A folk tale made famous by the late Kenyan activist Wangari Maathai tells of a forest fire that causes all the animals to flee. As they stare helplessly at the huge flames, only the hummingbird sets to work, carrying tiny beakfuls of water back and forth.
"What's the point?" the others ask. The hummingbird pauses just long enough to reply: "I'm doing the best I can!" The story is a favorite of 25-year-old Patrick and his younger brother, who fled five years ago from the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) to the Nakivale refugee settlement in southwest Uganda. The brothers, both artists, ran educational workshops for young people in the settlement, and—until they had to sell their laptop—an animated version of the hummingbird tale was one of the videos they screened. The message is apt: with 115,00 refugees in Nakivale alone, and well over half a million nationwide, the brothers' contribution is minute.
Around the world, some 65 million people—refugees, asylum seekers, internally displaced people—were driven from their home in 2015, the highest number since records began; developing countries host 86 percent of them. (The six wealthiest nations, representing half the global economy, are home to just 2.1 million.)
Many governments don't allow refugees to seek formal employment; some grant the right to work but effectively prevent it with high permit fees or strict rules that keep refugees in camps. Not in Uganda. Here, refugees—mostly from South Sudan, DRC, Burundi, and Somalia—are allowed to move freely, start a business, and work for others. Some settle in cities, but most are allocated small plots of land in government-managed settlements, where the United Nations Refugee Agency (UNHCR) and its partners provide some healthcare and welfare services; they get materials to build basic homes on their plots. The UNHCR, increasingly looking for long-term solutions as conflicts around the world drag on, says the policy could be a model for governments everywhere.
Uganda's policy makes it "one of the best places to stay for refugees," said Robert Hakiza, who arrived in 2008 and could be a poster child for the tight-knit Congolese community here (more refugees and migrants from DRC end up in Uganda than any other African country). Soon after reaching Uganda, he cofounded a nonprofit aimed at helping other urban refugees find their feet. Today, the organization employs 15 staff.
Hakiza's is not the only success story. Research by the University of Oxford in 2014 in two settlements in Uganda—officials avoid the term "camps" since these are more like normal village settings, where people can come and go freely—found that only 1 percent of refugees were not employed; the rest were in employment or self-employed. They contribute to the economy, trading with, hiring, or working for Ugandans. In the capital Kampala, Congolese refugees and immigrants dominate the low-end jewelry trade: associated with the gold that is mined in DRC, they tend to be trusted above other nationalities by Ugandan buyers. "This business can't exist without refugees," said Hakiza. "You don't see many Ugandans competing."
That worked in Chantale's* favor, a widow and mother of five who began selling jewelry after she arrived in 2009. Two years ago, she impulsively bought three handbags, and was stopped on her way to work by someone who asked if they were for sale.
"They were for me!" she recalled, laughing gleefully, "but I said 'Yes, yes, I'm selling them.'" The customer asked if she had any more; thinking quickly, Chantale said she had others at home. The next day, other customers wanted purses. By early 2016, no longer selling jewelry, she had her own shop in a predominantly Congolese suburb of Kampala.
It's not all rosy, though. "People think I have a lot of money," she said, gesturing to the Puma hold-alls, the FC Barcelona rucksacks, the dusty trainers around her. "But it's all debt." Suppliers give her goods on credit; witty and warm-hearted, affectionate even with those she's just met, it's unsurprising they trust her. Now, though, she is plagued by worry: "Clients need to be paid, and I'm not selling," she said. Freedom to do business only goes so far without access to some capital. Some international organizations offer loans: Chantal is still trying to repay the 500,000 shillings ," Patrick said. Yet in August, the brothers left their new home—where residents get free board and three meals a day—to return to Nakivale.
They want to create an offshoot of SINA, where young people will be able to access computers, create art, learn new skills. An Indian education organization is interested in partnering with them and, Patrick hopes, will co-finance new equipment. "I left the settlement for good," he explained. "But then I was thinking about our project and the impact it had on people's lives. I really feel like if I'm around, I can do something."
Patrick describes himself as an entrepreneur—but money has never been the objective. His way of being the hummingbird is helping others see their future differently. "I want them to know they can start their life in Nakivale," he said. "Happiness is a choice."
*Some names have been changed, and last names omitted. The reporter's travel costs were covered by a One World Media grant.
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