Month: August 2018

PAT STEIR

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

CHARLES MOFFETT: Alright. How are you doing today?

PAT STEIR: Oh, I have terrible back problems every day.

CM: Oh, I’m sorry. Are you still up to chat today or would you like me to try you another time?

PS: No, this is OK.

CM: OK. Well, thank you for taking the time to chat with me today, especially given your back problems.

PS: Oh, thank you.

CM: I don’t want to take up too much of your day, so if you’re OK we’ll just dive right into some questions.

PS: OK.

CM: I’m curious to know what you hope the viewer sees when standing in front of your paintings and this common thread becomes known.

PS: Well, I hope the viewer sees their own heart, not mine. I hope it triggers something in the viewer that the viewer wants to see or needs to see. In other words, I think of it as a trigger. I don’t want to put a message on somebody, I want them to see what they see and find what they find and hopefully it’s a trigger for an inner dialogue with themself, whoever the viewer is and why that would be different, whatever that person’s story is. So I think of art—not only my art but of all art—as a trigger rather than a message.

CM: Along those lines, you once said that through your work you were hoping to reach the soul of other people. Is there a certain audience that you’re trying to reach?

PS: I once said it but I don’t mean that anymore.

CM: That’s interesting. Why is that?

PS: I don’t know why—I guess I’ve changed. In other words, I want the work to trigger what that viewer needs to trigger. Like landscape, when you look at landscape, beautiful landscape, each person gets a set of emotions and thoughts that are not the same as each other person. It comes from their own history and their own background and their own ways of seeing, and so I’d rather it be approached like landscape rather than like a message.

CM: That’s very interesting. I’m fascinated by the idea that the message has changed or it has evolved . . .

PS: It hasn’t changed. I’m old now—I said that when I was young. Everyone changes. I hope everyone changes.

CM: As do I, especially I think in this day and age. I guess along those lines of evolution, and maybe this has changed as well, but referring to abstraction as taking a lifetime to figure out, I’ve noticed your vocabulary around this idea has changed, and now you refer to these paintings as “nonobjective” rather than abstract.

PS: Yeah, because I think of abstraction as abstracting something, but I wanted them to trigger their feelings of landscape but they’re not imitating landscape. They’re not abstractions of landscape. Nonobjective is the best way to call them. In abstracting you abstract something, some figure in some way. I think people call them abstract paintings because that’s the available language.

  • "Aporia" Pat Steir, Oil on canvas, 72 x 72 inches (182.9 x 182.9 cm), 2016-2017

 

CM: Is each painting started the same way? How do you start each painting?

PS: They start with the same green underpainting.

CM: And when you first started using the green underpainting, is this a color that you arrived at organically or did you know immediately that this was going to be the best way to push out the color?

PS: Well, I just knew that it would because of what I know about color, that this color would do what I want. It defects everything on top of it through layers and layers of paint, one on top of the other.

CM: I read where you talked about painting as being an object and also a voice, which I thought, especially in today’s political, social and cultural climate that we’re in, is there a voice of your work that may be different now than say in the late ’80s or ’90s, or even two years ago?

PS: The voice always changes, like it does in a person, you know? You read a book and you have additional thoughts or other thoughts or change your mind. So the voice changes. But maybe the voice for me is that right now a lot of young people are making ugly art, purposefully ugly, and they’re reflecting the ugly times we live in. They might not even know it, you know? It might not be an overt political statement, might be just a reflection. Art reflects the moment, and I’m making overtly beautiful paintings, or trying to for sure, and I think as a political gesture to put some beauty into the conversation.

CM: I absolutely agree. I tell a lot of my peers that there’s nothing wrong with beautiful paintings. I think it’s an important thing to add to the conversation, especially in today’s environment. Along those lines, when you taught and lectured, was there a certain message, or did you have some advice for younger emerging artists who are grappling with not only a changing political landscape but also the way that the galleries function today?

PS: Well, I wouldn’t want to be young trying to find a gallery, that’s for sure. There’s so many artists and so many galleries and so many opinions and so many ways to manipulate opinion, it’s really confusing. I’m trying to help a young artist get her work seen, and it’s difficult. My advice is just don’t give up. If it’s really the only thing you can do and the only thing you want to do, don’t give up. But if you’re iffy about it you’d better give it up.

CM: I find the power of experience still to be incredibly important, with seeing work and seeing work in context, which my fear is if we were to see more closings for small and mid-level galleries, we’d run the risk of becoming a totally art-fair-centric culture, yet being able to see everything in context in an exhibition as yours is now I think is wildly important.

PS: I think so too, because how can you know a young artist by one painting or one piece of sculpture, whatever they make, in an art fair? You really can’t. I think everyone under 40—40 and under or even maybe 50 and under—has a hard time. It used to be hard to get into art school, so that weeded out a lot of people who weren’t totally committed.

CM: Where does the work start for you?

PS: Everything begins with a concept. I always say the cat sits on our refrigerator and looks at the door and suddenly jumps up and jumps out the door. He had a concept—he knew he wanted to get on the other side of the door. Anyway, I start with a set of limitations, that is for each painting I would set a limitation.

CM: That’s interesting. What are the limitations?

PS: Limitations are I choose a set of colors to work with and I don’t waver. I don’t madly struggle with the painting and change my mind in the middle and try another color. I just follow what I set out to do. The other limitation is pouring the paint. I pour the paint, the colors that pour the underpainting, and then the wind in the room and the heat in the room and the coldness in the room affects how the painting looks, how the colors are layered, so those are the decisions I make.

CM: In the studio do you move between works or is each canvas a start-to-finish process?

PS: No. I work on a few canvases at the same time, because I work with oil paint; it takes a long time to dry, and if I just worked on one painting at a time it would take me six months to finish a painting because it’s layers of paint and I let the layers dry slowly, so I work on two or three at once.

CM: Given the layering process of your work, I imagine it would be difficult to stop or start over. Is there ever a time where you think I need to stop or shift directions or is each one truly completed?

PS: Each one is completed. If I think it’s not up to par at the end I don’t exhibit it. I save it, though. I save everything. Sometimes I go back to see it and I think why didn’t I want to show this one, and then I show it at a later date.

CM: There’s this one question that I’ve been thinking about quite a bit and maybe the answer’s very straightforward, but since I visited Lévy Gorvy and saw the show [Pat Steir: Kairos], I’ve watched the interview a number of times, and you mention going to visit Agnes Martin out in New Mexico, somebody who became a dear friend. And there’s a part when you’re retelling the story, you mentioned that she asked to see your sketchbook when you saw her.

PS: The first time I visited her, yes.

CM: And if I understand it you said no, and I was just curious to know why you didn’t want her looking at the sketchbook.

PS: I was very young and I had thought they weren’t good enough and I didn’t want her to see something that wasn’t good enough. I was just starting to make paintings.

CM: Did you begin sharing work with her in future visits?

PS: No, but I’ll tell you a story. My first exhibition was at the Philadelphia Museum, the art school there, and right after I had my exhibition Agnes had an exhibition there and Agnes saw my work there and she sent me a postcard. She said your paintings made me feel real good—that made me feel real good.

CM: Well, it’s a beautiful hang and I’m glad I had the opportunity to speak with you. I thank you for taking the time to chat with me for a bit today.

PS: I hope I’ve been helpful … and thank you for such insightful questions.

CM: Well, thank you. That makes me feel good. To be honest I was a bit nervous to get on the phone with you. You’re very accomplished and I’ve long admired your work, so this has been a true pleasure.

  • "Golden" Pat Steir, Oil on canvas, 132 x 113 inches (335.3 x 287 cm), 2016-2017

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MARGARET KILGALLEN

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

In May 2001, Margaret Kilgallen approached the 30-foot interior walls of the Institute of Contemporary Art in Philadelphia with buckets of recycled house paint, and without the aid of guides or stencils trusted her hand and instinct to spell out the phrase “Main Drag” in carnivalesque letters nearly three stories tall. Along the base of her oversized lettering, Kilgallen hung small paintings on salvaged panels and stitched-together canvases. Each added element extended further across the museum’s walls, until illustrations and words were clustered edge-to-edge and Kilgallen’s hand-painted lettering spilled into the open space of the museum and onto shacks built of reclaimed wood. By the time Kilgallen had completed the installation, “Main Drag” was an immersive survey of the artist’s prolific body of work. It was a tribute to her heroines, an homage to her community and a celebration of the myriad subcultures from which she drew inspiration.

Through the installation, Kilgallen depicted a world that combined surf culture, old-time music, hobo graffiti, the coastal landscape, the signage that adorned her neighborhood and illustrations of women at work and play. Each image and phrase was personal and specific almost to the point of being esoteric, yet each felt essential and interconnected. “Main Drag” was the swan song of an artist whose impact and legacy is greater than the sum of her artworks and exhibitions; Kilgallen passed away later that year at the age of 33.

Born in Washington, D.C., Kilgallen studied art and printmaking at Colorado College and moved to San Francisco in the early 1990s, where she would come to prominence as part of a group of artists dubbed the Mission School, after San Francisco’s Mission neighborhood, which included Barry McGee, Alicia McCarthy and Chris Johanson, among others, who all shared a handmade and intuitive approach to art-making. Like her peers, Kilgallen was incredibly resourceful; she was an optimist open to the world around her, finding beauty in discarded panels and paper and gathering knowledge from the disparate traditions of sign painting, printmaking and book restoration. She was deliberate in her pursuit of an eclectic array of techniques and influences.



Soon after arriving in the Bay Area, Kilgallen found work repairing books at the San Francisco Public Library, where she learned the arts of bookbinding and paper restoration under the tutelage of Dan Flanagan, a conservator whom she would later cite as a primary mentor. Through this apprenticeship, Kilgallen cultivated the skills and knowledge that could have made for a career in conservation had she not instead chosen to apply her skills to her studio practice. The artworks she made reflected her training: Discarded endpapers became grounds for drawings and paintings, and her canvases were frequently stitched together like the spine of a book. Kilgallen developed a profound appreciation for the character and quality of objects made and restored by hand. She saw potential in the weathered surfaces of old books and paper, and she often sought to reproduce those textures in her artworks, intentionally burnishing her brushstrokes and sanding the edges of her paintings.

With the library archive as a resource, Kilgallen absorbed as much information as she could about typography and hand lettering. Building on her background in printmaking, she became particularly fascinated by the works of Japanese woodblock printers and painters like Hokusai. She admired the economy and elegance of their techniques; a single brushstroke could become a tree or drapery as readily as it might form a character or word. She sought to constantly perfect her hand and develop her own visual language, where foliage, figures, letters or even a fragmented letter were given equal visual weight. Kilgallen’s works began to use words for both their forms and their meanings. Throughout her artworks, words and letters feature prominently, as a centerpiece in “Main Drag” or as one of many phrases that take on new meanings when repeated from one artwork to the next. Even the artist’s illustrations of trees and plants occasionally bear the marks of ligatures and serifs taken from letterforms.

Kilgallen’s fascination with lettering extended from poster typefaces to the casual typography of the hand-painted business signs from her neighborhood. The unschooled and intuitive quality of these letters found their way into Kilgallen’s drawings and murals, spelling out phrases and names like “Linda Mar” and “Lowers”, which refer to her favorite surf spots along the California coastline, or terms like “Drop Knee” and “Kooks”, which come from the jargon of surf culture itself.

Among the most iconic elements of Kilgallen’s work are the monikers and images that stand in for her heroines, each of whom were characters from underappreciated subcultures, women whose achievements occurred on the margins of the mainstream. The name Fanny appears periodically in Kilgallen’s artworks, referring to Fanny Durack, an Olympic champion swimmer from the early 20th century.

A banjo player herself, Kilgallen had a special adoration for Matokie Slaughter, a pioneering banjo picker of the 1930s and 1940s, and a fellow artist who followed her own path despite the ubiquitous difficulty women face to be recognized as artists. “Slaughter”, “Matokie” or simply M.S. became monikers of sorts for Kilgallen; writing on walls, canvases and train cars, she used the name to evoke folk heroines and elaborate on a legend of her own making.

For Kilgallen, taking her hand from paper to panel to murals to massive installations and out into the world onto the walls of buildings and trains was a natural progression. For her it was all part of the same gesture. She trained her hand to capture the world around her, and left her hand out in the world. As with any attempt to know our heroines, no profile, interview or artwork seems quite adequate to capture her contribution, but each piece suggests a similar story: Margaret Kilgallen was an idealist, intuitist, inventor and in all likelihood, a genius. A generation of artists, writers, designers and craftspeople feel her absence poignantly and her influence pervasively; each painting, drawing or print that survives her tragically short yet meteoric career is imbued with ardor and stitched together with her inimitable hand.

 

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Posted in Art

WOMEN OF KENYA

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

I traveled to Kenya to visit the Turkanas, a Nilotic tribe that lives a very traditional and simple life in the Turkana district. Their land has been heavily affected by drought due to climate change, which has resulted in the livestock migrating or dying and the vegetation drying out. I spoke to several women via a translator and they’re all very concerned about the future of their tribe and their children. The time spent with these women was a real eye opener for me and I am grateful and honored to have photographed them.

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KATE BOSWORTH

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

When I first met the team at Humanity magazine, I expressed my desire to work behind the lens rather than in front of it. I adore acting, but I have discovered a fierce hunger to expand my contributions in the arts. Fortunately, Humanity was game. I was given total creative control to choose whom I would like to photograph and how I would like to capture them. This being my first time professionally published, I put an enormous amount of thought into my choices. Who is the definition of a great “Citizen of Humanity”? As this issue is a deeply inspiring and timely one, I began to think of the women I know who have made a significant impact, both in their professional lives and beyond. Three women came to mind immediately, and lucky for me, they all agreed to participate in this piece. The ideal trifecta was put into motion.

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I met Donna Langley nearly two decades ago. I was 18 years old and the lead in Universal Pictures’ new movie, Blue Crush, a film about female surfers. Though admittedly I had never surfed in my life, I nonetheless felt a deep affinity to my character. We were both confronting our fears—though the desire to achieve our DREAM far eclipsed the trepidation. Little did I know it then, but a third party was also experiencing similar emotions. Blue Crush was Donna Langley’s first film as a junior executive at Universal. Over the years, I have loved watching her climb the mountain. I am certain it wasn’t easy. Getting to the top never is. However, Donna is known for her conviction and grace, and her extreme cool when encountering adversity. Later in life we connected again, but with a different goal in mind: To make the world a better place. Donna is deeply committed to Vital Voices, an impressive organization that devotes itself to shining a spotlight on women around the world who have literally been a vital voice to a vulnerable group or community. I recently produced a movie called Nona, about the devastating effect of human trafficking. I believe we are similar in that the focus remains the same but the mission expands. I knew Donna would be a perfect subject for this issue. I was thrilled when she agreed. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as I made the recent elevator ascent to Donna’s top-floor office. I wanted to take a photograph she would be proud of . . . to create an image that may surprise her. I knew exactly what I wanted—and Donna is a stunning subject. I only took 12 shots. As I was leaving, something caught my attention that epitomized why I love Donna Langley so much. There, sketched on the wall of a small enclave behind her desk, are the penciled markings of her children’s heights throughout the years. Yes, the top floor is an enormous accomplishment. But the writing on the wall is what gives us life.

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I first noticed Courteney Monroe before I actually knew her name. I have always adored the National Geographic Channel. Who doesn’t love to travel the world, experience new cultures and discover the history of our Earth and its inhabitants? But something new was happening. Something fresh. Someone was clearly respecting the iconic yellow border—but also expanding the perspective of the frame. Oscar winner Geoffrey Rush as Albert Einstein on National Geographic? The kicker for me was when the show’s advertisement aired directly after Lady Gaga’s epic Super Bowl performance. Geoffrey Rush (as Einstein) plays a rendition of “Bad Romance” on the violin. Quite simply it was genius. These moments don’t happen accidentally. I had to know—who was the Wizard behind the Yellow Borders? Enter CEO Courteney Monroe. Incidentally, the week I requested to meet her, I was offered a role in Nat Geo’s next limited series, The Long Road Home. I have since had the extraordinary pleasure of getting to know Courteney throughout the making of the series and the release of it. She is dazzling. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then hers are two steps ahead of you. She is complex, like a Ferrari, pushing the boundaries and expectations in both an inspirational and an aspirational way. The most stunning part of all? She is just getting started.

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Martha Raddatz needs little introduction. Not only does she work tirelessly behind the lens, but she is also most likely to appear regularly on your television screen. (Though I will say, she is hardly looking to be a recognized “star”—one gets the sense that she is in front of the camera more for necessity than anything else.) Throughout my life, I have watched her career and held an enormous amount of admiration for her. If I were a journalist, I would want to be Martha Raddatz. She is the definition of BADASS. As chief global affairs correspondent for ABC News, she has traveled to the most dangerous places in the world. She has moderated presidential debates. She has revealed groundbreaking stories. (Does this ring a bell? On the fifth anniversary of the 2003 invasion of Iraq, Raddatz posed a question to Vice President Dick Cheney about public opinion polls showing that two-thirds of Americans had lost confidence in the war, a question to which Cheney responded by saying “So?”) She has seen war up close and personal.

Little did I know, war would be the element that would bring us together. The Long Road Home is Martha’s devastating account of “Black Sunday,” a battle during one of the deadliest periods of the Iraq War. In her book, she gives a vivid and agonizing description of the experiences soldiers endure away at war and their families’ difficult reality at home. It is Martha’s dedication, perseverance and intense personal reporting that revealed critical details of the 2004 ambush. She also brings a deep and piercing humanity to war that is not only heartbreaking but unique. It is this book that was identified by Courteney Monroe at National Geographic to be made into a limited series (where I was cast as Gina Denomy, wife of Captain Troy Denomy). We are so proud of the result, in which we sought to honor our troops and their sacrifice for our country. From knowing Martha as well as I do, I say this with my hand on my heart: In a time when we continually question the merit of the news—Is it real? Is it fake?—Martha Raddatz only seeks the truth. And nothing but the truth.

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A leader in film. A leader in television. A leader in journalism. I hope you all enjoy these photographs and the interviews as much as I did creating them. All three of these women have had a profound impact on my life—and most likely, they have had an impact on yours too. Whether you know it or not.

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DONNA LANGLEY

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

KATE BOSWORTH: How did you arrive here?

DONNA LANGLEY: By doing the work, staying focused and having great mentors.

KB: What is your earliest memory of cinema?

DL: Fantasia. I was terrified.

KB: What made you decide to be involved in the filmmaking process?

DL: When I arrived in L.A. more than 25 years ago, I always knew I wanted to be a storyteller in some form, but my film career really took root when my good friend and mentor Mike De Luca hired me at New Line to develop and make actual movies.

KB: What drives you? What inspires you professionally?

DL: The beauty and possibility of storytelling. Reading a great script or story, with characters and a narrative that everyone can relate to but that’s told in an original way.

KB: Is there a person or event who impacted who you are today? What inspires you personally?

DL: Easiest question so far! Having my children was the single most impactful experience of my life, and meeting my husband, Ramin. The sense of purpose and meaning that comes with having a family is my constant source of inspiration.

KB: How much doubt versus faith do you use in a percentage of a day? Is there a decision you have made or have not made that you wish you had or had not?

DL: My approach to decision-making isn’t really a matter of doubt vs. faith. I’m a practical optimist. Marketing and research information is incredibly important to the greenlight process. I’ve made a fair amount of decisions based on my intuitions and life experience that there will be an audience for a movie we want to make, even when the research didn’t necessarily make it an easy decision. Fifty Shades Darker is the perfect example of this. There was a lot of discussion around acquiring the literary rights to make this movie, and I had to make the call. It went on to be one of the most important and successful titles in our portfolio.

KB: What do these two words mean to you: Blue Crush?

DL: One of my favorite movie experiences. Everyone worked so hard, training to surf, acting for the first time, working on water—but we were all in it for the right reasons. Many of the actors were doing it for the first time, and it was my first film at Universal, so the stakes were high for all of us.

KB: Do you have fear? How do you move through it?

DL: I’m not a fearful person by nature. I love taking risks and approaching life as an adventure. But of course, as a parent and chairman of a studio there are days where the fear can feel real. In those moments, I ground myself in finding out all the information I need to know about the situation and move through it by using my problem-solving skills.

KB: What words do you have for anyone aspiring to be a leader in the entertainment industry? How do you feel about being a leader in the film industry?

DL: As a community of storytellers with unparalleled reach, being part of this industry gives us an endless opportunity to move audiences around the world—to see life through someone else’s eyes, and that is an incredible thing. I am so grateful to be a part of this community and take so much pride in all that Universal has accomplished over the years.

KB: Multiple choice. “This Is Your Life”:

A. Novel

B. Movie

C. TV series

D. A theme park ride

DL: A movie!

KB: What has been a great accomplishment for you?

DL: My family first and foremost, my work with Vital Voices, reaching record-breaking success over the last few years with the best team in the business. I have so much to be thankful for.

KB: What does a Citizen of Humanity mean to you?

DL: Fighting against systematic, global inequality—finding ways to empower and connect the disenfranchised with solutions that can have a lasting impact.

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WE ARE HERE BECAUSE WE ARE STRONG

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

“IT WAS ALL VERY QUICK. I HEARD VERY LOUD SHOOTING. MY HUSBAND WAS AWAY WORKING. I WAS CONFUSED AND TERRIFIED SO I RAN WITH NOTHING BUT MY BABY IN MY ARMS. WHEN WE ESCAPED TO THE BUSH IT WAS AS IF MY BABY KNEW OUR LIVES DEPENDED ON IT BECAUSE SHE NEVER ONCE CRIED. I HAD NO MILK TO GIVE HER BUT SHE NEVER CRIED.” —A YOUNG CONGOLESE WOMAN ON ARRIVING AT THE UNHCR RECEPTION CENTER IN ANGOLA

“REFUGEES WERE ARRIVING IN TERRIBLE CONDITION, SOME WITH MACHETE INJURIES, MANY HUNGRY, EXHAUSTED AND TRAUMATIZED.” —PHILIPPA CANDLER, REPRESENTATIVE, UNHCR ANGOLA

“VICTIMS ARE THOSE WHO WERE UNABLE TO ESCAPE AND DIED IN THIS ATROCIOUS CONFLICT. REFUGEES ARE SURVIVORS. THEY LOST ALL BUT THEIR LIVES AND THEIR DIGNITY. WE [UNHCR] ARE HERE TO PULL THEM BACK UP AND HELP THEM RECOMMENCE. REFUGEE WOMEN MIRROR THAT INCREDIBLE STRENGTH BETTER THAN MOST. THEIR ABILITY TO ADJUST, KEEP THE FAMILY TOGETHER AND COPE WITH ADVERSITY WITH A SMILE STRIKES ME EVERY TIME. THEY ARE NOT MADE OF STEEL; THEY ARE HUMAN BEINGS MADE OF ALL-HEARTED MUSCLE.” —MARGARIDA LOUREIRO, UNHCR EXTERNAL RELATIONS OFFICER, ANGOLA

GILI NTUMBA, FROM KAMAKO

In modern conflict, it is often women who carry the greatest burden. Wars no longer have front lines. Civilians are increasingly targeted. Rape and sexual violence continue to be used as weapons of war, and when forced to flee homes, it is women who take charge to hold families together and support children.

The viciousness against women was particularly brutal in the recent outbreak of violence that began in March 2017 in the Kasai region of Democratic Republic of the Congo. It triggered the internal displacement of some 1.4 million persons and the flight of over 34,000 refugees into Lunda Norte Province in northeast Angola. The newly arrived reported widespread violence, mass killings, mutilations, burning of property, destruction of villages, schools and churches and human rights abuses, as well as food shortage and the lack of access to basic services and goods.

Most specifically the refugees arriving in Angola spoke of government forces and militias deliberately targeting women in some of the worst gender-based violence the region has seen. As families fled across the border to neighboring Angola, the medical staff that received them were shocked by the stories and medical condition of many of the women and girls arriving.

Many of the Congolese refugees who arrived in Angola have been relocated to the UNHCR settlement of Lóvua. Currently there are over 9,000 Congolese refugees there, but the settlement has a capacity of 30,000. In Lóvua, 75% of the Congolese living there are women and children. With men often missing, dead or unable to work, it is the women who have to try and rebuild shattered lives and support families.

When I visited the settlement, I was immediately drawn to join three women who sat outside their tent: Rose (who would soon become Aunty Rose to me), her sister Mimi and Bernardette. We sat all day telling stories, laughing and sharing food.

Together we decided to do a series of portraits of just the women, for them to tell the stories. When I returned the next day, the scene was more like a party. No children or men were allowed; food was prepared, new batteries bought for the radio. We danced, we ate and we made portraits. It was truly the most memorable photo shoot of my life, in many ways a celebration, a celebration of life.

Resilience is a word used too easily, but with Aunty Rose and Mimi, and later all the women I met in the camp, I found its true meaning. The women I got to know and visited each day were full of life and joy despite all they had endured, and all radiated a deep strength that rooted their whole families.

Though I am also aware that we must be careful not to romanticize resilience. By its nature, resilience is a necessity born of suffering. It is not a virtue one aspires to, because its journey is hardship and pain. So whilst I admired the strength and resilience of the women I met, it was impossible not to be impacted by the terrible violence that they had witnessed and suffered on that journey. For some, those experiences were still too raw and violent for them to cope with, which is reflected in their words and the eyes of the portraits.

These portraits show the strength of women. But they are also a reminder of the terrible gender-based violence, rape and sexual abuse of women in conflicts around the world.

On the first day, sitting with Rose, Mimi and Bernardette, I asked them how they had endured and survived.

“That’s simple,” was the reply. “We are here because we are strong.”

COCO MAWA, 35, FROM KAMAKO

“Life in the camp is not easy. It is the woman who works, who cooks, who looks after the children. Sometimes when I go into the woods to gather leaves to cook with, I dream of my past life.”

ROSE LUSANDA, 46, FROM KAMAKO

“A woman is a helper. We carry the strength. The women hold the community together,” explains Rose, or Aunty Rose, as she is known. She is in many ways the matriarch of the group. “In the markets, they would charge us more because we were Luba. They would say ‘kill all the Lubas.’ Then when the soldiers came, we escaped. They were killing everybody. Threatening the people, raping our daughters. They were forcing fathers to sleep with their daughters, and if the men refused, they were shot. Being a woman we were stripped of our strength by their threats. Kabila made us suffer.”  Then Rose pauses and looks at me as she raises her finger. “But we cannot be weak. We escaped the war. No other human will give you that strength. I had that strength inside of me. I had the courage to do whatever has to be done. Sometimes I say to my daughter, now we are here [in the camp]. I tell her to feel the courage. To find the calm, be calm, stay calm.”

MIMI MISENGA, 45, FROM KAMAKO

“Sometimes I am very sad at all we have lost. Other times we let it go, we have our lives. They killed my uncle, his sons. We couldn’t even bury them. It was too much. My neighbor, they made him rape his daughter. Then the troops raped the daughters in front of the family. I was so afraid for my children. We escaped barefoot into the bush and then found a way to escape. I had nothing. Then I looked at my children. They gave me strength. I am never tired. I am so strong. My body is always moving, ready to work, even when I sleep! Honestly, I don’t know where that strength comes from. I am never tired. I say to my daughters, ‘Stay calm, find a good husband and follow my example. Follow my strength.’ ”

CARINE ROLENGA, 20, FROM KAMAKO

“When we heard gunshots in the village we knew it was time to leave. As a woman I felt particularly under threat. At night they would take the men and rape the women. In truth I don’t understand why people would do this. It’s beyond me.”

MUZI KINGAMBO, 26, FROM KAMAKO

“It is not easy. I suffer here. I have many pains in my back, my bladder—pains women shouldn’t have. In Congo I lived with my husband. I want that life again.”

THÉRESE MANDAKA, 19, FROM KAMAKO

“Here we suffer a lot. For us women, we were particular targets. The biggest suffering was kept for us. When the soldiers came, I was separated from my husband. He’d gone to look for work; I was home and sick. I was pregnant. But my strength comes from my home. Even though I was sick, I knew I would have to escape. I thought they would kill the baby inside me—that’s where I found my strength, nobody else but me. “Now here in the camp I am a mother, so I must be strong.” Thérese pauses and gathers herself. She has not seen her husband since she fled to Angola. He hasn’t seen their child, Munduko, who’s now 4 months old. “I just want us to be together again.”

 

ANI TCHEBA, 19, FROM KAMAKO

“We left our village in Congo on a Monday morning at 6 a.m. I remember I had no strength. I was heavily pregnant. It had been a difficult pregnancy and I was so worried I’d lose the baby. My husband pulled me. As a refugee it is harder as a woman, as we have the responsibility for food and the children. But here the women have given me inspiration. We share food. When I am missing something they give it to me and vice versa. We help each other with the hardships. We are stronger together.”

GERMAINE ALONDE, 25, FROM KAMAKO

“We had good land at home, a good life. Then the militias and the armies came. They took everything. They killed my older brother. It was terrible. We saw so much blood, and each time my heart would stop. I couldn’t sleep. Then one day they came near to our home to start their killing and we all fled. We were terrified; everyone was running. We knew what they would do. My oldest daughter, Therese [who was 7], took my baby Helene [who was just 2 years old] whilst I ran back to the home to gather what I could and get the other children. At the border everybody was pushing and shoving. It was chaos. I couldn’t see Therese; we were all separated. And in that chaos she dropped the baby. We lost her. It was the worst moment, but I couldn’t be angry with Therese. How could I be? My oldest child is just a child. It wasn’t her fault. For two weeks we thought Helene was lost. Then one day in the camp my neighbor came up to me and said she’d seen my baby. I couldn’t believe her! But she had-—she’d been walking past a center for unaccompanied children and she’d seen Helene! We went straight away and were reunited. There was so much joy.”

SYLVIE KAPENGA, 26, FROM TCHISSENGUE

“Being a woman and a man is the same. They were killing us all the same. Where we were we caught between two sides. Everybody wanted us to die. I have four children, two girls and two boys. It’s tough here—little food, no clothes, just what we have. As a woman, I am the one that works. To be honest, I am not that strong. I lost everything. I am not sure how to carry on.”

BERNADETTE TCHANDA, 42, FROM KAMAKO

“I ran from Kabila’s war [Joseph Kabila, president of DR Congo]. We saw the troops come. They killed many people. They pointed a gun at my husband, but we managed to escape with our two children. As a woman I was particularly afraid. The sounds of weapons, the sound of death. I was afraid. The troops would rape, they would kill women. This happened to my friends. I feel protected here, in the camp. In the past, my husband would beat me, but not here, they have laws and he is scared. I have a lot of joy…” At this point Bernardette breaks from the interview and begins to dance. “I get a lot of strength when I dance. Women get strength from dance.” She stops dancing for a moment and looks at me. “Women suffer the most, so they have the most strength.”

LINA MANANGA, 18, FROM KAMAKO

“Here,” she tells me, pointing at the camp around her, “each day we wake in the morning, we collect water, we clean clothes, we look for what we can eat, we cook. This is our day. It is tough, physical work. When we fled Kamako, I remember the day; the children were dressed in red when the troops started arriving. As soon as they arrived they started shooting, cutting people’s heads. I was repulsed. As a woman I felt in a lot of danger. I was with child and I knew that even if I gave birth that day, they would kill the child. I have seen this. I have one child. Because of this violence, I had a miscarriage with the other. I am young, so I have to be strong. But some are not.”

CHANTAL KUTUMBUKA, 45, FROM KAMAKO

“I used to be a farmer. I’m used to working with my hands. So it’s hard for me to be here. I just want to work. We had land, we could sell things. I could look after my children. When the violence started I lived in fear. The militia would go to a house and I would see them carry out the woman. I knew what they were doing. I was afraid—I couldn’t have endured that. Then one day they killed my husband, who was a policeman, and we fled. We abandoned everything. It’s hard. I’ve lost weight, the children cry. At times I don’t know what to do. But I carry on.”

http://www.unhcr.org/

—

MARTHA RADDATZ

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

KATE BOSWORTH: What makes you curious?

MARTHA RADDATZ: Almost everything. Truly. Curiosity is at the core of my personality and my job. Disciplined curiosity. But most of all I am intrigued by secrets. Everybody has them.

KB: What is important to you?

MR: Family, of course. But also kindness, energy and determination.

KB: How did you arrive here?

MR: The scenic route. Many wrong turns. Many spectacular views along the way. I just keep it in drive.

KB: Did you have a mentor?

MR: There were not a lot of women in positions of power or influence around me when I first started my career. There were men who were very helpful, but not all of them with the purest of motives. When I made it to the network, Diane Sawyer and Robin Roberts were both extremely welcoming and generous with their time. My first few years at ABC News were not and they championed me every step of the way.

KB: What is it about conflict that intrigues you?

MR: It is the step when all else has failed. It is when human beings have to lay it all on the line. The darkest hearts are revealed, and the purest courage.

KB: Conflict has led you to war time—what is that experience like, so close to life and death?

MR: It is intimate and gritty. There are few words spoken at the time. A shared jolt. You just know.

KB: Is there anything that haunts you?

MR: There is so much. From famine-ravaged mothers chasing our truck in Ethiopia begging us to take their starving babies to a combat support hospital in Baghdad where limbs and lives were lost—those memories will always be with me. They are part of who I am and have made me a better person and a better reporter.

KB: If you could have a spirited conversation with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?

MR: There are 125 stars carved into the Memorial Wall at CIA Headquarters. No names. It’s classified. All died without the rest of the world knowing what they did and how they sacrificed.

KB: What inspires you to take on a story? Is there a spark or a lightbulb moment?

MR: It all comes back to people. How they got to where they are, no matter what the circumstances. That can be war or a city council meeting. What motivates them, how do they survive? I know that when I started reporting on the 2004 Sadr City battle, the lightbulb went off when I interviewed Staff Sergeant Robert Miltenberger. A soldier who you would think was the toughest guy around broke down and cried. I had never seen a soldier cry. And had never seen such emotional pain from battle. I have been clawing at his big, sore heart to find out more ever since that. I consider him a dear friend.

KB: Do you ever think of consequences when breaking a story?

MR: Absolutely. I think every reporter should. It helps you realize the enormity of your responsibility.

KB: What made you decide to be involved in journalism?

MR: I have always been a big reader, and nothing has influenced me more—I think reading saved me. I was obsessed with a few female authors, among them Louise Erdrich, Joan Didion, Nora Ephron, Mona Simpson and a woman who came from my hometown, Terry Tempest Williams. (I also thought that was about the coolest name on the planet.) I am a huge Wallace Stegner fan as well. I was (and still am) dazzled by their brains, their depth and their cool. As for journalism, I never really decided on what I wanted to do (thus the scenic route I mentioned before!). I fell into it and as with reading, I realized I learned something every day.

KB: What gets you up in the morning?

MR: A new day. A new opportunity. I rarely sleep late because I am afraid I will miss something.

KB: What inspires you, personally and/or professionally?

MR: Creativity. Courage. Strength. Danger. Depth. Surprise. Unanswered questions. Anything outside of “conventional wisdom.”

KB: Is there a person or event that impacted who you are today?

MR: My life is a blender of events and people who influenced me both negatively and positively. Number one in the negative column is bitterness. I have seen it so often. It is destructive and unattractive. I will never be bitter. And the list of positive influences—creative, vibrant souls who contribute in some way every day is a powerful motivator to me.

KB: How much doubt versus faith do you use in a percentage of a day?

MR: I hadn’t contemplated before how narrow the line between them. But I easily come down on the side of faith over doubt. It is a more optimistic way to live. And I consider myself an optimist.

KB: How do you feel being one of the leaders in journalism?

MR: I don’t see myself that way, but I know others do. I think about that a lot. Especially when it comes to young women. I am deeply flattered when young women say they look up to me. It is also a profound responsibility. I want to do right by them.

KB: What questions do you ask yourself that you would never ask anyone else?

MR: Oh yes, but they are so personally critical they would not apply to others. Nor would I say them out loud.

KB: Is there a failure that later became a success or vice versa?

MR: As a very young reporter I got something wrong on the air. There was no one else who challenged me or questioned how I had gotten the information, and there were no consequences. I really had no idea what I was doing. But I knew later that I had gotten it wrong and I figured out how it happened and learned an important lesson.

KB: Do you have fear?

MR: Oh yes, all kinds of fears. We all do. The key is managing and overcoming your fears. In fact, being “fearless” is not a good thing. In the military there is a term for that, a NAFOD—which means “no apparent fear of death.” The military does not want those people. They will get you hurt.

KB: What words do you have for anyone aspiring to be a journalist?

MR: It is not about you. It has to be a passion to learn about the world, to learn about others and tell their stories. And find your soul. The best journalists have a soul. It is pure bullshit to think journalists should somehow not “feel.”

KB: If there was a headline for your life, what would it be?

MR: I would hope it would say I wasn’t ordinary. And that I am grateful to have seen crevices of the world that few will see, and met extraordinary people.

KB: You’ve traveled around the world numerous times and seen war up close and personal. You have moderated presidential debates, revealed groundbreaking stories, and you live in the nation’s capital, asking the toughest, most sincere questions—now I have one for you: What’s going on?

MR: Oh man, that is a tough one. It is right up there with “What is the meaning of life?” One day I think I know what is going on and the next I have no idea. No matter how much I have done and how much I have seen, I am surprised almost every day by the world’s complexity—the joy some people bring to the planet and the hatred and evil in which others seem to delight. Perhaps the answer is “None of us really know.”

KB: What has been a great accomplishment for you?

MR: Personally it is raising two children who are happy, kind and define their own success. Professionally, there was no greater challenge than doing the general election debates. I have explained to people it is like studying for the SATs and taking them in front of 60 million people. But the project that makes me the proudest is the Nat Geo miniseries based on my book The Long Road Home. The amount of talent poured into that project (YOU Kate!) was breathtaking. The best part of the project is knowing that for many of those involved in the real-life battle, the mini series was healing. That gives me great comfort and pride. I know I will have lifelong, meaningful friendships because of that project. It was life changing.

KB: What goals would you like to accomplish in the future?

MR: To be better at everything I do. I know my weaknesses and I want to improve. And writing books can be a miserable yet rewarding experience. Despite the misery, I want to write another book.

KB: Would you run for president?

MR: Ha! Would not even consider it, nor would anyone in their right mind want me to.

KB: What does a Citizen of Humanity mean to you?

MR: It starts with empathy. We are hand in hand even though oceans apart. We live better, richer lives if we work together for the good of all.

—

 

COURTENEY MONROE

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

KATE BOSWORTH: If you are given a photograph with a lot of history and it is significant to many people and it’s yours to frame, how would you frame it? IE: metal, wood, floating, simply floating between plexiglass? Or other?

COURTENEY MONROE: I would frame it floating simply between plexiglass so nothing would distract from its beauty and significance.

KB: National Geographic’s yellow borders are an iconic frame. How do you respect the restraint while also expanding them?

CM: That question actually taps into everything we are focused on at National Geographic. We are a revered brand worldwide, but we also want to be a fiercely relevant. And that can sometimes be a tricky balance. But being pioneering and visionary have long been hallmarks of the National Geographic brand. So, we are remaining true to our DNA and pushing creative boundaries in order to break through and ensure we are as relevant and vital now as we were at our inception.

KB: Coming from HBO, what was it about Nat Geo that inspired you?

CM: HBO and National Geographic actually have a lot more in common than one might think – both are incredibly strong, iconic brands.  I felt—and still do—incredibly fortunate to have the opportunity to work on yet another brand known for quality and distinctiveness.

KB: How do you find creativity within such iconic borders?

CM: I take inspiration from the long legacy of creative excellence at National Geographic. The talent we are fortunate enough to interact with every day—explorers, photographers, filmmakers, scientists-is nothing short of awe inspiring.

KB: What initially attracted you to the entertainment industry?

CM: I have always loved surrounding myself with creative, inspiring people – it is what drives me.

KB: How did you arrive here?

CM: Hard work and a nice dose of good luck.

KB: Is there a person or an event that had a major impact on where you are today?

CM: Peter Rice, who believed in me and gave me the opportunity of a lifetime to run and transform the National Geographic Television business.

KB: What excites you?

CM: New challenges, aiming high and getting outside of my comfort zone.

KB: Do you consider yourself a rebel?

CM: I wish, but no.

KB: Between the dream and the goal, what is your discipline to achieve them?

CM: Keep your eye on the prize and surround yourself with exceptional people.

KB: What is your personal ritual/routine in the morning or throughout the day that translates into your daily business routine?

CM: Wake up and look at my emails and then proceed to do so all day long. Not something I am proud of or recommend to anyone!

KB: What evaluations do you make before making a permanent decision?

CM: What impact will it have on my family.

KB: How do you decide to collaborate with someone? Are there essential qualities that are critical for you?

CM: One simple rule: No assholes allowed!

KB: What is the collaboration process like with you?

CM: My hope is that it is fun, inspiring, and respectful.

KB: How much doubt versus faith do you use in a percentage of a day?

CM: Faith all day, sometimes doubt at night.

KB: Do you have fear? How do you move through it?

CM: Not living up to people’s expectations of me. I move through it by doing the only thing I know how to do—which is to be my most authentic self.

KB: How do you feel being one of the leaders in television?

CM: Incredibly fortunate.

KB: What are you most proud of?

CM: My two greatest accomplishments without question are my children, Miles and Lola.

KB: What goals would you like to accomplish in the future?

CM: Transforming National Geographic into the very best version it can be, and living up to my personal full potential.

KB: So, to go back to the constraints of a border: You have six words to explain your life. What are they?

CM: Family, Love, Ambition, Creativity, Laughter, Happiness.

KB: What does a Citizen of Humanity mean to you?

CM: Somebody who believes in and works toward something greater than oneself.

—

WE ARE HERE BECAUSE WE ARE STRONG

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

“IT WAS ALL VERY QUICK. I HEARD VERY LOUD SHOOTING. MY HUSBAND WAS AWAY WORKING. I WAS CONFUSED AND TERRIFIED SO I RAN WITH NOTHING BUT MY BABY IN MY ARMS. WHEN WE ESCAPED TO THE BUSH IT WAS AS IF MY BABY KNEW OUR LIVES DEPENDED ON IT BECAUSE SHE NEVER ONCE CRIED. I HAD NO MILK TO GIVE HER BUT SHE NEVER CRIED.” —A YOUNG CONGOLESE WOMAN ON ARRIVING AT THE UNHCR RECEPTION CENTER IN ANGOLA

“REFUGEES WERE ARRIVING IN TERRIBLE CONDITION, SOME WITH MACHETE INJURIES, MANY HUNGRY, EXHAUSTED AND TRAUMATIZED.” —PHILIPPA CANDLER, REPRESENTATIVE, UNHCR ANGOLA

“VICTIMS ARE THOSE WHO WERE UNABLE TO ESCAPE AND DIED IN THIS ATROCIOUS CONFLICT. REFUGEES ARE SURVIVORS. THEY LOST ALL BUT THEIR LIVES AND THEIR DIGNITY. WE [UNHCR] ARE HERE TO PULL THEM BACK UP AND HELP THEM RECOMMENCE. REFUGEE WOMEN MIRROR THAT INCREDIBLE STRENGTH BETTER THAN MOST. THEIR ABILITY TO ADJUST, KEEP THE FAMILY TOGETHER AND COPE WITH ADVERSITY WITH A SMILE STRIKES ME EVERY TIME. THEY ARE NOT MADE OF STEEL; THEY ARE HUMAN BEINGS MADE OF ALL-HEARTED MUSCLE.” —MARGARIDA LOUREIRO, UNHCR EXTERNAL RELATIONS OFFICER, ANGOLA

GILI NTUMBA, FROM KAMAKO

In modern conflict, it is often women who carry the greatest burden. Wars no longer have front lines. Civilians are increasingly targeted. Rape and sexual violence continue to be used as weapons of war, and when forced to flee homes, it is women who take charge to hold families together and support children.

The viciousness against women was particularly brutal in the recent outbreak of violence that began in March 2017 in the Kasai region of Democratic Republic of the Congo. It triggered the internal displacement of some 1.4 million persons and the flight of over 34,000 refugees into Lunda Norte Province in northeast Angola. The newly arrived reported widespread violence, mass killings, mutilations, burning of property, destruction of villages, schools and churches and human rights abuses, as well as food shortage and the lack of access to basic services and goods.

Most specifically the refugees arriving in Angola spoke of government forces and militias deliberately targeting women in some of the worst gender-based violence the region has seen. As families fled across the border to neighboring Angola, the medical staff that received them were shocked by the stories and medical condition of many of the women and girls arriving.

Many of the Congolese refugees who arrived in Angola have been relocated to the UNHCR settlement of Lóvua. Currently there are over 9,000 Congolese refugees there, but the settlement has a capacity of 30,000. In Lóvua, 75% of the Congolese living there are women and children. With men often missing, dead or unable to work, it is the women who have to try and rebuild shattered lives and support families.

When I visited the settlement, I was immediately drawn to join three women who sat outside their tent: Rose (who would soon become Aunty Rose to me), her sister Mimi and Bernardette. We sat all day telling stories, laughing and sharing food.

Together we decided to do a series of portraits of just the women, for them to tell the stories. When I returned the next day, the scene was more like a party. No children or men were allowed; food was prepared, new batteries bought for the radio. We danced, we ate and we made portraits. It was truly the most memorable photo shoot of my life, in many ways a celebration, a celebration of life.

Resilience is a word used too easily, but with Aunty Rose and Mimi, and later all the women I met in the camp, I found its true meaning. The women I got to know and visited each day were full of life and joy despite all they had endured, and all radiated a deep strength that rooted their whole families.

Though I am also aware that we must be careful not to romanticize resilience. By its nature, resilience is a necessity born of suffering. It is not a virtue one aspires to, because its journey is hardship and pain. So whilst I admired the strength and resilience of the women I met, it was impossible not to be impacted by the terrible violence that they had witnessed and suffered on that journey. For some, those experiences were still too raw and violent for them to cope with, which is reflected in their words and the eyes of the portraits.

These portraits show the strength of women. But they are also a reminder of the terrible gender-based violence, rape and sexual abuse of women in conflicts around the world.

On the first day, sitting with Rose, Mimi and Bernardette, I asked them how they had endured and survived.

“That’s simple,” was the reply. “We are here because we are strong.”

COCO MAWA, 35, FROM KAMAKO

“Life in the camp is not easy. It is the woman who works, who cooks, who looks after the children. Sometimes when I go into the woods to gather leaves to cook with, I dream of my past life.”

ROSE LUSANDA, 46, FROM KAMAKO

“A woman is a helper. We carry the strength. The women hold the community together,” explains Rose, or Aunty Rose, as she is known. She is in many ways the matriarch of the group. “In the markets, they would charge us more because we were Luba. They would say ‘kill all the Lubas.’ Then when the soldiers came, we escaped. They were killing everybody. Threatening the people, raping our daughters. They were forcing fathers to sleep with their daughters, and if the men refused, they were shot. Being a woman we were stripped of our strength by their threats. Kabila made us suffer.”  Then Rose pauses and looks at me as she raises her finger. “But we cannot be weak. We escaped the war. No other human will give you that strength. I had that strength inside of me. I had the courage to do whatever has to be done. Sometimes I say to my daughter, now we are here [in the camp]. I tell her to feel the courage. To find the calm, be calm, stay calm.”

MIMI MISENGA, 45, FROM KAMAKO

“Sometimes I am very sad at all we have lost. Other times we let it go, we have our lives. They killed my uncle, his sons. We couldn’t even bury them. It was too much. My neighbor, they made him rape his daughter. Then the troops raped the daughters in front of the family. I was so afraid for my children. We escaped barefoot into the bush and then found a way to escape. I had nothing. Then I looked at my children. They gave me strength. I am never tired. I am so strong. My body is always moving, ready to work, even when I sleep! Honestly, I don’t know where that strength comes from. I am never tired. I say to my daughters, ‘Stay calm, find a good husband and follow my example. Follow my strength.’ ”

CARINE ROLENGA, 20, FROM KAMAKO

“When we heard gunshots in the village we knew it was time to leave. As a woman I felt particularly under threat. At night they would take the men and rape the women. In truth I don’t understand why people would do this. It’s beyond me.”

MUZI KINGAMBO, 26, FROM KAMAKO

“It is not easy. I suffer here. I have many pains in my back, my bladder—pains women shouldn’t have. In Congo I lived with my husband. I want that life again.”

THÉRESE MANDAKA, 19, FROM KAMAKO

“Here we suffer a lot. For us women, we were particular targets. The biggest suffering was kept for us. When the soldiers came, I was separated from my husband. He’d gone to look for work; I was home and sick. I was pregnant. But my strength comes from my home. Even though I was sick, I knew I would have to escape. I thought they would kill the baby inside me—that’s where I found my strength, nobody else but me. “Now here in the camp I am a mother, so I must be strong.” Thérese pauses and gathers herself. She has not seen her husband since she fled to Angola. He hasn’t seen their child, Munduko, who’s now 4 months old. “I just want us to be together again.”

 

ANI TCHEBA, 19, FROM KAMAKO

“We left our village in Congo on a Monday morning at 6 a.m. I remember I had no strength. I was heavily pregnant. It had been a difficult pregnancy and I was so worried I’d lose the baby. My husband pulled me. As a refugee it is harder as a woman, as we have the responsibility for food and the children. But here the women have given me inspiration. We share food. When I am missing something they give it to me and vice versa. We help each other with the hardships. We are stronger together.”

GERMAINE ALONDE, 25, FROM KAMAKO

“We had good land at home, a good life. Then the militias and the armies came. They took everything. They killed my older brother. It was terrible. We saw so much blood, and each time my heart would stop. I couldn’t sleep. Then one day they came near to our home to start their killing and we all fled. We were terrified; everyone was running. We knew what they would do. My oldest daughter, Therese [who was 7], took my baby Helene [who was just 2 years old] whilst I ran back to the home to gather what I could and get the other children. At the border everybody was pushing and shoving. It was chaos. I couldn’t see Therese; we were all separated. And in that chaos she dropped the baby. We lost her. It was the worst moment, but I couldn’t be angry with Therese. How could I be? My oldest child is just a child. It wasn’t her fault. For two weeks we thought Helene was lost. Then one day in the camp my neighbor came up to me and said she’d seen my baby. I couldn’t believe her! But she had-—she’d been walking past a center for unaccompanied children and she’d seen Helene! We went straight away and were reunited. There was so much joy.”

SYLVIE KAPENGA, 26, FROM TCHISSENGUE

“Being a woman and a man is the same. They were killing us all the same. Where we were we caught between two sides. Everybody wanted us to die. I have four children, two girls and two boys. It’s tough here—little food, no clothes, just what we have. As a woman, I am the one that works. To be honest, I am not that strong. I lost everything. I am not sure how to carry on.”

BERNADETTE TCHANDA, 42, FROM KAMAKO

“I ran from Kabila’s war [Joseph Kabila, president of DR Congo]. We saw the troops come. They killed many people. They pointed a gun at my husband, but we managed to escape with our two children. As a woman I was particularly afraid. The sounds of weapons, the sound of death. I was afraid. The troops would rape, they would kill women. This happened to my friends. I feel protected here, in the camp. In the past, my husband would beat me, but not here, they have laws and he is scared. I have a lot of joy…” At this point Bernardette breaks from the interview and begins to dance. “I get a lot of strength when I dance. Women get strength from dance.” She stops dancing for a moment and looks at me. “Women suffer the most, so they have the most strength.”

LINA MANANGA, 18, FROM KAMAKO

“Here,” she tells me, pointing at the camp around her, “each day we wake in the morning, we collect water, we clean clothes, we look for what we can eat, we cook. This is our day. It is tough, physical work. When we fled Kamako, I remember the day; the children were dressed in red when the troops started arriving. As soon as they arrived they started shooting, cutting people’s heads. I was repulsed. As a woman I felt in a lot of danger. I was with child and I knew that even if I gave birth that day, they would kill the child. I have seen this. I have one child. Because of this violence, I had a miscarriage with the other. I am young, so I have to be strong. But some are not.”

CHANTAL KUTUMBUKA, 45, FROM KAMAKO

“I used to be a farmer. I’m used to working with my hands. So it’s hard for me to be here. I just want to work. We had land, we could sell things. I could look after my children. When the violence started I lived in fear. The militia would go to a house and I would see them carry out the woman. I knew what they were doing. I was afraid—I couldn’t have endured that. Then one day they killed my husband, who was a policeman, and we fled. We abandoned everything. It’s hard. I’ve lost weight, the children cry. At times I don’t know what to do. But I carry on.”

http://www.unhcr.org/

—