There is a long list of reasons why the few women brave enough to report being raped do not try to get justice and an even longer list to show why those who do are invariably disappointed.

There is a long list of reasons why the few women brave enough to report being raped do not try to get justice and an even longer list to show why those who do are invariably disappointed. "Corruption in the prosecution service is a major problem," says Yves Kasongo, another lawyer with AJV. "Court officials also ask for bribes.

"Most women don't have the money for transportation to even reach the court. There is intimidation by the suspect's family, the danger of crossing distances of up to 250 miles alone and being raped again, and the cost of paying for the case. The government says that if a person does not have money to pay for a lawyer then the government will pay, but in reality that never happens."

There have been cases of death threats against AJV lawyers involved in the most high-profile cases and one of their members had to leave Bukavu recently to go into hiding while the court made its decision. For the successes they have had, they say the risk is worth it. Over the past two years AJV has dealt with 729 cases, 629 of which have been passed to police and prosecutors. Of those just 43 made it to court and 36 led to convictions. While the success rate sounds high, almost 95% never even saw the inside of a courtroom.

In 2006 the law on rape was updated and improved, but its implementation has been hampered by a lack of funding, trained personnel and court facilities. Most victims are considered lucky to get a goat. Arrangements "cordiale", in which the perpetrator pays recompense, are all too common in the villages where justice has been handed out by the chief - or Mwami - and his group of wise men, the Bajinji, since time immemorial.

"The belief in superstitions, fetishes and spirits, witchcraft and sorcery, is a real prob-lem," explains Colonel Freddy Mukendi Tshidja-Manga, the most senior military judge in the province. "Some say witchdoctors told them to rape young girls. In a recent case one soldier raped a group of girls. The oldest was eight years old and the youngest two months.

"Most of the soldiers in the militias and in the army have never been to school. There is a problem with discipline. Many of them are fed marijuana and other drugs. They stay in the forest so long they become like animals."

Bubega Matabaro Cheval, 63, is chief of the village of Cirhahegulwa, near Walungu. He rules over 320 people in the way his ancestors have done for centuries. His views help explain why there are so few women consider taking cases to court.

"If a man from the village were to rape a woman, we would take it very seriously," he says, while explaining how proud he is of his duties as a Mwami and cub scout leader. "He would have to pay back the value of her dowry to the woman's family. The wise men decide all the cases. If it cannot be decided by them, we would perhaps send it to court."

Decisions about crime, drought or war fall to the Bajinji. If a man steals a goat, typically they will order him to pay back five. If a resident commits murder, they decide whether he should be killed or exiled. For those willing to ignore the advice of their Mwami, there is of course the police.

Major Honorine Munyole leads the sexual violence and child protection programme for the police in South Kivu. Her empty desk is testament to their lack of resources. There is no computer. The few scraps of paper have been paid for out of her own pocket or via donations. Despite her seniority, she earns about $1 a day. Proudly, she shows us two small packages from the New York Police Department containing DNA swabs. Yet even if her staff were trained in how to take DNA evidence, there is nowhere to analyse the samples. Testing blood or taking fingerprints is out of the question.

Outside her office, the family of a suspect waits, bored and listless in the midday sun. They are trying to put pressure on the police and a rape victim to drop her case. While corruption is an everyday reality here, Munyole is unlikely to be swayed. She has even been imprisoned for pursuing a case because it implicated one of her superiors' relatives. Unfortunately, though, such women make up a tiny proportion of the police.

"The brother of my former chief was accused of raping a girl," she says, while showing us dusty handwritten records of the recent cases. "For investigating, I was arrested and thrown into a cell. I considered giving up. He only let me go because the UN and others intervened. Since then I have been even more determined in my work."

A mother of four, Munyole says she is motivated by the need to protect the most vulnerable and inspired by foreign television shows with tough female cops as heroines. Her husband was an academic but was killed trying to protect his studies. "Our work is not free from risks," she explains. "When we go to arrest men they often chase us and throw rocks. We need to work on prevention - to make clear this is not acceptable and that these men will be punished - but there are many areas we cannot even reach. Many victims take two or three days to walk here. We have no transport to pick them up or even take them to hospital."