Do you remember what you were doing in the summer of 2019? Before? Before the pandemic shifted our world, our perspective, our priorities? Some of us lost, some of us moved, many of us clung to our families, and those of us who had somewhere to call home, stayed there.
Three years on, this is a story of moving forward.
In 2019, before we knew what was coming, I travelled to Uganda as a Goodwill Ambassador for UNHCR, the UN refugee agency, and met an incredibly inspiring woman called Françoise. Her story was painful and her journey as a refugee from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) spanned many years. She lost her parents, her husband and children and went through unthinkable trauma, but what drew me to her was her light.
In Nakivale, the refugee settlement where we met, she was a vibrant teacher, community leader, girls’ football team coach and all-round force of nature, with a charisma so palpable and seemingly at odds with her heartbreaking story. I knew I had a lot to learn from this woman about strength of spirit. In 2019 I wrote about her, in the first 2020 lockdown I painted her, and later that year she was nominated and won UNHCR’S regional Nansen Refugee Award for Africa – a prize granted to individuals who go above and beyond the call of duty to protect forcibly displaced people. It was a glimmer of hope in a dark time.
Françoise and Gugu in the Netherlands.
courtesy of UNHCR,
She remained often in my thoughts as I kept up with her journey – when things were challenging over the last few years, I always thought of Françoise’s energy and attitude to get me through. The chant from her women’s group echoed like a mantra: Women of substance, we move forward! So, when I heard in 2021 the incredible news that Françoise had made contact with her parents, who were in fact not dead, as she had believed for the last 30 years, but still alive and living in the Netherlands, my heart jumped for joy. It didn’t seem possible. I was breathless with excitement for her and for the whole family. I was eager to know how this happened and when they could be reunited. Details were sparse, but it seemed like such remarkable and uplifting news, I was impatient on their behalf to know how they could see each other again.
Of course, the pandemic had other plans, and not only was this a time of restricted travel for all, but as a refugee Françoise would still need to undergo a very long resettlement process – involving a lot of paperwork – before she could see her parents again. And who knew when countries would loosen Covid travel restrictions? It all felt so precarious.
I hoped that Françoise, who is not short of tenacity, would be one of the lucky ones, but the odds were steep. The Netherlands resettles 500 refugees per year. UNHCR told me that less than one per cent of all refugees have the opportunity to resettle worldwide. The fact that so few refugees have access to safe and legal routes mean that many feel driven to more irregular and dangerous journeys. Having family already resettled in the country could help her case, but with the pandemic, and her parents now in their senior years and experiencing some health issues, would some tragic turn of fate scupper things at the final hurdle? Resettlement can take years, and this newfound hope ignited a tantalising predicament… could Françoise get to see them in time?
On a late summer’s morning in 2022, I find myself on my way to Amsterdam, armed with the news that Françoise made it to the Netherlands, more than a year after learning her parents were there. To my joy and relief, after three weeks in the country, she was able to visit with her family for just a few hours. She is now staying at a reception centre for refugees in a rural town in the north of the country, and she is in the process of settling in the Netherlands. The first, very personal family moment of reunification happened a week ago, and I am visiting to catch up with Françoise, and in the hope of meeting her parents, Margheritte and Jean Baptiste, for the first time.
,
