Strangers in the Land
Article by Marc de Chazal (2003) When war forced David and Tembo Ilunga from their home in Congo, a two-month sojourn with their five young daughters ended in Cape Town, where they now have a ministry to fellow displaced people. Marc de Chazal spoke to them The birth of a baby in a remote corner of the Roman Empire led to a ghastly wave of persecution. When Herod the Great got wind of a birth fulfilling Jewish Scripture, he ordered the death of every child in Bethlehem under the age of two, forcing Joseph, Mary and Jesus to flee to Egypt. They became sojourners in a foreign land, much the same way the Ilunga family did when the escalating war in Congo under the rule of the late Joseph Kabila forced them to flee. I met David and Tembo in their Woodstock home in early December. Their story shares an uncanny affinity with the original Christmas story—a tale of terror and exile. “Congo has great potential wealth,” Tembo tells me as we talk about their life in Congo before the rebels, who were fighting Kabila’s forces, beat a bloody path to their town. “We lived in the south of the country, which is rich in natural resources. But any progress initiated under Kabila’s reign has now been set back by the war—our home and church have been totally destroyed, and it will be many years to come before our nation recovers.” The Ilungas were pastors of a Methodist church, living a quiet existence in Congo while they raised their five young children. Then one day, the violent conflict sweeping through the land reached their village; life has never been the same. The Ilungas faced a chilling reality: women cruelly raped by soldiers and young boys of eight and nine conscripted into militias. So when the shrill siren alerted them of an imminent rebel attack, David and Tembo had only one choice if their family was to survive: they had to flee. “We had been told by other people fleeing the violence that we would be safe in Tanzania. But we had to leave everything behind—we fled on foot with our children and the clothes on our backs, nothing more! We have nothing left from our life in Congo—it has all been destroyed,” says Tembo. David sits thoughtfully as Tembo tells me the story of their escape to Tanzania across the expanse of water that divides the two central African nations. I assume he is pondering the traumatic upheaval that changed their lives almost five years ago, and so I ask him if they still have flashbacks of the violence, if his children remember the grim details—they were aged between two and ten when war came to town. “We can remember everything, as if it happened yesterday,” he says in his quiet, French accent. “As we fled, we had to step over dead bodies, and our children saw women raped in the streets. It was too terrible for words.” Tembo quickly adds that their youngest child, who was nearly two at the time, does not recall the same vivid images as the older children, but she does become anxious when she hears a police siren today. “It is the same sound we heard when the rebels came,” she says. Tanzania offered them some refuge from the conflict, but little hope; they found shelter on the edge of a riverbank, but their children were catching cold. So they continued their journey, heading for the Zambian border. There they met a truck driver from South Africa—also a Methodist—who was moved by their plight and offered them a lift to Joburg. When they arrived in Egoli, a fellow Congolese doctor working in the city took them in. This generous man offered to pay for the entire family to travel down to Cape Town, where a relative of Tembo worked. Two months after their violent exile, and far from home, David and Tembo, together with their five traumatised daughters, found refuge in a church in Sea Point. The Ilunga’s had escaped the hellish terror of Congo much the same way Mary and Joseph slipped through Herod’s bloody grasp with their precious cargo. I can hardly begin to imagine the hardships the Ilungas faced for two months, travelling on foot with five young, terrified children. They survived by eating wild fruit and whatever else they could find on the roadside, which was very little. But these brave parents are not bitter. They believe their sojourn through Africa will forever stand as a monument to God’s faithfulness and provision for their family, a permanent reminder to their children that God is a part of their lives. “The children took a long time to come to terms with our displacement,” Tembo says, “but they have reason to hope. They have new lives in Cape Town. They go to school near our home and have made friends—they have become integrated into South African life and don’t want to return to Congo—David and I long to go back, but children don’t have the same historical ties.” The Ilungas may have made a new life for their family in South Africa, but they do not want their children to forget where they come from. “We will pass on our culture to them—our language, our customs, the food we eat—these things are important for their identity.” Congo remains an unstable country—recent news reports tell of ongoing terror and bloodshed—so it is unlikely the Ilungas will voluntarily return anytime soon. But refugee status is always a tentative thing—if there is a cessation of conflict back home, they may be deported because their refugee status will be technically redundant. The irony, however, is that deportation would turn them into refugees all over again, for they have no home to return to. The Ilungas have discovered a renewed purpose and mission in life. When they arrived in Cape Town, their large family lived in a single room. They were introduced to Greg Andrews, a Methodist minister who has worked among the city’s poor for several years. He visited them regularly in their cramped accommodation and decided to do something to improve their lives. That’s how they got to live in the more spacious manse belonging to Greg’s church, from where they minister to other displaced people. SHADE (Sojourner, Help, Advocacy, Development and Education) is the name of the ministry David and Tembo are now involved in. They primarily focus on education—helping refugees to become integrated in their new society and teaching them to speak English. David and Tembo could not speak a word of English when they arrived in Cape Town, and we have spent over an hour conversing with ease—in English, as I do not speak Swahili or French! This couple can help others to build new lives because they have learned how to do so—the hard way. “Women suffer the most in war,” Tembo continues. “They face the trauma of violent rape, their husbands and sons are often taken away from them to fight in the war, and they must fend for their children—it is a double-edged sword that leaves deep wounds. So we welcome women, men and children; we listen, we counsel them to forgive, and we advise them how to start a new life.” With nearly 200 000 displaced people living in South Africa—50 000 in Cape Town—can individuals do anything to make a dent in the problem? “If you make a difference in just one person’s life, you can make a difference in the world,” says Tembo. “Every person has potential; it is our responsibility to help them recognise the gifts God has given them. That is what SHADE is all about.”