Baraka Kabera: From Refugee Camp to Restorative Justice

“Everything that’s around me today, it’s always been a dream to me,” said Baraka Alex Kabera, a PLNU student in the Bachelor of Arts in Criminal Justice program. “I remember me and my friends back home saying, ‘Oh, we wish we could be in America so we could go to school.’”

From leaving his Uganda home in the dead of night to building toward a future of fostering justice in the United States, Baraka’s life in education has been distinguished by both challenge and excitement. But it’s a journey for which he couldn’t be more grateful.

“Sometimes I look around, and I’m the only one out of my friend group that made it here,” he said. “So I take it very seriously. When I’m going to school, I’m doing it for them, I’m doing it for my family, and I’m doing it to make my younger self proud.”

Life in a Refugee Camp

Baraka was born and raised in Kyangwali Refugee camp in western Uganda. His parents came there from the Democratic Republic of Congo — like many who lived there, they came there to flee conflict.

“When I turned 4 or 5 my father took me to my first school, Kinakyeitaka Primary School,” Baraka said. “I still remember to this day there was this new language roaming around the refugee camp: English. Everyone is talking about it; everyone is saying if you want to succeed, you have to learn this new language.”

It seemed that from the beginning, Baraka’s family was looking to the world beyond. To them, the English language represented opportunity.

“I remember when I was young, my father would always jokingly say, ‘One day I am gonna take you to America,’” Baraka said. “But that [really] was our option of surviving and succeeding in getting out of the refugee camp. The lowest that you can be in life is in a refugee camp. And the highest rank you could get out of a refugee camp is going to an outside country.” 

He remembers the camp receiving visitors from America and Europe. He explained that only people from other countries ever visited the camp. 

“They would talk to us in English, but [it was] so fast that I couldn’t understand,” he said. “But I would always go watch, listen to how they were talking, and try to get at least one word in.”

Baraka said English was the most difficult to learn out of the six languages he speaks. 

“English wasn’t spoken on the streets, or in the villages,” he said. “I remember when you’d speak English, people would gather around and listen to you, even just saying ‘My name is Baraka.’ Everyone was shocked.”

Baraka persevered in his studies, especially thanks to those around him. One teacher organized formal debates and appointed Baraka to participate, even though he was shy as a child. He remembers his parents encouraging him constantly.

“They were always telling me to just keep going,” he said. “My father would even make false promises [to motivate me], like, ‘If you pass this class, I’m gonna buy you a new outfit.’”

His father was the chairman of the Kyangwali Refugee Settlement. He had a great reputation for strong leadership, conflict resolution, and reconciliation.

“He used to bring in people that had conflicts between each other and needed somebody to talk to them,” Baraka said. “Most of the time, they’d kick me out, [saying], ‘This is an adult conversation.’ But I was very curious and I would hide and listen to these conversations.

“I [heard] how people that were fighting — almost ready to cut each other with knives — and in the end, they’d shake each other’s hands and be friends again. He’d bring people who were ready to divorce, and they’d come together, shake hands and hug, and go back to their families. He brought hope to the people of Kyangwali to the point they didn’t want him to leave.”

He remembers his father also being strict, however. He recalls one time that he found some money on the street and took it home, and his parents initially thought that he stole it and punished him severely for it. 

“People rarely touch money there,” he said. “It’s an agricultural system: you farm, you eat; you farm, you eat… so they really thought I stole it.”

Discipline and reconciliation were two sides of justice modelled by Baraka’s father. These were qualities that would later shape Baraka’s concept of restorative justice, which he brought to the classroom with him in his criminal justice studies. He also connected these ideas to what he learned from Scripture. 

“The Bible talks about justice,” he said. “[There’s] a sort of harsh justice, but then there’s something where you’re supposed to have empathy. It has both sides of justice.” 

Coming to the U.S.

Baraka described that the process of leaving Uganda took eight years. Representatives from the United Nations visited refugee camps like Kyangwali and listened to families’ stories. They looked for families that needed the most help and had the fewest options, and would ask the head of the family, “If you had the opportunity to go to America, would you take it?” Baraka always knew this was a possibility, but didn’t let his hopes rise too much.

“Leaving the refugee camp is like winning the lottery.”

“Leaving the refugee camp is like winning the lottery,” Baraka said. 

But that’s just what happened to Baraka’s father. As he had left the Democratic Republic of Congo due to conflict, Baraka’s father was offered the opportunity to take his family to America. The process took a long time, including background checks and medical checkups for the whole family. The whole time, Baraka never knew they were set to leave Uganda until the night before they went.

“I overheard my father talk to my mother. He told her, ‘We are leaving tomorrow.’ This was the biggest news I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” 

His father walked to the next room and asked Baraka whether he had overheard anything. When he realized Baraka had heard the whole conversation, he told his son not to leave the house, for fear of rumors spreading that they were leaving. Baraka’s father had been recently reelected as chief and was beloved in the community. Unfortunately, people’s reliance on him made it dangerous for Baraka’s family to leave the camp.

“We had to leave in the middle of the night,” Baraka said. “We took a taxi through the jungle for at least 8 hours to Entebbe International Airport, the only airport in the country that was available at the time.”

From there they stayed in Kampala, the capital of Uganda, for two weeks before they flew to Dubai. Then from Dubai, they finally arrived in the United States. It was such a blur for Baraka (and he was so new to the country) that he doesn’t remember exactly where he arrived, but he knows it was either Los Angeles, Chicago, or New York. What he does remember was the mix of excitement and uncertainty he felt when he arrived. 

“I remember we got here, in this new place that I’ve been dreaming about my whole life. I’m finally here. Now what?”’

The Alliance for African Assistance placed his family in a hotel for two more weeks while they figured out next steps.

“The first week, I was not eating at all, because I’m a very picky eater,” Baraka said. “My family would bring us food in the hotel, they would eat and I would just watch them.”

Baraka remained hungry at the hotel until one day, there was a knock at their door. 

“It was somebody that was speaking a language close to our language and they said, ‘Do you guys want some African food?’” Baraka said with humor. “I [said], ‘Thank you for showing up! I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.’”

After their hotel stay, the family was taken into a home for two months while they sought out an apartment. They used food stamps and other services to help afford the essentials. Baraka eventually came around to American food, but that wasn’t the only thing that took some getting used to. The way people dressed, the language, and the social customs were all unfamiliar at first. 

“One of the first things that was very shocking to me was it was the first time I ever saw a woman driving a car. I was like, ‘Wow, that’s so cool.’”

He explained that where he lived, gender roles were more divided and strict in terms of authority and access to things like transportation and education.

“Everything was controlled mostly by men,” he said. “For a family that has boys and girls, most of the time they would educate the boys and not the girls because education is so expensive. I’ve seen more equality here [in America] in how people are being treated.”

Living in the city was another big adjustment.

“Where I’m from, we lived in houses made of grass and mud, and slept on mats,” he said. “You have to go get the grass and make the house from scratch and everything. 

“And being able to access water in the house…I remember we used to go fetch water and carry it on our heads, take it home, wash dishes, and cook with that water. So when I got here, I [thought] the houses were big. It was just amazing because these are things I used to watch in movies when I was younger.”

Thankfully, some classes he took in Uganda came back to benefit him in unexpected ways.

“In Kyangwali Secondary school, I remember learning about the state of California,” he said. “Our teacher taught us about the geography of California, and I was like, ‘Are we ever gonna use this? Why are we learning this?’ But now that I’m here, l see that maybe I was destined to be here.”

“Everything has been about prayer, about having faith, even when I feel everything is going wrong.”

Faith has been a cornerstone of Baraka’s family’s experience throughout the journey. He remembered going to church and Sunday school in Uganda, and spoke fondly about his mother praying aloud regularly throughout his life.

“Everything has been about prayer, about just having faith, even when I feel like everything is going wrong,” he said. “[When] I feel like I’ve lost everything, I [tell myself], ‘Think back to 10 years ago when you were in the village… is that how it is now? It’s definitely changed.’”

A Club Called African DNA

Baraka would rise to become a student leader in El Cajon High School, but it didn’t happen right away. At first, he had some challenges feeling accepted. He remembered one day in school, a classmate tried to pass a note past Baraka to another student. Baraka offered to be the go-between and help pass it along. 

“The other person said, ‘Oh, no, no; I don’t want to get Ebola,’” Baraka said. “It was a joke because I was African.”

Other students who heard were shocked and offended on his behalf, but Baraka had an empathetic response that turned a moment of ignorance into a moment of mutual understanding. 

“I [thought], ‘They don’t know where I’m from. I can’t criticize them for saying that unless they go there and see how it is, and [realize] that Ebola is no joke.’

“I remember when I was younger I’d walk past tents where they hold people who already got Ebola. They were just waiting there to die because you could not touch them or talk to them. When I was young and Ebola was going around the villages, there would be announcements: Wash your hands, don’t touch anybody’s hands, don’t eat outside. There were so many things that were against us in the refugee camps I never thought I would make it here.

“So when somebody made that joke, I didn’t take it as offensive. But later on I explained the situation to that person privately, and by the end of high school we were friends.”

At first Baraka was just trying to get by — being in high school in a new culture and taking classes in his sixth language was no easy task. Then, one of his teachers encouraged Baraka to join ASB. He said this was an important moment that helped boost his confidence.

“The first year, I didn’t say one word in the club,” he said, “I was the only African in the club, but it was a good experience.” 

The next year, another African student named Bonheur arrived at the school. Baraka was thrilled to hear another student ask him “What’s up?” in Swahili, and the two quickly became friends. They decided to create a club to help provide support and acceptance for other African students who might come to the school.

“The club was called African DNA,” he said. “The name was inspired by a Kendrick [Lamar] song called ‘DNA.’ [His] album welcomed me to America; I listened to it every day.”

African DNA widened to contain a lot of different cultures and languages from Africa. It became so popular at the school that others wanted to join, and they opened up the club to all students. As the club grew, they formed a student senate — Baraka was president for two years — and African DNA continued on after Baraka graduated.

“[Even though] the club was African DNA, everyone was welcome, because [everyone] welcomed us here,” he said.

Studying Justice at PLNU

After high school, Baraka went to Grossmont College and received his associate’s degree in political science. Following his parents’ divorce, Baraka became the main provider for his mother and siblings, so he took a break from education to focus on work. 

While taking some time figuring out his next steps, he visited his uncle, who lives in Tennessee with Baraka’s grandmother. Baraka’s uncle suggested he find a vocation to settle into.

“My uncle has always pushed me to go to school, ever since I was young,” he said. “I was asking him for advice, and he told me, ‘You know what could be good for you? Working in a courtroom.’”

His uncle encouraged him to consider a criminal justice bachelor’s program to help him pursue this goal. Shortly after, Baraka’s friend Bonheur invited him to his graduation. After co-founding African DNA with Baraka in high school, Bonheur had gone on to earn his bachelor’s from PLNU.

“I went to watch my friend graduate from Point Loma. And I remember saying to myself, ‘Next time there’s a graduation here, I have to be [the one] graduating.'”

“I went to watch my friend graduate from Point Loma,” he said. “And I remember saying to myself, ‘Next time there’s a graduation here, I have to be [the one] graduating.’” 

Baraka was accepted into PLNU’s Criminal Justice B.A. program. At first he wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to take courses around his work. However, PLNU’s accelerated undergraduate programs are designed to provide students with the same quality education but at a greater level of flexibility. This helps students of all ages and backgrounds to continue their learning in a way that fits with their diverse scheduling needs and personal goals.

“It’s [been] a little bit hectic, but I managed to pull through,” he said. “I work two jobs and I’m taking care of my mother and my siblings, but I still managed to spend late nights doing assignments. Point Loma is very flexible; when I told them what I was going through, they were able to help me out.”

Alfonso Esquer, program director for the criminal justice program at PLNU, was a huge point of inspiration for Baraka and helped solidify his ideas around justice. A pillar of Point Loma’s approach to the program is restorative justice, which teaches rehabilitation and empathy alongside holding people accountable for their actions. 

“I always thought that criminal justice was all about catching criminals and taking them to jail,” he said. “But after learning about [restorative justice], I realized that it’s also about helping them. 

“No one is born thinking, ‘One day I want to be a criminal.’ It’s just something that develops over time. It’s better to help them without assuming they’re criminals already — no matter what they’re going through.”

Although “restorative justice” was a new way to frame the concept, balancing the two sides of justice is something that’s been important to Baraka since the beginning.

“I’ve always wanted to be like my father,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to bring that kind of energy to help people heal.”

Baraka described one group exercise that students participated in that demonstrated the rehabilitative power of community and human connection.

“Everybody sits in a circle and says how their day is going, and what they’re dealing with. Through those discussions I discovered most people could use that.”

He also observed that this exercise addresses a wider problem that’s intertwined with justice and mental health.

“Men like me don’t usually like talking about [themselves],” he said. “If I know we’re having a safe conversation, I might be able to say some things that I probably never would’ve said to anybody.” 

He ended up trying this exercise with his family, and saw it strengthening their relationships. “I’ve been able to use what I learned from class and everybody’s been healing slowly,” he said. “Everybody’s been happy since then.”

Baraka said the faith-based approach to learning at PLNU helped him connect with the material — and his classmates — in a deeper way. 

“I’m a very religious person,” he said. “So doing prayers in class, and sharing so much, it was very comforting. We learned a lot about each other.”

“I’ve learned a lot from Point Loma, and I’m ready to make a change in the world.”

Looking Ahead

Amidst the positive experiences in his PLNU classes, Baraka noticed both in his personal life and in his studies the conflicts and challenges that are present in the United States, including for African Americans. 

“I’m a U.S. citizen and proud to be one,” he said. “I pray for everybody to just find peace in the whole universe. Life will never be perfect everywhere, but you just have to… have faith in God.”

Another side to restorative justice, he learned, is pushing to reform the justice system when inequities or inefficiencies exist. He decided to learn as much as he could about America so he could create a positive influence.

“There are things here I never thought would be taking place — the division within the country. And if I can make an impact on the system in some way, I’m gonna try.”

He also remains committed to the hope that peace will prevail over division in his parents’ home country of Congo.

“I remember my parents — and so many Congolese refugees around us — constantly praying for peace in the Congo so they could one day return home. They’re still praying for that peace today.

“Growing up, I’ve always wanted to go to the Congo. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of the Congo someday experiencing lasting peace, stability, and restoration. That hope has never left me. I am always dreaming of peace in Congo.”

For now, he’s absorbing all he can from his classes. 

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t really deserve to be in this school,” he said. “To this day, I’m like, ‘Who am I to go to Point Loma?’ But [I think] anyone can go to Point Loma as long as you’re willing to work with the teachers.”

Still, challenges remain for Baraka and his family, especially when it comes to the cost of living in San Diego. Even still, Baraka’s relentless optimism and faith in Christ helps him remember that although it’s never been easy, there are always good things ahead. 

“I do what I do because I want to be able to support my family,” Baraka said. “I want to make sure they don’t need anything else in the future. Make sure that everything they need, they have it.

“Sometimes I don’t know if I’m gonna have enough to pay rent for this house. But I have trust in myself and trust in God that I’m gonna be able to do it, I’m gonna have the strength to go out there and find something before the end of the month.

“God is behind me… everything I’m going through, He’s got me. If He’s managed to help me survive a refugee camp, epidemics, Ebola, cholera, malaria, and now I’m here — I don’t feel like I’m here just to hang out. I accept God’s calling, and I’m ready for the next steps.”

“I’ve learned a lot from Point Loma, and I’m ready to make a change in the world.”