Congolese war refugees start over in Philadelphia

One in an occasional series on America's changing face

Annonciata Nsenga kicked off her sneakers, stood on a chair, and tapped a nail into a wall of her rented rowhouse in Point Breeze.

Eighteen years after she and her husband, Jean Pierre, both Congolese, fled their homeland's violence for a refugee camp in Rwanda - and five months into their new lives in Philadelphia - the rail-thin mother of five finally felt comfortable enough to hang a fresh portrait of the family, dressed nattily, smiling hopefully.

"We left because of war," Jean Pierre, 58, a former nurse, said Tuesday, citing persistent fighting among Congolese factions in a land of child soldiers, ethnic rivalries, and bloody battles for control of the country's natural resources.

Sexual violence as a weapon of war is so common, say human rights groups, the eastern part of the Democratic Republic of Congo is often called the most dangerous place in the world to be a woman.

Nearly two decades of armed conflict in the central African nation have produced more than 3 million refugees. About 10,000 were relocated from crowded camps in Rwanda, Uganda, Cameroon, and Tanzania and resettled in the United States beginning in 2001. By 2019, according to the State Department, the United States wants to resettle tens of thousands in an effort to end their protracted limbo.

About 120 Congolese in this new wave, including the Nsengas, began arriving in Philadelphia in June. They were received by the region's prominent resettlement agencies - the Nationalities Service Center, HIAS Pennsylvania, and Lutheran Children and Family Service. The groups arranged English classes, low-wage jobs, and housing, with four to six months of government-paid rent and about eight months of food stamps. After that, the newcomers are expected to be self-sufficient.

"There is a personality and an attitude you have to have when you start your life over and have survived trauma," said Juliane Ramic, director of social services for the Nationalities Service Center, which has resettled about 80 Congolese since June. "They talk about how much they are struggling and are confused. They have some of the worst trauma stories we have heard. But they greet you with a smile."

The pain is deep and not easily shared. For many, say the specialists who work with these refugees, it involves murderous raids on villages, torture, mutilation, and sexual violence. Some, said Ramic, "have visible scars."

Janet Panning, program director for Lutheran Children and Family Service, said her group has resettled 31 Congolese since June, is preparing to resettle 50 to 60 a year, and recently added a Congolese man to its case-management team.

Panning said the newcomers "are proving themselves in the workforce," with several in Montgomery County earning $11 an hour at a meat-packing plant in Souderton.

The refugees' reception has included strong support from some local faith communities, too.

Ebenezer Seventh Day Adventist Church, a 400-member, century-old house of worship at 1437 Christian St. in Philadelphia, transports the refugees to church in a van, provides simultaneous translation of Saturday services into Kiswahili, provides school uniforms for more than 20 Congolese children attending Philadelphia schools, and donates furniture, cooking utensils, and hand-me-down clothing.

"They are helping to build our attendance each Saturday," said Ebenezer's pastor, Charles Drake, "and helping our church become more aware of the international flair of our denomination," which has churches in 217 countries.

"They appear to be settling in very well," said Drake. "When we go to visit, they may be in someone else's house two blocks away. We see them on Broad Street waiting for the bus."

The resettlement agencies have directed some of the refugees to the North Penn part of Montgomery County, where, by happenstance, a few Congolese already lived.

Many were directed to Point Breeze, a struggling, partly gentrified, area south of Washington Avenue bounded in the east by Broad Street and the west by 27th Street. There, the Congolese are helping rebuild the neighborhood's shrinking population and remaking their lives.

Some, like the Nsenga's 18-year-old daughter, Amida, await their first taste of snow. "I've only seen it on TV," she said.

The other Nsenga children are Aline, 13; Alliance, 11; and Florence, 7; and Ignace, 10, the only boy. All attend Philadelphia public schools. Amida is at Horace Furness High School, where more than 40 percent of students are English-language learners from all over, and the principal, Daniel Peou, was a refugee from Cambodia.

The Philadelphia Refugee Mental Health Collaborative is a group of resettlement agencies, health providers, and arts organizations dedicated to "culturally and linguistically appropriate" care for refugees and immigrants.

The Congolese, said social worker Melissa Fogg, a co-founder of the collaborative, pose both common and unique challenges.

In some cases, she said, the sexual violence of the Congo carried over into the camps, or members of one ethnic group responsible for killing another group ended up in the same camp, engendering mistrust.

"We know there is a tremendous amount of stigma for rape victims," she said, "and some of the clients who came through were pregnant by rape. . . . The mental health stuff starts to show up when the newness [of life in America] is over and they get the reality of where they are."

A 15-question diagnostic tool developed with funding from the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, recently was translated into Congo's native Kinyarwanda. It can be a useful screening device, said Fogg, if administered soon after refugees arrive.

Though the language barrier is a hurdle for all refugees, speakers of African languages that are little-known here can have a particularly hard time.

In addition to Kiswahili and Kinyarwanda, Jean Pierre Nsenga speaks French. Three days a week, he attends classes in English.

So far, he has worked briefly, steam-pressing sheets for a company that supplies linens to hotels. He lost that job in a layoff.

Seated on his sofa near the freshly hung family portrait, he said last week he would like to work again as a nurse but knows that is unlikely until he learns English.

Then, as though enunciating from a recent lesson plan, he said: "Step by step, I shall know it."

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@MichaelMatza1