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Cockroaches, God, Death, and Mangoes: The True Story of Bikonzi Moise
Against the harsh realities of the Second Congo War, Cockroaches, God, Death, and Mangoes reveals an extraordinary tale of survival and resilience.
When six-year-old Bikonzi and his family are torn from their home and thrust into the horrors of a concentration camp, they must navigate a world where hope is scarce and survival comes at a steep cost. As Bikonzi grapples with the absence of God and the omnipresence of Death, his family makes a pact to endure—no matter the compromises and sacrifices required.
In this gripping true story, the Moise family’s journey reveals the unyielding human spirit’s ability to find light even in the darkest of times.
When six-year-old Bikonzi and his family are torn from their home and thrust into the horrors of a concentration camp, they must navigate a world where hope is scarce and survival comes at a steep cost. As Bikonzi grapples with the absence of God and the omnipresence of Death, his family makes a pact to endure—no matter the compromises and sacrifices required.
In this gripping true story, the Moise family’s journey reveals the unyielding human spirit’s ability to find light even in the darkest of times.
216 pages, Kindle Edition
Published September 16, 2025
6 people are currently reading
25 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
August 6, 2025
Special thanks to Clint for giving me an early copy of his debut novel! You’ll get history, biography, tragedy, hope, and a call to action in Cockroaches, God, Death, and Mangoes. The story of what happened to Bikonzi Moise and his family is nothing short of gut wrenching, as they were ripped from their homes and held captive in DR Congo simply because of the tribe they came from. Knowing their story is just one of many that people in war torn countries around the world face on a regular basis is horrid. However, the themes of faith and hope in tragedy shine through Bikonzi’s family amid their suffering. I was particularly inspired by the wisdom of Bikonzi’s mother, Rose, and her perseverance in taking care of her children. Beyond the details of the story, which certainly keep the reader gripped throughout as the family struggles to stay alive each day, the reader is challenged to consider how faith and hope play a role in their own suffering, what they think of death, and how they can participate in the ongoing refugee crisis around the world. This important story comes at a time where there are over 40 million refugees around the world. Don’t miss the chance to participate. Highly recommend reading this and letting it challenge your worldview and perspective!
July 13, 2025
Honored to read this true account of a dear friend and his family who lived through the horrors of a concentration camp during the Second Congo War. Incredible story of faith, resilience, and determination that humbled me to the core and compels me to find more tangible ways to serve resettling refugee families in our community.
October 14, 2025
What a fantastic and heartbreaking read— this was a story of a family being ripped from their home & experiencing true horrors while still managing to find faith in suffering. Sadly, the displacement and pain reflected in these pages is a reality faced by so many of our refugee brothers and sisters. I hope I can continue following along on the rest of the Moise journey !
August 9, 2025
A note from the author, yours truly:
“A friend is someone you share the path with.”
—African Proverb
I first met Bikonzi as an undergraduate freshman at the university we attended together. We lived on the same dorm room floor, and so would exchange casual nods and greetings in passing one another during our first semester there. These friendly and knowing glances evolved into deeper friendship after we encountered each other in a far less casual location later on: the basketball courts at the campus rec center. I’ve grown up competitive—I can’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t compelled to push myself to the final inch of my capacity in order to win anything, from board games to baseball and beyond, but in these moments on the basketball court, I realized I may have found someone whose competitive instincts even superseded mine. Bikonzi was an absolute hooper.
And so pickup basketball became a regular rhythm for us. I quickly learned that being on Bikonzi’s team was a far more enjoyable endeavor than competing against him: first, because his size (6’4” and nothing but lean muscle) and skills made him physically imposing to guard if you were, like me, a 6’1” skinny white kid; but second, and more importantly, if you played with Bikonzi, he’d regularly set you up with open shots. I gladly took on the role of outside shooter and hard-working defender to Bikonzi’s playmaking and scoring, and over those few weeks, we continued to hone our competitive kindred spirit alongside a collection of other teammates and friends we remain close with today.
It wasn’t until Spring Break during that same freshman year that I first heard the fuller version of his story. We traveled from Phoenix to California with two other close friends, where we stayed at the vacated home of one of their parents. There is perhaps no better formula for developing a friend—and, I would imagine, an enemy—than six hours in a car, followed by a week of constant proximity, shared meals, and the absence of any sort of personal schedule.
One afternoon, the four of us lounged in the living room after a morning at the beach. Someone brought up family histories, and Bikonzi began telling us pieces of his childhood. I remember the shift in the room. Surfboards and sandy towels lay scattered across the floor, but no one moved. His words were careful, deliberate. He was not yet telling us the whole story—not like you’ve read in this book—but enough of it that I sat there stunned, struggling to reconcile the man I knew from the basketball courts with the boy he had been in those moments of terror and loss.
That week was the beginning of my deeper understanding, but it was years later—long after college, after I had become a pastor, after I had gotten married—that we began the process of telling his story in full. We would sit down in my living room, or at a coffee shop, or in the church office, and I would ask him questions. Sometimes the answers came quickly; other times they came slowly, haltingly, weighted by memory. We laughed often, and sometimes we cried.
Telling a story like this is no small thing. For the one who lived it, it means revisiting moments of deep pain, fear, and loss. For the one writing it, it means carrying the weight of that trust carefully—resisting the temptation to sensationalize, while also resisting the temptation to smooth over what is jagged and unresolved.
The truth is, there are thousands—millions—of stories like Bikonzi’s. Some will never be told. Some will be forgotten. And yet, every story matters. Every life matters.
My hope is that in reading this one, you are reminded that the refugee crisis is not a distant, abstract problem. It is made up of real people, with real names and real faces, who have endured more than most of us can imagine. My hope is that you will allow this story to enlarge your heart, to widen the circle of those you consider “neighbor,” and to move you toward compassion that takes action.
For me, knowing Bikonzi has been a gift beyond measure. He has taught me about perseverance, forgiveness, and the kind of joy that is not naïve about suffering but is stubborn in the face of it. I am a better man, a better friend, and a better follower of Jesus because of him.
Bikonzi, thank you for trusting me with your story. And to you, the reader—thank you for listening.
Grace,
Clint Leavitt
“A friend is someone you share the path with.”
—African Proverb
I first met Bikonzi as an undergraduate freshman at the university we attended together. We lived on the same dorm room floor, and so would exchange casual nods and greetings in passing one another during our first semester there. These friendly and knowing glances evolved into deeper friendship after we encountered each other in a far less casual location later on: the basketball courts at the campus rec center. I’ve grown up competitive—I can’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t compelled to push myself to the final inch of my capacity in order to win anything, from board games to baseball and beyond, but in these moments on the basketball court, I realized I may have found someone whose competitive instincts even superseded mine. Bikonzi was an absolute hooper.
And so pickup basketball became a regular rhythm for us. I quickly learned that being on Bikonzi’s team was a far more enjoyable endeavor than competing against him: first, because his size (6’4” and nothing but lean muscle) and skills made him physically imposing to guard if you were, like me, a 6’1” skinny white kid; but second, and more importantly, if you played with Bikonzi, he’d regularly set you up with open shots. I gladly took on the role of outside shooter and hard-working defender to Bikonzi’s playmaking and scoring, and over those few weeks, we continued to hone our competitive kindred spirit alongside a collection of other teammates and friends we remain close with today.
It wasn’t until Spring Break during that same freshman year that I first heard the fuller version of his story. We traveled from Phoenix to California with two other close friends, where we stayed at the vacated home of one of their parents. There is perhaps no better formula for developing a friend—and, I would imagine, an enemy—than six hours in a car, followed by a week of constant proximity, shared meals, and the absence of any sort of personal schedule.
One afternoon, the four of us lounged in the living room after a morning at the beach. Someone brought up family histories, and Bikonzi began telling us pieces of his childhood. I remember the shift in the room. Surfboards and sandy towels lay scattered across the floor, but no one moved. His words were careful, deliberate. He was not yet telling us the whole story—not like you’ve read in this book—but enough of it that I sat there stunned, struggling to reconcile the man I knew from the basketball courts with the boy he had been in those moments of terror and loss.
That week was the beginning of my deeper understanding, but it was years later—long after college, after I had become a pastor, after I had gotten married—that we began the process of telling his story in full. We would sit down in my living room, or at a coffee shop, or in the church office, and I would ask him questions. Sometimes the answers came quickly; other times they came slowly, haltingly, weighted by memory. We laughed often, and sometimes we cried.
Telling a story like this is no small thing. For the one who lived it, it means revisiting moments of deep pain, fear, and loss. For the one writing it, it means carrying the weight of that trust carefully—resisting the temptation to sensationalize, while also resisting the temptation to smooth over what is jagged and unresolved.
The truth is, there are thousands—millions—of stories like Bikonzi’s. Some will never be told. Some will be forgotten. And yet, every story matters. Every life matters.
My hope is that in reading this one, you are reminded that the refugee crisis is not a distant, abstract problem. It is made up of real people, with real names and real faces, who have endured more than most of us can imagine. My hope is that you will allow this story to enlarge your heart, to widen the circle of those you consider “neighbor,” and to move you toward compassion that takes action.
For me, knowing Bikonzi has been a gift beyond measure. He has taught me about perseverance, forgiveness, and the kind of joy that is not naïve about suffering but is stubborn in the face of it. I am a better man, a better friend, and a better follower of Jesus because of him.
Bikonzi, thank you for trusting me with your story. And to you, the reader—thank you for listening.
Grace,
Clint Leavitt
September 1, 2025
This novel details the harrowing account of the Moise family who survived the devastation that was the Second Congo War. Their strength and resilience as a family unit was remarkable considering the magnitude of their suffering. The matriarch of the family, Rose, had tremendous courage and unwavering faith that she continued to demonstrate to her children even amidst unimaginable circumstances in a concentration camp. Most of us will never understand the depth of adversity refugee families experience, but this book encourages us to serve them, love them, and welcome them with open arms as neighbors to our communities.
August 16, 2025
It was a privilege to read this book—to deepen my understanding of the Congolese neighbors in my city by learning about the circumstances that caused them to come here for refuge. Clint writes Bikonzi’s story with the tenderness of a close friend and the professionalism of a researcher. I already have shared the book with several friends and look forward to reading it again myself.
September 28, 2025
Real gripping story. Telling the story from the point of view of the Bikonzi as a boy, without adding almost any context for an adult, passed on the same feeling of unpredictability that B had onto the reader. The afterword's added context impressed on me just how lucky B was to escape with his life.
October 11, 2025
Cockroaches, God, Death, and Mangoes is an incredibly eloquent and timely piece for the modern reader. Revelatory of the hardships that come in tandem with global conflict (particularly those less discussed), the chaotic nature of mass migration, and the role in which faith has to play.
A gift of a piece.
A gift of a piece.
November 26, 2025
Really enjoyed this narrative look into Bikonzi Moise's experience of living through the Second Congo War. I didn't know much about this war before this, but this book really opened my eyes to the heartbreaking experiences of the refugees. His mother's faith in the face of suffering was deeply inspiring.
December 29, 2025
A truly remarkable read. It’s feels like a privilege to be invited to experience their story of resilience, and is written in a way that brings intimate emotions to life. This piece is a welcomed nudge for the reader to consider their own community, and how it shows up for those in similar situations as the Moises
November 11, 2025
Glad I read this book! Had the privilege of studying under the author and forming a connection.
October 10, 2025
This book is captivating, heartwarming, and deeply moving. It challenges readers to grow and reflect if they’re willing to be moved by Bikonzi’s story. I found myself immediately after finishing looking up ways to get involved with refugee support in my area. Clint masterfully weaves the Moise family’s journey with such vivid description that you can truly see and feel each space they inhabited. I was especially moved by the strength and determination of AB’s mom and sacrifices of B’s sister. I’m deeply grateful for this book and the impact it’s had on me. I’m ready for book #2 and to hear the continued story of Bikonzi’s journey in America!
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews