GOMA, Democratic Republic of Congo (Reuters) -Wivine Kavira Mukata was in the kitchen preparing plantains and fish soup for her family on the day in February 2014 when a bomb tore through her home in Beni, in eastern Congo’s war-hit North Kivu province.
Both her parents were injured in the attack, attributed by Congolese authorities to Ugandan rebels, and Mukata needed to have her leg amputated just above the knee.
A well-worn photograph from that time points to the arduous recovery that would follow: Mukata, still a teenager, sitting in a wheelchair, her left leg wrapped in a white plaster bandage.
The treatment she received, at the Shirika la Umoja orthopedic center in the city of Goma and at a second facility in Bukavu where she was given a prosthetic limb, changed the course of her life.
While she had previously dreamed of becoming a computer scientist, she decided instead to get certified as an ortho-prosthetist, designing artificial limbs as well as braces and splints for those who have suffered injuries like hers.
“There was a dad I may never forget. He didn’t have both legs, a double amputee,” Mukata, now 28, told Reuters.
“When I saw him for the first time wearing his prosthesis, he was happy and in front of me. I said to myself, ‘I have to do this, to put smiles back on the faces of people with disabilities and victims of everything that is happening in Congo.'”
RESTORING AMPUTEES’ CONFIDENCE, PERSONAL INDEPENDENCE
She returned from her training in Togo in December 2024, just in time for another cycle of violence in a region upended by conflict since the 1994 Rwanda genocide.
The following month, the M23 armed group seized Goma and went on to take Bukavu in a lightning offensive that has killed thousands of people and displaced hundreds of thousands of others.
It has made for a busy period for the Shirika la Umoja centre, whose name means “Community leads to unity” in Swahili.
It is the only centre in Goma, eastern Congo’s biggest city, that provides comprehensive services to amputees, including orthotics, prostheses, wheelchairs and mental health sessions.
Some 722 people received prosthetics at the centre in 2024. Through September of this year, 524 people benefited from some form of physical rehabilitation, including 143 who received prostheses and 192 who received orthoses — externally fitted devices that help a body part move or recover from injury. Persistent insecurity has made it difficult for other would-be patients to reach the centre.
Mukata has been there daily working on prosthetic limbs and other devices and helping patients along a journey she began herself more than a decade ago.
“You get demoralized. You think it’s the end of your story,” she said, describing the mental toll of amputation.
“But with what we do here, we restore confidence and motivation to the person who has lost their limb. And since I’m also a victim, I can at least motivate them and tell them that after the amputation, life goes on.”
‘THERE WERE SOME PEOPLE WHO MADE FUN’
In the courtyard of the Shirika la Umoja centre, which was founded more than 60 years ago and became an official partner of the International Committee of the Red Cross in 2014, amputees spent a recent morning trying out crutches and wheelchairs between physical therapy sessions.
Inside, doctors consulted with patients, taking measurements so that other staff members could weld and mold their new limbs.
Mukata’s recent patients have included Melissa Hamuli, a 30-year-old mother of four who lost use of both legs in a bombardment in January, when the M23 advance was gaining momentum.
She relied on crutches to get around until the centre provided her with leg braces that would allow her to walk again.
“I will now have the means to go back and forth from home thanks to these,” she said, stretching out her legs and admiring them.
“Now I can start selling donuts to support my family.”
When she is not at the centre, Mukata lives on her own – and prides herself on being independent.
“There were some people who made fun of me right after my amputation,” she said, adding that she has found a way to live just like anyone else.
“I wake up, I sweep, I tidy up my house, I mop and everything,” she said.
“I also prepare food, I go to the market. I pay for things normally, like normal women.”
(Reporting by Arlette Bashizi and Djaffar Al-KatantyWriting by Robbie Corey-Boulet, Editing by William Maclean)
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