the RPF’s assault in Congo. These same people are known as the Twas in Rwanda, representing a legacy of ancient heritage. Their presence in the region predates many others, making them custodians of an age-old way of life. Among their unique attributes is their remarkable ability to harmoniously coexist with nature, setting an example of sustainable living that does not harm the delicate balance of the environment.

Swimming was an unconventional skill in Rwanda, thus scarce in practice. Embarking on their quest, these young refugees encountered the unfamiliar terrain only to be ambushed by Banyanga fighters, their venomous arrows mercilessly aimed. Tragically, two valiant souls fell victim to the Banyanga’s snake-venom-laden weaponry. Despite the perils, the remaining swimmers managed to capture five Banyanga individuals, crossing them back to the safer side of River Lowa. The treacherous currents and the threat of venomous arrows created an environment of heightened peril. Yet, within this crucible of adversity, a few Banyanga were apprehended, and amongst them, two were fluent in French. This linguistic bridge paved the way for communication, forging an unexpected alliance between the refugees and the captives. These bilingual Banyanga emerged as indispensable intermediaries, bridging the divide and fostering cooperation between the disparate groups.

Indigenous Traditional Knowledge

Following their return from the Banyanga kingdoms, the Rwandan refugees arrived bearing not only their personal experiences but also a contingent of Banyanga captives and essential survival tools, including axes and machetes. These implements swiftly emerged as indispensable assets within the challenging conditions that confronted us. However, it was the captives’ linguistic proficiency, particularly in French, that elevated their worth, assuming a pivotal role in our navigation through uncharted territories hitherto unexplored by any of us refugees.

Yet, their value extended even further. We deftly harnessed their Indigenous Traditional Knowledge (ITK), recognizing its paramount significance in unraveling the labyrinthine trails woven throughout the formidable expanse of the Ituri jungle. Their familiarity with forthcoming regions, insight into local cultures poised for our encounter, and the shortcuts unveiling the pathway to Walikale collectively illuminated the profound implications of their expertise.

After identifying the Banyanga people, our priority became ensuring their comfort and understanding. We wanted to dispel any misconceptions and reassure them that our purpose was far from delivering distressing news; rather, we sought a passage through River Lowa on our route to Walikale. In our company, we had several individuals carrying a traditional brew known as “Ikigage” beer. This offering served as an icebreaker to establish rapport with the Banyanga captives and foster a sense of ease in their interaction with us. Ikigage, a type of sorghum beer, held deep cultural significance as a cherished beverage among both the Rwandophone population of Rwanda and the Masisi and Banyarutshuru communities in Eastern DR Congo. Its historical ties to Rwanda and its prevalence at gatherings in the Umulera region, particularly within the borders of the Virunga National Park, were undeniable.

Amidst our desperate flight from the relentless onslaught of the RPF’s violence, a heart-wrenching sight unfolded – countless children left stranded, their paths uncertain and their refuge unknown. These innocent Hutu refugee children, abandoned by circumstance, press on with unyielding hope, driven by the instinct to seek safety and a haven amidst the chaos.

The anguish captured in this image is unfathomable. A Hutu refugee woman stands before us, tears streaming down her face as she mourns her lifeless child – a tragic testament to the heartbreak inflicted by the violence of Tutsi soldiers in Eastern DR Congo. The scene is a haunting reminder that no parent should ever bear witness to the loss of their own child. Too many mothers and fathers faced this harrowing reality, forced to say goodbye to their beloved children and lay them to rest in the midst of unspeakable sorrow.

The success of the Ikigage strategy became strikingly evident as it facilitated genuine and open dialogues between the refugees and the Banyanga people, thereby forging new and crucial alliances. This cooperative effort yielded invaluable information, which we, as refugees, required to navigate the diverse communities residing alongside the jungle highway en route to the infamous Walikale shopping center. Concurrently, as the young men diligently felled trees, the five Banyanga individuals continued to indulge in arrow roots and savored Ikigage beer. Engaging in conversations with certain refugee security personnel in French, they sought to glean insights into the unfamiliar territories surrounding River Lowa and the trade routes linking Banyanga to Kisangani, while deliberately bypassing the Walikale road. These intricate jungle pathways served as conduits between villages, facilitating the trade of precious resources like gold and diamonds that abound in the region.

Amid the reverberating echoes of falling trees, distant explosive sounds reached our ears, casting an eerie shadow of our pursuers’ looming presence. As the hours slipped away, the relentless efforts of the determined youth brought down numerous trees, eventually yielding to the creation of improvised bridges. However, as the sun arched its way toward afternoon, the task persisted, remaining incomplete even as the clock neared 3 pm. A pivotal juncture emerged when the organizing team elected to test the newly assembled bridge. The initial group chosen for this pivotal venture encompassed women, children, the infirm – a category that included myself, resolutely navigating with crutches – expectant mothers, and individuals contending with ill health. It was within this crucial phase that I triumphantly traversed River Lowa, clenching my crutches, emerging as a pioneer among those who would cross the makeshift bridge.

Having conquered the daunting River Lowa and reached the opposite bank, I raised my crutches skyward in an expression of gratitude, thanking a higher power for granting me passage through the treacherous waters. With this hurdle surmounted, we resumed our journey into the unknown depths of the Ituri jungle, embarking on a path laden with uncertainty and challenges yet to be unveiled.

The activity of crossing the River Lowa bridge surged to an intense crescendo, witnessing over 10,000 refugees traversing its span every hour. Following three days of arduous trekking, we arrived at the banks of another river, smaller in scale yet broader in expanse. Here, the crossing necessitated the use of canoes. The Banyanga captives, once strangers, had now transformed into allies, their rapport resulting in a wealth of gifts exchanged. Negotiations between the Banyanga and local indigenous individuals led to the provision of canoes for our river passage, though I regrettably cannot recall the specific name of the watercourse.

This was the moment I came to a profound realization: despite the allure of wealth, its possession did not ensure personal survival nor could it readily secure one’s path. A group of indigenous canoe owners illustrated this truth, demonstrating a preference for barter trade rather than currency exchange. Thus, those possessing goods like clothing, sugar, salt, utensils, or medicines were granted swifter passage than those dependent on hard currency. Among the onlookers were individuals clutching briefcases brimming with dollars, left dismayed as their monetary wealth failed to sway the indigenous communities. Personally, I carried two invaluable possessions: the Bible and a bag teeming with medicines I had been employing to aid unwell refugees. Though not a medical professional, my background in biology spurred my interest in healing remedies. With aspirations of becoming a medical doctor, I engaged in a trade with the indigenous Banyanga canoe owners, exchanging medicines for their invaluable assistance. Thus, they facilitated my river crossing, propelling me forward on my journey westward.

Laid out before us are the tragic remains of a heart-wrenching chapter – the bodies of thousands of Rwandan refugees, victims of the merciless violence perpetrated by Tutsi soldiers within the refugee camps scattered across Congo’s soil. In this somber tableau, the toll of countless lives lost is evident, a haunting testament to the scale of this human tragedy. Amid the sprawling devastation, a grim reality emerges: the sheer magnitude of death left no choice but to place these fallen souls by the roadside, their resting place dictated by the unyielding weight of their numbers. Among these fallen, no distinction was spared – women, children, expectant mothers, and elderly individuals, all became targets of a brutal onslaught executed by the Tutsi soldiers in the Eastern Democratic Republic of Congo.

This photo offers a glimpse into the lives of the Mbuta people, one of the indigenous communities we encountered during our escape from the RPF's assault in Congo. These same people are known as the Twas in Rwanda, representing a legacy of ancient heritage. Their presence in the region predates many others, making them custodians of an age-old way of life. Among their unique attributes is their remarkable ability to harmoniously coexist with nature, setting an example of sustainable living that does not harm the delicate balance of the environment.

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Gazing upon this photograph captured within the confines of a Rwandan refugee camp in Eastern Congo, a somber reality unfolds. The scene portrays a field littered with the remains of those who fell victim to the ruthless violence of Tutsi soldiers, their bodies bearing visible wounds inflicted by gunfire. Against the backdrop of decay, a grim truth emerges – the staggering toll of death left the cemeteries brimming with the bodies of refugees, unable to contain the magnitude of loss. Consequently, those who perished found their final resting place not in dignified burials, but rather in the unforgiving embrace of the field, where vultures would become the silent witnesses to their tragic fate.

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As the implications of the assassination of the two Hutu presidents failed to quell the exodus of Hutus from Rwanda, imperial forces shifted their strategies. Recognizing that desperate measures were needed, they turned to tactics aimed at coercing Rwandan refugees into returning, despite the grave dangers they faced. One such strategy involved withholding access to vital resources, including food and humanitarian aid, effectively pushing the refugees towards Rwanda out of sheer desperation. This move was taken even as the knowledge of Tutsi forces mercilessly targeting returning Hutus was undeniable. The image captured here paints a poignant scene – refugees congregating before a UNICEF tent, seeking the services that would ease their plight. However, the harsh reality reveals that the very personnel meant to assist had abandoned the camps, leaving the vulnerable refugees to navigate their hardships alone.

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Amidst the complex landscape, while organizations like Caritas International and select French humanitarian groups like Action Contre La Faim stood by the Rwandan Hutu refugees, certain entities aligned with the USA and UK, such as WFP, UNHCR, and WHO, actively lent support to the new Tutsi regime. In an unsettling scenario, they played a role in exacerbating the plight of Hutu refugees, pressuring them to return to Rwanda, a country now under Tutsi control, even as knowledge of the dangers they faced persisted. This photograph encapsulates a stark reality – refugees tending to their own needs, as a shortage of medicines and aid compounds their challenges amidst a multifaceted landscape of support and politics.

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The structure before you, now standing as a testament of endurance, was but a ruin upon our arrival in Walikale. This place, the Walikale General Referral Hospital (Hôpital Général de Référence de Walikale), marked a stark shift—a visible tether to civilization—as we emerged from the dense embrace of the Ituri jungle, survivors of the harrowing Tutsi soldiers massacre along the banks of River Lowa. Amidst the modest hub of Walikale's shopping center, this edifice became our inaugural sanctuary since our departure from Goma in October 1996. Adjacent lay an aerodrome, and a tarmacked road linked Walikale to Kisangani—a thread of connection amidst the tumult. Our hopes found a haven here, anticipating the outreach of humanitarian organizations that would extend their hand within the confines of Walikale's shops.

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Within the heart of the Inturi Forest, a lush expanse that teems with life, the communities that thrive here are linked by a network of makeshift bridges, much like the one depicted in this photo. These humble structures serve as vital conduits for intercommunity trade, facilitating the exchange of goods and resources that largely occur within these close-knit societies. Amidst this intricate tapestry of connections, it's worth noting that these communities are endowed with wealth that extends beyond their bonds – they are rich in coveted resources such as gold, diamond, and cobalt, treasures that underscore the intricate harmony between nature's bounty and human endeavor.

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Nestled within the verdant expanse of the Congolese jungle, these humble structures stand as schools that dot the landscape. Resembling the ones we encountered among the Banyanga communities, these schools embody a unique harmony with their surroundings. Crafted from locally sourced materials like palm leaves, they blend seamlessly into the natural tapestry of the jungle. Amidst the lush foliage, these schools stand as beacons of knowledge, embodying the resilience and resourcefulness of the communities they serve.

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Walikale Shopping Center

After weeks of trekking through the Ituri jungle, a glimmer of hope emerged as a clear sandy road materialized, guiding us towards the Walikale shopping center. Despite recognizing that danger awaited us in Walikale, where we would be vulnerable in the open and the enemy could exploit motorized transport to catch and eliminate us swiftly, we pressed onward. Arriving in Walikale, we rested and waited for two days, joining hundreds of thousands of refugees converging at this junction. Walikale served as a meeting point for refugees from north Kivu camps, linking them with those from Goma, Bukavu, and the south. Amidst these masses were Burundian Hutu refugees who had sought refuge in various Bukavu camps.

However, distressing news swiftly reached Walikale: Tutsi soldiers and rebels had arrived at the banks of River Lowa, where a multitude of refugees had taken shelter. The circumstances among these displaced individuals were diverse – some awaited the arrival of their loved ones who still journeyed through the dense Congolese jungle, while others included families with young children who had joined the camps later, elderly refugees seeking respite, and pregnant women whose exhaustion prevented them from continuing the grueling trek. Tragically, the Tutsi soldiers and rebels remained impervious to the nuanced situations of the refugees. Instead, they perceived all those gathered by the shores of River Lowa as their arch enemies – Hutus deserving of slaughter.

Upon our arrival at Walikale shopping center, a torrent of somber tidings began to permeate the air, narrating the harrowing ordeals endured by refugees ensnared along the banks of the treacherous River Lowa. These tragic tales intertwined with those of displaced souls who had fled from the southern Kivu region, particularly from the Rwandan refugee camps such as Nyangezi, Panzi, Karehe, NRA, Kavumu, Uvira, and Nyamirango. These individuals, hailing from places scarred by Tutsi forces, were driven by the urgency to escape, only to encounter a merciless foe in their path. Kagame’s calculated strategy unveiled itself: he singled out the southern Kivu refugee camps, deeming them more vulnerable targets compared to their northern Rwandan counterparts, who had comparatively fewer avenues for escape. Stories of ambushes at the River Hombo Bridge reverberated, where Tutsi soldiers laid a lethal trap, claiming countless lives and forcing others to leap into the crocodile-infested waters, clinging to a desperate hope for survival.

In this photo, what you see is a light plane in Kisangani shopping center. This image holds a poignant and tragic history. In 1996, as Hutu Rwandan refugees were fleeing from the onslaught led by Kagame’s forces, many of us arrived at the Walikale shopping center, seeking refuge and assistance after months of hiding in the jungle. Thousands of refugees from various regions, including South Bukavu and Goma, converged at this location, all sharing the harrowing experiences of escaping Tutsi soldiers. Our hopes for help were met with limited resources. The only humanitarian aid that arrived came from a Catholic bishop of the Kisangani Archdiocese, who provided some packets of biscuits. While these rations did offer relief to some children and pregnant women among us, they were far from sufficient to sustain our desperate and hungry population. Tragically, the situation would worsen as Tutsi soldiers and rebels later attacked Walikale, resulting in the deaths of thousands of Hutu and Congolese refugees. It is believed that over 200,000 refugees lost their lives at the Walikale shopping center, marking it as a haunting symbol of the horrors endured during that time.

Nestled along the banks of the Lowa River, Walikale stands as a town of significance within the North Kivu Province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). Serving as the administrative hub for the Walikale Territory, this town holds a pivotal role in the region’s economic landscape. What sets Walikale apart is its abundant natural resources, most notably the largest tin deposits in the Congo and substantial gold mines. The Bisie mine, in particular, commands a substantial share of tin exports from North Kivu, estimated to range from 50 to 80%. Since 1996, when Western countries supported Kagame and Museveni in exploiting the DRC’s wealth for Western mining and electronic companies, Walikale has been a hive of industrial activity. The region is exceptionally rich in Coltan and gold, with the control of the Bisie mine being a primary source of this wealth. It’s worth noting that this doesn’t encompass the numerous individual pits controlled by various commanders or the kickbacks they receive from trading houses. Tragically, Walikale has also witnessed immense suffering, with thousands upon thousands of refugees and Congolese civilians falling victim to the violence perpetrated by General Paul Kagame’s army and Tutsi rebels.

Amid this heart-rending panorama, survivors of the River Lowa Massacre arrived, carrying with them tales of unimaginable horror. The Tutsi soldiers had perpetuated a massacre upon the defenseless—a heartrending assembly of children, women, the elderly, the infirm, and those who refused to abandon their aging parents. This unforgivable act unfolded, claiming the lives of over 23,000 souls, all along the unforgiving banks of River Lowa. Amidst the turmoil, some sought refuge in the very river itself, hoping to evade the relentless onslaught. Yet, the currents of the river proved merciless, dragging them to an unknown fate. For those who managed to stay afloat, the Tutsi soldiers pursued them along the river, firing upon them as they struggled to swim to safety. In the aftermath of the River Lowa Massacre, a multitude of individuals became nameless victims, their bodies claimed by the water’s depths and the jaws of lurking crocodiles.

At the Walikale shopping center, our focus shifted towards gathering more information regarding the path our flight was meant to take. Locals shared that the conventional route from Walikale to Goma spans over 600 kilometers. However, due to the perilous situation we found ourselves in, evading pursuers forced us to forge our own trails. This unforeseen deviation led us to traverse a staggering distance of over 1500 kilometers between Goma and Walikale. Contemplating the road ahead, the distance from Walikale to Kisangani loomed at around 1,300 to 1,500 kilometers, depending on our choice between the conventional Kisangani-Walikale road or an alternate route. The weight of my realization that I, equipped only with crutches, still had over 1000 kilometers left to traverse filled me with a profound sense of dismay. In that moment, I gazed skyward, engaging in a conversation with my Maker, grappling with the trials of our generation.

s we delved deeper into the prospects of our journey to Kisangani, where we hoped for safety from the encroaching Tutsi threat through the protection of Mobutu’s military, our route came into sharper focus. The path mandated passage through significant waypoints: Amisi and Tingi-Tingi, which harbored an aerodrome covertly constructed by the Belgians for mineral smuggling to Brussels, bypassing local scrutiny. Subsequently, our journey would lead us through Lubutu before culminating in Kisangani. After spending almost a week in Walikale, a ray of hope arrived in the form of a light aircraft.

These aircraft loom ominously over Walikale’s troubled history, a stark reminder of the region’s relentless turmoil tied to its precious mineral wealth. Since 1996, when Western powers supported Tutsi factions, ostensibly to eradicate Hutu rebels, the people of Walikale have endured unimaginable suffering, with over 12 million lives lost, many hailing from the region. These planes, often arriving from as far as Nairobi, symbolize a world seemingly indifferent to the plight of Walikale. They seek treasures like Coltan, Diamonds, Gold, and Cobalt, contrasting sharply with the enduring suffering of the land. Western interests, deliberate or neglectful, perpetuate this cycle of anguish, denying Congo the peace it craves while its people bear the brunt of this tragic saga.

AA compassionate Catholic priest, who had been closely monitoring our predicament, touched down in Walikale. His intent was to assess our numbers and conditions. The provisions he brought – packets of biscuits and water – were directed towards nursing mothers and their children. On that day, a bittersweet sentiment coursed through me, yearning to be a woman, pregnant, or nursing, even though our flight into the jungle had already brought immeasurable trials upon the women among us.

Disturbing reports continued to reach us, detailing the relentless advance of the Tutsi assailants. Their control now extended over the crucial routes connecting Walikale, Bukavu, and Goma. Utilizing tracks to chase us down, they carried out ruthless massacres of numerous refugees. Swift calculations underscored the grim reality: our survival hinged on covering a minimum of 50 kilometers each day to outpace the pursuers. Our determined march led us towards the Tingi-Tingi aerodrome, where our aspirations rested upon potential aid facilitated by humanitarian organizations, leveraging American satellites for tracking. Amidst our journey towards this beacon of hope, our path intersected with Amisi, where we encountered troops from Mobutu’s army and airforce. Their presence momentarily rekindled our optimism, offering a respite from the relentless Tutsi advance.

Without respite, we embarked on an unceasing journey, traversing day and night. Among the initial group of about 16 youths venturing from Walikale to Tingi-Tingi, I too embarked on this arduous path. Departing Walikale around December 20th, our footsteps brought us to the Tingi-Tingi Aerodrome on the twilight of a Tuesday, Christmas Eve of 1996, at approximately 5:30pm. Amidst the fading sunlight, a cherished moment presented itself; I turned to the Bible, my steadfast companion since the flight began – from the RPF’s intrusion at Kibumba to crafting a bridge at River Lowa and witnessing Walikale’s paved road after months enclosed in the dense Ituri wilderness. After drawing strength from the Bible’s verses and offering my gratitude through prayer, exhaustion overcame me; sleep enveloped me entirely, lingering until the following day, Wednesday, December 25, 1996.

In this photo, MONUSCO, the United Nations peacekeeping mission, is inaugurating a police station in Walikale. However, for many Congolese, MONUSCO has become a contentious presence in their country, seen as a stumbling block due to allegations of involvement in resource exploitation. Calls for the UN to withdraw from the DRC are met with resistance, often led by nations like the USA and UK, who advocate for extended peacekeeping missions. This has fueled frustration among the Congolese, who perceive the UN as complicit in the exploitation of their country’s resources. The UN’s failure to protect civilians during rebel attacks while actively engaging in regions rich in minerals has deepened this resentment. Additionally, accusations of sexual abuse involving UN peacekeepers, including minors, have gone unanswered, further eroding trust in the organization.

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DR. WILLIAM

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Dr. William A. Twayigize

DR. WILLIAM