Refugees in Uganda: Jospin and lost illusions

Described as a paradise for Congolese refugees dreaming of the West, Uganda will soon be seen as a cradle of stateless people.

For many Congolese refugees, Uganda is merely a transit point to the West. Nakivale camp, the largest and oldest refugee camp in Africa, has seen the birth of children who have come of age and are still waiting for their families to be resettled without any citizenship.

Jospin is one of the children born on the shores of Lake Nakivale – from which the camp takes its name – near the Tanzanian border in Isingiro district, southern Uganda, about 200 km from the capital, Kampala. These children have never known any other life than the one they face in the camp and feel that their destiny has been sacrificed by the sublimation of the West.

Jospin is not a first name, but a reference to the name of the former French Prime Minister Lionel Jospin. Jospin dreams of greatness and his father has almost convinced him that he will be greater than Lionel Jospin whom he admires so much. However, the Jospin of this story is of Congolese origin. His best friend, Muisa, would like to become a film actor. A big fan of Schwaznegger, he calls himself Arnold in the neighbourhood to embody strength and courage to his peers. This is not uncommon among Congolese, or even Africans in general; even worse among refugees, for whom the excessive sublimation of ‘Poto[1]‘is the best of all dreams.

Born to dream

With a year and a few months to go before he comes of age, Jospin will have to face the same problem as Marceline, his older sister, who, at the age of 21, never knew which country she was a citizen of. Although Marceline is no longer too concerned about her own situation, which is not so far removed from that of a ‘stateless person’, she is nevertheless very concerned about the situation of her little brother Jospin.

It is almost four years since she turned 18 but all her childhood memories are in that camp. Her mother still tells her how perilous their journey was to leave the Congo in 2001 when she was only one year old. Although she cannot piece together even a picture of what her life was like there, she however feels that her case is different from Jospin’s because « he was born here, » she insists.

« I don’t know the process of naturalization in Uganda because I didn’t have the chance to study too much, but my little brother deserves to have citizenship because he was born here. This is his country, until we go to Europe. » Marceline told us.

For his part, Jospin is firmly convinced that he is Congolese for the simple reason that Congo is the country of his origins. Something he keeps repeating when asked about his nationality: ‘My parents came from there’. However, he sometimes holds back this conviction because he fears that he does not really resemble the Congolese, not knowing the habits and customs of the country of Lumumba.

« I don’t know how the Congolese live in Congo. I have never been there and if I go one day, they will easily notice that I come from somewhere else because I would not know how to behave with them. I was born here, I speak the language and I eat the food from here.” Jospin admits.

The sense of duty is already settling in Jospin’s mind. Unable to study like other kids his age, he goes out in the middle of the night with his friends. They walk like gazelles to Lake Nakivale where they make building bricks at dawn. They have embarked on a marathon because next year they want to go back to school:

« When we have fired these bricks, we will sell them and the money I get after the sharing, I will buy school items and pay my school fees », plans Muisa Arnold, one of the two friends with whom Jospin is working to make the bricks.

Public education in Uganda is free and compulsory for the first seven years of elementary education, for all Ugandan children aged 6 to 13. Jospin and his friend Arnold were unable to take advantage of this privilege because they are not Ugandan citizens despite being born in Uganda.

« The number of pupils is as low in public as in public schools. Many of the children born here have no documentation of citizenship but also their parents have an average income of less than $0.5 a day. These are the two factors that make it difficult for refugee children to go to school. » Salima Namusobya, Executive Director of the Social and Economic Rights Initiative, explained to us.

Nyakabande or the way to Calvary

This is where the journey to the famous ‘Poto’ begins. Nyakabande is located about 126 km from the town of Mbarara, at the intersection of the borders between the Democratic Republic of Congo, Rwanda and Uganda. Living conditions are appalling in this « Transit Centre ». It is so called because this is where all the refugees are received before being settled in the 13 camps spread over the Ugandan territory, including the urban refugees from Kampala.

It is hard to imagine that the journey to a so-called ‘city of light’ like Paris, for example, could start with such aberrations, and yet it does. Here in Nyakabande, every refugee is outraged. One of the most common complaints is that they are served « inadequate food », in the words of Jean-Pierre Kyatsumbwa.

Only seven years old, Jean-Pierre Kyatsumbwa had to flee his home village of Kihinga in North Kivu province with his uncle Bahiti Bavurike. He says that the camp authorities are treating them « inhumanely » and that « the living conditions are deplorable, especially in terms of sanitation ». The toilets are completely not suitable, which is a further shock for him, who has just fled the ongoing fighting between the rebels of the 23 March Movement and the Armed Forces of the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Also as a result of the fighting between the rebels of the 23 March Movement (M23) and the FARDC, as of 13 June 2022; more than 20,000 refugees have decided to camp in sub-counties rather than at the Transit Centre, refusing to join the others in Nyakabande. They have resorted to encroaching on Ugandan-owned land and say they cannot agree to go to Nyakabande because there is not enough space to graze their cattle. Moreover, « staying near the border gives them the opportunity to cross to Rutshuru and grow crops or get food, » said Hajji Shafique Ssekandi, resident commissioner of Kisoro district.

Without resources, without dignity, one can only learn to be resilient. Refugees no longer revolt around here, even though they are subjected to all sorts of abuses that can cause unpleasant or traumatic shocks. In Nyakabande, the living conditions are appalling in the ‘Transit Centre’.

“ We fled the war because we were afraid to die, now we feel like this is where we will be buried. ”

Daphine Gatluak, South Sudanese refugee

The Ugandan police enforce order in these camps with whipping and flogging. Unfortunately, the police are not the only ones doing this here. Nine-year-old Marit still bears the marks on her back from a beating she received three days ago. « The man who did this to her is in the office right in front, » says her mother Daphine Gatluak, pointing to the Office of the Prime Minister, OPM, which runs the camp.

« Imagine the image my daughter has of him every time he looks at him and the pain she feels when she thinks about it. She will have to carry this wound inside her for the rest of her life. We fled the war in Southern Sudan because we were afraid to die; now we feel like this is where we will be buried. “Speechless throughout her mother’s speech, Marit tearfully bent her head to rest on her mother’s legs.

It is 5 p.m., the last light of day is being swallowed by the horizon, but Isniino, a Somali girl who is too strong for her age, 4, has not eaten anything since the morning. She has been looking after Caaisho, her little sister, since 8 a.m., while their mother jostles in the crowd to receive the token that fixes her interview. The number on the token determines the timetable for registering refugees, from arranging transport to collecting family allowances.

« The problem is that most UNHCR staff is paid daily. That’s why they prolong things so that we come back here again the next day. I am so tired and hungry that I feel like I have no milk left in my chest to breastfeed my youngest daughter who is only 6 months old, » confessed Aasha Waabberi, the mother of Isniino and Caaisho.

Douglas Asiimwe, Commissioner for Refugees at the Office of the Prime Minister, OPM, could not respond to her accusations but justified himself by saying that « it is the new refugees who are complaining because they don’t have the exact number of cases to process per token. There are families with 12 or even 15 members in one file. We only give one token per file, but we study it on a case-by-case basis, i.e. person by person according to their number.”

Discriminated against by rigid legislation

Imagine being deprived of your nationality and treated as a foreigner in the only country you have ever known, the one where you were born and spent your whole life, the one where all those you know (friends, family, and maybe even grandparents) live. In a year and four months, Jospin will be legally responsible for his rights and duties.

He will not, however, have that great privilege which guarantees both concrete rights and the protection of rights – such as the right to vote – and worse still a symbol of attachment and belonging.

For more than 20 years, many refugees in Uganda have been unable to acquire Ugandan citizenship, prompting the Refugee Law Project (RLP) and the Center for Public Interest Law (CEPIL) to seek an opinion from the Ugandan Constitutional Court in 2010 on the acquisition of citizenship for refugees under the law.

The 1951 Geneva Convention relating to the Status of Refugees, ratified by Uganda in 1976, states that « the Contracting States shall facilitate, as far as possible, the assimilation and naturalization of refugees ». In particular, they shall endeavour to expedite the naturalization procedure and to make it as light as possible. In Ugandan law, the legal instruments that determine access to citizenship are the Constitution (as amended in 2005), the Citizenship and Immigration Control Act 1999 (as amended in 2009) and the Refugee Act 2006. Unfortunately, these provisions are neither precise at national level nor applied in practice.

In addition, some parts of Ugandan law explicitly discriminate against refugees, including Article 12 of the Constitution, which states that a person born in the territory is eligible for citizenship by registration, but only if « none of his parents or grandparents has been a refugee in Uganda ». Section 14 of the LONCI Act reinforces this by guaranteeing citizenship by registration only to migrants who have been in Uganda for more than ten years according to the constitution, 20 years according to the Uganda Citizenship and Immigration Control Act, UCICA, provided they have immigrated to Uganda « lawfully and voluntarily. »

« It is others who decide what they call legal and voluntary. I don’t know if for me being born here is one or the other. How is being born here more illegal than being born elsewhere? I’d like someone to explain that to me, » says a puzzled Jospin.

Resettlement, the ultimate jackpot?

Until recently, transfer to a third country was a measure mainly reserved for refugees with special protection needs, such as victims of violence or unaccompanied children. The number of people resettled was relatively low (in 2013, only 1% of the world’s 16.7 million refugees had access to resettlement).

Despite this lethargy in the process, Justin Mugurineza, Jospin’s father, swears by resettlement: “Going back to Congo? I haven’t thought about it for too long. We suffer here for everything else, but I have never heard the crackling of bullets, nor witnessed beheadings or massacres. I will leave this camp the day my family and I feel safe in Poto.”

“ There are already many fake refugees in the camp. ”

              Marceline Mugurineza, Congolese refugee

 Her sister Marceline still believes she can find a job once she is resettled to help Jospin go back to school. She remains reluctant, however, because « corruption is the operating system in the processing of cases », she says.

 « There are already many fake refugees in the camp. They come from non-conflict areas like Kisangani, Kinshasa and Lubumbashi. There are also people from countries that are not at war, like Nigeria and Tanzania, but who are registered as Congolese refugees because they have money to bribe UNHCR officials. Everyone wants to jump at the chance to enjoy the good life in Poto and that reduces our chances of being resettled too quickly, » Marceline worries, but without losing hope.

Jospin is already fed up with the hope he receives from his father and sister. For him, resettlement is a leap into the unknown. Since he is not sure of anything, he reassures himself by ignoring their advice. For him, Congo is just the name of a place he doesn’t know, just like the rest of the world.

« If I am alive here, others are alive elsewhere, » he says. « In Nakivale, in Congo or anywhere else, as long as there is no war, I can only feel at home. »

This story was published with the support of Media Monitoring Africa and UNICEF as part of the lsu Elihle Awards initiative.

Jean-Fraterne RUYANGE is a journalist, writer and webactivist who uses storytelling to advocate for social justice and equal rights. Winner of the best French-speaking bloggers’ contest, Mondoblog 2017, he is shortlisted for the Isu Elihle 2022 awards for innovative journalism on children.

[1] Nickname given to the West by Congolese for whom immigrating to Europe or America is the greatest dream.