One of the perks—and challenges—of my role in humanitarian operations was being the sole custodian of the organization’s only spectrum analyzer, a $30,000 piece of sensitive equipment. It was vital for calibrating duplexers for VHF repeaters across Africa, and its fragility meant that no one else was allowed to use it.
At one point, this analyzer became the focal point of an operation in Goma, DR Congo, where the military—formerly a rebel group—had confiscated all UN handheld radios in the area. The reason? They had stolen radios during their rebel days, failed to reprogram them, and were now using our repeaters for their communications.
Facing Down a Commander
I flew into Goma with the analyzer and reprogrammed nearly 100 radios on-site, directly under the watchful eye of the local military commander. As I worked, he casually asked if I could also tune the duplexer on their repeater. I politely declined, claiming the instrument was “broken.”
The truth was that our repeater’s coverage far outpaced theirs, and I had no intention of improving their system. The situation was tense, but I managed to complete the reprogramming without further issues.
The following day, I flew to Kigali—a mere 20-minute flight—to avoid the treacherous roads. At the airport, however, things took a sharp turn. Officials tried to confiscate the spectrum analyzer, and I refused to let it go. This resulted in my temporary “arrest.”
It wasn’t until the UN Security Officer intervened that I was released. He provided a signed note granting me permission to retrieve the analyzer when departing for Entebbe the next day.
Kinshasa, Civil War, and Close Calls
Not long after, I found myself in Kinshasa during the final days of the civil war in Congo-Brazzaville. Peter, another colleague, and I were tasked with reestablishing communications so the UN operation could resume after the conflict.
From our hotel, we could see the fighting across the river in Brazzaville. It was surreal, watching the last bursts of war play out while preparing for our mission.
When the time came, we crossed the river on a local ferry, escorted by an armed contingent of former Cobra rebels—now rebranded as government soldiers. The atmosphere was tense. The new government forces were still clearing out the Elf Tower, a key location littered with booby traps and pockets of resistance.
As we traveled through the city, sporadic bursts of Kalashnikov fire echoed around us—dududu, dududu. It was a chilling soundtrack to our journey.
A Narrow Escape
Inside one of the UN compounds, the tension reached a breaking point. We heard shouting in French, followed by gunshots just outside the gate. Someone had been executed.
Years later, Peter confided in me that he thought we might be next. He spoke French and understood the heated exchanges better than I could. Thankfully, the situation de-escalated, and we managed to complete our work without further incidents.
Reflection
These experiences, while harrowing, underscored the complexity and danger of working in conflict zones. From delicate negotiations with local commanders to life-threatening situations, every day was unpredictable.
Yet, these moments also reaffirmed why this work mattered. Setting up communications in such environments was more than a technical challenge—it was a lifeline for humanitarian operations and a symbol of hope in chaos.