I was born in Bukavu and grew up between Bukavu and Goma, two cities scarred by decades of armed conflict.

I am a lawyer, and I chose to study peace at Hekima University College in search of answers to the wars that have shaped my existence.

If war were a parent, it would have its favored children and its forgotten ones. Was I among those it cherished? My story is that of a child cradled by war’s brutality, of a woman who learned to bloom in an arid landscape of horror.

It all began in October 1996 when the Alliance of Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Congo (AFDL), under Laurent-Désiré Kabila, invaded South Kivu, ending Mobutu’s dictatorship. Like thousands of others, we fled, walking 55 kilometers over four days to reach our village in Walungu. The path was strewn with corpses; bombs and gunfire echoed relentlessly. I was a child, passed from one loving arm to another. My newborn brother, barely a week old, clung to life on my uncle’s shoulders when a bullet like a rocket narrowly missed him but struck my aunt instead. That was the beginning of my forced integration into a new reality.

As we struggled to recover from the horrors of 1996-97, war returned in 1998. Kabila severed ties with Rwanda and Uganda, leading to the formation of the Rally for Congolese Democracy (RCD), which took control of the East. Our villages became rebel strongholds. Fleeing was no longer an option. Leaving the city meant leaving the country, a luxury my family could not afford.

We learned to live under our beds, to hold our breath at every suspicious noise. Silence became our only weapon. At night, soldiers patrolled house by house. Screams of distress would rise, only to be silenced abruptly. When calm returned, it brought only mourning. Lives were shattered by rape and sexual violence, families broken beyond repair. Life continued, but nothing remained the same.

In June 2004, after the Sun City and Arusha agreements, Laurent Nkunda’s National Congress for the Defence of the People (CNDP), a faction of the RCD, plunged South Kivu back into war. That day, at 2 p.m., as we returned from school, we saw panic take over—cars speeding, faces frozen in fear. Already familiar with this nightmare, we hid under our beds once more, shrouded in oppressive silence for nine days.

In 2009, the Goma Agreement sought to integrate the CNDP into the national army, but dissidents emerged. By 2012, the March 23 Movement (M23), also known as the Congolese Revolutionary Army was born, launching an offensive from Rutshuru. They captured Bunagana, Rutshuru, Kiwanja, and Rumangabo before seizing Goma in November 2012 for 11 days, only to withdraw and sign the Nairobi Agreement.

But in 2020, M23 resumed its offensives. Neither COVID-19 nor the 2022 Nyiragongo eruption stopped them. For nearly four years, I moved back and forth, fleeing each time M23 advanced in North Kivu. The fatigue of instability set in, and I decided to settle down, come what may, until I finally left for Nairobi. Yet, the clashes of January 2025 found me there too.

From Nairobi, I experienced war more intensely than I ever imagined. I thought I was finally safe, just this once. Instead, I became a prisoner of my own mind and emotions. Every video, every article, every post reignited memories. I was far from my loved ones, unable to reach them. War became a media-driven torment, and I felt powerless in the face of national, regional, and international strategies. Yet, through the compassion, presence, and prayers of those around me, I held on.

But this story is not just one of pain. We live, we love, we dream, we build. Today, I stand strong, confident in a bright and peaceful future.

If war were a father, it would be omnipresent and possessive, a ruthless coach. But it also taught me resilience, adaptation, and the ability to rise again, like the phoenix. It taught me to cherish every moment, every place, and every encounter. Above all, it shaped my vocation to be a defender of the marginalized and an advocate for justice and peace.

What are my perspectives? The future is a field of action. I don’t just want to understand, I want to act. Hekima University College provides the ideal space to do so.

Why Hekima? For its Peace and International Relations program, for its diverse student body including those from conflict zones, for the richness of shared experiences, for the maturity and wisdom it cultivates, for its Ignatian spirituality, and above all, for its mission: to train peace actors.

But one crucial question remains: How can the Democratic Republic of the Congo break this cycle of violence and build lasting peace? I look to my professors—Professor Opongo, Dr. Anyanzu, Dr. Elisé, Dr. Wekesa, Dr. James, Dr. Mokua, and Dr. Kiffle, not only for analysis and tools but for practical solutions. Are we not being trained to be peace actors? What if we started now?

Where do we begin? Establishing a framework for action is crucial in preparing to be effective in conflict resolution. Father Marcel, Father Steven, how can we apply Ignatian spirituality to healing, dialogue, and reconciliation? Dr. Jean-Luc, how do we write these new pages in history?

These questions are not theoretical; they are calls to action. History teaches us that inaction prolongs conflicts, while engagement paves the way for transformation.

My future will not be dictated by war but by hope, determination, and the will to build a better world. Peace is not something we wait for it is something we build. And I choose to act.