Sing with me…
Uvira. Congo.Ten in the morning.Normal life. Shops open. Kids walking. Noise.Thenthey come in from the main road.On foot. In trucks. Straight through the city.Shots crack. Loud. Real.People hit the ground. Mothers grab kids.Everyone runs inside. Lock the doors.I’m here. On the street.And this is not TV. This is war.A truck blows up. Fire. Smoke in my throat.Army pulls back. No control anywhere.You don’t know where it comes from.Wrong place. Wrong second. That’s all it takes.This is Uvira.People are just trying not to die.Crime? War? Doesn’t matterpeople are terrified.This is Uvira Congo.No filter.No polish.Just streetsand fear in real time.Then it goes quiet.But it’s the bad kind of quiet.The kind that sits in your chest.They search houses. Door to door.Young men lined up in the street.Accused of helping the other side.Some don’t come back.Kasenga districtpeople whisper about executions.They whisperbecause talking loud can get you killed.Kavimvira districtRed Cross workers move slow.Faces grey.Bodies on the road.Nobody counts numbers out loud anymore.Two hundred thousand people run.Bags. Kids. Dust. Chaos.About eighty thousand cross to Burundijust to stay alive.And Uvirathe loud cityturns empty.Dead quiet.And yeahI’m scared too.Because I’m standing right here.This is Uvira Congo.Not a movie.Not a headline.Just peopletrying to surviveanother day.Same monthSange. Nearby town.A bomb goes off after fighting.Dozens dead.Further northADF hit three villages at night.Fourteen gone. Maybe more.Numbers never match the pain.Governments say:Do not travel to east Congo.But this isn’t travel.People LIVE here.They don’t get to leave.This is home.And I’m just the guy on the corner,dust on my shoes,telling you what I see.Sometimes I feel anger.Sometimes fear.Most of the timeboth.Uvira.Congo.City under attack.I’m not here to sell drama.I’m here to witness.This is the street.This is real.End of report.