In the wake of unthinkable brutality, our beneficiaries are a testament to courage, resilience and the power of the human spirit. These are some of their stories.
“I call my story ‘Break Silence’. Because enough is enough.”
On an April morning in 2000, Laba was chased from school because she had not been able to pay her school fees. As she attempted to make her way home, Laba was kidnapped by militia soldiers. She was taken far from home, to a place she didn’t know. A child, she had not yet reached sexual maturity when she was forced into two years of harrowing sexual slavery and frequent beatings alongside three other girls. She was forced to accompany the militia to battles, traded between groups and subjected to daily violence.
“My story is complex, difficult and full of trauma. But I will try to tell you.”
Patricia was born on a hot July day in 2004. Her mother was just 15, and had recently escaped the militia that kidnapped her when she was just a little girl. The stigma of being born of rape began as soon as Patricia came into the world. Still, her mother worked to eke out a life for the two of them.
The resilience of LAV’s beneficiaries is inspiring. With your help, their resilience is equipped with the essential resources for a future, reclaimed.
“I call my story ‘Break Silence’. Because enough is enough.”
On an April morning in 2000, Laba was chased from school because she had not been able to pay her school fees. As she attempted to make her way home, Laba was kidnapped by militia soldiers. She was taken far from home, to a place she didn’t know. A child, she had not yet reached sexual maturity when she was forced into two years of harrowing sexual slavery and frequent beatings alongside three other girls. She was forced to accompany the militia to battles, traded between groups and subjected to daily violence.
By the time Laba escaped her captors, two of the other girls had died.
Though feeling as though she was cursed, one day Laba’s courage took hold. She asked to bathe, knowing that she would be abused but also aware that this was the only avenue for escape.
One, then two and then three men raped her, with their bodies. With sticks. When she went to bathe, the men stayed back. Guarding from a distance with guns should she attempt to run.
“I felt a kind of strength in me, like a voice telling me ‘run away’ and I followed the water.”
For a week after her escape, Laba stayed in the bushes, lost but free. She eventually found a road. Barely clothed, called “mad woman,” accused of taking drugs, Laba was unable to find anyone to take her home. Eventually a trucker agreed to drive her to a bus stop in Goma, where she knew no one.
Laba endured 5 months of homelessness, unaware that she was pregnant. She slept outside or in the market. She went to homes, asking to wash clothes in exchange for food. During this time, Laba even attempted suicide.
She survived.
One day, as Laba looked for work washing clothes, she knocked on the door of someone who wanted to help. She finished the wash and left to sleep. He found her, and he took her home.
Laba’s homecoming was bittersweet. Her community didn’t accept her. Her family seemed afraid of her. She still did not know that she was pregnant. But soon, she saw LAV employees in her area, looking for young women to join their sewing program.
“That is what I call my chance. My good luck.”
The team from LAV found Laba sleeping outside her house. They told her just to come. That if she’s not interested in the program, she can refuse, but that she should come. And so she did.
When Laba arrived at LAV’s outreach center, she was registered for the tailoring program. Even if sewing wasn’t her dream, it would at least put her two steps ahead. But soon, Laba fell ill and was taken to the hospital where she found out that she was pregnant.
Laba spent the rest of her pregnancy at the detraumatization center. Then she gave birth to a baby girl – a child born of rape. When looking at her daughter, Laba couldn’t help but be reminded of the trauma she’d endured. Feeling that she could not care for her baby, Laba brought her daughter to Kubisa’s office.
“I give you the child. I don’t need a baby.”
When Kubisa asked Laba to describe how she was feeling, she couldn’t talk. All she could do was weep. She stayed in Kubisa’s home for two months with her child. During this time, Kubisa listened and provided the space for healing. He helped Laba reframe her feelings about her baby. And together they found a path forward.
They decided that Laba would leave the tailoring program. She would continue her education instead.
Today, Laba is a mother of four and a law student determined to fight against genocide in Congo. While she bears both the physical and mental scars of violence, she is committed to reclaiming not only her future, but that of her children and all Congolese children.
Laba’s courage, intelligence and strength are assets to her community, the broader Congolese culture and the world. And because one person chose to say “I’ll help you,” she has the opportunity to share her gifts.
Laba’s youth was stolen from her. Her spirit was not.
“My story is complex, difficult and full of trauma. But I will try to tell you.”
Patricia was born on a hot July day in 2004. Her mother was just 15, and had recently escaped the militia that kidnapped her when she was just a little girl. The stigma of being born of rape began as soon as Patricia came into the world. Still, her mother worked to eke out a life for the two of them.
“They treated me like an animal.”
Given the difficulties her mother faced during pregnancy, Patricia was born with health challenges but lacked access to appropriate medical care to help. This resulted in her eyes looking red— adding fuel to the fire of the ostracism Patricia would come to face as she grew up.
In school, Patricia watched her peers’ parents collect them after school, something she was never able to experience. She would soon become the subject of relentless mockery and bullying. Coupled with her eye troubles, Patricia endured painful rejection throughout her childhood.
“I never got the chance of meeting someone I could call ‘Father’.”
When Patricia’s mother married, she was excited by the prospect of having a father. Because of the circumstances of her conception, though, she would face another painful rejection. Upon meeting her stepfather, Patricia was chased away.
With her mother gone, Patricia moved in with her grandmother and transferred schools. To help earn a living, she would sell cakes after school. During this time, she had no one to talk to. Isolated and feeling disregarded by the world, she began suffering from stomach aches. The advice from doctors was to find someone to talk to.
“I had no one. So I stayed like that.”
Despite the pain she found herself in, Patricia was able to focus on her studies and soon went to see Kubisa. He would become her first and enduring father figure. He began paying her school fees and providing the acceptance and listening ear she needed.
Patricia began to build a sense of self. Despite the pain of her own childhood, or perhaps because of it, Patricia found herself drawn to supporting and playing with the other children at Let Africa Live.
After she graduated from secondary school, Kubisa registered Patricia at the Catholic University of Bukavu.
“Now I have dreams.”
Patricia had always dreamed of attending university. Now she is pursuing her passion of technology, and looks forward to building a career after graduation which will enable her to help others who have experienced situations like hers.
“I want the world to know that people like us exist. Not all of us will have the chance to talk to you, but there are a lot of people like me behind me.”
