Dying to Live by Pierre-Claver Ndacyayisenga

Author:Pierre-Claver Ndacyayisenga
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-926824-83-3
Publisher: Baraka Books
Published: 2013-05-12T16:00:00+00:00

Meanwhile, an Antonov aircraft from Kisangani, where the NGOs had hastily retreated after pulling out of Tingi-Tingi, managed to land on a patch of ground not far from our camp to distribute food (peas and biscuits), but was shunned by many who suspected it was nothing but a ploy to delay us until the arrival of the RPA and the rebels. The refugees had lost trust in everyone, especially the UNHCR, who, despite the obvious extermination of Hutu refugees, still held fast to its position that the refugees had to return to Rwanda.

Even if the current wasn’t especially strong at that point on the river, you couldn’t take a raft or a canoe straight across to the other side. Before you could reach the opposite shore, the moving water would sweep you twenty or thirty meters downstream, and you had to work hard to guide the craft where you wanted it to go. After having built a huge raft, a dozen young Burundians took off across the river to the cheers of the refugees, who were amazed at the ingenuity with which the boat had been built and especially by the large number of passengers it could carry. Once out on the water, the enthusiastic young people began paddling. The raft sped away under our watchful and admiring eyes. As soon as it gained the channel, it began to follow the current, heading downstream. We thought the boys had chosen to land a little further downstream to avoid being searched by the Zairean soldiers waiting on the other side. But at some point, the raft began to turn around in circles! The poor boys had lost control. Further downstream, the river threw up sprays of water that formed a vapour cloud in the air. It was here that the famous Stanley Falls (now called Boyoma Falls) began, making this part of the Lualaba non-navigable. Under the helpless gaze of the refugees and accompanied by the sounds of their screams, the group of young Burundians was suddenly swallowed whole by the thick cloud, unable to resist the pull of the falls.

This experience definitely put a damper on any more raft building, but was not the last of people’s efforts to cross the river. A few daring souls successfully swam across, tenaciously holding on to empty containers to stay afloat. A large number of canoes were moored in the marina on the other side of the Lualaba, and their owners, who had been forbidden to help us get across the river, looked on indifferently as refugees drowned to death. People who had managed to reach the other side offered them large sums of money to bring family members over. At about ten o’clock in the morning, the boatmen, attracted by the sums being offered, decided to begin ferrying refugees across the river.

Since we weren’t carrying any local currency, which was in any case subject to massive fluctuations in value, payment was made in dollars, for those of us who were lucky enough to still have any.

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