“Everything seemed to be happening so fast and I had no control over any of it.”
Joseph and his family once lived in a semi-permanent home in North Kivu where his parents farmed five acres of land, growing potatoes and sorghum and rearing cows. His first experience with loss occurred when two of his siblings died in childhood. In 2007, when he was fifteen, his father died unexpectedly following a mining accident, his death marking the end of Joseph’s education. Joseph dropped out of school to help his mother on the farm. As the oldest, it was now his responsibility to take care of their family.
In October 2013, fighting broke out between M23 rebels and government forces in Masisi. Many civilians, including my mother and younger brother, were killed. As we escaped towards Bunanga on the Ugandan border, my siblings and I became separated. When I finally made it to Bunanga, I waited five days, looking for my siblings, hoping they had made it out safely and were on their way here, but they never showed up.
There were several men at the border and one of them, Jean Pierre, was from my village. Seeing him proved to be a blessing because Jean Pierre happened to meet up with Mr. Musa, a driver he knew, who advised us to travel to Kenya where it would be safer. Mr. Musa was kind enough to give us a ride in his trailer, a journey that took us four days to reach Nairobi. I was impressed by the tall buildings, the flyovers and crisscrossing highways, and the streetlights that lit up the night. However, my awe was mixed with fear; I was only twenty-one years old, with no family, and only $30 to my name.
When we arrived in Nairobi, Mr. Musa extended his generosity by paying for a night’s stay in a hotel. The next day, we went to the UNHCR offices, then were taken to the Department of Refugee Affairs in Shauri Moyo to register as asylum seekers. We asked if we could get the relevant documents that would allow us to stay and work in the city. Mr. Musa had hinted that with the proper documentation, he could help us find work in Mombasa. But our request was denied. We were informed that refugees were no longer allowed to reside outside the designated refugee camps and that we would be moved to Kakuma.
That same day, we were transferred to the UNHCR transfer center where we remained for three days. From there, we moved to the Kakuma reception center where we stayed for two weeks while we waited for our housing allocation. Everything seemed to be happening so fast and I had no say or control over any of it.
By November 2013, we were firmly in Kakuma, Jean Pierre and I sharing a 3-by-6-meter tent. On the one hand, it was okay because at least I was living with my friend, but on the other hand, the space was cramped. I wondered about the integrity of the tent — could we really be safe in this flimsy structure? Kakuma itself was a desert; the temperatures were the highest I had ever experienced, often feeling like the sun was just inches away from my head.
By February 2014, Jean Pierre had had enough. With no opportunities to work and the harsh environment, he slipped out of the camp and headed to Mombasa in search of a better life. I kept in touch via calls which I made using my neighbor’s phone since I didn’t have one. In June 2014, we lost contact. I called his number several times, but he never answered. Loss, it seems, has no end.
Back at the camp, life was a daily struggle. I missed Jean Pierre and envied him for his freedom. There was barely enough to eat — the food rations were a kilo each of rice, sorghum, wheat flour, and yellow peas, which was supposed to last me an entire month. Later we received a $5 food voucher a month to supplement our rations, but even this, I found, was like a drop in the ocean.
I wondered how families were surviving on this if they didn’t have additional income. I had to find a job and was lucky to secure one as a mason on a building site where I earned $3 a day. It was back-breaking work, and the heat did not let up. After a long day of work, I would go to the camp football grounds and catch a few games. Something as simple as watching a game or going to church on the weekend helped me connect with others, driving away the loneliness.
Continuing on a path of self-improvement, I enrolled in a three-month Basic English language course and when I wasn’t in class, I took riding lessons from a friend who owned a motorbike. I paid him $1.50 per hour with money I saved from the masonry job. By May 2014, I was proficient enough to start work as a boda rider, ferrying passengers and goods and making $10 to $15 a day. Since I didn’t own the bike, I would then pay $30 a week to the owner, spend $3 a day on fuel, and save the $2 to $7 I made in profit.
Without a driver’s license, because none were issued to refugees in the camp, my route was limited to the camp and Kakuma town. It worked out well because the customers were not in short supply. In June that year, I joined a group of fourteen other drivers to form a likilimba (savings club) where we each contributed $3 a day over a ten-day cycle, with one member collecting $420 at the end of each cycle. With my $420, I renovated my house, put up a fence around my compound, bought clothes, a new mattress, and some household items. I was even able to save $70 in my M-PESA account.
Though the boda job was a step up from the masonry job, it had its own challenges. We faced constant harassment from the police who often stopped or arrested us without cause or confiscated our motorbikes. Each time, we would have to pay them off to secure our release or the return of our bikes.
I had to forge ahead despite the challenges because I had big plans: to buy my own motorbike and also to get married. I left the likilimba and joined another with thirteen members collecting $650 every ten days. Thanks to the group savings, I was able to buy a used motorbike for $850 and finally become my own boss. I liked the autonomy of setting my own hours, making as much money as possible, and after paying for fuel, I had a bigger profit.
The excitement of that moment paled in comparison to the day in February of 2017 when I married my beautiful wife. Our ceremony was simple; we went to the Refugee Consortium of Kenya office to register our marriage and later we hosted an evening party with fifteen of our closest friends to celebrate. Even though we didn’t have a dowry, the hallmark of marriage in our tradition, our union was just as authentic and filled with love. Our first child was born in August 2018 and we have a second one on the way. What a long way an orphaned boy from Masisi has come!
In January 2019, I bought a new motorcycle for $1,180 and I now earn an extra $25 a week from having an extra bike. My earnings allow me to take care of my family while also saving some money. I intend to set up a business for my wife after our baby is born — a small grocery shop so she can earn some money. To do that, I need $1,500 starting capital and so far I have saved $900 through the likilimba. I hope to have saved up the balance so we can open the shop by March 2021.
In the future, I want to own five new motorcycles, then increase my savings to the point where I can build a wholesale shop in Kalobeyei settlement near Kakuma camp. Even as my family grows, I often think about the ones I have lost, especially the two siblings whom I last saw in 2013. I wonder if they are still alive and together, wishing that they were here with me. I wonder if, like me, they have families of their own. I think about how much more we would have accomplished if we were together.
I have a dream to own a large supermarket in the coming years because the only ones around the camp are two small mini-marts. I see this as my home now because there is nowhere else to call home. It’s possible to make a home where you are. I’ve seen it with those who have been here for over twenty years. Many have been born here and stayed, marrying and starting families and only leaving the camp when they die.
At 28 years of age, I might be here for the rest of my life or I might leave. For now, I’m doing the best that I can with what I have. Despite my incredible losses, I have learned that joy can be found when you least expect it. It’s the simple things like enjoying a loving wife or cradling my young son that make this place home.