From hell to Motherwell

STRATON KALIGANWA PICKS UP HIS two-year-old daughter and kisses her on the cheek. "She's hard work, but worth every minute," the 32-year-old says in broken English. His wife, Redempta, breaks into a smile and nods her head. We are sitting in the Kaliganwas' Motherwell home on a Monday afternoon. Straton, who works full-time on night shift at a local Morrisons store, has risen from his bed early for the interview.

"My night is now my day, and my day my night. I usually sleep until about 3pm before I get up," he says, straightening his dark blue baseball cap.

Straton and Redempta are refugees from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), a vast country the size of Western Europe which has been at the centre of what has often been described as "Africa's World War". Straton hands a fidgeting Cleopatra to Redempta. Sitting back into the couch, his expression changes and his eyebrows furrow and he asks if I've heard today's news from DRC, word of more killings in the province of Kivu, where he was born and raised, but from which he fled not so long ago as a terrified young man. Over the past few days thousands of his countrymen, Straton explains, have been forced to leave their homes after the latest clashes between the DRC army and rebel forces who'd taken control of a town called Rugari in the north. "They (those people who fled] are in the position I was in 2001, when I had to leave as a refugee," he says, slowly shaking his head.

The seemingly endless crisis in DRC is worsening. Human Rights Watch said recently that the UN has been slow to react to an issue which is fast developing into a Hutu-Tutsi war. More than 370,000 villagers have been displaced by fighting since the start of last year and the Congolese army has threatened an all-out offensive against both Tutsi and Hutu militias in the region. Human Rights Watch believe all sides in the conflict have been guilty of murder, rape and of forcing children to fight. In North Kivu, according to the UN, some 45,000 women were raped last year alone. Girls under five and women over 70 were not spared and rape – used to terrorise and punish civilians who support the "wrong side" – was sometimes committed in front of the victim's children, family or community. These horrendous acts were often accompanied by other forms of torture including beatings with sticks and rifle-butts and death threats and mock executions.

It would be difficult for most people to comprehend the extent of the brutality but Straton empathises and the news of more deaths brings painful memories for him. He stares down at his feet. "I was born in Goma, about 500 miles from the capital Kinshasa. There were so many troubles. My parents are dead and I lived with my uncle – but his whole family was massacred by the Mai Mai jungle rebels in 2001," Straton says.

The killings left him with no choice but to flee, leaving with nothing but the clothes on his back, begging for food and eating from the bush as he tried to escape to safety by walking to Zambia. He succeeded and arrived in Mpulung before moving to the capital Lusaka, where he remained as a refugee for five years. There, he met and married Redempta, before the couple were offered the chance of a new life and resettlement to Scotland.

Justin Kasokota lives on the other side of Motherwell from Straton. A former preacher, this thin, earnest man is also a refugee from DRC. When I arrive at his home his three-year-old son, Justin Jr, answers the door before his father appears, trotting down a flight of stairs while buttoning up a grey shirt. "I have to go to the job centre this morning," he says, tucking the shirt into his trousers. We sit in his lounge and his wife Marie joins us. She seems shy and is holding in her arms five-month-old Michael, who was born in Wishaw General Hospital. The Kasokotas' six-year-old daughter, Marie-Claire, left for the local primary school shortly before I arrived. "I am trying to get a job but it is difficult because I only know preaching and my English is poor," Justin says.

The family came to Scotland from the Kala refugee camp in northern Zambia in January 2006 as part of the first group of Congolese to arrive in the country. "I left Moba in DRC in 2003 and ended up in one of the refugee camps in Zambia.

"There were about 25,000 people in our camp. Life was difficult but I used to preach there," Justin says.

In his role as a preacher in DRC, Justin used to translate the Bible for soldiers on all sides of the conflict as many did not speak Swahili. "It seemed strange they would read the Bible then go kill," Justin says. But his contact and relationships with soldiers nearly led to his own death when the Kasokota family were fleeing fighting in 2003. Justin was captured by rebel soldiers and badly beaten while Marie managed to escape to Zambia believing her husband to be dead. "When the soldiers saw me, they said 'this is the friend of those senior army officers so we have to arrest him because those men used to sleep with our wives," Justin says. After being freed and treated for his injuries by the Red Cross, Justin later found his family in the Zambian refugee camp. He says that God saved his life.

For both these families the past year has been one of adjustment as there are immense differences between life in Scotland and an existence in the DRC.

"Try using a tin opener for the first time or turning on an electric cooker and wondering where the fire is coming from. Or try an entirely different way of living and a new language," Justin says. Marie smiles. She misses her friends and family in DRC dreadfully but, moreover, she worries about them constantly. Justin misses preaching and dislikes the Scottish weather. "It's too cold and wet," he says, laughing. But their new life is in Scotland and the Kasokotas are looking forward to a safe future. "In DRC you never knew who your enemy was. In Scotland, I see my children and how happy they are and how safe. We have made many friends here and we thank the people who've been so kind," Justin says.

Across the other side of town his sentiments are echoed by Straton and Redempta, who have also made many friends. But they find Scottish culture strange and say they miss little things like standing outside in the streets talking to people, or borrowing items from neighbours. They feel there is a lesser sense of community in Scotland, in some respects, and that people tend to be more individualistic. Language is also a hindrance, not least the Scots dialect. "The Scottish accent is quite difficult to understand. Instead of saying 'I'm fine', people say 'hunky dory'. And they say 'aye' instead of 'yes'," Straton says. Redempta giggles and hands a noisy Cleopatra back to dad. "But at least we can be safe in Scotland … at least my family are safe," Straton says.

The Congolese came to the UK as part of the Gateway Programme, under which highly vulnerable refugees and their families, identified by the UN's refugee agency UNHCR, are resettled under arrangements between councils and the Home Office. Following the 1951 Refugee Convention, individuals are eligible for refugee status if their life, liberty, safety, health, or other fundamental human rights are at risk in the country from which they have sought refuge, or if they are a survivor of violence and torture.

The initiative was founded in 2004, with Sheffield and Bolton the first cities to accept refugees, followed by Brighton, Rochdale, Norwich, Hull and Bury.

North Lanarkshire was the first, and thus far, only council in Scotland to become involved with Gateway.

To date, nearly 900 people have found safety in the UK through Gateway and Peter Kessler, of UNHCR in London, hopes more Scottish local authorities will be encouraged to take part. He stresses that refugees flee persecution and war, often walking for weeks and suffering unthinkable hardships along the way. "Even once they cross a border, refugees are not always safe," he says.

"Vast camps are sometimes used, but are frequently not the best solution, as some refugees may face threats in the sprawling sites. For particularly vulnerable refugees who can neither return home nor integrate locally, resettlement to a third country helps them restart their lives in safety," he adds.

In January, 2005, Des Browne MP, at that time a Home Office minister, wrote to the UK's local authorities asking for participation in the Gateway Protection Programme. It was councillor Jim McCabe, leader of North Lanarkshire Council, who first suggested that the council become involved after learning how the programme worked. "I felt we had a duty. The people in these camps have endured horrors beyond anything we can imagine. So when something like the Gateway Protection Programme gives us the opportunity to help, we have a humanitarian obligation to use it. I am immensely proud of what we have achieved and continue to achieve," he says, adding that he hopes other Scottish councils will give careful consideration to participation.

It took two years of preparation to bring the Home Office-funded project to fruition and the council was aided by organisations such as NHS Lanarkshire, Jobcentre Plus, Strathclyde Police, Motherwell Housing Association and the Scottish Refugee Council. The process included extensive dialogues with other UK local authorities involved with Gateway and in-depth consultation with local people in areas selected for housing the new arrivals.

The strategy has proved an undoubted success. North Lanarkshire Council says that of the 80 Congolese who arrived, 16 people are attending Motherwell College, 17 are in employment working in foundries, warehouses, supermarkets and laundries, and all the children are attending schools. Other refugees are volunteers with churches and charities such as the British Red Cross, while one man has had his clerical qualifications approved and secured a post as a Methodist minister in Birmingham.

Father Stephen Miller, of St Luke's Church in Motherwell, has been at the centre of a multi-faith effort to welcome the refugees to Scotland. He knows both the Kaliganwa and Kasokota families and says the Congolese have settled in well because the people of Motherwell have responded with great warmth and compassion. "They (local people] organised welcome packs that included toys for the children, clothes for the babies, scarves, gloves and coats and household essentials like washing-up liquid, towels, sheets and so on. We even managed to source a local shop selling African food which had supplies ready for the families when they arrived," the priest says. The refugees, he adds, are now very much part of the community with some regulars to his church. "I recently baptised Michael for Justin and Marie," Father Miller adds.

I offer to give Justin a lift to the job centre in Motherwell town centre. As we drive he says he would dearly like to preach again as he wants to be able to help people. It is clear that his experiences in DRC have affected him badly but he never lost his faith in God. "Many civilians are forced to join the militias to survive – including children. I remember leaving my home and passing many dead bodies. It was very bad," Justin says. The 34-year-old explains that the recent history of DRC has been largely one of civil war since independence in 1960 – nearly half a century of fighting over the control of minerals. I ask how people manage to cope? "My faith gives me strength and when you have faith you always have hope," he says. "I have faith that our life in Scotland will be good," he says.