In the early 1990s, long before petrol stations, supermarkets, and hardware stores reshaped the urban landscape, the area between what was then known as Rwandex and Mburabuturo pulsed with a distinct rhythm. Music drifted from tightly packed houses, conversations spilled into narrow footpaths, and languages blended effortlessly. Swahili, Lingala, and French carried across courtyards, mingling with accented Kinyarwanda. For many in Kigali, this neighbourhood was simply known as Camp Zaïre. It was not an official name, nor one found in government records, yet it carried undeniable weight. To say “Kanzayire” (written as Camp Zaïre) was to invoke a place that felt unmistakably Congolese, a community shaped by migration, politics, and the routines of everyday coexistence. Camp Zaïre was not just a settlement; it was a lived cultural space, forged through decades of movement between Rwanda and what was then Zaïre, now the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). For its residents, the name evoked belonging, familiarity, and the subtle rhythm of daily life. ALSO READ: Camp Zaire: A piece of Congo in Kigali Today, little of that world remains visible. The physical structures are gone, replaced by roads, power lines, and commercial development tied to Kigali’s rapid urban expansion. Yet for those who lived there, Camp Zaïre endures vividly in memory, language, and shared histories. A neighbourhood born of movement and politics Camp Zaïre grew as a neighbourhood shaped by decades of movement between Rwanda and what was then Zaïre (now the DRC). Congolese nationals settled in Kigali for work, safety, and opportunity, gradually clustering in areas where land was accessible and social networks already existed. The settlement was one of the examples of how for centuries Rwandans and Congolese were engaged in cross-border movement. Until today, many Congolese still live and work in Rwanda as it has been for decades. For many, Rwanda offers opportunities and stability. Over time, the growing communities of Congolese established a strong sense of belonging and cultural continuity, making Kigali a safe and welcoming home for many Congolese residents. By the late 1980s and early 1990s, the area between Rwandex and Mburabuturo had taken on a distinctly Congolese character. Houses were densely packed, footpaths narrow and informal. Residents describe a place without clear road layouts, where mud, stones, and improvised drainage defined daily movement. Yet within that congestion was order of a different kind, built on familiarity, trust, and mutual reliance. Olivier Kabera, who arrived in the area in 1993, recalls finding a settlement already shaped by Congolese life: “Houses were close together, and everywhere you went, it felt alive. It was chaotic in a way, but everyone knew their neighbours. Despite the disorder, there was a rhythm, and that rhythm was Congolese.” ALSO READ: Why some places in Kigali need to be renamed Kabera explains that the neighbourhood had pockets of social organisation, often led by elder residents who maintained informal rules and mediated conflicts: “Even when it was crowded, people respected one another. That sense of community kept us together.” For many residents, Camp Zaïre felt like an extension of home rather than exile. Congolese culture was not muted or hidden; it was performed openly, through music, food, dress, and social customs. The neighbourhood became a reference point for new arrivals. To reach Camp Zaïre was, as some joked, to feel as though one had already crossed back into Congo. Everyday life in Camp Zaïre Life in Camp Zaïre revolved around proximity. Houses stood close enough that neighbours heard one another’s radios, conversations, and cooking. Music, especially Congolese rumba, soukous, and gospel, played loudly and often late into the night. Social life spilled outdoors, with people gathering easily, sharing meals and marking events together. Children ran freely along narrow paths, often speaking Swahili, Lingala, French, and Kinyarwanda interchangeably. Alexander Habarurema, a retired footballer who lived in the area for years, remembers a neighbourhood defined by collective life: “Meals were shared freely. If someone was passing by, we invited them to eat. You didn’t ask who they were. If they were there, they ate.” ALSO READ: Govt reveals plans to root out slums He recalls neighbours helping one another with small repairs, child care, and daily chores, creating a network of interdependence that felt familial rather than transactional. Economic life was equally varied. Camp Zaïre was home to teachers, mechanics, hairdressers, carpenters, traders, and skilled artisans. Some worked in Congolese-run schools, others in workshops or small businesses across Kigali. Skills were passed informally, and professional identities often travelled with migrants from Congo into Rwanda. Muhindo Katembo, who settled in the area from Goma, arrived as a chef but later expanded into industrial cookware, supplying kitchens while remaining embedded in the neighbourhood’s economy. He notes: “I first came here to work as a cook. I decided to stay mainly because of security. My wife is Rwandan, from the former Cyangugu. What I like about Rwanda is the safety. There is peace, no disturbances. Life is stable. Today, I am self-employed. I make metal cooking pots professionally. I studied industrial techniques, so I shifted from being a cook to metalwork.” He adds that many Congolese sold their properties here and moved elsewhere. Some became refugees and went to the United States or Canada. Football played a notable role in cultural exchange. Players like Habarurema, who played for Mukungwa FC, describe teams where language barriers dissolved through shared play. ALSO READ: Govt unveils budget plans to transform Kigali's informal settlements Swahili, in particular, spread easily, becoming part of daily communication even for Rwandans who grew up in or around Camp Zaïre. Voices of Camp Zaïre Julienne Sanganyi Wabiwa, who raised eleven children in the area, notes that the Congolese presence shaped both language and customs: “Even children born here spoke Swahili. We taught them our ways, our songs, our manners. It wasn’t just about survival; it was about identity.” Her children maintained ties across borders, with some moving to Congo while others stayed in Rwanda, reflecting the fluidity of community networks. Christine Keza, 68, who came from Burundi but identified as Congolese through her father, recalls the sheer density of families: “Everyone knew each other. There was music, food, and laughter. The culture was alive in every courtyard.” Her husband worked as a carpenter, building furniture for neighbours and for sale, and their family life was intertwined with that of their neighbours. Keza emphasises that despite cross-border movements, Camp Zaïre felt permanent to those living there: “It wasn’t temporary. It was life. We planted roots here.” Olivier Kabera describes the sense of security and structure, even amid disorder: “There was no formal police presence, but we managed ourselves. Disputes were settled among neighbours. Children roamed safely. It was tight-knit.” Education and continuity One of the most enduring institutions tied to Camp Zaïre is Groupe Scolaire Consulaire Congolais (GSCC), located in Kigarama Sector’s Rwampara area. Founded around 1972 by Congolese parents, with support from both Congolese and Rwandan authorities, the school became central to the community. ALSO READ: City of Kigali mulls new plan to construct 10,000 affordable houses, upgrade slums Many children from Camp Zaïre studied there, receiving an education that reflected both Congolese curricula and the realities of life in Rwanda. For families, GSCC offered continuity, ensuring that cultural and educational ties to Congo were maintained even as children grew up in Kigali. Today, many former students are adults with families of their own, living across Kigali, Rwanda, and abroad. GSCC remains a living link to Camp Zaïre’s past, embodying the community’s long-standing presence and contribution to the city. Gradual change and urban transformation The character of Camp Zaïre shifted gradually rather than abruptly. Political changes in the region, coupled with economic pressures, led many Congolese residents to leave. Some returned to Congo, others migrated to Europe, the United States, or Canada. For those who remained, land ownership and redevelopment became defining issues. Immaculée Bazizane, a local leader in Kigugwe III, explains that infrastructure development played a decisive role. Rwanda Energy Group (REG) acquired part of the land to install high-voltage electricity transmission lines connecting to Kimihurura. Regulations do not allow residential housing beneath such infrastructure, making relocation inevitable for many families. ALSO READ: Kigali: Over 1,400 illegally built houses face demolition At the same time, investors purchased plots, accelerating the area’s transformation. Where homes once stood, commercial structures emerged. The neighbourhood shifted from residential to commercial, its former density replaced by open spaces, power lines, and paved access. Importantly, residents emphasise that displacement followed broader patterns of urban development rather than targeted action. Like many informal settlements in Kigali, Camp Zaïre was reshaped by infrastructure needs and city planning priorities. Memory, language, and belonging Administratively, Camp Zaïre no longer exists. The name does not appear in official records, and the area is now part of Kigugwe III in Kicukiro District. Yet informally, the name endures. Motorcycle taxi riders still recognise it. Older residents still use it to orient themselves. Only a handful of Congolese families remain in the area today. Some elderly residents still speak Swahili and Lingala fluently. Younger generations, however, have largely dispersed, integrating into other parts of the city or abroad. Walking through the area today, the silence is striking. Where music and conversation once filled the air, life has become quieter and more individualised. For residents like Habarurema, the change reflects broader social shifts rather than loss alone: “Before, people shared everything. Now everyone looks for his own way of living.” The intangible legacy of Camp Zaïre lives on—in language, in institutions like GSCC, and in memory. Rwanda provided stability at a time when many were fleeing uncertainty. It offered a place to work, raise families, and belong. A vanished place, a lasting presence Camp Zaïre’s story is not one of erasure, but of transformation. Like many migrant neighbourhoods in Kigali, it existed in a particular historical moment, shaped by regional movement, diplomacy, and everyday life. Today, its physical footprint has faded, but its influence endures, in schools, in multilingual rhythms of nearby communities, and in the memories of those who once called it home. As Kigali continues to grow, Camp Zaïre stands as a reminder that the city’s history is not only written in master plans and infrastructure, but also in the lives of communities that passed through, settled, and quietly reshaped it.
