Tens of thousands of children have been abducted and forced into service by a myriad of armed groups in DR Congo’s chaotic eastern provinces. Many of them are Rwandan boys.

Kitty Llewellyn meets some of the boys and young men who are proving that recovery is possible.

Eric Niyoyita Seruhongore bounces his baby girl gently on his lap. In the corner of his dark hut, is his wife’s sewing machine. Propped just outside the door is his bicycle.

His home in a village not far from Ruhengeri stands in the centre of a small compound of potato beds. Behind is a pen of chickens, goats and even a sheep, his wife proudly points out.

Eric is quiet and lowers his eyes when he speaks, his wife is smiley and their baby quite delighted to be visited by a muzungu.

While he explains that he continues to struggle and hopes for more, Eric is without doubt a successful farmer and family man. It is hard to believe that some ten years ago he believed his life was over.

In 1998, Eric was snatched from his parents as they fled fighting in their village near Ruhengeri. That was the last time he saw his parents. He was taken to Democratic Republic of Congo, armed and turned into a soldier. He was 16 years old.

Three years later, following orders he attacked a Rwandan town and was captured. After years of fear and hunger he was taken to the Rwanda Demobilisation and Reintegration Commission (RDRC) centre that now sits on the banks of Lake Muhazi.

After six months at the centre, Eric received a letter and later a visit from his half brother who ran a small business in Ruhengeri.

First steps
 
I visited the place where Eric’s new life began and read a letter much like the one Eric had received from his brother seven years ago.

"Don’t worry; I am doing all I can to bring you home. God willing, we shall meet again,” reads the letter in Kinya-rwanda from the sister of one former child combatant. And indeed, like Eric and his brother, the siblings were reunited.

On the gentle slope of the lake’s banks I enter a classroom. Boys sit in uniforms, wide-eyed, attentive but for occasional bursts of laughter. An ordinary classroom scene, but these are not ordinary boys.

David Mutabazi was 13 when he joined the FDLR rebel forces in Eastern Congo as an armed escort for a major.

Now 16, he tells me that he did not know what he was fighting for but that becoming a soldier was the only option, the only way to find food and protection. The boys perform for their guests – muddled steps and occasional sniggers tell of newly learned dances.

"The children feel Rwandan but know nothing about Rwanda,” explains Ally Mugema, the social worker in charge of the centre.

"We try to teach them of their history and culture.”

The centre, currently home to 42 former soldiers aged between 12 and 18, is where the children are prepared for their return to normal life, explains Mugema.

The children are kept busy from morning until nightfall; an action-packed timetable aims to keep their minds off the recent past and to bring deep sleep undisturbed by nightmares.

Mugema explains that most of the children had become accustomed to using force to make civilians wash their clothes or do their cooking.

At the centre they learn or relearn how to help around the house – washing, sweeping, gardening; how to look after themselves – how to shower and brush their teeth; they learn how to read and write and the history of their country.

The boys, for there are no girls at the centre ("They are less likely to escape and if they do, it is probable that they would rather be classified as civilians,” explains Mugema), are given medical care and psycho-socio support. They are also encouraged to socialise and relax – playing games and watching films. In short, they are encouraged to become children once again.

Steps are small as children marvel at the basic amenities the centre provides – clothes, shoes, mosquito nets. Olivier Hategekimana tells of his delight at not having to worry about finding food.

"It is more than I ever dreamed of,” he says in Kinya-rwanda.

Crucially, it is from the centre that children’s families are traced so that their news lives can really begin. In partnership with the International Committee of the Red Cross, centre staff try their best to locate a child’s family.

A child is pressed to remember as much as they can – names, places; maps are drawn; letters are written; if needs be radio announcements are made, until finally children are reunited with parents, siblings, aunts or uncles.

When it is time for the boys to leave the centre, for some after no more than three months, others wait years, they are given a ‘take home kit’ which contains a jerry can, soap, cutlery, a mosquito net and a blanket.

"Children are received warmly,” Mugema notes.

Home coming

"I was as good as dead when he was taken,” says Justin Hatumimana’s mother in Kinya-rwanda. Seven years after his return, she is still elated to have him home. "He’s a good son, a good student.”

Justin was reunited with his parents after three years of fighting in eastern Congo. He was 13 when he was kidnapped and made to take up arms.

Justin is quiet, he looks to floor as he speaks and plays with his hands – tell tale signs of a difficult past perhaps. Indeed despite his efforts, his past still catches up with him.

"I have nightmares that I am being chased,” he explains in Kinya-rwanda.

"I can’t forget everything but the worst is erased,” says the former child soldier.

Justin is 23 and has just taken his O Levels. Most of his classmates are seven years his junior.

Clemence Niyontoze, the RDRC provincial reintegration officer, explains that children are often scared of former combatants, scared that they may be violent and are consequently reluctant to make friends with them.

"It’s not easy for the former soldiers who are themselves afraid,” she explains in French.

But Niyontoze says that as time passes the children are accepted and, in her experience, they are never violent.

"Children seem to reintegrate far better than adults,” adds Niyontoze.

"Adults [former soldiers] can feel resentful and as though they are owed something, while children embrace opportunities and move on,” she explains.

Justin seems to be doing just that. For Justin there is much to be happy about. The cow he bought with the money provided by RDRC will soon give birth, at school he is sixth in his class of 50, and he has dreams of becoming a doctor. 

When Justin went back to school, he was ashamed to be entering primary three aged 16, when the average age of his class was nine.

"But I was determined to get my life back,” he says. And he is doing just that.

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