In the summer of 2008 I saw the two stereotypes of Africa. Working for an NGO and living in a Congolese refugee camp in Northern Zambia, I woke up every day to the romanticized version of Sub-Saharan Africa – the land teeming with life and nature, beautiful scenery, long and large landscapes of elephant grass and a sky covered in stars of the Zodiac so clear that you can see the Milky Way, mornings beginning with a huge orange sun and roosters crowing, and women singing, and many, many insects harmonizing.
On the opposite side of the spectrum I witnessed the other stereotype of Africa; hungry children with distended bellies (like those you see in the arms of televised philanthropists asking for aid). The victims of war, of violence, of death, of rape – who were forced to leave their homes carrying whatever household items they could grab, a crying baby and fragments of their culture.
But above these two stereotypes or semi-truths about Africa- the beautiful lively nature and the ravaged land- I found a reality of people who were not living as victims – who had experienced a darkness I could not understand, who had been pushed to their emotional, physical, and mental limit and emerged on the other side, across the border with hope, with dedication to family, with the desire to improve their condition, thirst for education, with great wisdom and an astounding patience with foreigners and even those who had abused them.
The men in these photographs are individuals who witnessed the slaughter of their entire families, or the rape of their sisters, or a hundred mile road peppered with land mines and bodies, or who were forced to leave an ailing mother behind in an effort to evade soldiers.
These men have been forgotten – warehoused in a refugee camp for over five years. Having fled the terror of guns and disease and death they find themselves facing a slyer, subtler, but potentially lethal enemy of Western power. Living within small borders in a foreign country, invisible to the outside world, they are denied the right to work, the right to move freely, a right to higher education, economic progress, the capacity to provide for their families and the power of being self-sufficient.
These men are leaders of their community. They have many stories to tell and the passion and skills to lead others to a better life. They want to see the world and experience good and new things, but efforts to speak out and personally advocate for their cause are blocked by the bureaucracy and borders of their camp. The camp borders were created by the international community and affluent countries that refuse to treat them as first class and equal citizens.
These pictures are not of ravaged bodies, not of the corpses of war. They are not meant to shock or disgust. They are an attempt to capture the distinction, and poise, and humanity of a few people who have suffered immeasurable trials; people who are living in dire circumstances that we have the power and capacity to change. Large international institutions can be criticized, but aid NGO’s and  governmental organizations such as UNHCR work on tight budgets and struggle to meet even the basest needs of these individuals and all refugees. It is the affluent, the comfortable; those who purport to champion the equal value of all people, those people are the ones who have more than failed the impoverished and war-torn refugees of the Congo.

Meredith Huthison can be reached at meredith.hutchison@gmail.com