At around 5pm today – 10am central in my home town of Chicago – if you had been standing outside the building in Kasongo in which I was filming, and heard the boisterous singing coming from the group of men inside, you may have thought we were having the time of our lives. How I wish that had been the situation. I was, instead, along with my 4 companions, being held against our will inside Kasongo prison by the prison inmates.

I awoke at 5:15am to film the sunrise and early morning light. One of the priests from the compound at which we’re staying drove me a few kilometers outside the village to capture some beautiful views of the countryside (semi-jungle). We returned to the compound, had a quick breakfast, and drove to the local ABA ROLI offices where we met 4 rape victims, all minors. We interviewed 2 at the office, and then went to the home of a third where we interviewed her (age 13) and her father. We then grabbed a quick lunch and went to the sentencing of the military officers and police who had been tried for various crimes, including rape, attempted rape, and allowing 17 sex offenders to escape.

I was surprised to find the filming of the sentencing one of the more difficult things I’ve done since being here. I wasn’t just watching someone be sentenced – I was standing directly in front of them, holding a camera pointed directly in their face as they received their sentences. And though I knew the horror of the crimes they committed, I involuntarily winced at the fact that I was an active part of their public shame. Though each of them said very little, the emotions read on their faces. Shame, guilt, fear, rage, disbelief, regret, disgust, hatred – sometimes directed at me for documenting their public sentencing, but mostly directed at themselves, the court president reading the sentences, or the victims (some of whom were present).

After all the sentences were read, I filmed the convicts being taken to the prison, then filmed a woman sitting in the dirt, screaming, crying, flailing about – one of the convicts was her husband. Who was now going to support her?

We had missed a chance to film Kasongo prison earlier that morning because we had gone to the home of one of the rape victims. So, it being the last opportunity we’d have before heading north to Kindu, we headed to the prison to take some footage.

I’ll upload pix when I have internet access again, but just don’t imagine anything you’ve ever seen on Law and Order – it was a prison in name, but in function, not at all. I came away from the experience thinking that the prison situation here is probably the weakest link in the justice chain.

The police let us in, and once they had shut the doors and I was able to take in what was before me, I realized we were inside a structure, much of which was open air, with high walls, no separation of men and women inmates, and no separation between the crowd of male inmates gathered near the doors and us. Oh, except for a “security rope” stretched across the entrance to the courtyard. How that was supposed to provide any measure of security is beyond me. Imagine the only thing separating lions from visitors to a zoo being one stretch of rope hanging between two pillars. If the lions are hungry, God help you.

Besides my life, I was thinking of the value of the two cameras hanging from my neck. I immediately expressed my concern with the situation and was assured “We’ve been here many times with no problems.” As some of the prisoners were attempting to show me the conditions in which they were living, I asked to address the prisoners with a translator who accompanied us. I felt a lie in this situation was street smart, and communicated that I was there on their behalf, and that I wanted them to show me their rooms so I could document the conditions of the prison. I felt slightly more confident that the situation would be safer if they felt confident that I was there to help them, as opposed to showing the world a group of convicted rapists in the DRC.

Once this was explained, they welcomed me past the rope into the courtyard and showed me around. I joked with a couple of prisoners to try and keep things positive, and filmed several rooms, saw but didn’t film the one bathroom (just picture what the public toilet in hell must be like), and then returned to the courtyard as several men had started singing. It was actually quite amusing as one of them was dancing in kind of a silly way, but then things started to get a little out of hand. One of the prisoners got on all fours and others began to mime having sex with him from behind. They carried it out in a wild and fun (to them) way, but I couldn’t tell if it was just a crude joke, or a message or warning. There was one woman in my group, and besides my own skin I was thinking more and more about, I began to feel deeply worried for her. She seemed to take it in stride, but I quickly felt that I had seen more than what we came for and indicated that we could leave. That’s when the prisoners all moved to block our path out the door. That’s when my body went cold.

They continued to clap and sing in a loud and boisterous way, and many of them began behaving wildly and erratically. Having not yet filmed the portion of the prison intended for military convicts, we decided to go in there (delaying a confrontation) where we came face to face with each of the convicts from the sentencing which had just ended not 30 minutes before. I quickly filmed their courtyard, filmed a couple of the men who had just received 10-15 year sentences, and realized that in spite of the fact that I was in quite a dangerous position, I was quite calm. My hands were not shaking. My adrenaline was going, my heart was racing, but I breathed steadily. My fear was that if I showed I was afraid or, worse yet, became panicked, the situation would escalate and turn ugly.

I ended the filming of the military quarters and we turned to head out – this time we had to, literally, face the music. After getting the men to quiet down, the man who had assured me we were safe began speaking with a self-appointed leader of the inmates, and although it was in French, I was unable to follow the argument. In my head, I began exploring options, and felt, under a thin layer of logic that I had to stay calm and that I would be ok, primal thoughts for self-preservation quickly growing stronger. Thinking why the f— are there no guards in here with their AK-47′s, making sure we’re safe?? I had seen the law in action, now I wanted order!!

I tapped my companion, who was speaking to the group ‘leader’, on the shoulder to suggest I try and thank them for showing me their conditions, and that I would make sure people saw them, “now please can we go?” Mid-sentence, he took out a $20 bill, and that was that. They grabbed the money, burst into cheers, parted like the Red Sea, and out we walked from this lions’ den, with not a hair on our heads having been harmed.

As we were walking away, I was having difficulty processing exactly what happened. Not wanting to process it, not wanting to think about how easily a mob can turn. How $20 so simply and easily ended the ordeal. And this on top of having already interviewed 3 young rape victims (today), filming a 14-year-old watch her 31-year-old perpetrator be sentenced to 15 years in prison, and still having to drive to a 4th rape victim’s home to interview her before the night was over.

Feeling that what I had just done will only happen once. Can only happen once. It wasn’t brave, it wasn’t courageous, it was wasn’t daring. It was the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life – and I have the pictures to prove it.

Malachi Leopold
Left Brain/Right Brain Productions,LLC
773.332.6837
LBRBProductions.com
Full-Service Production With A Purpose.