Athletics is everything for one Tallaght teenager. And she's determined to go all the way to the top, writes Carl O'Brien.

In her family's small sitting room, in Tallaght, 17-year-old Lariche Mandiangu is pointing out her athletics medals and trophies. They are everywhere: sitting on the mantelpiece, perched on the television and ranged across the bookshelves. "This is the one I'm most proud of," she says excitedly, pointing to a large medal she won representing an Irish under-18 cross-country team last year. "Some of them didn't believe I was Irish when we won. It was only when they heard me talking that they realised that I was on the team," she says in a Dublin accent.

Her father, Nindja, is sitting upright, proudly watching his daughter as she buzzes around the room. "It's not a surprise to me that she has done well," he says. "She has great talent. This is our contribution to Irish society. When we came we had to sacrifice. People often don't know the way we really are. Some people said we came here to get money, a car, welfare. Some say we don't work. Now they can see that this is wrong. They can see our contribution."

Mandiangu's family came to Ireland nine years ago, to escape a country that is only now emerging from a disastrous civil war that has cost millions of lives, according to human-rights groups. As the number of people seeking asylum began to grow in the late 1990s, so too did the number of people in Ireland from the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Last year, with 3.2 per cent of asylum applications, they were the third-largest group of people seeking refugee status. This, however, is still just a fraction of the percentage taken by countries such as Nigeria, which alone accounted for almost 40 per cent of applications last year.

More than 25 per cent - a relatively high proportion - of Congolese applications were successful last year. Other African countries have success rates as low as 4 per cent. Although overall asylum figures have been dropping, 2,000 Congolese are now believed to live in Ireland, mostly in and around Dublin.

As in other immigrant communities with large numbers of asylum-seekers, unemployment remains stubbornly high. "There is a perception that Congolese people don't work because they don't want to," says Kensika Monshengwo, an academic now working with the National Consultative Committee on Racism and Interculturalism. "But in my experience they want to work. It's just that they either don't have the right to or it's because of language barriers or non-recognition of their qualifications."

Congolese people have found jobs in a wide variety of areas, although the growth in translation services is a rich source of employment for the mostly French-speaking population. "They are working in everything from bin collections for Dublin [City Council\] to factory work to catering. In computers there is a lot of work in translation. But there are not a lot of suit-and-tie jobs."

In St Mark's church on Pearse Street in Dublin a six-piece band is cranking out music as it practises for Sunday's service. Above the din Pastor Remba Osengo, the founder of Ireland's first African church, says that for the first time there are signs of the Congolese and Irish communities mixing. "We have had," he says, pausing to count them on his fingers, "around six mixed marriages in the last year, whether it's Irish and Congolese or Zaire and Irish, whatever combination. We are beginning to get Irish people coming to the congregations as well. This is exactly what we want to see. It says to me that there is hope that people can live together and break down the barriers of difference."

It is one of a number of signs of a community beginning to integrate, such as Congolese children progressing through the education system and adults entering the workforce in growing numbers.

The church, a branch of a born-again movement known as the Irish Missionaries of God, is the main gathering point for the local Congolese community each week. The Sunday service is a loud, boisterous and joyous affair that lasts several hours.

The spiralling guitar and hip-swinging rhythms of Congolese music, or soukous, are a major draw for people from other African nations, such as Angola, Zimbabwe and South Africa, who also flock to the weekly service.

"What we do here is like a replica of home. We had the first meeting of this church in a B&B in Kilmainham in 1996, with 36 people. Now we have congregations each week of up to 160, and there are another 26 African born-again Christian churches in Dublin," Pastor Osengo says in satisfied tones.

But despite the signs of increasing integration most people acknowledge that regular interaction is still all too rare. "Most people from the Congo, they are people who do not drink alcohol or go to the pub. They would love to be friendly with the Irish, they would like to be more sociable, but it can be difficult," says Egide Dhala, who works in the Sonas centre, which offers support to asylum-seekers. "There are also issues like the language barrier, which can be very difficult, and living in rental accommodation, where you don't get a chance to meet neighbours."

Many Congolese families form a kind of self-support structure in Dublin suburbs such as Tallaght, Clondalkin, Lucan and Clonsilla. The women in particular often operate a system known as likelemba, or sharing by turn, where they will combine their money to help one another fund a major purchase rather than rely on bank loans.

In many ways, according to Dhala, it is the children who are the key to integrating. "The barriers adults face are not an issue for children. They interact very well, they speak good English. My own children, for instance, have been told that they are the best in Irish at the school."

Back in the living room of the Mandiangus' home, a small council house in Killinarden, Lariche's father pulls back the curtains and points to a crack in the window. "It was children, throwing stones last month," he says. "You could call it racism, but I call it ignorance. This is isolated. In the community we are welcomed. We meet Irish people a lot, and I have friendships with many of them. If you go down the street you will see white children and black children playing together. People's attitudes are changing quickly."

But he says any hostility can be linked largely to politicians who have fuelled the perception that asylum-seekers and refugees are after one thing: welfare benefits. Also, he says, local authorities and gardaí have often been slow to act against racist incidents or to fully enforce the law. "While people are changing the authorities aren't. Many Irish don't care about colour. It's the authorities who need to change their attitude."

For Lariche, who barely remembers life in the Congo, she tries not to brush off such incidents. "Sometimes it puts you down, but you try not to let it affect you," she says shyly. The 17-year-old is as determined as ever to pursue her dream of participating with the Irish athletics team at the highest levels. "I don't want a normal life and a normal job. I want to be known for something I've sacrificed for," she says determinedly. "I want to go to the Olympics. That's my aim."

Series concluded