The conflict between government forces and armed rebels in eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) has displaced hundreds of thousands of Congolese villagers.
Three months after fighting began in the North-Kivu province, the number of internally displaced persons (IDPs) is saturating the capacity of 'official' refugee camps, and forcing spontaneous settlements to form around Goma.
According to United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) estimates, more than 470,000 people have fled their homes since fighting began in April, and more are on their way out. Some 200,000 of them are in North Kivu, while another 200,000 are in South Kivu, and more than 50,000 have fled to Uganda and Rwanda.
The village of Kanyarucinya, situated 10 kilometers North of Goma, is one of the many towns taken-over by IDPs. According to the Norwegian Church Aid, a non-profit providing emergency assistance to those living in Kanyarucinya, the village is home to nearly 7,000 of these settlers.
Louise Baseme, 28, arrived two weeks ago. She says she fled to save her baby's life.
"I left as soon as I heard that the rebels were heading towards our village. I didn't really know anything about conflict, but we heard about the fighting over the radio and I got really scared," said Baseme.
She spent the first week hiding in bushes near her home, waiting for the conflict to calm down. With no information outlet, and no more contact with other villagers, she assessed the level of immediate danger by carefully listening for gunshots and measuring their distance.
"We had nothing; no money or food. But I was able to find some fruits here and there," said Baseme. "Then one day we were woken up by mortars exploding near us, and I decided to just go."
The young mother spent the following days walking south towards Goma, carrying her baby on her back.
Baseme admits she knew nothing of the conflict between rebels of the March 23 Movement (M23) and the Armed Forces of the Democratic Republic of Congo (FARDC), other than the danger it represented to her family. However, this wasn't the first time she's had to flee gunshots. In 2008, she made the same journey south during the conflict between the FARDC and the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR), another local rebel group.
Baseme says children from the North-Kivu province of RDC grow up learning about past conflicts from stories their parents' stories.
"If we live in peace, it's only for a short time, and we are always ready in case there is war because it's happened so many times," said Baseme.
Even though Baseme arrived a fortnight ago, she is considered as one of the new faces of Kanyarucinya. Because of the number of IDPs who arrived before her, she stands at the back of a long waiting line. In fact, she still hasn't received any attention from the NGOs working in the camp, and continues to wait for one of the much-coveted food stamps they distribute.
The lack of shelter also means that Baseme lives outside in a 4 foot-square perimeter she's build using small volcanic stones. She sleeps on a homemade mattress made by weaving together bamboo leaves that soften the rocky floor. During the day, she roams the village in search of food, carrying her baby under a formerly white cloth in order to protect his small lungs from the winds of ash swirling in the camp. Baseme says she has survived this long, strictly because of the generosity of other IDPs and nearby villagers who share the little they have.
"We get by, barely, but we do," said Baseme, "by asking those who receive food. But we cannot sustain this type of living."
One of those helping Baseme is Bernard Ntwimenyumusi. The 51-year old stands out from the crowd, not only because he is one of the few men in the camp, but also because of his close-shaved face and impeccably ironed orange dress shirt.
Ntwimenyumusi lives in Goma, far enough to avoid the sight of hungry children. But every morning, he calls a taxi-moto to drive him to Kanyarucinya, and confronts this painful reality.
"Every time I come, I see new faces," said Ntwimenyumusi. "Those who are arriving now die from hunger because they need to get stand behind those who have been here for a long time, and at some point the distribution stops before they get their turn."
In order to help the new arrivals, Ntwimenyumusi opened his home last month to several families seeking shelter. He currently houses more than 20 people, and shares his family's food reserves with them.
"When you are a parent, when you are a Congolese citizen, you can't do anything but give what you have to those who are less fortunate," said Ntwimenyumusi, who insists his neighbors do more than him by hosting up to 50 people in a single home.
"Nearly everyone is trying to help, but it's hard when you don't have the resources for yourself, or any guarantees that you will be able to continue to provide in the future," said Ntwimenyumusi.
At first glance, Kanyarucinya looks like one of the many 'official' refugee camps in RDC. Hundreds of white UNICEF tents are lined-up on either side of an overcrowded road, which serves as the meeting point for mothers waiting patiently for the next distribution. Hours pass by, during which they cough up the volcanic ash whipped onto their darkened foreheads by military trucks racing towards the Ugandan border.
But appearances can be deceiving, and if new settlers can easily mistake the site for a refugee camp, they quickly discover it isn't managed like one.
According to UNHCR's Public Information Officer, Simplice Kpandji, the lack of organization in Kanyarucinya is the main reason why some settlers receive food while others do not.
"One of the biggest hurdles to the current distribution systems in IDP camps is the inability of non-governmental organizations to distinguish the settlers from the permanent residents of the village," said Kpandji.
Refugee camps in RDC are currently able to accommodate and feed the majority of unsettled IDPs, says Kpandji, but they are not always the favored sites.
"In contrast to spontaneous settlements sites, 'official' refugee camps are managed to provide for large food demands, and they offer health centers for those who have been caught in between the conflict, but they are also harder to access because they are further away," said Kpandji.
UNHCR currently manages 31 refugee camps in the North-Kivu province of RDC, and provided food, shelter, and other life necessities to more than 100,000 refugees.
"One of our main goals when we talk to people in Kanyarucinya is to sensitize IDPs to come to Mugunga, where they can get greater support," said Kpandji.
At the Mugunga refugee camp, 5 kilometers away from Goma, authorities recently gave UNHCR several pieces of land in order to increase capacity. Since April, the camp has grown from 2,000 to 10,000 refugees.
However, thousands of IDPs have opted against settling near Goma. Instead, they are hoping to unpack at settlement camps, close to the no-man's land zone set up by the FARDC, hoping for a short stay before moving back home.
"They know that Mugunga is there, but they prefer to stay closer to their area of origin," said Kpandji. "They want to stay there because they are not far away from their villages, so they hope that when the war will cease they can quickly go back to their home."
Most IDPs expressed that personal security is only marginally more important than the security of their homes or the fields they farm, which explains their stubborn desire to stay as close as possible to the military border.
"If their homes are looted, or their crops die, they have nothing left," said Kpandji.
Perhaps another reason for the settlers' preference for settlements is the relative normalcy that nearby villages offer, as if enabling them to escape the brutal daily reminders they've lost everything in only a couple of months.
Instead of creating a perimeter around Kanyarucinya, villagers have invited IDPs into their own community. Temporary shelters are being built next to permanent wooden buildings. Some of the bigger structures have even been trusted into the hands of the newcomers.
Christian Semakin and his brother Lucien were some of the first to settle in Kanyarucinya. As soon as they arrived, they were invited to transform the local school into a shelter for the vulnerable women of their village. They gathered straw from a nearby barn, laid it on the floor and around the edges of the door and windows to keep the women warm at night. One of them in particular, pushed them for survival. She was 8 months pregnant and had been separated from her husband by the conflict. On June 22, she gave birth, over a yellow bed of straw, to a healthy baby boy.
"If we weren't given the school, I'm not sure she would have one right now," said Christian, recognizing their fortune in finding such a hospitable village.
However, his brother says the school quickly became overpopulated. The camp also swelled up, presenting a new but grave threat to the children.
"It became a real threat for small kids, who would get trampled on during distributions, or at night," said Lucien.
Because the humanitarian response is struggling to cope with the needs of IDPs, some of the settlers have taken upon themselves to build temporary housing, cutting down bamboo growing close to the village with their machetes. It is a practice that has been encouraged by local villagers, who see in the demand a business opportunity.
The influx of settlers has also been beneficial to local vendors, who have set up a 'refugee market' aimed for those who were able to flee with money.
The market is rich in food and supplies. One woman chops up several pounds of meat on a makeshift bamboo table, while teenagers grill and sell goat brochettes to passing U.N vehicles, and bored military soldiers guarding the rusty barrier that separates the 'other side.' Away from the smelly fumes, other women are arranging dozens of colorful garments, some of which will undoubtedly finish on one of Goma's sewing tables.
As the conflict between the FDLR and M23 continues to re-shape the North-Kivu province, it also exposes a number of regional paradoxes defined by a history of fighting: IDPs that prefer to settle near the front line instead of seeking the shelter of UNHCR camps further away; some suffering from famine only a few yards away from herds of goats, and chicken pecking at the floor, while others have enough UNICEF bed sheets to become active players in the local market.
Enough to baffle the few aid workers who brave these perilous roads that lead straight to the M23.
In the middle of the camp, a large group their children gather to play football on the village's dirt field. It is sacred ground here, the only space that has remained untouched by the arrivals, reserved for those who need to kick away their worries. For a moment at least, they run together, laugh together, and forget together, about the lives lost and the challenges ahead.
Or maybe they are simply used to the conflicts, and have come to the realization that all they can do, as their parents did before them, is live. Who else makes sure to rescue a torn up rubber ball from impeding danger, but those who know the necessity of the joy it might provide during the next few days?
Watching them play from the background, behind the goal posts, Mount Nyiragongo's live volcano acts as a symbolic reminder that this picturesque and quiet region of RDC hides old but explosive tribal tensions that can erupt at any given moment.
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