They arrive every few minutes, survivors of the unrelenting sexual violence that defines one of the world’s most intractable conflicts. And among the first to assess the exhausted women after they reach the squalid camps on the outskirts of Goma, regional capital of the war-ravaged east of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), is Irengue Trezor.
The 35-year-old works for Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF), overseeing the charity’s sexual violence clinics within the sprawling camps of grubby white tents that are home to 650,000 people who have fled the fighting.
Trezor’s job is harrowingly complex: ensuring rape survivors receive the psychological support required to move forward with their lives.
Most arrive at the camps with no belongings, having walked for days to traverse the region’s shifting frontline. Many have been attacked at gunpoint by roaming groups of militia, their children forced to watch their mothers being raped. Entire families turn up in a profound state of shock.
“Post-traumatic stress is observed in almost all sexual violence survivors. They are survivors of a traumatic act that happened spontaneously, that they do not understand. It creates this sudden stress,” says Trezor, who is originally from Bukavu, in the DRC.
Demand for the MSF clinics vastly outstrips supply. Trezor’s team of 10 psychologists help at least 40 people a day, which is maximum capacity. “We want to ensure each person has enough quality time so that we can develop strategies to help them overcome their pain.”
MSF is one of three charities supported by the Guardian and Observer’s 2024 appeal in aid of victims of conflict, alongside War Child and Parallel Histories.
MSF began operating in Goma in 1994, coping with the aftershocks of the genocide in neighbouring Rwanda, in which 800,000 people lost their lives and whose contemporary repercussions shape the current conflict. The charity says that, in the ensuing 30 years, the rate of sexual violence has never been higher.
Its four clinics for sexual violence survivors in the Goma camps are witnessing record caseloads. In August they helped 2,011 patients, an average of 77 a day when open, rising to 3,094 in October: 119 cases each day.
Last year, MSF treated a record 25,166 victims of sexual violence in the DRC, the majority in the camps around Goma. That figure, however, was surpassed in just six months this year, pushing the crisis into uncharted territory.
Trezor’s boss, Natàlia Torrent, MSF’s head of mission around Goma, adds: “Last year, the figures were already alarming, especially so in the east.”
MSF has already expanded its services to deal with the surging caseload. Thirty nurses and 20 counsellors now work in the displacement camps that continue to spread across an unforgiving landscape of jagged lava rock.
Trezor, who joined MSF in 2016, began working in the Goma camps in March during a wave of brutal attacks as the preeminent M23 militia seized more territory. Women were often abducted, others tortured.
“There were many terrible cases, women that had been kidnapped. There were a lot of visible injuries, too,” he says.
Even with his professional training, the relentless accounts of what armed men do to the women of east DRC can be challenging to process. Sleep can come fitfully to Trezor, who is married with five children, four of whom are girls.
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“To be unaffected is not really possible when you are listening to traumatic experiences in repetition,” says Trezor, who remains remarkably fresh-faced considering the responsibilities of his position.
He also admits that some of his team similarly struggle to process the testimony of survivors.
“They relive what they hear and have dramatic dreams. They are really affected by the situation.”
This is particularly true for the survivors that Trezor and his team have assiduously helped recover from their trauma only for them to be raped again after they reach a camp, usually by a completely different attacker.
At night, the camps offer little protection. Armed gangs roam freely among the tents. The dim toilet blocks are notoriously fraught.
Thousands of women are also forced to scavenge for food and firewood in the nearby Virunga national park, famous for its mountain gorillas. There, many women are raped at gunpoint by gangs of militia.
“It happens a lot, it’s really horrible,” says Trezor, shaking his head. The fallout from an attack is often magnified by the stigma attached to rape. Survivors are shunned by their families; husbands leave if they find out what has happened.
Yet Trezor’s job offers bursts of positivity among the misery. He admits finding inspiration from those who learn to “live in a positive way”.
Many, he says, even find the resolve to start helping the latest survivors.
“Those who have developed resilience attempt to change the experiences of those whose emotions are still very fresh. Sharing experiences is vital. We want to help them overcome what has happened.”
There is no shortage of women to help. Today, more survivors are guaranteed to arrive near Goma, the latest casualties of a conflict that is a continuing, deepening, catastrophe for the women of east DRC.
