Meet the women helping rape victims recover dignity in Congo’s conflicts

Neema Paypay Mutsiirwa treks up the hill to her office in Masisi-Centre, the capital of Masisi territory, deep in the mountains of eastern Congo. It is a steep climb, made more difficult by slick mud and loose rocks. But Ms. Mutsiirwa does not pause to catch her breath, taking forceful steps in her rubber sandals. 

It’s a determination that serves Ms. Mutsiirwa well in her work counseling survivors of sexual assault and domestic abuse. Raised on the slopes of Masisi, she has dedicated her life to her role as the coordinator of Women’s Action for Social Change, a civic group. That makes her one of a handful of people in this conflict-ravaged area who, beyond clinical needs, provide desperately needed support to female victims of violence.

The lush, eastern region of the Democratic Republic of Congo has for years suffered from conflict and its aftereffects. Fighting in North Kivu, where Masisi is located, is driven by regional rivalries, competition over land and mineral resources, and the presence of  more than 100 armed groups, all vying for control or survival. 

Earlier this year, a resurgent rebel outfit known as the March 23 Movement (M23) briefly captured key towns and roads in Masisi territory, some 1,600 miles northeast of the capital, Kinshasa. The violence sent thousands of civilians fleeing and a flood of women to Ms. Mutsiirwa’s door.

With scant resources, and in the face of enormous difficulties, Ms. Mutsiirwa and others like her provide a vital safety net amid the latest uptick in fighting.

“We don’t leave the office,” Ms. Mutsiirwa says. “They come all days, from different places.” 

“The community ... trusts us”

Masisi is a microcosm of broader challenges in eastern Congo, which has experienced nearly 25 years of war.

Between the 1930s and 1950s, Belgian rulers encouraged white farmers to settle Masisi while importing tribes from Rwanda and Burundi to work its plantations. After Congo won independence, the government first granted voting rights to Masisi’s immigrant population, sowing tensions along ethnic lines.

The subsequent Congo Wars killed as many as five million people across eastern Congo. Foreign armies battled for control of the fertile Masisi region, while new rebel groups popped up to defend their territory. 

A 2003 peace deal ushered in a tentative drawdown, but sporadic clashes have continued. Ever since, sexual violence – inflicted by soldiers and civilians – has been a feature of the conflict.

The women seeking Ms. Mutiisrwa’s help are often desperate. 

When an armed group attacked her village in February, Ms. Ushindi struggled to keep up with her neighbors as they fled. “I couldn’t run,” she recalls. “I said, okay, if they kill me, they will kill me here.” 

Men she refers to as “the enemies” found her. 

Ms. Ushindi, who asked to be called by a pseudonym, doesn’t know who the men were. She only remembers that some wore military uniforms and others, civilian clothes.  They carried guns. They beat her. Seven raped her. 

Ten other women were raped alongside Ms. Ushindi. Two died from their injuries, she says, including a 9-year-old girl. 

Afterwards, she was unable to move or control her bladder. “I was like a person who has been paralyzed,” she says. 

Other villagers found her and placed her on a makeshift stretcher, walking for four days to reach Masisi General Referral Hospital. The hospital, supported by Doctors Without Borders (MSF), has just 16 doctors. In the first quarter of this year, staff treated 165 cases of sexual violence, MSF says.

This month, Human Rights Watch documented more than a dozen rapes committed by M23 fighters in North Kivu between late 2022 and spring 2023, which the advocacy organization dubbed war crimes. It has previously recorded similar assaults by other armed groups operating in the region.  

As the conflict with M23 drags on, providing care – which is free of charge –  has become more difficult. “We work in a situation of instability,” says Dr. Théophile Kubuya, the hospital’s director.  The patient load “exceeds the capacity of the hospital.” 

Tents have been set up in the courtyards between whitewashed buildings to deal with patient overflow. Ex-fighters and civilians alike recover from gunshot wounds, lying in beds next to children being treated for malnutrition. 

As Ms. Ushindi spent a month in the hospital recovering from her injuries, Ms. Mutsiirwa brought her food and clothes and introduced her to a support group for survivors of sexual assault – providing a lifeline.

But Ms. Ushindi’s husband left her upon hearing she’d been raped, a common response to the stigma associated with sexual violence.  

In such cases, Ms. Mutsiirwa will attempt to intervene and negotiate a reconciliation, so women like her can return to their homes. Despite entrenched prejudice, Ms. Mutsiirwa is successful in around half of the cases she takes on. 

“Most of the community accepts us and trusts us,” Ms. Mutsiirwa says. 

Giving advice

Across Masisi territory some 470,000 people newly displaced by conflict have sheltered in crowded camps, making the difficult journey from their homes in search of safety. 

Ms. Maombi, also a pseudonym, escaped fighting in her village in February, running into the mountains with her child. There, she met four men with guns. Like Ms. Ushindi, she doesn’t know who they were. But she says the leader of the group raped her. 

The next morning, she was allowed to leave.  

Eventually she reached Kalinga Camp, a refuge for displaced persons on the outskirts of Masisi-Centre. There, she found a community among other women. “They comforted me and encouraged me,” Ms. Maombi says. 

Clautilde Harerimana, who fled her village in 2016, now serves as a protection officer in Kalinga camp. Whenever she can, she meets women like Ms. Maombi, offering support. 

People wake Ms. Harerimana at night, asking for her help. It used to anger her husband. Upset that his wife spent her days volunteering, rather than caring for their eight children, he wanted her to quit. It was only when the rest of the camp pleaded with him that he relented. 

“I am someone who can keep secrets,” Ms. Harerimana says simply. “I am able to give advice.” 

Armed groups are not the only ones guilty of sexual assault in eastern Congo, explains Maria Erikson Baaz, a researcher at Uppsala University, in Sweden. “When we talk about wartime sexual violence, we tend to always think that it is military perpetrators, but many times civilians are the main perpetrators,” she says. 

This, she argues, calls for long-term work addressing gender norms and inherited trauma. For now, local activists are leading the charge.

Ms. Harerimana provides whatever advice she can to the women who seek her out. And Ms. Mutsiirwa continues to make the difficult climb up the hill to her office, so she can receive women there. 

Her organization, Women’s Action for Social Change, also runs programs in positive masculinity, encouraging men to respect their wives, and provides livelihood support to women who have been assaulted and rejected by their communities in hopes of bringing a more permanent end to violence against women. 

“I am a woman,” says Ms. Mutsiirwa, her tone brisk. “I see women suffering. That is why I am pushed, and I am involved in this work.”

Editor’s note: This story has been updated to correct the spelling of Ms. Mutsiirwa's name in the caption.