I’m 
... on 
The UNHCR spokesperson called me Saturday morning and told me I’d be leaving Sunday. I packed my bags, and showed up at the UNHCR compound in Kololo at 8 am Sunday morning, groggy, loaded myself into the white 4 by 4, and prepared for a ten hour drive to western Uganda.
I’d heard news trickling in of some eight or ten thousand Congolese refugees fleeing to Uganda, but I wasn’t really prepared for what I’d see.
The Nyakabanda Transit Camp covers a huge swath of territory, green grass surrounded by robust hills, now covered with small tents constructed out of plastic sheeting and scattered refugees trying to make meals out of their meager rations.
Potato peels, sugar cane husk and garbage litter the ground; smoke, children’s cries and the native language of these Congolese refugees, Ufumbira, fill the air.
Everywhere I went, people told me of family members they lost, atrocities they’d witnessed, rebels they were fleeing.
I asked people for interviews and pictures; they asked me for food, money, and plastic sheets to make small tents to protect from the cold and wet of the dank Kisoro night. Everyone tells me they are hungry. Sorry, I say, I don’t work for the UN. But if you speak for us, they say, people will listen. I tell him, the UN knows, but I don’t think he understands that. Maybe it’s them who don’t understand.
All day long, people asked me for help. And there was nothing I could do. I felt helpless. And then midday on my last day there, a lady came up to my translator and me, and said please, I’ve just produced, and held out a new born baby, not more than an hour old. I don’t have blankets or plastic sheets or food or anything, she said. I couldn’t not do anything. The UN compound, just a few meters away, encased by wooden fencing, was off limits to refugees, but not to me. I took her into the compound with me – no questions asked, since she was with me, and I could move in and out of the compound freely.
I approached a junior UN staff person (I knew not to bother someone senior), and told her the lady’s story. Within minutes, she had a blanket and a place to stay for the night. It started pouring down rain, and I told her to just stay put in the chaotic compound, no one would notice her there and make her leave, so she should just stay until someone made her leave. When it was time for me to go, she gave me the little boy to hold. What’s his name? I asked. You name it, she said. No, I can’t do that. Why not? I’ve already named six children, she said. I thought of names, my brother, my boyfriend, my father’s name, all popped into my head, but their names were too Anglophone. Jacob, I’ve always liked the name Jacob, wanted it for a son, if or when I have one. Yacoba, yes, Yacoba, she said.
This is Yacoba.
Janjan says:
May God bless little yacoba and his mother, and his people. This is very moving.
[Reply]
— November 1, 2007 @ 6:30 am
Scarlett Lion says:
Thank you for your comment. I hope Yacoba does well in a world that may not be so kind to him. SL.
[Reply]
— November 1, 2007 @ 8:39 am
Anonymous says:
Wow. I’d read about this, but the visuals always hit me in the gut in a different way. I can’t believe I was there hiking just a couple months ago. I stood on top of a volcano and the guide said “from here you can see both Rwanda and Congo. There used to be fighting here but it’s clamed down now…”
Keep up that sharp reporting!
[Reply]
— November 1, 2007 @ 12:09 pm
Michal says:
I agree with janjan. Very moving. You made such a difference in this woman’s life, just by taking her with you for an hour.
[Reply]
— November 1, 2007 @ 12:19 pm
Scarlett Lion says:
Thanks for all your lovely comments. It’s nice to get some of those for a change
. It was quite a moving experience to be there and do this reporting, and really, how could I not do something for this woman? I wish I could have done something for everyone.
[Reply]
— November 1, 2007 @ 10:51 pm
Phoebe says:
To listen, to understand, to give a name to newly born (in whose world there’sn’t any more than hope) and to later pass on these people’s stories to the rest of the world is all you can do to help. And you did just that.
You will be blessed— and not simply because you are good at your job.
[Reply]
— November 2, 2007 @ 2:26 am
Pernille in Tanzania says:
I hate to admit it, but I sat here, read the article and had tears in my eyes. Not an easy one, but you wrote it well.
Greetings,
Pernille
[Reply]
— November 4, 2007 @ 8:29 am
Esta says:
Gleena i always love your pictures. It is always a sad story for refugees but it is also a cycle. I wonder when we shall ever have peace in that region. Oh by the way i like the name Jacob, the next one should be Isaac.
Keep it up
Esther
[Reply]
— November 4, 2007 @ 10:34 am
Scarlett Lion says:
Isaac for the next, done and done. Thank you all for your comments and encouragement. Journalism feels so cutthroat sometimes, it’s nice to experience a different side of writing and a different response to a different side.
[Reply]
— November 9, 2007 @ 6:48 am
tumwijuke says:
The worst atrocities in the world take place in the most beautiful places on earth.
Thank you for highlighting this tragedy.
[Reply]
— November 12, 2007 @ 12:07 am
Megan says:
I don’t comment on blogs, strictly a voyeur until I have a strong handle on the specifics AND the big picture of topics at hand.
But my comment here is simple and I need to leave it:
This entry is beautiful. Thank you.
And now that I’ve started… psyched to see that you’ll be in Liberia, looking forward to entries from a writer I admire about a place that I care deeply about and am anxious to learn more of!
Happy New Year.
[Reply]
— December 31, 2008 @ 7:07 pm