Jasmine Bates, the head of CRS’ office in Goma, Democratic Republic of Congo, hugs Degereje, a widow with three children from Ngungu, an isolated town in eastern Congo. Photo by Lane Hartill/CRS

By the time Jasmine had heard her story, she knew just what Degereje needed.

The 40 year-old widow and mother of three has had a rough year. The conflict in the Democratic Republic of the Congo flushed her from her village. She didn’t have time to pack. She just grabbed the kids and ran. When things calmed down, there was no point in returning to salvage what she could: the armed forces that blew through picked her house clean. So when she showed up in Ngungu, a chilly hilltop town in the east of the country, she had nothing.

Most of the people that fled with Degereje were taken in by friends and relatives, straining already limited resources.

CRS gave her and 5,000 other Congolese who had been displaced in Ngungu an assortment of goods to help them get back on their feet. Everything from soap and a water jug to bowls and blankets. Degereje deeply appreciated the help.

Things are better now, but still pretty difficult. Jasmine could see that. Only one of Degereje’s three children is in school. She rents a stick and mud house that is so brittle, it crumbles like Feta cheese when you touch it.

To Jasmine, Degereje was no longer a beneficiary, someone who had received NFIs (that’s humanitarian jargon for non food items, things like buckets and bowls). She was an unemployed mom with no money trying to raise three kids. Growing up near Appalachia, Jasmine had seen this before. And she knew just what to do.

She got up, planted herself right next to Degereje, leaned into her, and gave her long deep Southern hug.

- Lane Hartill, CRS regional information officer, West Africa

Natural Resource Extraction: Blessing or curse? Insights from the Democratic Republic of Congo.

With Steve Hilbert – Foreign Policy Advisor, Africa and Global Development, Office of International Justice and Peace, U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops and Rees Warne – Strategic Issues Advisor – Extractives Industries, Catholic Relief Services.

July 8, 2009

2:00-3:00 PM Eastern Standard Time

RSVP: Brendan Cavanagh, Catholic Relief Services, (443) 955-7118 or bcavanag@crs.org

Participants will need a phone and a computer with a high speed internet connection to join our webcast.

Natural resources are fueling the conflict in The Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). This Catholics Confront Global Poverty webcast will explore the issues around natural resource extraction such as tin, coltan (used in cell phones), diamonds, gold, oil, and other minerals and its effects on the people of the DRC. We will examine the Church’s position on natural resource extraction, the conflict in the DRC and legislation in Congress that is supposed to address these issues.  We will also discuss concrete ways for Catholics to make a real impact in the debate.

Thirty minutes of this webcast will be reserved to take questions from the audience.

PREPARE FOR THE WEBCAST:

• Learn more about the Catholics Confront Global Poverty initiative www.crs.org/globalpoverty or www.usccb.org/globalpoverty. Join now: www.crs.org/ccgp.

• Learn more about global poverty and natural resources: http://www.usccb.org/sdwp/globalpoverty/ccgp_issues_naturalresources.shtml.

• Watch a brief video on global poverty, conflict and peace: http://www.usccb.org/sdwp/globalpoverty/ccgp_podcasts.shtml

• Learn more about the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops work on promoting peace in the DRC: http://www.usccb.org/sdwp/international/callafrica/drc.shtml

• Learn more about CRS’ work in the DRC: http://crs.org/Democratic-Republic-of-Congo/.

A lot of guys had been after Tacko. It’s easy to see why: She was young, good-looking, well dressed and respected at work. She was also a cutup, always ribbing the staff; she could really dish it out. But she could take it too.

She had her heart set on one guy. I’ll call him Mamadou. He was tall, handsome and had a bit of a swagger. He had a good heart, she said, and she expected him to pop the question at any time.

She was ready to be a mom. “I’ve been thinking about it,” she told me. “I am 20 years old. If I don’t get married and have a baby [soon], it will be difficult.” There was one complicating factor. She was HIV-positive.

She was determined to marry someone who was also positive. And Mamadou was. She didn’t want to infect someone, as her first husband had done to her. Now that she’d found Mamadou, life was good. She knew that two HIV-positive people could have an HIV-negative baby.

I was ready for the wedding. I was going to wear my silver tie and black shirt and show up with a gift. I thought some dishes would be nice.

But the wedding didn’t happen.

Tacko Baldeh died.

I was surprised how hard her death hit me. After all, I’d only spent an afternoon with her. But during that time, she opened up to me as few people with HIV do. She told me how her father pulled her out of school in seventh grade and forced her to marry, how her little boy died, and how her family had essentially abandoned her. Tacko was full of tenderness and patience; it seeped out of her.

I was lucky to see Tacko in action. She was an HIV counselor for the Catholic Development Office in Bassé, The Gambia, which is a CRS partner. I saw Tacko look a woman square in the eye and unleash her story. Don’t you dare complain, she said. You have your parents. You aren’t alone. Both my parents are dead. My husband is dead. My child is dead. I have to cook for myself every night. There’s nobody to help me.

The woman thanked Tacko; she’d thrown her life back into perspective.

Imagine that. This 20-year-old, HIV-positive girl, lecturing HIV-positive women old enough to be her mother. But they listened to her. They soaked up this girl’s advice. She’d lived with the virus and look at her now: radiant, confident, composed. If she can be like that, they thought, so can we.

Tacko’s dream was to travel to distant villages and counsel women who have HIV.

Her colleague, Almaame, sent me a note shortly after her death. The news rocked the office, he said. Almaame and the rest of the team work with HIV-positive Africans every day, and death isn’t anything new to them. They take comfort in the fact that they help children know their parents longer; fathers can father and mothers can mother for a few more years. And, if their time comes, Almaame and the others help them die with dignity.

No death is easy, but Almaame has learned to move on. There’s more people to counsel, blood samples to take, home visits to make. But Tacko’s death was a surprise. There’s an empty desk in the office now. There’s not as much joking going on. In the last few days, in fact, there’s been none.

I didn’t ask Almaame the details of Tacko’s death. That wasn’t important. I just wanted to remember the short time I spent with her.

I won’t see you again, Tacko. But I won’t forget you. You were my friend on that hot day in February. You took my hand and led me to your house. They laughed at us as we walked through the village; they said you’d found yourself a white man. We both got a kick out of that. I ceased to be a writer, and you weren’t an HIV-positive Gambian. We were just two friends, walking under the mango trees.

- Lane Hartill, CRS regional information officer, West Africa

Courtesy DailyGospel.org
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The just-released report says 9,758 migrants were kidnapped as they made their way north through Mexico to the United States. Most were abducted by organized gangs and ransomed for an average of $2,500. All told, the report estimates that ransoms over the six-month period, which were paid by relatives in Central America and in the United States, totaled about $25 million.

“This is just another example of the way migrants are treated as merchandise,” said Sister Leticia Gutierrez, head of the Mexican bishops’ human mobility ministry, during an interview at her Mexico City office last week.

Gutierrez said the report stemmed in part from the growing number of kidnapping reports she received from Church-run migrant shelters throughout Mexico. She said abducted migrants are often tortured and released for ransom. Research and testimonies with migrants at many of the shelters contributed to the report, which was released on June 15.

The report underscores the changing landscape of the myriad dangers migrants face as they make their way through Mexico. For years, migrants have been targeted by corrupt public officials and bandits who steal their belongings, take their documents, and demand bribes.

“Today, it’s not just the authorities they have to worry about. The situation has changed, it’s also organized crime and gangs that are taking advantage of the infrastructure,” explained Sister Gutierrez. “Before a woman coming into Mexico had to worry about being raped. Now she has to worry that she will also be kidnapped. It it just another layer of violence, injustic, and abuse.”

Gutierrez said she is still receiving reports that the kidnappings continue.

Robyn Fieser, CRS regional information officer, Latin America

Read more here.