They're not just thirsty for victory. The early hour doesn't stop the "wazalendo" – "patriots" in Kiswahili – from chugging beer after beer in a bar in Goma, the capital of North Kivu. Flanked by two companions, Tsongo Balume, a pseudonym, opted for a Turbo King, the brown beer of "strong, virile men." The robust-looking 26-year-old militiaman, battle-hardened by years of conflict in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), doesn't need to specify against whom he is fighting: "Foreigners who have come to invade us," he said, referring to the rebels of the March 23 Movement (M23), supported by neighboring Rwanda according to several reports, including those by United Nations experts.

"Before, we too were called rebels. Today, they call us wazalendo and we don't hide anymore," said Tsongo Balume, a member of the Mazembe Mayi-Mayi, a local self-defense group now associated with regular soldiers. The term, and the patriotism it conveys, is being used in political discourse in the run-up to the general elections (presidential, legislative, provincial and some communal) scheduled for December 20.

Unable to restore peace, the country's authorities have exacerbated national sentiment. In November 2022, Félix Thisekedi called for the formation of "vigilance groups against the expansionist ambitions" of the M23, which at the time was threatening to take Goma. The country's youth were also encouraged to take up the uniform. Since then, according to Kinshasa, 40,000 new recruits have joined the ranks of the Armed Forces of the Democratic Republic of Congo (FARDC).

Secret coalition

Other inhabitants of North Kivu, however, have preferred to join the 100 or so militias that already existed in the east of the country. "It was the Head of State's call that motivated us," said Patrick Paluku, spokesman for the Forces d'Action Rapide (FAR), who is also a candidate for the national parliament. According to him, 1,800 civilians have joined his group. It remains impossible to estimate the total number of new militias or new recruits.

The alliance between the military and armed groups, who have often fought each other for years and some of whose leaders are accused of war crimes, was formalized in May 2022, at a meeting in Pinga, a remote village between the Walikalé and Masisi territories. A secret coalition was formed. It is now official and has a legal basis. On September 3, a decree legalized the presence of militias within the FARDC. The promise of integration has not yet materialized but it has already had a political impact: Several wazalendo groups have called for votes in favor of Tshisekedi's re-election.

The fact remains that relations between soldiers and militiamen are tumultuous. Tsongo Balume says he no longer has the courage to return to the front, tired of being placed on the front line by soldiers incapable of fulfilling their role. "The FARDC are jokers. They're used to running away from the enemy, so sometimes we correct them by boxing them," said one of his companions, whose loose floral shirt concealed a wound caused by a shell explosion. His damaged lungs didn't stop him from smoking two cigarettes at a time.

'Magic' protection

Beside him, Kamori, who requested anonymity, also did a string of "stems," but without losing his seriousness. Beneath his khaki green anorak, a pink straw pouch was hidden in his crotch. "That's a secret," he said. Like the others, the militiaman of the Congolese Revolutionary Movement (MRC) said he had been tattooed. Thanks to this "magical" protection, they believe themselves invulnerable to bullets, and often fight armed with knives, axes and slingshots. "Sometimes even guns," they said.

In the eastern part of the DRC, however, the word wazalendo has several dimensions. "It's become an expression that everyone borrows," said Christian Badose, as he greeted his supporters and distributed his leaflets. This candidate for provincial office is also one of the figures of the mystical-religious sect "Uwezo wa Neno" ("natural Judaic and messianic faith towards the nations," in Kiswahili), also nicknamed "wazalendo." It is a non-violent movement that supports those who fight.

Its leader, Pastor Ephraïm Bisimwa, was sentenced to death on October 9, notably for "participation in an insurrectionary movement." On the night of August 30, Republican Guard soldiers opened fire on members of the sect, killing at least 57 of them as they planned a demonstration in Goma. "The intelligence services accused our group of being infiltrated by M23 rebels," said Badose, still baffled by the justifications for this massacre when "the authorities agree with us and have taken the wazalendo doctrine and turned it into a populist discourse."

'Hassling' the population

Since October and the intensification of fighting, anything goes for the militiamen who claim to be wazalendo. On the outskirts of Goma, sometimes in mismatched fatigues, sometimes in simple civilian clothes, they blend in with the population, whom they do not hesitate to hold to ransom or "hassle," to use the local expression. On November 12, four civilians were killed in a dispute between soldiers and militiamen. The presence of armed men has also increased the vulnerability of women.

In October, 70 victims of sexual assault were visiting clinics run by Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) in the camps for displaced persons, where more than half a million people have arrived in two months. Weapons are now officially banned in the camps, according to a local official from the National Intelligence Agency (ANR).

"We're seeing a 118% increase in gunshot trauma," said a member of the medical staff at a Goma hospital, where both civilian victims and wazalendo fighters were being treated. On his bed in the middle of a corridor, Bikar shook his good leg to the rhythm of the love song playing on his loudspeaker. The other dangled, immobilized by a fracture. With his cap screwed on his head, this teacher by training hasn't always been fighting for the Alliance for a Free and Sovereign Congo (APCLS), which he joined five years ago. The 1001 struggles that have proliferated particularly in his native Masisi region, rich in arable land and minerals, have caught up with him.

Yesterday at war with rival militias, today with the M23, who knows against whom Commander Bikar will go to war tomorrow? He promises that nothing will stop him from liberating his country. Not even his wound, which he sees as an encouragement to continue the fight. "I'd say to my son, 'See this scar? I was fighting for your heritage'," he said. "I'd put it in his head that we have to fight for our land and for the integrity of the territory," as if the war couldn't stop.