Written by Ansima Rosette Mamboleo
You see, the pouring of tears was because I could relate. It was like having a trance where my whole life was shown to me.
I was born on the 28th of June, in 1996. I was born in Bukavu, a province in the Democratic Republic of Congo (known as Zaire at that time). After giving birth to me, my mother fell sick and was admitted into the hospital with hemorrhagic fever. After 5 months, one night, they were all frightened out of their sleep by the sounds of gunshots in the distance. There had been rumors, even radio hosts had spoken of neighboring villages and towns being invaded by rebels. No one had taken them seriously, thinking that they were surely safe. The next day, my mother was discharged. As weak and ill as she was, she had to flee with her husband, and 3 daughters. The firstborn was 9 years old, the second was 3 years old and I; the third born 5 months old.
There was confusion all around. Fear was everyone’s best friend. Rumors would come about my grandparents’ dead bodies being found washed up on the seashore, or of family members being decapitated or kidnapped. You couldn’t trust anyone’s report, no one could be trusted. Dead bodies lined up on the road. They were like carpets laid out welcoming one to their doom. Some corpses laid beheaded or others missing their lower limbs. You’d hear children crying on their lifeless mother’s backs, or see children fleeing on their own after witnessing the execution of their entire family. With no food to eat or clean water to drink (soldiers had seized all that my parents had packed when they had taken the initiative to flee) my family would depend on rivers or ponds-that had been soiled with blood, or the memories of the traumatizing event a person scrubbed out of their bodies in an effort to do away with it forever- to get water in the hopes of getting our exhausted selves going. My mom in her condition would be forced to run when she grew weary she’d be carried, or generous people would lend her their bikes, her children would be carried by strangers assisting their tinny little legs to leave behind the place they once called home.
After 3 months of hard toil and unrest, we made it to the capital city in February. My father had been told that he had some distant family members in the capital and at once on arrival, he proceeded to take his family with him to seek refuge from them. They went from house to house, would have doors slammed at them one after another, friends become foes because no one wanted to take in refugees; 5 of them to be exact! We roamed about, homeless, hungry, tired. After such a long journey, you can only imagine the heartbreak, disappointment, and destitution such rejection caused our family. Lucky for us, we had a Good Samaritan who opened up her home, family, and heart to us. She was related to my dad, but it was a far relation that it’s even hard for them to explain it. She took us in, cared for us and never once made us feel unwelcomed. She was patient with us and allowed us to call her place home until my parents were able to stand on their two feet and take care of their growing family.
Some years later, my family would be compelled to flee again, this time out of the country and into foreign lands. In 2001 the president Mr. Laurent-Desiree Kabila was assassinated in his office and this caused political instability and unrest in the country. It was in the year 2002 when my parents decided to distribute their children among family members. My mom had given birth to my younger sister and younger brother by then and so we had grown as a family. The goal was to reunite again in London, my younger sister and I were put under the care of my dad’s sister and we went to Zimbabwe with her. My two older sisters left with another family member and my younger brother was to travel with my mom and dad. I remember the night before we were meant to travel, how my dad took my sister and me to the store to pick out whatever snacks we wanted to take with us. OH, what a joy, we went nuts in the store, having trouble deciding what sweets we wanted or which cookie would be better or fit in our backpacks.
We were young, my sister and I. We didn’t really understand what was happening. We surely have pleasant memories of Zimbabwe, of strange uncles coming to visit and taking us out for ice cream. Of eating maize cooked by the side of the roads. Of pepper steak pies, malls that were huge and beautiful. We didn’t know we were awaiting the verdict of our future from men who didn’t know a thing about us or what we had gone through. We were too naïve to realize that all the treats were just ways to try and make everything seem normal to us. We didn’t know that we were in Zimbabwe awaiting visas to London and that ultimately the outcome (good/bad) would have a great impact on our upbringing and destinies.
After a long while, my parents got worried that we were separated from our siblings; they were worried that we were missing out on school and just being idle. Our documents were being processed slowly and seemed like a hopeless cause. My sisters too, on their side, their plans as well seemed futile. So a new plan was devised and before we knew it we were on our way to South Africa. We went by road, the 4 of us (my two older sisters, my younger sister and I) and were going to cross the border and enter the country illegally. I remember being given instructions by the man we had paid to help us cross over, on when to walk and when not to. There were helicopters that would roam about above us, and if I didn’t follow instructions we would all be caught and I would never see my family again.
We had probably the biggest task ahead, and that was to cross the Limpopo River, the second biggest river in Africa. That and the fence ahead were the only things standing in our way to greener pastures. I remember my younger sister being carried on the neck of a young man who was traveling in our group as we were crossing the river. They told us to be very still and quiet. Cautious as well, because there were crocodiles about and no one wanted to end up as anyone’s meal. I do not know how long it took us to cross over; I know that it was a painful struggle with us having to stop several times because of helicopters about or heavy water currents. We finally made it to the other side, we had a fence before us but everyone was hopeful. I do not know what happened to the other people who were with us, but I remember the man who was guiding us shoving our bags and us into a tree. This tree was huge and had a large hole. We were told to hide in there until evening when they would come for us. We were warned not to be seen by anyone and to be quiet. I remember evening did come and we were called out of our hiding place, when we came out there was a truck waiting close to the fence. Our bags and ourselves were pushed over the fence and into South African territories. That was early 2003. We got into the van and we laid low into the darkness of the night and that is how we were transported to Pretoria. I don’t know how much time that took us, all I know is that I was happy when we were allowed to sit up and see the big buildings and shining lights. I was in awe.
We didn’t know anyone in South Africa and the city in which my parents had decided to rent an apartment that was recommended to them because they would find many foreign nationals there and would feel much at home compared to other cities and towns. It was a spacious place, the apartment we were to live in. Maybe it seemed like that to a young me because we didn’t have furniture to take up space and we rather used up all the open space as a playground. The only furniture we had was a queen size bed and that’s where we all slept. After a while, my parents were able to get a TV. We used the box of the TV as a table when we had birthdays, and loved jumping on the bed. I do not remember that much, but that I had my siblings as friends in the building and how we drove the caretaker crazy with our noise. I was happy, I didn’t have to worry about the rent, or where money for food would come from. I didn’t have to worry about having to face intimidating Home Affairs officials when applying for documents. Little did I know that life would be totally different for me when I got exposed to the world.