During the screening, I watched their expressive faces in the dim light. They were curious about the film and excited to see how they—and their stories—would come across on the screen. I saw that they listened intently, absorbing every word with immense pride. I hoped fervently that the film would do justice to them and their stories, and that they would be pleased with the result. They appreciated the film for its uncompromising nature. They loved that I hadn't "smoothed over" their statements, and that the extremely brutal stories from the rebel camp had not been omitted. It was vitally important to them that the world learn, in unvarnished detail, the full extent of these atrocities—something they had impressed upon me emphatically before filming began. Yet, during the screening, they also appeared pensive and deeply moved, as they relived on screen everything they had endured; they were struck by the realization of just how sick, ashamed, and hopeless they had felt a mere two and a half years earlier. After the screening, a silence hung in the air for several minutes. But then, they joyfully sprang onto the platform with me, embracing me, dancing around me, tossing me into the air, and—laughing with delight—showed me their appreciation and gratitude. The following day, I visited the women in their mud huts to see how they live today and what improvements had resulted from the fundraising campaigns I had launched alongside the film. Their huts had been repaired; the children were attending school; and the women were cultivating small plots of land and raising goats and guinea pigs. Although I suspect that a portion of the funds did not reach these specific women directly, the work of the church-run trauma centers in the districts of eastern Congo—as well as the women of the various *Simama* groups—did indeed receive financial support.