Author: Pamela Nzabampema

In 2024, as part of the Children of War project, I visited Burundi to conduct oral history interviews and archival research. With the first interviews, it became clear that, nearly twenty years after the end of the civil war (1993-2005), the knowledge and memories of child soldiering in Burundi had slowly receded. For several key informants, including a political scientist and the coordinator of a prominent child protection organisation, child soldiering was no longer a problem in Burundi. It was presented as a past phenomenon mainly developed during the Burundian civil war. For many, the issue had disappeared with the post-conflict Disarmament Demobilisation and Reintegration (DDR) programmes in the 2000s. In 2024, child soldiering was thus seen as having little relevance in today’s Burundi: it was not a priority in the issues affecting Burundian children. For the coordinator of the largest network of children’s rights organisations, the main problems that they dealt with were violence against children, children living in the streets and human trafficking.

Knowledge about child soldiering in Burundi before the civil war is scarce. For instance, whether children were involved at any level in the various ethnic massacres that took place in Burundi remains to be researched. A report by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, examining the massacres/ genocide of Hutu in 1972, maintains that some students in secondary schools were responsible for identifying students considered as ‘Hutu’, who would then be arrested by the military. Although it has been widely reported that some members of the Jeunesse Révolutionnaire Rwagasore (JRR), the youth wing of the party-state Union pour le Progrès National (UPRONA), participated in the repression against Hutu in 1972, they are generally believed to have included young adults who were over 18 years old. The discussions during my research in Burundi also raised the question of who is included or not in the category of ‘child’, which will be explored in future publications.

This lack of memory needs to be understood within the broader context of the contested histories and narratives amongst Burundians around the origins, developments and consequences of the various ethnic massacres and conflicts that the country has experienced since 1962. The Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement, which officially ended the civil war in Burundi in 2005, had provisions for the creation of a Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), intending to shed light and establish the ‘truth’ about violent events that the country faced since the colonial era.  However, there were delays in creating the TRC, and some observers have criticised its work and findings as partial.

Even when looking at more recent events, such as the 1993-2005 civil war, knowledge and public memory of child soldiering is slowly disappearing. There is a lack of reliable quantitative data about child soldiers in Burundi. The difficulty of remembering is compounded by the disappearance of local NGOs who were involved in issues pertaining to child soldiering in Burundi. As in many other post-conflict countries, the continuing existence of NGOs depends on external funding, and when the funding ends, NGOs often adapt by shifting focus, or some even cease work. Understanding the patterns of recruitment of children in the past, however, can contribute to the prevention of child soldiering in future, making the Children of War research timely.

As I write this blog, the M23 rebel group has captured the city of Goma (DRC) since January 27th, 2025. There is a risk of the conflict spreading throughout the DRC and spilling over to neighbouring countries, including Burundi. Burundi has troops in the DRC, and they are now involved, alongside the Forces Armées de la République Démocratique du Congo (FARDC), in countering and preventing the progress of the M23. The intensification of the conflict in eastern DRC increases the risk of child soldiering throughout the region, as has happened in the past. Given the transnational dimension of the conflicts in the Great Lakes Region of Africa, children could be recruited and fight beyond their national boundaries, as in the past. For instance, in 2004, Amnesty International reported that Burundian children had fought in their country during the civil war and in the DRC.   With the continuing politicisation of young people in Burundi (see: Ibiswi vy’inkona blog), there is a need to shed light on the use of children in conflicts in Burundi and its neighbours so that lessons can be learned from the past to avoid present and future violations of children’s rights.

By Pamela Nzabampema

A few months ago, I came across a series of videos of ibiswi vy’inkona, that is children, adolescents and young people associated with the current main political party, the National Council for the Defence of Democracy – Forces for the Defense of Democracy (CNDD-FDD). Ibiswi vy’inkona means ’eaglets’. An eagle is one of the three party’s symbols, which also include a sword (inkota) and a cassava leaf (ibabi ry’umwumbati). These symbols are represented on the party’s flag. According to the rules governing the CNDD-FDD, the raven means strength (inguvu), agility (ububangutsi) and perseverance (kutarambirwa). The videos show ibiswi vy’inkona’s parades during CNDD-FDD ceremonies and events. The parades have a military air. The ibiswi vy’inkona are also described as abana b’ abahoze mu rugamba, which can be translated as ‘children of former combatants’ or ‘children of war veterans’. The videos show boys and girls, some who are kindergarten school age (3-5 years old), marching like soldiers.

At these festive public events organised by the CNDD-FDD, ibiswi vy’inkona shout political slogans, which ruling party members applaud. A certain militarism characterises their catchphrases. Words such as urugamba (struggle) are used several times. A slogan, which particularly, struck a chord with me says, ‘igihugu ntigitorwa, kirarwanirwa!‘ (‘you can’t just pick up a country; you fight for it!’). The slogan seems to refer to the ruling party’s military origins, which it has not yet completely shed off, twenty years after the end of the conflict. Underpinning these slogans is also a fear that the gains of the civil war might be at risk, within a context characterised by a multisectoral crisis in Burundi and regional instability in the Great Lakes region.

The case of ibiswi vy’inkona illustrates the continuing politicisation and militarism of young people in Burundi. The remnants of a culture of militarism continue to be spread to new generations of Burundians. This phenomenon is not new. During the party-state era, the Union for National Progress (UPRONA) (1966-2003), the party had a youth wing, the Jeunesse Révolutionaire Rwagasore (JRR), made primarily of young adults. UPRONA also had a children’s section, composed of school-age children named ‘Pioneers’, who would march in during official events. Some members of the JRR have been accused of participating in the repression and massacres of Hutu that took place in 1972.  While the ruling elite has changed in post-conflict Burundi, past governance practices have been perpetuated. For instance, the CNDD-FDD has relied on the Imbonerakure also called the CNDD-FDD Jeunesse (Youth) in the repression of political opponents, particularly since the political crisis of 2015 in Burundi. Since 2016, an Imbonerakure Day is celebrated throughout the country.

Pioneers and ibiswi vy’inkona are not ‘child soldiers’. However,they raise questions around the links between the normalisation of children’s militarism and politicisation in periods of negative peace and the phenomenon of child soldiering during violent conflict within a specific context. What does a continuation of a culture of militarism within the wider society and transmitted to children through the ruling party mean for sustainable peace and reconciliation in Burundi?

By Pamela Nzabampema

When I embarked on a journey in 2024 to conduct oral historical and archival research in Burundi for the Children of War project, the country was going through what Professor Julien Nimubona, a political scientist from the University of Burundi, has referred to as a major multisectoral crisis at the political, economic, and institutional levels. While so much can be said about this research trip, in this piece, I reflect mainly on some socio-economic challenges and how they affected my research journey.

1. Brief background

After gaining its independence from Belgium in 1962, Burundi faced several episodes of violent ethno-political conflicts between the Hutu and the Tutsi. During the civil war of 1993-2005, children, adolescents and youth were used by different armed groups. The war ended with the signing of the Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement (2000) and the subsequent ceasefire agreements with the remaining rebel groups. These agreements paved the way for peacebuilding and post-war reconstruction in Burundi (Curtis 2013, Lemarchand 2007, Vandeginste 2015).  

Following a period of relative calm, Burundi experienced a major political crisis in 2015, when protests and a failed coup against then-President Pierre Nkurunziza led to widespread repression of political opponents and civil society. Teenagers in secondary schools, including some involved in the demonstrations, were not spared in the crackdown. Furthermore, some imbonerakure, the youth wing of the ruling party CNDD-FDD, took part in repressing real and perceived opponents.

2. Socio-economic crisis

Although I had lived in and visited Burundi regularly before 2015, I found significant changes upon returning to conduct research for the first time. Burundi has been undergoing a substantial and unprecedented socio-economic crisis. The reasons for the current socio-economic crisis are complex and disputed, but one factor is the economic sanctions imposed by the European Union and the United States of America from 2015-20. These sanctions were a result of political violence and widespread human rights abuses by the regime. The sanctions had a tremendous effect on the post-conflict country, which was worsened by the consequences of the COVID-19 pandemic. The crisis is also associated with mismanagement of public resources, the privatisation of the state, and corruption (See: Iwacu; RFI).

The socio-economic crisis is visible in daily life and heavily impacts most Burundians.  In the last years, there has been a shortage of foreign currency and fuel, rising prices of essential goods, and inflation (see: Iwacu, TV5 Monde). An emblematic image of this crisis has been the long queues of vehicles waiting, sometimes for days, at petrol stations in Bujumbura to get fuel.

The situation has particularly affected vulnerable categories, such as children.  The lack of fuel has worsened inequality in access to schools. Well-off parents have been able to buy overpriced fuel on the black market to ensure their children reach school on time, while some less well-off parents have had their children change school or leave education.   The challenges of getting to school have impacted the well-being and learning of children, as some children arrive at school tired, having woken up early and walked long distances.  Another worrying trend is the perceived rise of children living in the streets. These children often find themselves in this situation because of the poverty they face in their families (see: Iwacu; Iwacu; Yaga-Burundi; SOS Medias Burundi; UNICEF).

3. Reflections

During my research in Burundi, the lack of fuel impacted and sometimes stopped the data collection. Rising fuel and taxi prices put pressure on grant budgets. The need to be careful with fuel was compounded by the fact that I had to return to places several times before meeting the people I was looking for or gaining access to documents.  

In other instances, employees had to leave earlier than usual to find transport home. One day, I was in an office consulting fascinating archival material. A few hours before the official closure of 5 PM, an employee told me she had to close the office to catch her bus. She apologised and said that it had taken her several hours in the morning and that she had to get home to look after her young children. As in many societies worldwide, women and girls in Burundi carry out most of the unpaid household and care labour. The crisis might have worsened gender disparities, but this is a topic for future research.

Many people in Burundi shared with me their perception that the socio-economic situation in Burundi had deteriorated. They felt powerless and were disappointed by the rise in commodity prices, the lack of fuel, the poor purchasing power and the lack of foreign currency. While no informants asked for financial rewards, there were instances when people asked me for a bit of money. An example would be a Librarian who was very helpful and asked me, once I left Burundi, to help him financially.

Like during my doctoral research on policing pluralism in the eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), I felt torn between the ethical imperatives of not giving rewards and the moral dimension of asking people (including those going through a difficult situation) for their time and information, which would mostly benefit the research, for free. How I navigated the long-standing and complex debates around the ethics of payment and rewards for research participants will be developed in future publications.

By Pamela Nzabampema