He rests his hands among the wood shavings scattered across a board on his workbench, as if touching the curls and chips reminds him of who he now is - a furniture-maker in Goma and, at 17, almost a man. It's dark inside his shop: he works only with hand tools, as there is no electricity.

But not so long ago, he was a boy fighting a war in Democratic Republic of Congo.

Egiba Sango - not his real name - is one of about 3,000 child soldiers that the Concert d'Actions pour Jeunes et Enfants Défavorisés, or CAJED, has worked with since 1997. An Oxfam partner based in Goma, its mission is to help the children recover from the trauma of their combat experiences and return to normal lives. It's a challenge in a place where an estimated 5.4 million people have died from violence or war-related hunger or disease since 1998, with around 33,000 children becoming members of armed groups between then and 2003.

Successfully reintegrating them into community life is essential to bringing about lasting peace to the villagers in the eastern provinces.

Sango is part of that recovery effort. With a tool kit provided by CAJED that includes planes, saws, and a drill, he is making his living, paying $15 a month rent for a shed shared with a partner. A new bedstead and table stand in the dirt outside, announcing his wares and skills.

He speaks softly, his face nearly blank, as he tells a small crowd of visitors from Oxfam about the years he spent with the military.

The oldest of five children, he was eight when his parents died - poisoned, he says, by neighbours jealous of his parents' efforts to improve themselves. Sango was sent to live with an uncle whose wife decided she didn't like him and treated him badly. Determined to find a better alternative, he joined a military group. And that's when the real trouble started.

Life among the soldiers was brutal. He was made to walk day and night, sometimes without food. He was forced to carry heavy loads and bore frequent beatings. Once, the soldiers punished him by cutting his leg. Pulling up his trouser leg, he reveals an ugly scar on his right shin.

He tried to run away five times, once getting as far as 80 kilometers before stumbling into soldiers who recognised him and forced him to return. Finally, on his sixth attempt in 2005, he escaped for good.

For two years, Sango survived on his wits around Goma with two other boys who had also fled their military units. They would beg for food and, when one received a handout, he shared it with the others. Occasionally, they would steal to stay alive.

Eventually, one of the outreach workers from CAJED found him on the streets. The first stop was a three-month stay at a transit centre in Goma, the capital of North Kivu, where staff members work with youngsters on psychosocial issues and help prepare them to return to their families.

But Sango had no parents and no place to go. Instead, he enrolled in CAJED's training programme, learning enough skills in six months to launch his own small furniture-making business.

He finishes his story, and for the first time in nearly an hour of talk, life returns to his face when one of the visitors asks if he could make him a table. He flashes a smile. He's back in his shop, in control of his life, his boyhood behind him.

Rain pelts the metal roofs of the workshops as Gilbert Munda, CAJED's coordinator, conducts a tour of the wood-fired brick oven, electronics-repair room and the room where girls are learning to sew on big black sewing machines.

The reality of the trainees' lives becomes clear in a CAJED infirmary in a small wooden shack with a concrete floor. Dorotheé Mushesha, one of two nurses, is pounding a root into powder. When the centre runs out of modern medicines, she treats her patients with traditional plant remedies, keeping a small garden behind the infirmary for that purpose. The root she is pounding helps the kidneys, she says.

About 20 children a day come for treatment of conditions such as malaria, typhoid, worms and respiratory illnesses.

Munda describes the pressures that have pushed kids into the arms of military men willing to exploit their loyalty for their own murderous ends. Poverty has a stranglehold on their families, with many children unable to go to school or to find work.

Human rights advocates says the recruitment of child soldiers stems from a host of deeply-ingrained attitudes that hold little respect for the lives of individuals, including children, compounded by a widespread lack of basic services and social support networks.

But Munda is optimistic that, with help like that provided on the CAJED programme, children swept up in the horrors of war can recover their lives and become productive community members.

The rain has stopped by the time the visitors take their leave. On their way home, they pass Sango's shop again. The table and bedstead are still there, but are now beaded with rain. No one thought to bring them in, or cover them with plastic. Maybe there was none to spare.

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