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Denis Mukwege is a Congolese gynecologist and Pentecostal pastor. He is being guarded by the United Nations Guard after receiving death threats. He is the 2018 Nobel Peace Prize laureate. As a gynecologist, he and his colleagues’ team have treated numerous rape victims throughout his career.

All he has ever done in his life is to help people and promote their well-being. Likewise, Dr. Mukwege against this in view of the ongoing massacre of civilians in the east of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. After that, he received threats from social media and even direct phone calls.

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Surname

Denis Mukwege

birthday

1st March

Age

65 years old

gender

Masculine

Height

5 feet 10 inches (1.78m)

nationality

Congolese

ethnicity

Black

profession

gynecologist and pastor

siblings

Eight

net worth

5 million dollars

Married single

Married

Wife

Madeleine Mapendo Kaboyi

children

Two daughters and three sons

education

University of Burundi and University of Angers

Instagram

drdenismukweg

Twitter

@DenisMukwege

10 Facts on Denis Mukwege

Denis Mukwege (born March 1, 1955) is a Congolese gynecologist and Pentecostal pastor. His age is 65 years. And his zodiac sign is Pisces. His biography on Wikipedia is obviously available. After all, he is the 2018 Nobel Peace Prize winner and was honored together with the human rights activist Nadia Murad. He is married to his wife Madeleine Mapendo Kaboyi. He received the Nobel Peace Prize for his contribution to reducing the use of sexual violence as a weapon in war and armed conflict. In his career spanning approximately two decades, he has ministered to tens of thousands of rape victims. He was born and currently reses in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and has Congolese nationality. And he is of black descent. According to Celeb Net Worth, he has an estimated net worth of around $5 million as of 2020. Denis Mukwege received his medical degree from the University of Burundi and the University of Angers. He is the father of five children. Two of them are daughters while he has three sons. On Instagram he has an account with over 59,000 followers. He has eight siblings in his family.


Denis Mukwege: Nobel Peace Prize lecture 2018 (English subtitles)

Denis Mukwege: Nobel Peace Prize lecture 2018 (English subtitles)
Denis Mukwege: Nobel Peace Prize lecture 2018 (English subtitles)

Images related to the topicDenis Mukwege: Nobel Peace Prize lecture 2018 (English subtitles)

Denis Mukwege: Nobel Peace Prize Lecture 2018 (English Subtitles)
Denis Mukwege: Nobel Peace Prize Lecture 2018 (English Subtitles)

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Denis Mukwege Biography, Nobel Prize, & Facts

Denis Mukwege (born March 1, 1955 in Bukavu, South Kivu Province, Belgian Congo [now Democratic Republic of the Congo]), Congolese doctor known for his work treating victims of sexual violence in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). In 2018 he was co-awarded with Yazīdī activist Nadia Murad for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Mukwege grew up in Bukavu, where he first became aware of the need for better medical care in the area while visiting sick parishioners with his father, a Pentecostal preacher. After studying medicine in Burundi, Mukwege returned to the Democratic Republic of the Congo and worked in a hospital in the village of Lemera. Although initially interested in paediatrics, he shifted his focus to obstetrics and gynecology after observing the harsh circumstances many rural women endured during childbirth. Mukwege continued his studies in Angers, France, and in 1989 founded an obstetrics and gynecology service in Lemera.

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After the hospital in Lemera was destroyed during the civil war that broke out in the country at the end of 1996, Mukwege relocated to Bukavu. In 1999 he founded the Panzi Hospital, where he served as Director and Chief Surgeon. Although the hospital’s original purpose was to provide maternity care that was lacking in the area, it soon began accommodating large numbers of sexual assault victims, some as young as three years old, and many with serious injuries and mutilations. The “epidemic” of sexual violence in the conflict-torn region was largely the result of combatants – including Rwandan Hutu rebels, Congolese government soldiers and various armed gangs – who used the systematic rape of women and girls as a means to terrorize and displace civilians. In response to the crisis, Mukwege created a staff specializing in the care of such patients, and since 1999 he and others have treated more than 50,000 women and children. In addition, Mukwege called for greater engagement from the international community, including a stronger UN mandate in the DRC, as a means of ending the violence. In October 2012 he survived an assassination attempt and briefly left the country. However, he returned early the next year.

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Mukwege has received numerous awards for his work, including the United Nations Human Rights Prize (2008) and the Olof Palme Prize (2008) for outstanding achievements in peacebuilding. In 2014 he was awarded the European Parliament’s Sakharov Prize for Freedom of Thought. Four years later he received the Nobel Peace Prize for his “efforts to end the use of sexual violence as a weapon of armed conflict”.

‘I can’t explain how I am still alive’ Dr Denis Mukwege on risking his life to save African women

In 1984, at the age of 29, Dr. Denis Mukwege from the Democratic Republic of the Congo to France to complete his training as a neonatal nurse. It was his first trip to Europe and he had spent half his life savings on airfare. The town of Angers was to be his home for five years, but he struggled to make it one. He arranged a viewing of the apartments and upon arrival was told that they had just been let. It took him a while to figure out that it was his skin color that was making apartments disappear. Eventually he found a home in a shared apartment with other students.

When he started his apprenticeship, he was amazed at how well staffed and equipped the hospital compared to his home hospital in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, which delivered the same number of babies a year instead of 30 with just two doctors. Mukwege was already much more experienced than his colleagues in France. He had acquired expertise beyond years of working in a small, underfunded hospital, operating on women and girls by torchlight, often breaking off mid-operation to consult medical literature for instructions.

Michaela Coel called Dr. Mukwege a “real hero”. Jill Biden said that “beyond the healer of these women and girls he is hope”

While assisting with a cesarean section, he surprised a French professor who, puzzled by Mukwege’s abilities, asked him if he had done it before. “About 500 times,” said Mukwege.

“Then why are you here?” asked the professor.

After his education, Mukwege returned to the Democratic Republic of the Congo and began a career that would save thousands of lives and shake up doctors and activists worldwide. He became not only a surgeon treating rape victims as a weapon of war, but also an advocate, a champion of women in the DRC and around the world.

He understood early on that his medical work would have limited impact until the root causes of sexual violence were addressed. So he ran his practices, but also challenged various armed groups and his own government for their complicity in sexual war crimes and prompted threats against his own life.

Mukwege with author and supporter V (formerly Eve Ensler) at a protest in New Orleans, Louisiana, 2008. Photo: Getty Images

This has made him an inspiration to feminists around the world. Michaela Coel called him a “real hero”. Jill Biden said that “beyond the healer of these women and girls he is hope”. Author V (formerly Eve Ensler) formed a personal friendship and professional partnership after meeting Mukwege in 2008 to raise funds and raise awareness. This culminated in the construction of the City of Joy in Bukavu, Mukweg’s birthplace in eastern DRC, “a safe place for raped women that offers shelter, education and inspiration to its residents”. Mukwege has created these safe spaces for women since he first set foot in a small rural hospital in the Democratic Republic of Congo in 1983. 35 years later he found himself in Norway accepting the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts to end the use of sexual violence as a weapon in war and armed conflict.

Today, Mukwege speaks to me on a video call from a hotel room in Paris, where he is on a whistle-stop tour ahead of the release of his book The Power of Women: A Doctor’s Journey of Hope and Healing. His accent is unmistakably French, as is his outfit: a dark suit, a white shirt and a colorful silk tie in the collar. His body language, the way he leans ear first into the screen, is reminiscent of a doctor listening before making a judgement.

After telling him that his book resonated with me, an African woman with a difficult past birth experience and whose grandmother who lost several children shortly after birth, he doesn’t let me continue. “You have to talk about these things,” he says. In many parts of Africa, he explains, there is too much hidden trauma that people carry with them. “We have to make people healthy so that they have this ability to think about the future. But when we have all this trauma, it can be tough.”

Mukwege’s path to medicine began early when, as a child in Bukavu in the 1960s, he visited the homes of sick children with his pastor father. But it was his mother’s tenacity that explains why he is here today. It was not until he was an adult that he realized how close he had come to death in the days following his birth. “I discovered that my mother was fighting for my life,” he says.

Baby Denis, like his other siblings, was born at home. His father was away and a neighbor acted as a midwife. Her only qualification was possession of a sharp razor. His umbilical cord was not properly cut and the resulting blood poisoning would have struck him within hours. His mother was alone but acted quickly and wrapped him in a cloth wrapped around her back. A Swedish missionary sister intervened at the 11th hour and arranged treatment. Mukwege still speaks with awe at how far his mother and women like her went to save their children. “I’m so grateful for what she did,” he says.

Mukwege went from treating women who just didn’t get enough care to women who were gang raped and then shot in the vagina

He was unaware of his own struggle with death when, at the age of eight, he decided to become a pediatrician. “When my father prayed for a child, I saw how weak he was.” His father explained why he was powerless. “He told me, ‘I’m not a doctor.’ So my impression was, if my father can’t do it, I will. So we can be a team.” The two made a pact. Mukwege would become a doctor. He would heal and his father would pray.

The power of women is not a book for the faint of heart. In it, Mukwege writes about arriving as a newly minted doctor at a hospital in the village of Lemera in a remote eastern province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. In the end, his intention of becoming a pediatrician had evaporated. The magnitude of the maternal health crisis in a country where women were born at home in a cruel lottery (both grandmothers died in childbirth) overwhelmed him. Women died from treatable infections and birth defects. They would emerge on the steps of the hospital after traveling miles on foot, sometimes with their dead babies still inside them.

After completing his five-year training in Angers, he returned to Lemera in 1989 as the region’s first trained obstetrician-gynecologist. It was the beginning of a career that would save countless lives.

In the mid-1990s, Mukwege and his hospital found themselves caught in the political and tribal crossfire of the first and second wars in Congo. Ethnic tensions in the region boiled over, leading to the 1994 Rwandan genocide, with Hutu slaughtering Tutsi wherever they found them. Two years later, the Tutsi-led Rwandan army invaded the eastern Democratic Republic of Congo (then Zaire) to hunt down Hutu groups who had fled into the country, colluding with Congolese rebels there. Mukwege’s hospital in Lemera, near the borders of Burundi and Rwanda, was engulfed in chaos. Mukwege went from treating women who just didn’t get enough care to women who were gang raped and then shot or stabbed in their vaginas. He did his best to maintain neutrality and refused to allow government forces to tell him who to treat and who not to. Lemera was eventually overrun by Tutsi troops. He was away at the time, but dozens of patients and several members of his staff were killed. In 1997, Mukwege fled to Kenya. That year, rebel leader Laurent-Désiré Kabila was installed as president.

A year later, Mukwege returned to the Democratic Republic of the Congo with his wife Madeleine and their three daughters and started again. In 1999 he began construction of a hospital in Panzi, a suburb of Bukavu, a maternal and sexual health facility specializing in the treatment of sexual violence perpetrated by various troops and rebel groups since the early 1990s. Mukwege discovered that he was not just dealing with the physical effects of violence against women, but with an entire patriarchy and justice system that ensured these crimes continued. “I realized I wasn’t doing enough,” he says, so he began campaigning, speaking at conferences and imploring the United Nations to do more. He had to adjust to the global stage.

The new government, he says, fought him at every turn. His work was viewed as a form of political dissidence, a rebuke to authorities who had failed women; “A way to challenge them, to ask them to do what they’re supposed to do. It didn’t create a good relationship.” In 2011, he received a death threat from a Congolese minister at a mafia-style meeting in New York. Mukwege was told that if he wanted to return to the DRC and live there, he would have to cancel a speech he was scheduled to give at the United Nations on sexual violence. Confused, Mukwege gave in.

African women don’t have many resources, but they still struggle to save lives. I am so grateful – they do a lot for our humanity

As Panzi Hospital admitted more victims (so far the hospital has treated 60,000), Mukwege began to struggle mentally, so terrible were the sexual injuries he saw on women, girls and even infants. His experience has taught him that the mind heals slower than the body. “I think the reality is that you can’t work with all these traumatized women for long without being affected yourself,” he says. “Anyone who is not affected is not a human being.” Because he applied perfectionist standards to procedures, an inner monologue would paralyze him. He would ask himself, “What if this happened to my daughter, my wife? But very quickly I realized I couldn’t go on like this.” Procedures that should have taken an hour took three, “because I was just thinking about all the questions I get. If a 14-year-old girl asks you, “Doctor, do you think I can have sex?” But her vagina is completely destroyed. ‘Doctor, I hope this operation won’t make me incontinent.’ And you can’t calm down.” He shakes his head. “I decided to get a psychologist to support me.” Today, he manages to practice without taking on the burden of his patients’ anxiety. “A lot of my staff, especially the psychologists, are really burned out. It’s a very traumatizing situation and you have to find a way to get on with the work without falling down yourself.”

Mukwege, who is also a Pentecostal pastor, also finds comfort in his faith. He preaches at a small local church in the same congregation his father served in Bukavu. I ask him how he can reconcile the horrors he has seen with his faith. “I believe we were created to be good, but we have a choice at any moment. The God I believe in calls us to love others and that is a choice. It’s a responsibility. It’s not about God – it’s about ourselves.”

Mukwege’s book is hardly a memory. His story is told more in stories of women he met along the way who found deeper sources of resilience in times of extreme need. There’s the young woman he treated after escaping a gang of raping soldiers, only to leave the hospital and come back with HIV a few years later. There’s the girl he took care of when she was raped and pregnant, who returned a little over a decade later with a daughter, herself pregnant as a result of rape. And there’s the elderly woman who told him she wanted an apology from the authorities for being raped by a group of soldiers young enough to be her grandchildren.

These women, he says, “don’t have a lot of opportunities, they don’t have a lot of resources, but they still fight to save lives, to save their children. They try to give their children food and education. I am so grateful to African women – they do a lot for our humanity.”

Mukwege at Panzi Hospital in the Democratic Republic of the Congo in 2007. Photo: Getty Images

He sees them not as extreme cases illustrating some African pathology, but as examples of what is happening everywhere in times of societal collapse. In his book, he traces a wide arc, from sexual violence after Hurricane Katrina and the war in the former Yugoslavia to Yazidi women enslaved by the Islamic State and Japanese “comfort women” who became sexually active during the Second World Slavery War to show that women are the first victims when things fall apart. Mukwege believes that combating misogyny in peacetime is paramount to empowering society in moments of conflict. The first things to face are silence and shame, which are used “to keep women in control of men.” He adds: “When I speak to the West, I always tell them: ‘What I’m showing you is happening even here, in your country.'”

Mukwege sees feminism as pure striving for the well-being of women, not as a state of political enlightenment. “Feminist,” he says, “is a word that made me do what I should do for humanity. I know many women in Africa who fight for women’s rights every day, and they don’t say they are feminists.” Throughout our conversation, he keeps coming back to the humiliating stubbornness he sees in these ignorant African feminists.

In 2012, Mukwege survived the deadliest assassination attempt yet, in which a friend gave his own life to save him. When Mukwege drove onto his premises, five armed men jumped into his car. A man in the front seat aimed a machine gun at Mukwege’s torso; from behind another pressed a pistol to his temple. Mukwege stepped on the accelerator. The men were thrown short. He then slammed on the brakes and quickly opened the car’s door, seeing that the entrance to his own home was within easy reach. But he was too slow. The Kalashnikov he held by his stomach now lay in front of him. Mukwege braced himself for death.

At that moment, his friend and employee Joseph came running up and shouted, “Dad! They will kill you!” Joseph had already been tied up by the assassins but was able to free himself. Mukwege cannot remember exactly what happened next. Shots were fired. He collapsed in a pool of blood. The assassins fled. When he came to, he found the blood wasn’t his. Joseph, lying dead beside him, had drawn gunfire.

When I was attacked in my house and my friend was killed, the red line was drawn

“I can’t explain why I’m still alive,” he says. “When I was attacked in my house and my friend was killed, the red line was drawn.” He reported the attack to the police, who reacted lethargically. To this day he does not know who the assassins were. Assuming his responsibilities as a parent and husband, he fled to the United States. But a few weeks later, he received word that a group of women from the island of Idjwi in Lake Kivu, a few hours by boat from Bukavu, had written to then-President Kabila, demanding that the Mukwege government be returned to the country Democratic Republic of the Congo give him security. The women then wrote to the UN Secretary-General, showed up at Panzi Hospital and promised that if money was at stake, they would sell fruit and vegetables to pay for his and his family’s plane tickets. “That really disarmed me. I couldn’t resist,” he says. He returned just three months after leaving the country.

His reception was overwhelming. Women lined the streets for hours, partying and singing as authorities narrowly received him, embarrassed by the impromptu gathering. “There were 30 km of women on the streets,” he says, beaming. “They were just there to say, ‘We’re here and we want to support you. We want our doctor back and we want to protect him.’” They followed him from the airport to Panzi Hospital. “I gave a little speech,” he says, after which a woman turns to the regional governor and the police chief. “She said to him, ‘We’re going to get 25 women to guard the doctor so he can treat other victims. We will feed him, we will protect him, and if someone wants to kill him, he has to kill 25 women before they reach him.”

If there was any question that he would stop his work, it was decided. Now he intends to stay in DRC until “we can end violence against women in Congo or bring about justice – so that women feel they are protected by a system”. He sounds determined, but also resigned, as if he had no choice in the matter. The government continues to face challenges from rebel groups and innocent civilians are once again in the crossfire as eastern DRC remains volatile and lawless. Mukwege has moved permanently to the Panzi Hospital compound and is protected 24 hours a day by armed guards and UN peacekeepers.

But he also feels shielded from the power of women. “Sometimes I have this question: Am I scared? And my answer is yes. I don’t want to be a hero. But I feel like there are these invisible forces all around me.” Now, he says, “those trying to attack my life” might think twice. “You know the women are there.”

The Power of Women, by Dr. Denis Mukwege, is published by Short Books for £20. To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Shipping costs may apply.

Denis Mukwege will speak with Annie Kelly on Tuesday 16 November as part of a Guardian Live online event. Book tickets here

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