Burundi: forbidden to defend

S. Prisons are overcrowded, at over 300% capacity. Most of the prison population consists of people awaiting trial, far outnumbering those already convicted. Some wait a year or two before appearing in court — for example, those who cannot afford to pay a lawyer to request that their case be heard. People are imprisoned for civil debts treated as fraud, or for minor offences for which imprisonment should not even be possible.

Among men, overcrowding is appalling. Some sleep outside in the prison yard, under the open sky. When it rains, they have no roof for shelter and are exposed to the weather. In the prison where I was held, a large wall separated the women from the men. The women’s dormitories had about fifteen 90-centimetre-wide beds, with two people sharing each one. We slept head-to-toe to try to save a little space. Mattresses were also laid on the floor in the dormitories — sometimes as many as ten. A dormitory could hold around forty women, with only limited access to showers and toilets, which were intended for fifteen people.

Overcrowding is even harder to bear in the corridors of the prisons. Some people sleep directly on the floor, on hard mattresses or on piles of their own clothes. The corridors are the most crowded places. Moving around is extremely difficult. The incarcerated people who have to sleep there get trampled.

Children can be imprisoned from the age of fifteen, but this depends on their ability to prove their age. The rule that children must be held separately from adults is not always observed: juvenile facilities are scarce and located in only three provinces — Ruyigi, Ngozi and Rumonge. Some families prefer their child to be imprisoned in a facility closer to home, even if it means the child will be held with adults.

By law, children must be assisted by a lawyer, as must anyone facing a sentence of more than twenty years. In practice, only a small share of the prison population has access to such assistance, due to a lack of resources. Lawyers are overworked and discouraged by the situation. They are increasingly reluctant to take on criminal cases, as these no longer allow them to earn a living. In the absence of a lawyer, judges sometimes refuse to hear a case. They claim the law forbids them from doing so and deliberately delay proceedings. Often, a representative of the accused must pay for the case to be heard. Many cases therefore remain pending, and files are set aside until legal representation is secured. This situation has led to a kind of shadow economy inside the prisons: some individuals who have already served time offer to follow up the cases of others still inside, in exchange for money.

S. The prison authorities usually provide beans and flour. Incarcerated people mix them with water, but getting water is a real battle. Water cuts are frequent in prison. At 9:00 a.m., the supply is shut off. If you want to fetch water, you have to get up at 5:00 and almost fight for it. Everyone pushes and shoves; there’s no queue. People who can afford it pay others to fetch water for them to avoid the chaos. The water comes back around 6:00 p.m. In the meantime, there are jerrycans for using the toilet. The authorities claim the cuts allow other prisons to have water during the day. Relatives who can afford it sometimes bring jerrycans of water during visiting hours.

Recently, prisons have been hit by a food crisis. The rations provided by the state are insufficient, especially due to a shortage of beans. Families are allowed to bring raw food, which prisoners cook themselves. There’s a small shop in prison where incarcerated people can buy, for example, vegetables — at quite a steep price. The food supplied by the authorities is far from balanced; only those with means manage to get the bare minimum of nutrition.

Severe overcrowding and a shortage of food have led to widespread malnutrition. During my imprisonment, women went to the men’s prison to pray, and we saw the state they were in. Sometimes, a group of incarcerated women would cook food and take it to the malnourished men.

Many incarcerated women suffer from urinary tract infections. Stomach aches and malaria affect almost everyone because of the appalling hygiene conditions. Access to medical care is extremely limited: there’s an infirmary, but it only has paracetamol and a few tablets for stomach pain. Serious cases can be transferred to a public hospital, but the process is complicated. Some people arrive with a small stock of medicine and share it during their time inside.

The buildings in most prisons are made of concrete, but they’re old and in poor condition. Hygiene is dreadful. Some incarcerated men go for months without being able to shower. There are lice. People can only disinfect their beds if they can afford to do so. Many fall ill or develop mental health problems such as depression. Some prison directors admit they’re powerless to address the situation.

S. Visiting rights are sometimes severely restricted, and visits are closely monitored for those arrested on political grounds. Political influence is pervasive in the courts. The Ministry of Justice is heavily influenced by the ruling party and the intelligence services. Judges are not independent in their decisions and cannot rule impartially. They are often swayed by politically guided arguments. Ordering the release of a political prisoner is almost unthinkable for magistrates. It is not uncommon for a judge to be imprisoned because of a case they have handled. Corruption is widespread, fuelled in part by the very low salaries of magistrates.

Human rights defenders in Burundi are unable to speak freely. Most now live in exile in Rwanda, Uganda, or Belgium. People live in a climate of fear, where few dare to speak openly. There have also been reports of enforced disappearances.

The National Independent Human Rights Commission of Burundi (Commission nationale indépendante des droits de l’homme du Burundi, CNIDH) is supposed to protect and promote human rights independently. In theory, it can be consulted by state institutions; in practice, its independence has been compromised since its creation in 2011. Members are appointed following a public call for applications within civil society, targeting university lecturers, members of women’s rights or human rights organisations, child protection advocates, or religious representatives. They are elected by the National Assembly and then appointed by the President of the Republic for a four-year term, renewable once. The first commission, established in 2011, was recruited impartially. It was a new body, unconnected to those in power, bringing together a range of human rights advocates in a politically tense context. The government had little understanding of the commission’s potential impact, and its reports achieved considerable importance thanks to their independence. Of the seven commissioners, only one was reappointed for a second term. During the next round of appointments, the ruling party took on a much greater role in allocating the posts, and the commission’s independence began to erode. Everything depends on who gets appointed.

The third commission was completely dissolved by the Speaker of the National Assembly in April 2025, before the end of its mandate. Its president has since gone into exile. The commission only involves civil society when doing so serves its political interests, particularly in relation to the accreditation system established by the Paris Principles: Institutions fully compliant with these principles receive “A” status, while those only partly compliant are labelled “B”. When the CNIDH is downgraded to “B” status, it re-engages with civil society; for instance, it recently took up the case of a journalist who has been imprisoned for two years. But as soon as it regains “A” status, it stops responding to requests for help. Many families contact the commission to report cases of enforced disappearance, yet it remains silent.

A new commission president was appointed in May 2025. The CNIDH no longer deals with sensitive cases. It could speak out about prison conditions but chooses not to. Its reports remain vague, and it refuses to cooperate with exiled human rights defenders. It also declines to work with the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the situation of human rights in Burundi, who has never been granted a visa to enter the country and instead works with exiled Burundians in Rwanda, Uganda, Belgium, and elsewhere.