CONGO: The repatriation of armed Rwandan Hutus is proving to be a dangerous task, writes Declan Walsh in Bitale
The seasonal rains pounded Bitale, a tin-roof village high in the forests above eastern Congo. Barefoot children ran for cover under flimsy wooden shacks as the twisting dirt road turned to sludge.
Just as suddenly, the downpour stopped and a line of soldiers filed onto the grassy verge of the mucky street.
The motley bunch snapped to attention. Toes winked out from battered trainers and holed wellingtons. Most wore second-hand T-shirts. The youngest, barely teenagers, puffed their chests out ridiculously. None had guns.
A Congolese officer imperiously strode the line, dispensing the occasional slap or thump. He barked an order. A man calling himself Franck Amuti (35) stepped forward.
"We are Rwandan Hutus," he said. "We came to Congo in 1994. Now we want to go back." Unlikely as it may seem, these men, and thousands more like them, may hold the key to peace in Congo. Genocide in neighbouring Rwanda, and its messy aftermath, sparked the Congo war. After the 1994 massacres, in which 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus died, thousands of Rwandan Hutus fled into the impenetrable forests of Congo. Two years later, the Tutsi-led army chased after them, and invaded the Congo.
Now, six years later, there is finally a chance to send these men, and Rwanda's problems, back home. And just maybe, it will help bring peace to bedevilled Congo.
Hopes are riding on a peace deal signed between the presidents of Rwanda and Congo last July. Under the agreement, Rwanda agreed to pull its troops out; in return the Kinshasa government would help send the Rwandan Hutus, many of whom fought against the Rwandan invasion, back home.
The logic is simple: if all foreigners return home then the justification for continuing war, both on the pro-Rwandan and pro-government side, will collapse. But in the complex Congo conflict, which at one point attracted seven foreign armies, the simple logic rarely translates into reality.
Rwanda, for its part, has largely kept its promises. Most troops have pulled out, although there is evidence that some have stayed behind, either to keep a steadying hand on their allies, the RCD rebels, or to continue with the lucrative, army-organised plunder of Congo's natural resources.
The greater difficulty lies with the Hutus. A minority are murderous extremists with blood on their hands since 1994. But the majority are simple refugees who got sucked into the Congo war and ended up fighting alongside pro-government Congolese forces against their own, invading, government.
For the past six years they have led a peripatetic existence; roaming from area to area, using violence and banditry to survive in an entirely lawless environment. Ordinary Congolese villagers have paid the price; over three million died while horrific human rights abuses, particularly rape, became everyday occurrences.
In Bitale, Mr Amuti explained why his men were giving up the gun for a chance to return home.
"It was an animal's life. It was so hard to find food, medical care, schooling for children. We had to use the bark from the trees for medicine," he said.
Local villagers said their reputation was not so clean: the same group had been notorious for obtaining their food and medicine using the barrel of a Kalashnikov.
The Hutus said they had nothing to fear from going back to Rwanda. They denied participating in the 1994 genocide, or even that it took place.
"There was no genocide in Rwanda. There were massacres on both sides," said Mr Amuti.
"Kagame [Rwanda's president] is using it for propaganda purposes." Nevertheless they were demanding an "amnesty" before returning home.
"We have nothing to fear but " He hesitated and smiled. "We fear insecurity, that is all." According to a recent survey by Congolese organisations, there are 3,800 armed soldiers and another 14,000 Hutus non-combatants, mostly women and children, waiting to return home in South Kivu province alone.
But the UN mission in charge of the job, MONUC, has been dogged by grindingly slow progress.
The only attempted repatriation of Hutus, in the southern town of Kamina last month, turned into a bloodbath. Halfway through the process, some soldiers changed their minds, rearmed and shot their way out of the camp.
Out of almost 2,000 Hutus, just 670 went back to Rwanda.
Now the UN is concentrating on South and North Kivu, an area larger than Ireland. But the mission has been marred by myriad difficulties. The UN has only managed to muster 4,200 of the planned 5,500 troops (Ireland sent two) and 60 per cent of the budget is being swallowed by air and helicopter transport.
Leaner groups, such as the Swedish-based Life and Peace Institute (LPI), are working on smaller peace initiatives and say MONUC is lumbering, inexperienced and inefficient.
"They don't have the contacts, they don't know who to trust, and their staff are not sufficiently experienced or competent. People just don't trust them," said Hans Romkema of LPI in Bukavu.
But Jason Stearns, a Monuc demobilisation officer, says the job is not that simple. "Everybody know that eastern Congo is full of Hutus. But it's not a matter of just swooping in on a plane and taking them home," he said.
But amid the squabbling, many Congolese a window of opportunity is closing.
"MONUC needs more men and a new strategy," said local human rights activist Raphael Wakenge. "Because after six years of war, people around here need results - and fast."