Death won’t stop us!
by: Feza Kayungu
Democratic Republic of Congo, Lubumbashi, Rebellion
Translated by Lola Malavasi
On December 22, 2021, we woke up to the chilling news that five people had been killed in a nearby neighborhood. We had heard the sound of bullets at night. It was frightening.1 It was not the first time we heard such terrifying news, it was the umpteenth. One puzzled us: a baby had been placed in a refrigerator because its parents could not give money. A whole list of nightmarish news reinforced our doubts about survival in this city once marked by its sly calm.
Between 2019 and 2022, an unforgettable story unfolded in Lubumbashi. A frightening and painful event. Some died, others left, some rebelled, and a few stopped believing in the state’s efforts to solve the city’s social problems. What’s more, this event took place during curfew.
The curfew was a measure by the authorities in response to the security situation and the resurgence of insecurity in Lubumbashi. It ran from 9 pm to 5 am. However, much to our astonishment, it was during this time that crime increased.2
Lubumbashi is the second largest city in the Democratic Republic of Congo, strategic for the country’s economy, thanks to its many mining enterprises.
Because of its cold climate and calm inhabitants, Lubumbashi has always been one of the world’s most peaceful and stable cities. But 2020 and 2021 revealed another side.
As in any normal city, there were always small, cold conflicts between gangs. No one actually cared. No one quite knows when we found ourselves in a situation like that, where we couldn’t react or denounce, but just had to put up with it. It happened so fast that fear was our only daily routine.
One morning, we all woke up speaking the same language.
We would all ask the same question: “Did you hear the bullets crackling at night? We couldn’t really sleep. I heard the bandits got in on the north side, they killed some people…” “Oh my God, that’s scary.” That is how we started greeting each other every morning. The nights were long and hard since we could hear real bullets and not know which side they were coming from, let alone whether we were the target.
These men came with rage, rage to kill, steal, pillage, and rape.
Once their task was done, they promised to return on another occasion. Many families were left bereaved and exasperated. They did not just take money or material goods, they also took life. They took it violently, either killing the person involved directly or starting by killing a harmless relative, such as a child or baby. They were ruthless. Some people fled their homes to avoid being targeted.
Testimony of a resident of a district (Kasungami) visited: “We hardly slept here. Every day starting at midnight, the population woke up because of burglaries. Last week, armed burglars operated three days in a row. Each time 5 houses were visited.” Last Sunday,” she explains, “we arrested a policeman who was stealing. We took him to the district office, and the next morning he was released, and there were even scuffles here.”3
The police still didn’t show up on time as usual. Sometimes there were terrible clashes between the police and the gunmen. These exchanges created confusion among the population. And questions like these kept cropping up: How could these bandits also have ammunition as effective as the police?
A rumor began to spread. A rumor that the forces of law and order were the perpetrators of these crimes.
“Often they come dressed in police outfits, but they’re well masked.”4
Since they still would not be on time, they are suspected by the population. Several initiatives began to rise.
Unarmed
The fire, the vuvuzela, and the drum have become weapons to chase away the bad guys. We decided to take charge [v]. The only things we had to fight with were rocks, plastic trumpets, whistles, and sticks [vi]. We swore revenge on anyone who fell into our clutches. After three days, we were a multitude. And numbers always impress and frighten. A synergy had been created, enabling us to call on people from other corners in case of extreme emergencies. So women, men, and young people were around the fire, singing and banging our drums. We wanted to send a signal to these criminals that we were awake.
The fear could not end: what if they were heavily armed? What if, what if, what if…
But we had to hold out. A few days later, a victim fell into the net. Oh, what satisfaction. He was burned alive to pay for the misdeeds and crimes of his predecessors. There was strength in the young men and women who, instead of sleeping, watched over their loved ones to protect them from the pain and crimes of these heartless men.
Then, it became customary for young men and women to sleep outside and take the law into their own hands. It was irreparable damage. So the municipal forces, frightened by this decision, resolved to patrol again.
Rebellion
Indeed, excluding the fact that some of the police were being singled out by the population, the second wave of criminals was more a race of young men who lived in the neighborhood. They were innocent youngsters by day and executioners by night. The police were questioned more times and some of the perpetrators were even punished. Complaints about their presence during burglaries could no longer be heard. Instead, young civilian men took over. They began attacking people in broad daylight. They operated freely and fearlessly, enslaving poor citizens who had just recovered from the psychosis caused by frightening sleepless nights. These young people were the product of unemployment and false political promises. They didn’t have firearms, but they did have cutting weapons: machetes, crowbars, pestles… And at times, they used whatever they could find in the houses.
They said that the best way to attract the attention of the authorities was to kill innocent people. So they took turns killing, cutting, and raping.
A little spying on my neighbor
Why do they always know everything when they come to our houses? Why do they point out exactly where all the things we hide are?
“There are a lot of betrayals, there must be a scout.”
Some people pose as second-hand cleaners or job seekers and spy on you. At night, they wear masks and tell their bosses everything. One evening, someone recognized someone who had been at his home during the day.
“I saw this man gardening at my house. I didn’t dare look him in the eye because I might have succumbed.” He fell silent.
“I kept silent to spare my life. But during the day, I followed all his movements and we looked for where he was staying.”
All these young people, often living in groups of three to five in small two-room houses, were the target of the second operation.
These young men we don’t see during the day, but who are there all the same. We took a closer look at them.
And some of them were spotted on crime nights. Silently, they were taken by force to the police station in the middle of the day. Who was the one pointing the finger? It was important to keep quiet to avoid backlash, but after a while, everyone had fled the neighborhood.
At the crossroads of revolts
Killing is a crime, but it rhymes with the state of regime,
The law has another name that softens this crime
It calls it self-defense.
It is up to the strongest to decide their class,
The strongest have weapons, they terrorize,
They attract attention by shedding blood, they paralyze.
And, on the other side, we are the victims.
For us, killing is self-defense,
But at first, we were afraid of this passage,
But we ended up rebelling,
Not out of pleasure, but out of passion to free ourselves,
Because we couldn’t trust the police,
Our fragile lives in torment depended on our force,
Perhaps no one was really touched by the blood spilled,
Maybe my raped sister’s screams weren’t enough, damn it!
She would have screamed loudly and wept angrily in that storm of pain
To draw the attention of the strongest in this enormous desert.
And that innocent child, savagely killed because his father had no money. That fear in the eyes of that little girl, witnessing the death of her parents, And all those sleepless nights, those countless hopeless nights, Where we slept without faith of again having each other within our sight.
No, their irresponsibility could not make us pay,
So we say,
“I haven’t slept, I’ve been betrayed by a loved one” I recognized them,
And to us, they would say,
“They promised us a job, we’ll get what you have and you’ll go and tell them for us”.
That’s how we lit our fire for avenging. We were ready to face this suffering,
At the risk of our lives!
To all those young men who stood their ground, courage is a treasure.
Feza, The notebook of my fears
