My story starts when my parents, my sisters and I decided to move from the Democratic Republic of Congo in the province of Kisangani, to Uganda. We found ourselves in Nakivale refugee camp due to wars in our country. After having lived in Nakivale for three years, when I was thirteen years old, a thief came to our house to steal our property. The thieves entered the house through the window of our parents’ bedroom. As they went to leave, after they my dad heard them and said “hey you guys!” When they heard him, they decided to make Dad quiet by hitting him on the head with a big piece of tree. The thieves were caught by scouts who were in place to protect the neighborhood, and then taken to the police station to be punished by the law. My dad was taken to the hospital. I sat under the tree in our compound crying. I wondered how I was going to get school fees for myself if my father didn’t recover quickly. While I was crying under the tree, my two younger sisters, Esther and Plamedie, came to me and said “sister be strong, our dad is gonna be fine.” I responded, “my sisters, who is gonna feed us and pay for our school fees if our father doesn’t recover quickly? Yes they supply us food, but it doesn’t mean that we will everyday live with posho and beans. Our bodies need a balanced diet.” After going to school without paying my school fees, the teacher chased me while my dad was still ill in the hospital. I decided to leave school and started to steal from others in order to get a small amount of cash for domestic use. One day on my way to church, I met with a girl dressed in a yellow dress. “Hello,” said the girl. “Hi, how are you doing today?” I replied and continued on my way. She called after me, “Sorry sister, do you remember me,” she said. I told her I did not. She then said, “I am Mary Ngongo Djuma, your best friend from Kisangani, whom you were studying with.” Hoof! I heavenly breathed and directly hugged her tightly, not willing to leave her again. Because I was rushing to church, we decided to leave each other for that time and agreed to meet after church service. When I found her again, we talked a lot and reminded each other about our lives in the DRC. “Do you still remember teacher Marcel?” asked Mary. “Yes, why not,” I responded. “That is the teacher who made me cry in school that I will never forget in my life.” “What happened again?” Mary asked. “I’m not recalling what he did to you.” “Oh my goodness! Really, Mary? I see that your memory is not good!” I laughed. “He refused me to move to go to the toilet” I reminded Mary. “Then Marcel said, ‘Rebecca can you stand,’ and I said no through my building tears as the rest of the class looked at me with laughter in their eyes. “Oh I had completely forgotten about that funny moment,” Mary said. “I am so sorry Rebecca!” She continued, “I also laughed at you that day, but it was only for fun.” I could laugh about it too as I reminisced with Mary. We talked for a while longer about our previous lives in DRC and we agreed to meet again soon. After this day, Mary and I met regularly, and became close friends again. During this time, my dad finally recovered and continued with his work. One day, about six months later, my younger brother, Messiah, the third born, came to me and said “sister, dad said that you got a chance to be paid school fees at a private school in Mbarara town!” I replied, “You fool stray cat! Can you stop dreaming about that?” While I scolded my brother about his silly ideas, I saw my dad and mum coming happily down the path. They exclaimed, “Congratulations our dear! You and your friend Mary Ngongo Djuma have a high chance of being paid school fees in Mbarara town!” I couldn’t believe my brother was right! I never waited for my parents to finish explaining. I rushed to Mary’s home so that we could enjoy that moment happily together. After one week, we packed to leave Nakivale refugee settlement and go to Mbarara town. My mother and my siblings were crying for me to leave them. Since we were all born we had never stayed far away from each other. Mary and I reached Mbarara town, and started schooling after resting for about a week. Mary and I enjoyed school together in Mbarara town. We loved the environment and the town and our studies were going well. After studying there for two years, I had a very serious accident on a motorcycle. Due to going and returning everyday because of a health condition, I was required to be a day scholar. I used to suffer from asthma so the school administration decided to pay for me to take a bodaboda for coming and returning to support my body condition. After my accident, when my parents were informed, my mum was almost dying because of her love for me. Mary was also in shock seeing her friend in that condition. My mother and father came to Mbarara and found me on an oxygen supplier to keep me alive. After three weeks, I recovered and started schooling again. After two weeks back at school, the president of the Republic of Uganda, Yoweri Kaguta Museveni, announced that we were all in lock down due to COVID-19. We all were told to return to our homes. One day when I was sitting home, Mary came and told me, “My dear I have a place where we can try to sell a few things so we can be able to afford something of our
Personal Narrative
Interview with Robert
Thank you for sharing this powerful story with us. Could you tell us about what inspired you to write it? I chose to write an inspirational story, and I hope my readers will understand that a friend is a God given gift, and that despite the life we live, we are capable of doing something and making changes. What messages do you hope your readers will take away from your story? I want the readers to understand that, with friendship, hard work and love, plus unity as a team, we can overcome hard times and build a better life together and overcome the challenges we face in our lives as young people. As young people, there is still hope for the future, the key is just love and unity. What, from your perspective, is the point of storytelling? Why do we tell stories, what do they do for us, and what purpose do they serve? Through telling stories we can explore our own identities and values, and connect with others on a shared human experience. Did your story change over the course of your participation in the storytelling workshops? How? My story was a confusing narration about me and my friend John in the beginning. I had no clear way to make it seem real or easy to understand, but after the storytelling program I had a chance to develop my story. Through the sessions I went through together with my friends at the Elite Humanitarian Service Team I gained the skills and understanding to show my story rather than tell it. I also learned to include ethnographic interview material to help narrate my story. This was not easy to achieve but I appreciate the hard work of my mentors, especially Madam Laura Moran and Isharah Theobarh Barhame in helping me to do so. I also want to thank my peer reviewer who is now my friend, Mr Maximillian Kane, for his hard work and dedication to making my story the best it could be through his feedback and suggestions. I am really happy for all of the sessions that helped me to grow as a storyteller and writer. How does your story offer an alternative path, point of view, or way forward? How does it speak to the possibility of an otherwise? My story offers a fresh idea by emphasizing resilience, friendship and community in refugee lives. It challenges the usual narrative of despair in refugee camps. My story shows how hardship can inspire leadership and responsibilities. After John loses his parents, he takes responsibility for his siblings, proving that even in difficult moments young people can shape their destinies. Our friendship grows into a partnership of support, by showing the power of solidarity in achieving personal and collective goals together as friends. My story also redefines typical refugee narratives by portraying refugees as resourceful, creative contributors to their communities. By emphasizing teamwork in football and collaboration in brick-making, it demonstrates how small steps can lead to significant change among young people. By showing how young people seek possibility, agency and unity in creating new opportunities even in the hardest of times, my story speaks to the “possibility of an otherwise.”
The Young Man in a Refugee Camp, by Robert Ndasunikwa
It was a hot Sunday. I was on the Kigali playground playing football with my team members, Leon, Joshua, Fariji, Gideon, Siyawezi, and Isaac. I saw a tall man in black trousers and a yellow T-shirt in the distance. He was sitting on a branch of a short mango tree, watching us as we played. I wondered who he was and wanted to talk to him. When we took a break from our game, I approached him. After our initial greetings, I asked the man, “where are you from and what is your name?” John replied, looking down at me from his perch on the mango tree branch. “I’m John, from the New Hope village,” he said. “Why are you here?” “What are you doing under the mango tree?” “How old are you?” I continued to question him. He was here to watch football and get fresh air, he told me, and he was just nineteen years old. We started talking about the match and how the footballers were playing. I became so absorbed in our conversation that I abandoned the rest of the game to continue talking with John. Once I realized I had missed the second round of our game, I asked John to come back tomorrow and join us. I even asked him to become the trainer of our team as we did not have one and John seemed to know a lot about the game. John said he would like that, and that the reason he came here was to watch, and if possible, to play football, as it is his favorite game. We agreed he would arrive at 7am the next day, in order for us to finish our game by 9am, in time for us to attend church service. Before he left, I introduced him to the other team members and told them that John wished to play with us and possibly become our coach. The next morning, I arrived at the playground at 7am to find John already there. He was running the outer circle of the playground while waiting for the other players to arrive. We greeted each other and I began to run with him silently. When the others arrived, we appointed John to plan the number of players. He did, and then we had a training match for one and half hours. The players appreciated him for his tactical guidance and drill design. We concluded with a short team meeting, deciding on our training days. Then we shared a handshake, a sign of unity as the Wolf Team. When John said he wanted to go home, I told him, “let us go together.” I escorted him while we shared more words. This time, we talked about our training and how enjoyable it was for both of us. When we reached John’s home in New Hope village, I saw a tall avocado tree at the gate and a banana plantation in the left-back corner of the compound, close to the latrine. I saw one young woman washing utensils, another washing clothes, and a young boy reading books. John told me these people were his siblings. Excited to meet them, I greeted them one by one. They were open and welcoming with great broad smiles on their faces, for I was their first visitor on a Sunday morning . After saying goodbye and walking back home through Kigali road in New Hope village, talking about the heat and sunshine of the day, I felt in my heart, a confusion. I never saw a parent at John’s home. As we got closer to my home in Sudan village, we stood under an avocado tree before parting ways. I asked John, “why didn’t I see any parents at your home? This is the time when parents always prepare themselves for church services?” At that moment, John, my new coach and now my friend, started crying. I knew something was deeply wrong. John said it was a long story. He said he didn’t want to share it with me because it would make him remember his past life. He said it would cause him to cry and feel distressed. But then after ten minutes of silence he shared with me his story. I was his friend now. He didn’t see the need to hide things from me. Three years ago, John’s parents had to travel for work in Mbarara city, in Uganda. At 5am, shortly after they set out on their journey, they got into a terrible accident. Their driver lost control and the car knocked a rock as they drove through the pouring rain. John’s parents, along with eight other people, lost their lives. John received the message that his parents died two days later. After the death of his parents, when he was just sixteen years old, John’s siblings began to consider him like a father and mother to them. John had no job or means to support a family. All he had was the land left by his father. He decided to make bricks from clay soil around his home, and he made a chimney to burn them. He then sold the burned bricks to people in Nakivale who used them to build different infrastructure, and people outside of Nakivale who ordered them for the same purpose. This made him enough money to cater to the basic needs of his siblings. As John continued with his story, he moved me to tears. I felt as though I myself was the one going through his situation. We were both crying in deep tears. As we sat under the tree to prevent ourselves from direct sunlight, I put my hand on John’s back, offering him some comfort. I wiped his tears using my white t-shirt and took him back to his home. The following morning, I went to John’s home and found him preparing the soil by digging and pouring water on it to make it wet. I realized what he was doing
