Showing posts with label rape. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rape. Show all posts

Thursday, 21 February 2013

A rare hero in the rape arena


Having co-written an article on rape for the upcoming edition of Liberti, I was intrigued when I saw a BBC programme entitled The rape surgeon of DR Congo on iPlayer. The short film describes a country where women are not just raped for sexual gratification, but as a weapon of war. It was harrowing to say the least.

Gynaecologist Denis Mukwege is based in Congo and has literally risked life and limb to restore hope and bring physical healing to victims of rape in the country. “It was that year [1999] that our first rape victim was brought into the hospital. After being raped, bullets had been fired into her genitals and thighs,” Dr Mukwege recalls.

“I thought that was a barbaric act of war, but the real shock came three months later. Forty-five women came to us with the same story, they were all saying: ‘People came into my village and raped me, tortured me.’”

Since then, he and his colleagues have treated around 30,000 rape victims in DR Congo. His hospital, which has been destroyed more than once, provides around 350 beds, which are nearly full most of the time.

The sheer volume of victims crossing his threshold caused Dr Mukwege to think about what was happening: “These weren't just violent acts of war, but part of a strategy. You had situations where multiple people were raped at the same time, publicly; a whole village might be raped during the night. In doing this, they hurt not just the victims but the whole community, which they force to watch.

“The result of this strategy is that people are forced to flee their villages, abandon their fields, their resources, everything. It's very effective.”

Although there is no obvious way for him to put an end to the barbaric practice, he and his team take time to carry out psychological examinations on every victim and treat them accordingly. Operations are performed and long-term care is given where it is needed.

Thanks to funding from Unicef and other aid agencies, the care is free; an imperative seeing as some of the women turn up without even any clothes. They are fed, clothed and cared for, and are not discharged until they are properly back on their feet. Many are also offered legal support and advice.

No, not a bit of it. In fact, he was forced to flee his own home in 2011 after being held at gunpoint by five men and seeing one of his guards shot dead in front of him. It was a miracle he survived the gunfire that ensued, and that the men left with his car and nothing else. His daughters had also been threatened by the armed men, who had broken into the family home, but were unharmed.

He and the family fled to Europe but he recently returned to his homeland at the request of a group of local women who are campaigning against these atrocities and putting their lives on the line in the process. Earning practically nothing themselves, they managed to save enough to fly Dr Mukwege back to Congo and have been offering him round-the-clock protection ever since.

The women welcomed him back to the country as if he were the greatest hero of their time… and he just might be.

It inspired me to hear that one man has risked so much to help the many women who have suffered this terrible crime and, ultimately, to join with these female campaigners in working to put an end to the horrific ‘war tactic’ once and for all.

Let’s pray for his continued safety and for peace in Congo; for healing for the women who have been damaged physically and psychologically; and that justice will catch up with the perpetrators of this evil. 

Read more from Joy in the next issue of Liberti.

Friday, 16 December 2011

The dream that became a nightmare


You may have noticed that my blogs have been quite focused on human trafficking recently. I'm not going to apologise for this. It is something I feel passionately about and desperately want to see eradicated. But rather than writing another fact-filled blog of protest, this week I decided to write a poem from the point of view of a trafficked woman.

Perhaps poetry isn't your thing, and I realise I can only imagining what it must be like to experience such horrific circumstances. But maybe it will help you do the same. Feel free to let me know your thoughts.


Traffik stoppers

He came and gave my father money;
promised a land of milk and honey
He guaranteed a better life;
I’d learn a trade, I’d be a wife.

This had always been my dream;
this cat had always chased the cream
I’d see the world, I’d fall in love;
this man was sent from God above!


                         











But far away from friendly faces
I serviced men of many races
This is how I earned my bread;
my life suspended by a thread.

I’d never felt such utter shame;
they cut my hair, they changed my name
Kept under the hand, not just the thumb;
my heart so uncomfortably numb.

Every night I turned that trick;
They made me sore, they made me sick.
I didn’t dream, I couldn’t sleep;
My hope was gone, I dared not weep.

I longed for sunshine on my skin
but day and night I was kept in
Mastered by a tiny key
I prayed that God would rescue me.

Some vowed they’d take me out of there
but once fulfilled they didn’t care
My jailor locked me up with fear;
his words a curse, his smile a leer.


                         
















One day I managed to escape
but I was found and tamed with rape
To my throat he held a knife
until I begged him for my life.

If ever again I ran away
he said my family would pay
He covered my face in black and red;
no dignity left, no single shred.

Three times I found myself with child
after I had been defiled
But even they from me were taken;
my babies stolen, lost, forsaken.

Why did I ever leave my land
for a language I didn’t understand?
Why had I sold my soul for this;
the stolen sex, the stifling kiss?

                                   















And then the men in blue they came;
I opened my legs for more of the same
They locked me in a metal cage;
I knew they’d make me earn my wage.
                                                     
Instead they sat and questioned me;
they brought me endless cups of tea
Trapped behind another door;
with words I’d never heard before.


                           














But then a stranger brought me light;
she fought for me with all her might
She risked it all to rescue me;
to cut me loose, to set me free

She told me I was no one’s slave;
for me a man his life he gave
To give me hope, a destiny;
this man named Jesus paid my fee.

It sounded an unlikely tale;
I had no faith in any male
But she spoke from a melted heart
and offered me a brand new start.

She helped me overcome my fears;
she gently wiped away my tears
Free to laugh, to sing, to dance;
I gladly seized that second chance.

But I am not the only one
to live a life without the sun
To suffer ever new disgrace;
ensnared within a cruel embrace

It won’t take one, or two, or three
if we’re to set the captives free
If we’re to make the traffic stall
to block it off: for once, for ALL.

It won’t take luck; it won’t take magic; it’s up to US to stop the traffik.


If you want to know more about human trafficking, visit A21 Campaign's website. It offers plenty of information and ways to get involved.

Read more from Joy in the upcoming issue of Liberti magazine, and in its parent publication, Sorted