Email: Shelvis Smith-Mather

Visit to Panzi Hospital in the Democratic Republic of Congo

Dear Friends,

My colleagues and I swerved into the gates of Panzi Hospital after traversing the rock-powdered, red-clay roads of Bukavu. Toting notebooks, pens, and a mixture of emotions, we approached the iconic facility. Panzi Hospital has been a refuge of nurture and healing for thousands of women and children. The hospital is strategically based in the capital city of the Democratic Republic of Congo, a country that has witnessed the rape of 500,000 women over the course of the last decade. Rape is often overshadowed by the other issues of conflict gripping a nation where over 6,000,000 lives have been lost in the last 10 years of violent clashes (a death toll greater than the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan and Darfur combined). The harsh reality is that women’s bodies are often used as battlegrounds in these ethnic, political and resource-based disputes. In the DRC, a woman is raped every 25 minutes. Most rapes are never reported, most survivors are never treated, and most perpetrators are never brought to justice.

I visited Panzi Hospital with a delegation from FECCLAHA and Nairobi Women’s Hospital. Our goal was simple: to partner with the caregivers of Panzi Hospital to address issues of gender-based violence in this region. The walls of the hospital building conceal stories of hurt and tragedy, yet the faces of the women in the courtyard spoke to us, the words unheard. We marched forward watched by dozens of women squatting in groups eating their evening meals, their bodies illumined by the day’s fading light and the fires brimming under their pots. Most of the women came from miles away—by boat, by bus, or on foot. Many used all of their savings to reach the hospital and have no family or home to return to. Several cultures within the region marginalize survivors of rape. A large percentage of the women were chased away by their husbands, communities, or churches. The women are seen as unclean, impure, promiscuous, shameful, lustful or the cause of God’s ill will.

Our small ensemble wandered through an open courtyard seeking the office of Dr. Denis Mukwege, the head doctor, director, and founder of the hospital. He is a man of tremendous character who has committed his life to healing the physical traumas of rape survivors. His 18-hour work days are often filled with counseling sessions and up to ten surgeries per day. In 2008, Dr. Mukwege received the UN Human Rights Prize, the Olaf Palme Prize, and the title “African of the Year” by the Daily Trust.

An assistant informed us that Dr. Mukwege was still meeting with patients, so we entered a small corridor overlooking a flower garden. There we found a collage of images: pictures of women and men expressing words of solidarity. One quote states, “Know that your voice, your pains, and your victories are being heard, shared, and worked for even though we are far apart.” A quote from Hilary of the Bronx boldly asserts, “We can create change; we can end the violence.” Valentina from Austria simply states, “There is hope.” As I walked through the corridor, my eyes were drawn to remarks from a Rwandan woman, a survivor of the genocide that happened in the small neighboring country exactly 15 years ago. Her words unite her tragedy with that of these brave survivors of rape. She says, “I feel your pain and I cry to God every day…I admire your courage, strength to fight and I am with you always.” I believed that she is with these women. Her genuine concern for their fate links them. Although she was not physically present, her words of encouragement (along with the other quotes and images from around the world) offer the women something that may seem lacking at this point in their lives: love. The small room is a refreshing outpouring of love to persons scorched by the rage of this world: a humble oasis in a desert of dissonance. I was thankful for a moment to pause and center myself on the hope that exists.

One of Dr. Mukwege’s assistants informed us that he was ready to meet, so I took a deep breath, said a short prayer and walked towards his door.

Shelvis Smith-Mather

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