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Summer 2003

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A Tale from the Congo
Patrick Doyle ‘04

“Do you know what it is like, when dead fish are on a lake? The ground was like the fish, with dead bodies."

The dead fish were ethnic Hutus. Their slaughterers, Tutsi soldiers.

Their photographer, Mashanda Kuderha, of the Democratic Republic of Congo, can’t shake the image from his mind.

Kuderha, 40, sits ready for his interview. Only two weeks after a Philadelphia arrival and reunion with his family, he is finally beginning to settle in. Today, he took a cab with his wife, Kabengo Namwirha, to tell his story to ABC.

Before the interview starts, Kuderha whispers with his French translator, Carol Kenney. Kuderha’s first language is Swahilee; his second, French. Kenney asks a question about Africa’s geography; he thinks for a moment, answering with a quick, precise sketch, explaining the countries and borders. Finished, he picks his head up and glances longingly at the ABC camera equipment. He too, once had a camera.

Kuderha remembers.

“I was taking photos of the massacres in Rwanda, about 30 kilometers from my house,” says Kuderha. “When you start to see soldiers killing people, it becomes political. When you go and take pictures, you take risks and your life is in danger.”
Danger indeed. Fearing international publication of the massacre photos, the Tutsis tracked him down and arrested him. Kuderha points to the scar on his left cheek, a pale swath on an otherwise dark chocolate face. “When I was arrested, one of the Tutsis slashed my face with a knife. He wanted to kill me. Another Tutsi said, ‘No, we need him to carry things.’”

Kuderha became their slave, forced to carry munitions over mountains, valleys, and fields. “After many days, the Mai-Mai (a Congolese group of soldiers) came upon us. I dropped the munitions and ran into the jungle. I kept running and then fell. I broke my leg.”

Alone and in pain, he laid in the jungle for two days, until a hunter stumbled upon him. The hunter carried Kuderha back to his hut. Nursing Kuderha back to health, the hunter applied leaves and medicine to the broken leg, which slowly healed.

Kuderha cries.

Face buried in his hand, he weeps openly during his wife’s interview. Oddly enough, this is his first time hearing her tale. Settling into a two bedroom house in a foreign country with a 13-member family does not leave a lot of story time.
“The Tutsi soldiers came to my house and forced the door open,” Namwirha says. “My little sister said I was not home. After that, they shot her. I came out from where I was hiding when I saw they were going to hurt my children. After that, they took me to a prison and asked for the pictures my husband took. When I said I didn’t have anything, they tortured me. They forced me.”

Namwirha stops short of detailing her rape—not for her sake, but for his. Kuderha cannot bring himself to look at his wife of 22 years, knowing that he partly caused the problem.

“When I heard the things that happened, it was very difficult,” said Kuderha, later on. “They upset me.”

Kuderha hides.

After recovering from the broken leg, Kuderha was healthy enough to travel, but feared returning home. Tutsis still patrolled the area and were aware of his escape. Kuderha sent for his friend, a truck driver, to inquire the whereabouts of his family. Finding Kuderha’s house burned to the ground, the truck driver checked at Kuderha’s father house, in a neighboring village. The truck driver found the 10 elder children, but Namwirha and the youngest child were missing.

The children, excited to hear of their father’s survival, told the truck driver of their mother’s arrest to the truck driver, who relayed the story to Kuderha. Still fearing the wrath of the Tutsis, he fled to Nairobi, hiding among the truck driver’s cargo along the driver’s route. Finding refuge with a Christian woman, Kuderha sent for his children, who traveled the same way.

Kuderha escapes.

Following a jail break aided by Congolese guerillas, Namwirha returned to her village, finding an abandoned Moses, only 3-years-old, tottering in the street. Fleeing with Moses, Namwirha walked through the forest for several weeks, until reaching a Barakan ferry to Tanzania.

She approached a Catholic priest, sharing her story and needs. The priest gave her refuge in the convent and raised money in the parish. After securing Zimbabwean passports and airplane tickets, he sent Namwirha and Moses on their way to Philadelphia.

Getting off the plane with illegal passports, Namwirha and Moses were detained at first, and then sent to a Villanova University clinical law program, CARES (Center for Asylum, Refugee, and Emigrant Services).

CARES started by Villanova University Professor Michele Pistone, J.D. provides clients with pro-bono representation by law students under the supervision of a lawyer. Pistone and her students assisted Namwirha and Moses to file for asylum protection in Immigration Court, and eventually win their case in April 2000.
Still unsure of her husband and family’s survival, Namwirha attended an African Catholic conference in Philadelphia, seeking information about her family.

Astonishingly, she met a priest from Nairobi, who knew of Kuderha’s story and location. CARES immediately filed another suit, obtaining derivative asylum for Kuderha and the elder 10 children.

Kuderha smiles.

In early September, Kuderha and his children flew into Philadelphia International Airport, a miraculous ending to a long and harrowing journey.

“At the airport, I had a great joy,” he said. “I never expected it. I am very happy to be here with my family. I spent three long years alone, without hope.”

Kuderha pulls a newspaper clipping from his notebook. He points to the clipping, an article and picture about him. He grabs at his belt with his other hand, pulling it out from underneath his blazer.

“Look,” he says. “Look at this picture. Look how skinny I was. I have already gained weight in two weeks.”

He gestures to his belt, pointing out that he has loosened it two notches since arriving in America. “In Congo, right now, if people don’t die from war, they die from famine and starvation. There is no work, there is no food.”

Somber for a moment, Kuderha suddenly breaks into a smile. “One day, my wife took me to McDonalds,” he says. “I had never had a sandwich like that, with tomato and lettuce. It was very good.”

For more information about the CARES program contact Michelle Pistone. J.D. directly pistone@law.villanova.edu