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| All seemed calm and peaceful, when I landed at Bujumbura airport, on 18th. January, 1995. Plenty of armed men in uniform, but no obvious tension in the air. The White Father missionary, Fr. Max Boudart, who came to collect me, apologised on behalf of their Regional Superior, Fr. Benno Baumeister, who had planned to take me under his wing from the word go. Unfortunately, two days previously he had had to drive to Munazi, one of the remote missions near the Rwandan border. On the Sunday, three hand grenades had been tossed into the packed church. Four people were killed outright; three more died within a couple of hours, and thirty-six others were wounded. Fr. Benno had felt he had to go and share their suffering. I was soon to learn it was not an isolated incident, but a daily symptom of the violence that has been tearing Burundi apart for many years. Fr. Benno's return was delayed by a further 24 hours. Someone had filled his tank with diesel instead of petrol, and it takes time to hitch a lift on almost traffic-free roads. |
My original intention had been to visit refugee camps in both Rwanda and Zaire, but Benno persuaded me to stay in Burundi: travelling outside the country would be very time-consuming (I only had nine days at my disposal) and in Burundi itself there was no shortage of refugee camps. They reckon that there are about 800,000 Rwandan refugees in Tanzania; 300,000 in Burundi; and up to 2,000,000 in Zaire. I soon realised that there is no longer a great deal we can do for the Rwandan refugees. Thanks to the United Nations and many other international organisations their basic material needs are well catered for; at least they are no longer dying of starvation and disease. Life in camps offering rather primitive accommodation to 30,000 people is far from satisfactory. Only a political solution - not yet on the horizon - will allow these poor folk to return home to a normal existence.
At the White Fathers' Residence in Bujumbura, the capital, I was warned never to go out on my own, especially in the early afternoon or evening, when the streets would be fairly quiet. |
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Muggings were commonplace and pockets could be very tempting to the local thugs. Except for a few yards on just one occasion, I accepted that sound advice unreservedly. In any case, there was a curfew from 19.00 to 05.00 hours. To break it would have been inviting a police cell, if not a bullet.
As separate Central African States, Burundi and Rwanda are the spawn of European colonialism. In both countries, the original inhabitants seem to have been the Batwa (Twa pygmies), now just about 1% of the population.
For centuries the dominant tribe have been the Hutu (Bantu), about 85% today; in the sixteenth century, probably, the Tutsi (Nilotics) arrived on the scene, about 14% today. Though a minority, the Tutsi have nearly always dominated their neighbours, and over the centuries bitter rivalry and hatred have separated them. Especially these last few decades. Many massacres have been perpe trated by both sides. The latest spate began in April, 1994. A plane carrying the democratically elected Presidents (both Hutu) of Burundi and Rwanda was shot down. In Burundi, where over 90% of the army belonged to their tribe, the Tutsi took control. In Rwanda, the infuriated Hutu rose against the Tutsi, and the `genocide' began. There were massacres all over the country. A White Father I met in Brussels airport told me that he had spent years in Rwanda, but had been forced to leave last April. He was returning again - not to the same area, because he had seen too much, and some people might want to silence him. Some 4,000 Tutsis had been rounded up in his parish, and slaughtered by soldiers of the Presidential Guard. Later on, when the Tutsi who had managed to escape into neighbouring countries formed the Rwanda Patriotic Front and defeated the Hutu, you can imagine what vengeance was exacted. That is when 3,000,000 Hutu fled for their lives. The Rwanda authorities assure them that it is safe to go back now, but no one believes the propaganda any more. Some tell you how they have gone back only to flee again, having witnessed the killing of many of their companions. It would appear that in both countries the Tutsi policy is to 'eliminate' all Hutu intellectuals and other potential leaders. |
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In one area I met a catechist who had been on a twelve month course in Belgium. They said he was the only Hutu 'intellectual' left in the district. At night, his wife and children slept in the mission compound. He stayed at home: not in the hut - much too dangerous - but in a nearby banana grove, where it would be difficult for assailants to catch him unawares. Even bishops were not immune. Attempts had been made, as yet unsuccessfully, on the life of at least two. One of them had lost half his relatives already. His mother was a Tutsi, but his father a Hutu; so he belonged to the latter tribe. Fr. Benno had complained to a couple of bishops that the Church could not remain silent in the face of all the killings and atrocities.
He felt that he and his colleagues would be forced to leave the country if a formal protest were not made. |
| The Sunday after my arrival, a Pastoral Letter signed by all the bishops of Burundi was read in all the Catholic churches, urging the Government and all the factions responsible, especially the military, to put a speedy end to all these inhuman abuses. The language was pretty forceful; it must have taken not a little courage. Another courageous soul is Sr. Giselle, a Canadian religious, now all alone in her convent/dispensary out in the bush. Two colleagues had returned home, unable to stand the strain after the local administrator had been murdered in front of their convent. Her one remaining companion, an Italian Sister, had also left in the last week of January to go and nurse her brother dying of cancer. Poor Giselle is praying fervently for someone else to join her soon. In the meantime, she takes refuge at night in a convent a few miles away. People at home had given me a doll and a teddy bear. |
| Not for personal comfort, but for two poor children! The problem was: how to pick two children from among so many without provoking jealousy? In a dispensary not far from Munazi I found a young boy and a young girl recovering from wounds sustained in the church the week before. It was an ideal solution. Everyone else seemed just as happy as they were! The list of atrocities is almost endless. Five days before I came to the town of Muyinga, thugs had thrown a grenade into the house of an education officer (a Hum) killing his wife and child. The man had escaped into the street, but they pursuaded him and finished him off in a nearby bar. That same evening, the same gang had attacked a doctor's house in the same locality. He himself told me what had happened. He was out at the time. When he came home, he found his wife dead, stabbed sixteen times. She must have put up a terrific struggle, and thereby saved the lives of most of the children. They had seven of their own and an adopted one. One of the girls had tried to hide under a blanket on her bed. Someone had stabbed her with a knife that went through one thigh and half-way into the other. The baby, eleven months old, had been killed and his heart torn out. The others got away with minor wounds. |
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| The eldest boy who had witnessed the whole dreadful scene went with his father to the police station, and was able to identify the killers there in the street outside, still carrying the masks they had worn. But the chief of police wasn't even interested enough to take down the doctor's statement. He, of course, was a Tutsi, and the doctor a Hutu. I met him at a local convent where I spent twenty four hours, and where the Sisters were sheltering him and his family. The day after I left Muyinga, the Governor (Hutu) was assassinated. He had a bodyguard, but being Tutsi they would not have lifted a finger to protect him from a Tutsi assailant. Another horror story I heard was about some 1,100 people massacred in a church, a number of children being chopped up on the altar! I can't remember which side perpetrated the deed. |
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It was once announced on the radio that a Tanzanian task force had crossed the border and attacked a military camp: the Burundian soldiers had killed twenty of the enemy, with no losses to themselves. The local parish priest's version was slightly different. Two men had approached the military camp during the night, and failed to halt when challenged. They had been shot dead. The soldiers were very annoyed to find they had killed two Tutsis. They went out and shot a Hutu and three children. Then they rounded up sixteen young Hunt men and shot them too. And there they had their twenty Tanzanian soldiers! |
On 22nd. January, again according to the radio, a band of 100 to 150 malefactors had attacked the military hospital in Bujumbura. There had been a certain amount of damage, especially to cars. In spite of all the firing of automatic rifles and the tossing of grenades, no one had been killed, except the leader of the attackers and one of his men, on whom a list of names had been found. Most people believed it was a put-up job; that a planted list of names was the usual pretext to eliminate further enemies, and to take reprisals. It was a relief to hear of no exceptional butchery during the next few days; just a few stonings. But people were even more fearful than usual. The market places less frequented, as it is in such places that the fanatics tend to toss the grenades around. No matter where you went, you would soon run into a military road-block. Between Muyinga and Bujumbura (120 miles) I counted fifteen. The soldiers were nearly always correct, even pleasant. I was quite impressed when a soldier who wanted a lift gave way to two nurses and a civilian. It's a good job he asked me, while the others were climbing aboard. By the time he got to Fr. Benno, it was too late. Fr. Benno never gives lifts to soldiers unless they leave their weapons behind.
There should have been a rally in Muyinga at which a big noise from the capital was due to speak. It was cancelled because, according to rumour, he considered the roads too dangerous. There is one stretch of the road, traversing a forest, where the military seldom venture as they feel too exposed to attack. Bandits take advantage of this, and frequently stop and empty cars. More recently they have taken to disposing of the occupants also. We only travelled that way twice. It was very conducive to prayer! |
| The needs of the Rwandan refugees are now well catered for by the United Nations and other international organisations. Their plight is still pitiful and unworthy of human beings, but they are problems that necessitate political solutions. So I decided to direct our relief efforts to helping the distressed Burundians. Nevertheless, I did visit two refugee camps: one near Ngozi (24,000) and the other outside Muyinga (30,000). The girls of Class 10G, Challoners High School, Amersham, had raised monies for the Rwandan refugees and entrusted it to me, when they heard I was going out there. Rather than risk disappointing them, l spent the money on clothes, and with Fr. Giuseppe, an Italian White Father, distributed them among a large group of children and teenagers in the Muyinga camp. Many happy smiles the camera has brought back to Amersham! In Burundi, there are camps not only for Rwandan Refugees but also for Displaced Persons. |
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| This latter title is given to all those who, up and down the country, have fled from their homes for fear of being massacred at some time or other by their Tutsi or Hutu neighbours, as the case may be. They tend to group together in unofficial camps for self- protection. The Tutsi can rely on the assistance of the military. The Hutu have to fend for themselves. In one mission compound where I stayed there were about 300 such displaced persons, mainly Hutus. A few months ago, they numbered over 3,000! The priests and Sisters would never be able to cater for so much distress, were it not for the aid given by Caritas International. One afternoon, eighteen refugees arrived from Rwanda. Their story was that they feared for their lives in Rwanda. A young man of twenty told us that, as they were fleeing, his parents were caught by soldiers who beheaded them on the spot. The survivors had taken three weeks to travel thirty miles, moving only at night and through the bush, knowing that it would be curtains, if they were caught by the military on either side of the border. They realised that the mission could give them temporary asylum, and that they would have to be spirited as soon as possible into the nearest refugee camp. I was lucky in that mission: at least I had a room to myself at night. The only mod cons were a bed, a table, a chair and a bucket of water. I had been advised not to pay any attention to the numerous rats that would scurry over the ceiling all night long! I closed the window, to prevent access that way, and hoped they would not invade through a large hole in the ceiling. Not being supplied with parachutes, they did refrain from jumping! My refugee neighbours were so noisy still at 10.00 p.m. that I plugged my ears, and slept soundly until 5.30. Something I failed to do, when enjoying less primitive accommodation. One of the chief purposes of my regular mission trips is to see how we at home can come to the aid of the poor in developing countries, doing so on a small scale, admittedly, but directly, efficiently, and without a penny being wasted. In Burundi the needs are immense, wherever you turn, constantly aggravated by the dreadful intertribal killings. A tradesman's daily wage is about £1. A labourer's half that amount. In the bush malaria seemed to be endemic. Scabies was common: the usual treatment being engine oil - and it seems to be effective! Hospital conditions are rather primitive, and you are not issued with ear-plugs! Food is not provided either. You have to rely entirely on family, friends or charity. You can just imagine! The main thrust of my efforts in Burundi will be to provide 'housing' for the poorest. To begin with, among the Batwa, the pygmies, who with the disappearance of the forests, have lost their traditional way of life (hunting), and now have to settle down. The missionaries are encouraging them to replace their temporary fragile straw huts with more solid dwellings and to grow their own food. It is their only chance of survival in today's world. £100 will provide the materials required for a relatively decent house – and that is where we come in! Housing is just as great a problem for thousands of Hutu and Tutsi families too. |
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In several missions that I visited we set up little 'councils' who will draw up lists of their poorest people whom we can help by providing such building materials, no more than £100 per project. For each project, they will send a photo of the family concerned, and this will go to the appropriate sponsor. Many of these poor people, having once fled for their lives, have now returned home to find everything gone: looted or destroyed. Areas where you can see one church after another, one school after another, where every roof, every door, every window, every furnishing has disappeared: only the walls left standing. And the ordinary huts and houses - barely a trace. Later perhaps, we shall be able to help with goats and sheep and the odd cow... There are lots of other projects too. |
| Luke, for example. Luke is a Burundian. About twenty years ago he went to live in Rwanda. He married and settled down. Last year, when the Rwandan Patriotic Front (Tutsi Army) came to avenge their dead, Luke and his family had to flee for their lives, travelling almost the length of Rwanda. On the journey he became separated from his wife and children and when he reached Burundi he had no idea whether they were dead or alive. A couple of months ago, a priest was able to inform him that they had indeed survived and were living only forty miles away. Unfortunately, like him, all they possessed were the clothes they had left home with. Fr. Benno, who had found him accommodation with one of his catechists was delighted to discover that Luke was a qualified carpenter, just the sort of man he needed for the carpenters' co-operative he was establishing in one of his outstations. Luke was equally delighted to accept the job of managing the scheme. |
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| Fr. Benno needed £600 to buy Luke a plot of land on which he could build himself a reasonable hut, grow food, and thus be in a position to be reunited with his family. Two parishioners had provided me with £200 each. I was sure they would be very pleased to see it devoted to such a good cause. Marie-Loiuse is a shop assistant in Bujumbura. I had been explaining to her what I was doing in her country. Her eyes lit up! Did I do anything for orphans? Well, yes, depending on circumstances ... I've been an orphan from the age of three, she went on, that is why on top of my own children, I have adopted four orphan children. Would you be able to help us? She was luckier than most, working in decent surroundings, but her salary would be barely £1 per day, not much for her large family. So I told her to write down the details and take them to Fr. Benno - and between us we would see what could be done. Another worthwhile little project surely. The happiness of those who receive is only exceeded by that of those who give. |
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Facts and Figures: We are grateful to, and wish to thank, the 'Catholic Missionary Education Centre' (CAMEC) for supplying most of the statistical information in the above tables. If you would like to know more about CAMEC, please write to:
CAMEC, Holcombe House, The Ridgeway, London NW7 4HY.
The whole report was reproduced from the "White Fathers - White Sisters" Missionary magazine for June/July 1995 - Issue No: 322 who can be contacted by e-mail at:
suttonlink@dial.pipex.com or by other means at: White Fathers - White Sisters, 129 Lichfield Road, Sutton Coldfield, West Midlands, B74 2SA
Telephone: 0121 308 0226 |
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