International
NYARUGUSU CAMP, Tanzania — When Niyonzima Peruz fled mounting violence in her home country of Burundi in 1996, she guessed it might be decades before she could return.
“There was no peace in Burundi,” she says. “We left everything.”
Nineteen years later, her prediction isn’t so far off. Although she returned to Burundi in 2004, she spent most of her time there wishing she could go back to the refugee camp in neighboring Tanzania, where she had regular work and made a home. This past April unrest reared up once more and by May, Peruz found herself again in a Tanzanian refugee camp. Now she has no intention of ever returning to Burundi, even if that means spending the rest of her life in a refugee camp.
By the time Peruz first arrived in Tanzania, Burundi had seen consistent turmoil since gaining independence in 1962. In 1993, deep-rooted tensions between Burundi’s Hutu and Tutsi tribes boiled over and eventually pushed her out of the country. With no foreseeable end to her nation’s troubles, Peruz, like most other refugees, put down roots in Tanzania’s Mtabila refugee camp. In the years that followed, she married and had two children. Throughout the camp, tents were gradually replaced with mud-brick homes with thatched roofs.
Tanzanian authorities required refugees to stay inside the camp, but Peruz and many others managed to sneak out to find regular work on nearby farms, earning wages comparable to what they made in Burundi. Additionally, international organizations provided supplies such as soap, cooking items, plates, flatware, medicine and clothing for children. To supplement the aid they received from the U.N. World Food Program, residents planted fruit trees.
In 2004, Burundi appeared to be on the brink of peace. Peruz returned to her country along with her new family. But after almost a decade outside Burundi, she had nothing to return to — no house to live in or land to farm. She and her husband found work as agricultural laborers, but earned less than they had working illegally in Tanzania. On top of that, there was no international aid to augment their wages.
“Life in Mtabila Camp was much better than in Burundi,” says Peruz. “In the camp we had our basic needs met, but in Burundi we did not.”
When instability returned this spring — after President Pierre Nkurunziza’s unconstitutional bid for a third term sparked serious discord — Peruz was one of more than 82,000 Burundians who flooded over the border back into Tanzania. Now, she and tens of thousands of Burundian refugees are stuck in what has become a semipermanent condition of statelessness. Chronic instability and a dearth of economic opportunity in Burundi have created a situation in which life in a refugee camp is often better than anything home has to offer.
For international organizations, it’s becoming ever more important to figure out how to help people such as the Burundian refugees without doing so in a way that leaves them as permanent wards of humanitarian donors.
“The circumstances are such that the situation is better here in the camp than it is in their home country even in a time of peace,” says Fizza Moloo, head of public information for the World Food Program in Tanzania. “The question is: What is a durable solution? This question is bigger than WFP.”
Bukuru Didas
Burundian refugee
Burundi, a tiny, landlocked nation in East Africa about the size of Massachusetts, has long struggled to establish stability. Mass killings in 1972 cost the country about 120,000 lives. Its most recent civil war dragged on for more than a decade and claimed a total of more than 300,000 lives, or nearly 4 percent of Burundi’s population, before ending in 2005. To put that into perspective, a conflict of that scale happening at the same time in the U.S. would have left 11.8 million people dead.
When the civil war concluded 10 years ago, refugees like Peruz began to trickle back into Burundi, but many more feared returning. Although most of the fighting had ended, political tensions remained high and there were still occasional outbreaks of violence. Still, as peace appeared to take root, the government of Tanzania started to apply pressure for them to return to Burundi.
“We were absolutely in agreement with the government of Tanzania that the large majority no longer qualified for refugee status. They could not document any fears of persecution. Their concerns were more linked to the economy of Burundi and the issue of land,” says Joyce Mends-Cole, representative in Tanzania for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees.
With the help of the UNHCR, small groups of refugees were taken on tours of their home regions in Burundi so they could see for themselves that conditions had improved. Back in the camps, they could tell others and urge them to return. Local politicians and community leaders went to the camps to speak with the refugees about life in Burundi. Despite such programs, by 2012, 35,000 refugees had to be ordered to leave the camps. Mtabila, the main camp for Burundian refugees in Tanzania, was closed and converted into a military installation.
But back in Burundi, even those who felt safe found few remnants of the lives they’d left behind. Squatters had taken over their property and many former refugees struggled to get back their land and find ways to support themselves.
More than 90 percent of Burundians work in agriculture, and, without land to farm, few Burundians have the skills or education required to find work. This created serious problems as the country’s population grew from 2.89 million people in 1962 to 10.74 million in 2014. Burundi is now the third most densely populated country in Africa, with 374 people per square kilometer. To make matters worse, a staggering 46 percent of the population is under the age of 14 and the median age is now 17.
The conditions have created the perfect storm for instability and destitution. Currently, more than two-thirds of the population lives below the poverty line, with 90 to 95 percent living on less than $2 per day.
“The ones who were insisting to stay behind [in the camps] had nothing,” says Fredrick Nisajile, who previously worked in the Mtabila Camp and is currently the camp commander at Nyarugusu Camp, where all of the Burundian refugees now live. “If you are a successful businessman, you would not want to live in a tent.”
Burundi, a tiny, landlocked nation in East Africa about the size of Massachusetts, has long struggled to establish stability. Mass killings in 1972 cost the country about 120,000 lives. Its most recent civil war dragged on for more than a decade before ending in 2005 and claiming a total of more than 300,000 lives, or nearly 4 percent of Burundi’s population. To put the death toll in perspective, a conflict of that scale happening at the same time in the U.S. would have left 11.8 million people dead.
When the civil war concluded 10 years ago, refugees like Peruz began to trickle back into Burundi, but many more feared returning. Although most of the fighting had ended, political tensions remained high and there were still occasional outbreaks of violence. Still, as peace appeared to take root, the government of Tanzania started to apply pressure for them to return to Burundi.
“We were absolutely in agreement with the government of Tanzania that the large majority no longer qualified for refugee status. They could not document any fears of persecution. Their concerns were more linked to the economy of Burundi and the issue of land,” says Joyce Mends-Cole, representative in Tanzania for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees.
With the help of the UNHCR, small groups of refugees were taken on tours of their home regions in Burundi so they could see for themselves that conditions had improved. Back in the camps, they could tell others and urge them to return. Local politicians and community leaders went to the camps to speak with the refugees about life in Burundi. Despite such programs, by 2012 35,000 refugees had to be ordered to leave the camps. Mtabila, the main camp for Burundian refugees in Tanzania, was closed and converted into a military installation.
But back in Burundi, even those who felt safe found few remnants of the lives they’d left behind. Squatters had taken over their property and many struggled to get back their land and find ways to support themselves.
Without land to farm, few Burundians have the skills or education required to find work. More than 90 percent of Burundians work in agriculture. This created serious problems as the country’s population grew from 2.89 million people when it attained independence in 1962 to 10.74 million as of 2014. The country is now the third most densely populated country in Africa, with 374 people per square kilometer. To make matters worse, a staggering 46 percent of the population is under the age of 14 and the country’s median age is now 17.
The conditions have created the perfect storm for instability and destitution. Currently, more than two-thirds of the population lives below the poverty line, with 90 to 95 percent living on less than $2 per day.
“The ones who were insisting to stay behind [in the camps] had nothing,” says Fredrick Nisajile, who previously worked in the Mtabila Camp and is currently the camp commander at Nyarugusu Camp, where all of the Burundian refugees now live. “If you are a successful businessman, you would not want to live in a tent.”
[SECTION BREAK]
Bukuru Didas was born in a refugee camp in Tanzania in 1973, a year after his parents fled Burundi. When his family returned in 1980, they found that other people had occupied their land. His family moved in with friends and began working as hired hands. Didas’ father challenged the squatters in court, but the case was still unresolved when the civil war started, Didas says. After fighting killed several members of his extended family, Didas and his family returned to the camps in Tanzania in 1997.
Even when a degree of peace returned to Burundi in 2005, Didas and his family had no interest in returning. They stayed in the Mtabila Camp for years, impervious to the Tanzanian government and UNHCR’s efforts to encourage their voluntary return. Finally, in 2012 they were among the 35,000 holdouts ordered to repatriate when the Tanzanian government closed Mtabila.
“We found life in Burundi difficult and complicated. Those without farms could not get enough food to survive,” says Didas.
Didas scraped by, moving in with a friend and investing $30 he’d received as part of the resettlement assistance package to start a business buying and selling vegetables. However, the venture generated a little more than a dollar a week in profits.
“It was not enough,” he says. “I was wishing I could live in Tanzania. Life in Mtabila Camp was better.”
By the time unrest returned to Burundi this spring, there were already thousands of people like Didas looking for a reason to leave. The turmoil that followed sent people surging toward the borders. At least 193,000 people have left Burundi since April, with more than 82,000 going to Tanzania alone. World Food Program officials estimate that among those who’ve fled to Tanzania, 60 to 80 percent have been refugees here before.
With the Mtabila Camp now closed, the Burundians have been placed in the Nyarugusu Camp, a short drive down the road. Originally meant to accommodate 50,000 people, Nyarugusu was already home to 66,000 Congolese refugees, most of whom had fled their own country’s turmoil in 1996. Now all 82,000 Burundians have been added to the camp, placed in makeshift tents. Tanzanian government officials are looking for a new site to house the Burundians, but they have yet to announce where and when a new camp will be established.
For government and aid officials in search of a lasting solution, there are effectively only three options: repatriation to the refugee’s home country, resettlement in a third country, or naturalization or integration into the host country.
Within Tanzania, the government recently naturalized 200,000 Burundians who were part of the wave that arrived in 1972. But most aid officials consider this scenario unlikely to be duplicated.
Resettlement to another country does sometimes occur. The U.S. government recently agreed to accept 30,000 of the Congolese refugees in Nyarugusu Camp over the next four to five years. But many countries aren’t in a position to resettle refugees or are unwilling to do so.
“We’re the first to say that we don’t want people to live as refugees for long periods of time,” says Mends-Cole of the UNHCR. “It is obviously a life that is not one of full dignity. It is not one that helps people to reach their full potential in large measure. We have sometimes particular concerns about children and education, women and gender equality issues, and also concerns about men and how their lives should move forward.”
Wherever they end up, the Burundians who have returned to Tanzania once more say that they do not plan to ever willingly return home.
“I’m afraid that if we have peace, it won’t be a durable peace. If I go back to Burundi, the same thing might happen again,” says Buchumi Felix, a 77-year-old farmer who fled to Tanzania for a third time this May. “I don’t think I will see Burundi again. That was the last time I saw my country.”
Burundi, a tiny, landlocked nation in East Africa about the size of Massachusetts, has long struggled to establish stability. Mass killings in 1972 cost the country about 120,000 lives. Its most recent civil war dragged on for more than a decade before ending in 2005 and claiming a total of more than 300,000 lives, or nearly 4 percent of Burundi’s population. To put the death toll in perspective, a conflict of that scale happening at the same time in the U.S. would have left 11.8 million people dead.
When the civil war concluded 10 years ago, refugees like Peruz began to trickle back into Burundi, but many more feared returning. Although most of the fighting had ended, political tensions remained high and there were still occasional outbreaks of violence. Still, as peace appeared to take root, the government of Tanzania started to apply pressure for them to return to Burundi.
“We were absolutely in agreement with the government of Tanzania that the large majority no longer qualified for refugee status. They could not document any fears of persecution. Their concerns were more linked to the economy of Burundi and the issue of land,” says Joyce Mends-Cole, representative in Tanzania for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees.
With the help of the UNHCR, small groups of refugees were taken on tours of their home regions in Burundi so they could see for themselves that conditions had improved. Back in the camps, they could tell others and urge them to return. Local politicians and community leaders went to the camps to speak with the refugees about life in Burundi. Despite such programs, by 2012 35,000 refugees had to be ordered to leave the camps. Mtabila, the main camp for Burundian refugees in Tanzania, was closed and converted into a military installation.
But back in Burundi, even those who felt safe found few remnants of the lives they’d left behind. Squatters had taken over their property and many struggled to get back their land and find ways to support themselves.
Without land to farm, few Burundians have the skills or education required to find work. More than 90 percent of Burundians work in agriculture. This created serious problems as the country’s population grew from 2.89 million people when it attained independence in 1962 to 10.74 million as of 2014. The country is now the third most densely populated country in Africa, with 374 people per square kilometer. To make matters worse, a staggering 46 percent of the population is under the age of 14 and the country’s median age is now 17.
The conditions have created the perfect storm for instability and destitution. Currently, more than two-thirds of the population lives below the poverty line, with 90 to 95 percent living on less than $2 per day.
“The ones who were insisting to stay behind [in the camps] had nothing,” says Fredrick Nisajile, who previously worked in the Mtabila Camp and is currently the camp commander at Nyarugusu Camp, where all of the Burundian refugees now live. “If you are a successful businessman, you would not want to live in a tent.”
[SECTION BREAK]
Bukuru Didas was born in a refugee camp in Tanzania in 1973, a year after his parents fled Burundi. When his family returned in 1980, they found that other people had occupied their land. His family moved in with friends and began working as hired hands. Didas’ father challenged the squatters in court, but the case was still unresolved when the civil war started, Didas says. After fighting killed several members of his extended family, Didas and his family returned to the camps in Tanzania in 1997.
Even when a degree of peace returned to Burundi in 2005, Didas and his family had no interest in returning. They stayed in the Mtabila Camp for years, impervious to the Tanzanian government and UNHCR’s efforts to encourage their voluntary return. Finally, in 2012 they were among the 35,000 holdouts ordered to repatriate when the Tanzanian government closed Mtabila.
“We found life in Burundi difficult and complicated. Those without farms could not get enough food to survive,” says Didas.
Didas scraped by, moving in with a friend and investing $30 he’d received as part of the resettlement assistance package to start a business buying and selling vegetables. However, the venture generated a little more than a dollar a week in profits.
“It was not enough,” he says. “I was wishing I could live in Tanzania. Life in Mtabila Camp was better.”
By the time unrest returned to Burundi this spring, there were already thousands of people like Didas looking for a reason to leave. The turmoil that followed sent people surging toward the borders. At least 193,000 people have left Burundi since April, with more than 82,000 going to Tanzania alone. World Food Program officials estimate that among those who’ve fled to Tanzania, 60 to 80 percent have been refugees here before.
With the Mtabila Camp now closed, the Burundians have been placed in the Nyarugusu Camp, a short drive down the road. Originally meant to accommodate 50,000 people, Nyarugusu was already home to 66,000 Congolese refugees, most of whom had fled their own country’s turmoil in 1996. Now all 82,000 Burundians have been added to the camp, placed in makeshift tents. Tanzanian government officials are looking for a new site to house the Burundians, but they have yet to announce where and when a new camp will be established.
For government and aid officials in search of a lasting solution, there are effectively only three options: repatriation to the refugee’s home country, resettlement in a third country, or naturalization or integration into the host country.
Within Tanzania, the government recently naturalized 200,000 Burundians who were part of the wave that arrived in 1972. But most aid officials consider this scenario unlikely to be duplicated.
Resettlement to another country does sometimes occur. The U.S. government recently agreed to accept 30,000 of the Congolese refugees in Nyarugusu Camp over the next four to five years. But many countries aren’t in a position to resettle refugees or are unwilling to do so.
“We’re the first to say that we don’t want people to live as refugees for long periods of time,” says Mends-Cole of the UNHCR. “It is obviously a life that is not one of full dignity. It is not one that helps people to reach their full potential in large measure. We have sometimes particular concerns about children and education, women and gender equality issues, and also concerns about men and how their lives should move forward.”
Wherever they end up, the Burundians who have returned to Tanzania once more say that they do not plan to ever willingly return home.
“I’m afraid that if we have peace, it won’t be a durable peace. If I go back to Burundi, the same thing might happen again,” says Buchumi Felix, a 77-year-old farmer who fled to Tanzania for a third time this May. “I don’t think I will see Burundi again. That was the last time I saw my country.”
Joyce Mends-Cole
UNHCR representative in Tanzania
Bukuru Didas was born in a refugee camp in Tanzania in 1973, a year after his parents fled Burundi. When his family returned in 1980, they found that other people had occupied their land. His family moved in with friends and began working as hired hands. Didas’ father challenged the squatters in court, but the case was still unresolved when the civil war started, Didas says. After fighting killed several members of his extended family, Didas and his family returned to the camps in Tanzania in 1997.
Even when a degree of peace returned to Burundi in 2005, Didas and his family had no interest in returning. They stayed in the Mtabila Camp for years, impervious to the Tanzanian government and UNHCR’s efforts to encourage their voluntary return. Finally, in 2012 they were among the holdouts ordered to repatriate when the Tanzanian government closed Mtabila.
“We found life in Burundi difficult and complicated. Those without farms could not get enough food to survive,” says Didas.
Didas scraped by, moving in with a friend and investing $30 he’d received as part of the resettlement assistance package to start a business buying and selling vegetables. However, the venture generated a little more than a dollar a week in profits.
“It was not enough,” he says. “I was wishing I could live in Tanzania. Life in Mtabila Camp was better.”
By the time unrest returned to Burundi this spring, Didas was among the tens of thousands looking for a reason to leave. The turmoil that followed sent people surging toward the borders. At least 193,000 people have left Burundi since April. World Food Program officials estimate that among the 82,000 who’ve fled to Tanzania, 60 to 80 percent have been refugees here before.
With the Mtabila Camp now closed, the Burundians have been placed in the Nyarugusu Camp, a short drive down the road. Originally meant to accommodate 50,000 people, Nyarugusu was already home to 66,000 Congolese refugees, most of whom had fled their own country’s turmoil in 1996. Now all 82,000 Burundians have been added to the camp, placed in makeshift tents. Tanzanian government officials are looking for a new site to house the Burundians, but they have yet to announce where and when a new camp will be established.
For government and aid officials in search of a lasting solution, there are effectively only three options: repatriation to the refugee’s home country, resettlement in a third country, or naturalization or integration into the host country.
Within Tanzania, the government recently naturalized 200,000 Burundians who were part of the wave that arrived in 1972. But most aid officials consider this scenario unlikely to be duplicated.
Resettlement to another country does sometimes occur. The U.S. government recently agreed to accept 30,000 of the Congolese refugees in Nyarugusu Camp over the next four to five years. But many countries aren’t in a position to resettle refugees or are unwilling to do so.
“We’re the first to say that we don’t want people to live as refugees for long periods of time,” says Mends-Cole of the UNHCR. “It is obviously a life that is not one of full dignity. It is not one that helps people to reach their full potential in large measure. We have sometimes particular concerns about children and education, women and gender equality issues, and also concerns about men and how their lives should move forward.”
Wherever they end up, the Burundians who have returned to Tanzania once more say that they do not plan to ever willingly return home.
“I’m afraid that if we have peace, it won’t be a durable peace. If I go back to Burundi, the same thing might happen again,” says Buchumi Felix, a 77-year-old farmer who fled to Tanzania for a third time this May. “I don’t think I will see Burundi again. That was the last time I saw my country.”
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Pierre Nkurunziza wins by large margin in polls boycotted by opposition groups, which have rejected the result
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