When Marie-Claire learned to drive the family Corolla at age 28, she never suspected it would become her career. The conflict that broke out in her country in 1996 limited her choices and freedom of movement. She made the best of it. Overcoming discrimination, insults, and even an organized march to protest her employment, Marie-Claire became one of the first professional female drivers in the Democratic Republic of Congo.
In 1997, the war turned what was supposed to be a short visit for Marie-Claire to Kinshasa into almost a year-long stay in the capital. She didn’t want to sit around and wait for routes to re-open, so she decided to enroll in mechanics school. “I liked to drive and thought it was important to know what to do in the event the car broke down,” she explained. “And I didn’t want to sit around doing nothing while I waited to go home.” Six months later, Marie-Claire had earned her mechanic’s license.
For organizations like International Medical Corps that work in unstable and isolated areas, a driver is one of the most important people on staff. Part guide, part facilitator, and part navigator, drivers must be equally as good at negotiating sensitive security checkpoints as impassable roads and unstable bridges. Often, those most in need of International Medical Corps’ services are those who live in the most inaccessible places, and drivers are the link that ensure critical supplies and staff reach those in remote areas. In almost all cases, these drivers are men.
“When people see Marie-Claire driving,” says Andre, the International Medical Corps (Logistics officer/Stock manager) “They assume she’s an expat, because no Congolese woman would ever be a driver. Most men here still haven’t been able to accept women drivers.”
Marie-Claire has run up against this kind of prejudice often. She began applying for jobs in 2006. “No one would talk to me because I was a woman,” she said. Finally, she asked a friend who worked for International Medical Corps if there were any driving positions. He gave her the number of Birame Sarr, International Medical Corps’ country director. “I had looked everywhere and no one gave me a chance, except Birame,” she recalled.
Marie-Claire was sent to Uvira, a city three hours southeast of Bukavu, to take her driving test. Faced with more prejudice, acquaintances accused her of getting her license because she wanted to seduce men. Used to driving in British-made cars, Marie-Claire had to quickly learn to shift on the right. She passed her test and was given a job with International Medical Corps, but when she started driving in Uvira, people shouted at her or refused to get out of the vehicle’s way. Men marched in front of the International Medical Corps office to protest Marie-Claire’s position. Authorities called International Medical Corps to complain that a woman was doing a man’s work.
“There were two issues,” Marie-Claire explained, “That I was a woman and that I was from out of town. They wanted a man, a local man, to have the job.”
These problems subsided when Marie-Claire was transferred to the International Medical Corps base in Bukavu, her home town. Within the organization, she found the other drivers were much more willing to accept her,and people in the area soon grew used to seeing her behind the wheel.
Marie-Claire notes the most difficult part of the job now is navigating the treacherous roads, not the cultural stereotypes. She often makes the trip from Bukavu to Chambucha, a field site with an active hospital, in the heart of the former conflict zone. While the road is just 70 miles long, the drive can take anywhere from six hours to 24. The rainy season wreaks havoc, turning the road into a rocky, muddy morass, with Land Rover-sized troughs of water. During periods of increased instability, however, in a region where government troops and rebels continue to vie for territory, the trip is even more difficult. Security checkpoints proliferate, and Marie-Claire must stop for what can be hour-long negotiations at each control.
Despite the tremendous obstacles she has faced, and overcome, Marie-Claire enjoys her work, and relishes the opportunity to help other women. She has taught a number of women how to drive, and offers advice and support to many others. “I tell them not to be afraid; have sang froid. If you come across an obstacle, you have to try and get by. If you can’t, just start again.”
Perhaps this singular determination is why, Marie-Claire reports, people still call her “shindikana”, the Swahili word for a difficult woman, one who rejects femininity. It is also what enables her to negotiate the problematic terrain she travels each day.