Congolese refugee family faces daily struggles, welcomes peace

Mwibeleca Amuri met and married his wife in Tanzanian refugee camps. They had five children while living there. The oldest, Denis Mwibeleca, is now 18.

Amuri, now 39, and his family resettled in San Diego in September, the end of a long journey that started when he fled war and political turmoil in the Democratic Republic of the Congo in 1997.

His family’s challenges are common among refugees — a group of newcomers to America who have come under increasing scrutiny under the administration of President Donald Trump.

Amuri worries about finding work and about having enough money to pay basic bills each month. He is learning English, but communication, he said, is difficult unless the person happens to speak one of the languages that he knows: Swahili, French and Ebembe, his tribe’s language.

He’s had to adjust to American culture and customs — like the importance of punctuality, he said— and he was not used to using a computer before coming to the U.S.

He doesn’t know how to drive a car, and the California Department of Motor Vehicles does not have booklets available in any of the languages that he knows. Without a car, finding a job is even more difficult, he said.

Still, Amuri is excited about the opportunity for his children to get educations in the U.S. and about living in a place where peace is the norm.

“The first day we came to the U.S., we felt good. We felt good because here there is peace, and we could already see that peace,” Amuri said in French during an interview in his City Heights home. “It’s the opposite of the life we lived.”

He said he’s grateful that the U.S. took in his family. An American flag hangs on the wall in their living room.

“It’s by the grace of God they brought us instead of another family,” he said.

His family sought out friends through local church communities, and he performs songs in Swahili and Ebembe at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in North Park every Sunday.

George Kuhrts, who mentors the family and founded Sumitra — a mentoring group out of St. Luke’s — said he felt fortunate to have met Amuri because of Amuri’s positive outlook.

“He’s like my therapy every week,” Kuhrts said. “His resilience and optimism is what makes me feel good.”

Life before the U.S.

Amuri fled his home in 1997 because of civil war.

The longtime ruler of what was then Zaire, Mobutu Sese Seko, had been in power since the country gained its independence from Belgium in 1960. He was overthrown in May 1997 by a new regime under Laurent Kabila, who renamed the country the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Amuri’s parents were killed in the political turmoil, something that he still struggles to say out loud.

Conflict and violence has continued in the country, according to the CIA World Factbook. Kabila’s son, Joseph Kabila, has been in power since Kabila was assassinated in 2001.

Amuri spent 19 years in refugee camps in Tanzania, first in one called Lugufu. When that closed in 2010, some refugee families decided to go back to the Congo. Amuri didn’t trust that life would be safe enough, he said, so his family moved to a second camp of Congolese refugees called Nyarugusu.

“Life was really mediocre,” Amuri said in French when asked about his time in the camps.

The United Nations gave his family food, water and medicine, but quality of life was low, he said.

He started the resettlement process with the United Nations office in Lugufu, going through rounds of interviews only to have to start over from the beginning once the family moved to Nyarugusu, he said.

He spent 11 years in the process, all without knowing which country might take him.

“We didn’t know where we would go,” Amuri said. “It was their secret, the office’s secret.”

The family didn’t find out they were coming to the U.S. until they were handed immigration paperwork, he said.

Life in the U.S.

When Amuri and his family first arrived in the U.S., they were placed in a hotel in El Cajon because the resettlement agency had not yet been able to find a vacant apartment for them.

They finally moved in to a quadriplex in City Heights about three weeks later, he said.

Rent is $1,445 a month, including water, he said. He pays about $225 for electricity, internet and cell phones. That’s $1,670 per month.

The family receives $817 in aid from the government right now, he said. His oldest son also receives $355 since he is 18 years old. Pooled together, the $1,172 doesn’t cover their bills.

Their church has helped with the utility bills, Amuri said.

Amuri received a letter a few weeks ago informing him that he had to start paying back the cost of the flights that brought his family to the U.S. The family owes $11,570 and will have to pay $138 a month, according to a loan document in his wife’s name.

To make ends meet, Amuri borrows from a fellow Congolese who lives in San Diego, Amuri said, until he manages to find a job.

The family receives food stamps from the government, which is supplemented weekly by a program at St. Luke’s called the Episcopal Refugee Network. Kuhrts drops off the donated food at the family’s home since Amuri doesn’t have a car.

The government aid that Amuri’s family receives will drop after the family has been here eight months, or when a family member gets a job, whichever happens sooner.

Amuri and his wife attended orientation classes and English classes at the International Rescue Committee, a resettlement agency, when they first got here, and now they are learning English at the San Diego Continuing Education Mid-City Campus.

The children are enrolled in local schools. The high school wouldn’t accept the 18-year-old son because of his age, which Amuri said surprised him. His son now attends classes at Urban Corps and Mid-City.

Amuri said his kids love school because they know how important education is, and he hopes his own continuing education will help him get a job before long.

While he was in the refugee camps, he was a teacher for geography, science and French. He also worked as a photographer. He said he would do any kind of work to be able to support his family.

“If you have nothing, you can’t be picky,” Amuri said.

Some have asked why refugee families are resettled in San Diego, where the cost of living is high and housing is scarce.

The federal office responsible for resettling refugees checks first whether the refugees have family already in the U.S., according to David Murphy, executive director of the International Rescue Committee in San Diego. If they do, the refugees are generally placed nearby.

If they don’t, the office takes into account where in the U.S. people from the same country have already settled. That helps the new arrivals acclimate, Murphy said.

For Congolese families like Amuri’s, that means San Diego is one of the places they’re likely to end up.

More than 600 of the 677 Congolese refugees who resettled in California last year came to San Diego, according to data from the U.S. State Department. That was about four percent of all the Congolese refugees who resettled in the U.S.

The first Congolese families arrived about 25 years ago, according to Prince Shamamba, who works with the Alliance for African Assistance, another refugee resettlement agency. Shamamba said San Diego has received large numbers of Congolese refugees in the last three to five years.

Amuri said it has helped to have other Congolese living near him.

“If other Congolese can live here, I can live here,” Amuri said. “There are so many people from different countries, different continents. So many come. Because of that, I have hope for my life here.”

kate.morrissey@sduniontribune.com, @bgirledukate