I was born in Bukavu and grew up between Bukavu and Goma, two cities scarred by decades of armed conflict. I am a lawyer, I chose to study peace at Hekima University College, seeking answers to these wars that have shaped my existence.
If war were a parent, it would have its favored children and its forgotten ones. Was I fortunate enough to be among those it cherished? My story is that of a child cradled by war’s brutality, of a woman who learned to bloom in the arid landscape of horror.
It all began in October 1996, when The Alliance of Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Congo (AFDL), under the leadership of Laurent-Désiré Kabila, invaded South Kivu, bringing an end to the dictatorial reign of former President Mobutu. Like thousands of others, we fled, walking 55 kilometers in four days to reach our village in Walungu territory. The path was littered with corpses, the sounds of bombs and gunfire echoed relentlessly. I was a child, passed from one loving arm to another, while my newborn brother, barely a week old, fought for his life. was on my uncle’s shoulders when a bullet, like a rocket, narrowly missed him… but struck my aunt instead. That was the beginning of a forced integration into what became my reality. As we struggled to recover from the horrors of 96-97, in 1998, Kabila broke ties with his Rwandan and Ugandan allies, triggering the creation of the RCD, composed of former AFDL cadres, which took control of the East. Our villages became rebel strongholds, and fleeing was no longer an option, leaving the city meant leaving the country, a luxury my family could not afford.
We learned to live under our beds, to hold our breath at every suspicious noise. Silence became our only weapon. At night, we heard soldiers patrolling house by house. Screams of distress would rise, only to be silent abruptly. When calm finally returned, it brought only the silence of mourning. Lives shattered by rape and sexual violence, irreparable absences, broken families… Life went on, but nothing would ever be the same again.
In June 2004, after the Sun City and Arusha agreements, Laurent Nkunda’s CNDP, originating from the RCD, once again plunged South Kivu into war.
That day, at 2 p.m., as we were returning from school, we saw panic take over: cars speeding, faces frozen in fear. Already familiar with this nightmare, we returned to our place under the beds, hidden in an oppressive silence for 9 days.
In 2009, the Goma Agreement aimed to integrate the CNDP into the national army, but dissidents emerged. In 2012, M23 was born to claim the agreement of March 23, 2009, launching an offensive from Rutshuru territory. They captured Bunagana, Rutshuru, Kiwanja, and Rumangabo, before seizing Goma in November 2012 for 11 days, before withdrawing and signing the Nairobi Agreement.
But in 2020, M23 resumed its offensives. This time, neither COVID-19 nor the Nyiragongo eruption in 2022 stopped them. For nearly four years, I moved back and forth every time the M23 advanced in North Kivu… the fatigue of instability set in, and I decided to settle down, come what may… until I finally left for Nairobi. But the clashes of January 25 caught up with me here too.
From Nairobi, I experienced this war more intensely than I ever imagined. I thought I was finally safe, just for once, but I found myself a prisoner (mentally and emotionally. Every video, every article, every post reignited memories. I was far from my loved ones, unable to reach them… The war was also media-driven, and I was affected) powerless in the face of internal governance, national, regional and international strategies. Yet, your compassion, your presence and your prayers helped me hold on.
But this story is not just one of pain. We live, we love, we dream, we build. Today, I stand strong and confident in a bright and peaceful future.
If war were a father, it would be omnipresent and possessive, a ruthless coach. But it also taught me resilience, adaptation, and the ability to rise again, like the phoenix. It taught me to cherish every moment, every place, every encounter. More than anything, it shaped my vocation—to be a defender of the marginalized and an advocate for justice and peace.
To the question, what are my perspectives? My answer is clear: the future is a field of action. I don’t just want to understand, I want to act. And Hekima University College provides me with the ideal space to do so.
Why Hekima? For its Peace and International Relations program, for its selection of students from diverse backgrounds, including conflict zones, for the richness of shared experiences, for the maturity and wisdom it cultivates, for its Ignatian spirituality, and above all, for its mission: to train peace actors.
But one crucial question remains: How can the DRC break this cycle of violence and build lasting peace? I look to Professor Opongo, Dr. Anyanzu, Dr. Elisé, Dr. Wekessa, Dr. James, Dr. Mokua, and Dr. Kiffle, not only to provide keys to analysis and concrete tools to envision specific and sustainable solutions, but also practical solutions. Aren’t we being trained to be peace actors? So, what if we started now?
Where do we begin? Establishing a framework for reflection on concrete action isn’t that preparing to become essential in conflict resolution in the region? Father Marcel, Father Steven, how can we benefit from Ignatian spirituality in the process of healing, dialogue, and reconciliation? Dr Jean Luc, how do we write these new pages in history?
These questions are not theoretical; they are calls to action. History teaches us that inaction prolongs conflicts, while engagement paves the way for transformation…
My future will not be dictated by war, but by hope, determination, and the will to build a better world. Peace is not something we wait for; it is something we build.
And I choose to act.
By Ella Mindja
Lawyer and Student in Peace Studies, Hekima University College
