I remember the day I thought I wouldn’t survive—the day I thought my family would never be safe again. It came ten days after my husband was kidnapped from our home in the Congo. Racked with worry, I couldn’t imagine what would happen next.
The same rebels who took my husband took me and my own boy and girl and a niece to the forest. They tried to rape us in front of the kids. Because he did not want to witness his mother being raped, my son ran into the forest and was chased by a group of the rebels. We heard some gunshots, and I was afraid he was gone.
I put up a fight when they tried to rape me. To stop me, one of the rebels shot me in the hip, which has crippled me since. Distressingly, the person who seemed to be the leader of the group kept my daughter as his wife and had a child with her.
After that harrowing day in the forest, more fighting between the government and rebels from Rwanda started, and, as a cripple, I could not run. I was fortunate enough to be taken to Bounaga on a bike by a young man. We stayed there for eight months when another war started. This time it was the troops of Congolese rebel leader Laurent Nkunda who were killing people. We fled to Uganda, where I was taken care of at the border by the immigration police. I was sent to Kampala, where I stayed for two years alone, without my kids. Eventually, I reunited there with my niece and nephew Eve and Arafat, who stayed with me at the church where I was living. I registered them with the police.
We went to Nairobi in 2013 and were given accommodation by UNICEF. Then, we walked more than twenty-four hours to Kakuma refugee camp, where we were welcomed and finally given papers as refugees. Eventually, we were resettled in Durham and given the chance for a new life.
I am trying to get used to the new way of life in the United States, but I still miss my children. A year ago, I connected over the phone with my son who disappeared into the forest. I am grateful he was not killed that night and that he managed to stay safe.
After experiencing such traumas, I faced other challenges in my new home, including learning new cultural norms and adjusting to the cold weather, the way of speaking, and food. Since I am bound to a wheelchair, it is hard for me to work and have the money to apply for my children to join me.
But my new community in Durham through Church World Service has made me feel welcome and helped me begin to heal. Through CWS, I now attend English language classes and have met other refugees who speak the same language as I do. I can go to the hospital and am confident doctors and nurses will treat me well.
Today, on World Refugee Day, I am discouraged to see the anti-refugee rhetoric and policies aimed at denying that same opportunity to others facing similarly dangerous situations. The fear, hate, and xenophobia perpetuated by the Trump administration do not reflect the North Carolina and America I know.
I have seen how North Carolinians believe in the importance of welcoming others like me—and I seek to welcome other refugees who are new arrivals. That’s why I am not afraid to raise my voice to support the rights of refugees through my work as a refugee leader and advocate for refugee issues.
I urge our local leaders, state legislators, and national policymakers to reflect the compassion I have seen in Durham and choose to stand with refugees—today and every day. Only then will we truly reflect the welcome our country stands for.
Together, we can inspire a welcoming attitude across the country and around the world.
Mariam Salum is a former refugee who lawfully resides in Durham.
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