No place like home: Bearing witness in the DRC

By Deepmala Mahla June 4, 2025

A group of people seen from behind, walking while carrying belongings wrapped in cloth on their backs.

Over 6.9 million people have fled their homes in the DRC, creating the largest displacement crisis in Africa today. All photos: Kelvin Baltumike/CARE

Deepmala Mahla, CARE’s Chief Humanitarian Officer, recently traveled to the heart of eastern DRC’s crisis. Over a few days, she met women forced to flee, saw entire communities uprooted, and listened to stories of resilience and loss. Here, she shares what she witnessed at the center of one of the world’s most challenging humanitarian crises.

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The Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) faces one of the world’s most complex humanitarian crises, fueled by years of conflict among armed groups fighting over land, resources, and power. Violence has destroyed homes, schools, and livelihoods, forcing over 6.9 million people to flee, the highest number in Africa. Over half are children and more than 1.5 million now face acute malnutrition.

Today, most conflicts are in the eastern region. In late 2023 and early 2024, the M23 armed group took control of much of North Kivu, including Goma. Fighting intensified in early 2025, displacing at least 1.15 million people in North and South Kivu alone.

The M23 takeover triggered more violence and forced thousands to leave their homes. New authorities ordered all camps for displaced people in Goma to close — no negotiation, no warning. About one million people who had already lost everything were told to leave again, with nowhere to go.

Living with risks in Goma

A woman preparing food outside a makeshift shelter, with children nearby and similar shelters in the background.
Despite security risks, 45, a mother of seven, lives in a makeshift shelter with her family and a niece in an IDP camp near Goma.

As soon as you set foot in Goma, the scale of displacement is clear and devastating. Security briefings are blunt: murder, kidnapping, and shootings are part of daily life. The risks are so frequent they become part of everyday conversation — a sad reality that highlights the dangers faced by humanitarians.

The CARE office closes early so staff can get home safely. Compounds surrounded by barbed wire, CARE logos mark the cars, and staff check in over the radio before entering. It’s a mix of nostalgia and pride — a reminder of what it means to serve here.

Persistent fighting makes it extremely hard to deliver assistance. The CARE DRC team shared that traveling from Beni to Kirumba — just 125 miles apart — now requires a long detour because of insecurity and roadblocks. Instead of a four-hour trip, staff travel through Uganda and Rwanda, turning the journey into two days and over 1,200 miles. Such isolation affects not just North Kivu, but all of eastern DRC.

The camps are gone: Nowhere to go

A mother sitting inside her makeshift shelter with one of her children.
Carine, 37, a mother of 10, lived in an IDP camp until M23 seized Goma and forced people out, making her and millions homeless.

When M23 took control of Goma, they ordered all camps for internally displaced people (IDP) dismantled. There were once about 100 camps — now, none remain. The authorities made it clear: they don’t want to see them anymore. Camps that once offered a fragile lifeline are gone, leaving tens of thousands to fend for themselves, invisible in the places they once sought safety.

Some are now hiding with host communities, but we chose not to visit them; being seen could put them at risk.  A few tried to return home, only to find everything destroyed — homes, land, shops. There’s nowhere to go.

Some colleagues were here during the intense fighting and takeover in January. Once Sake, the next town, fell to M23, everyone knew Goma would be next. Imagine living with that fear — knowing your city could fall at any moment. Even now, only a few neighborhoods are less risky, but it’s still highly insecure.

Driving to Sake: The ghosts of camps

Driving from Goma to Sake, you pass places where camps once stood. Empty shelters remain — some permanent, some temporary. People lived here for years, after fleeing their homes multiple times. At short notice, M23 told everyone to leave. Two million people across more than a hundred camps were forced to go. Walking by these empty shelters, you see traces of life: broken sunflowers, doors hanging open. Some tried to make these places home, even briefly. Now they’re gone. At least here, they once had some humanitarian assistance.

Although there are no formal camps, some families whose homes have been destroyed by the fighting now shelter in tents placed in their own or neighbors’ backyards.

Layers of loss in Sake

A woman walks toward a makeshift shelter made of plastic sheets, carrying a sack with the CARE logo. A young boy follows her, carrying a smaller child tied to his back; they are likely her children.
Wivine, 37, a mother of 10, has lived in a camp since January 2022 after fleeing conflict that forced her to leave her home and farms and separated her from her husband and some of her children.

In Sake, I met many women and community members, each with a story to tell. One young mother shared that she was raped and beaten at 14, just after her first period, and got pregnant because of that rape. Now, still dealing with trauma and repeated displacement, she has had to sell her child’s only garment to buy food. Her words echo the silent cries of so many others living in fear and uncertainty.

Many women told me they had to flee their homes again and again. They used to farm and sell vegetables in their villages. Life wasn’t easy, but they could dream. Then came the fighting, and they had to flee. When the fighting subsided, they risked everything to return home, only to find everything burned — land, seeds, tools — all lost. They returned to crowded, unfamiliar camps, stuck in a cycle of loss with no way to make a living.

CARE’s food assistance in crisis

A woman receives food assistance from another woman wearing an emergency vest, likely a humanitarian worker.
Displaced families and returnees who once relied on farming now depend on food assistance to survive.

About 28 million people across the DRC — more than one in four — don’t have enough to eat. In the conflict-affected eastern provinces, over 10 million are struggling with hunger, including 2.3 million experiencing the most extreme levels.

In Sake, I met a young mother holding her daughter. She told me, “We used to have a farm. We ate what we grew and sold the rest.” Now, she is one of the 2.3 million — her story buried in statistics. When we focus only on numbers, we forget the people behind them.

CARE organizes food distributions for displaced families who have run out of resources. While food assistance is a last resort, it is vital to save lives and support communities until longer-term solutions are possible.

Resilience in the face of despair

Village Savings and Loan Association (VSLA) members showcase handmade clothes, baskets, and local produce on display while CARE staff wearing branded vests and t-shirts talk with them.
Village Savings and Loan Association (VSLA) members proudly show their high-quality handmade clothes, baskets, and local produce.

Many women I met in Village Savings and Loan Association (VSLA) groups have been driven from their homes repeatedly. Despite losing housing and livelihoods, they gather to save money and provide small loans, supporting each other.

They showed me what they make: clothes, baskets, bags, beans, and bread. The quality is good, and they take pride in their work. But as we talk, I see sadness in their eyes. There are few opportunities to sell their goods. Most people have no money. “Who will buy?” they ask. They’re trying, but the situation is against them — another example of how conflict undermines individual effort.

What’s next?

A woman sits in front of a makeshift shelter with four children, likely her own.
In the DRC, despite ongoing violence and loss, women like Neema are not just survivors — they lead their families and communities, rebuilding with strength and hope.

The DRC crisis continues with immense challenges. Armed conflict destroyed more than 1,000 schools in the past year alone, and nearly 25 million people — over a quarter of the population — now need humanitarian assistance.

Women in the DRC, as in other global conflicts, play critical roles supporting their communities amid violence. When I met them, I saw not just survivors but strategists, breadwinners, teachers, and leaders. Despite losing homes and livelihoods, they are rebuilding — not waiting for rescue but asking us to stand with them. Their stories remind us that lasting peace is a human right, not a privilege, and demands urgent, collective action.

As they said, “All we want is peace. The rest we can manage.”

It’s time we match their courage with action — because peace cannot wait.

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