Urumuri

Kwibuka 26: Rwandans commemorate the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi.

Kigali, 7 April 2020 – Rwandans started on Tuesday the 26th Commemoration of the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi (also known in Kinyarwanda as Kwibuka). This also marked the beginning of the commemoration week and 100 days of remembrance.In a message to the nation, President Kagame noted that this year’s commemoration is “challenging for survivors and families and for the country”, as they cannot “be together physically to comfort one another”.“But the current unusual circumstances will not prevent us from fulfilling our obligation to commemorate this solemn anniversary, honour those we lost, and console survivors,” President Kagame said.

• Date: April 07, 2020

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Commemoration

The 21st Rwanda commemoration of the 1994 Genocide against the Tusti.

NGALI Holdings’ management, staff and its subsidiaries stand with all Rwandans to mark this 21st Commemoration of the 1994 genocide against the TUTSI as we remember, unite and renew.

• Date: April 2015

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Kwibuka

Rwanda Honors Dead,Celebrates Progress, 20 years after Genocide.

Performers re-enact the events of the genocide at Amahoro stadium on Monday. Ethnic tension between the majority Hutus and minority Tutsis erupted in 100 days of brutality.

• Date: April 07,2014

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Trauma Help

Ibuka outlines trauma help guidelines.

A volunteer helps a trauma victim during a past commemoration event at Murambi Genocide Memorial in Nyamagabe District.

• Date: April 07, 2020

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Walk to Remember

Kwibuka25:Solemn walk for genocide victims in Kigali

A solemn walk and candlelight vigil was held in Kigali on Sunday to commemorate the Rwandan genocide.President Paul Kagame led thousands of people to honor the lives of 800,000 Tutsi and moderate Hutus killed 25 years ago.“ We have to remember because, when you remember it protects, it is like keeping, giving the dignity, the respect to those who died and then it gives us a pride for those who survived us. Our generation, when we remember, it will teach the young people to keep remembering to know the things that happened “, said Geoffrey Kalisa, a Rwandan citizen.

• Date: April 09, 2019

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Remember

Rwanda Military Hospital commemorates Kwibuka25

On 10th May 2018, RMH management and staffs commemorated 1994 genocide against Tutsi.As they do every year to remember those perished during 1994 genocide against Tutsi, RMH did it again this year in honor of 25 years passed since genocide happened. The event started with a walk to remember starting from IPRC Kicukiro to Nyanza genocide memorial where 84,000 Tutsi were laid to rest.At the memorial staffs learned how the international community did nothing for helpless Tutsi who were asking their help but instead sent them to be massacred. Staffs also laid flowers for them as a sign that they will never be forgotten.After that, the staffs visited Niboyi Peace Village where over 105 orphans of genocide leave by themselves without any parental guidance

• Date: May 13, 2019

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Eric Murinzi

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I was born two months premature.

My mum was pregnant with me in 1993. My dad used to drive trucks from Rwanda to Nairobi, Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania. The Government at that time said he was a spy, so soldiers came to our home to capture him. He found out in time and ran away to join the RPF in Uganda. My mum was left at home.

One night the soldiers came and found her alone. They asked her, “Where is your husband?” She told them she didn’t know. They asked where her other children were and she told them she’d sent them to the village. “No, you are lying,” they said, and started beating her up.
When they were beating her she started feeling pains. They said to her, “so you want to give birth to a snake? Let’s help you.” They took a knife, they cut her and they pulled me out.

They left, thinking that we were going to die. The old woman next door, a Hutu, heard screaming in our house. After the soldiers left she came and took us both to the hospital. My mum stayed in hospital but the old woman took me back to her home. The genocide started at that point.
* I stayed with that old woman during the genocide, in Remera, near the stadium. People would see me with her and she would tell them, “This is my grandson.”

I used to go and visit her after the genocide. She was still living in the same place and so was my family. My brother Yuhi was killed during the genocide but my elder sister survived.
One day I came home from school and found out the old woman had died. That was in 2006.
I went to her place and cried a lot, like she was my mum. What I hear from people is that her children are in prison now because they were Interahamwe. I don’t know them personally.

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Karen Bugingo

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Growing up in a post-genocide generation, you hear a lot of different stories and every story is worse than the one you’ve just heard.

I grew up thinking that Rwandans were the strongest-hearted people. People talk about how their entire families were wiped out, or how someone had ten children and now they only have two. I spent my childhood wondering how those people move on from that. Every Kwibuka, I’m stunned.

How are these people still living their lives? I really don’t understand. I feel like an outsider looking in. My grandma tells me that when we fled we saw many dead bodies, but I was only two years old. I don’t remember anything. My own life story sounds just like that – like a story.

My body was physically in Rwanda, but emotionally I don’t connect. Quite honestly I don’t miss my parents. You can’t miss people you don’t remember. I honour their memory by listening to stories about how they loved each other but I’m never sad because I never felt their absence.

My grandma made sure we went to the best schools, we never lacked for anything. I lived a very normal, happy life. I realise how blessed I am to have been adopted by my own family. When I was younger, I felt guilty that I was not struggling like the other genocide orphans. In high school we had a support group for genocide orphans and survivors but I didn’t feel as though I belonged with them. I mean, what would I have to say to them?

I don’t think your whole being should be judged by what your past holds. As a Rwandan I’m much more than an experience connected to genocide. It happened, yes, but can we just move on? Surely there is a way to talk about Rwanda without focusing on the genocide. At the very least you can add other nice things about Rwanda into the conversation. We are a people who have been to hell and bounced back, we are that strong.

I was diagnosed with cancer when I was 19. I wrote a book about what I was going through, to find my voice in the midst of that chaos. It’s my story of hope and courage, which, I think, reflects the history of my country.

It’s called My Name is Life.

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Mussa Uwitonze

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I am holding tight to the cloth of my mother’s dress, the instruction clear: “Mussa, hold this. Hold tight. Don’t let go.” We are fleeing Rwanda, crossing the border in the DRC, heading to Goma – my family a drop of water in a sea of people. My parents are carrying my little sister and the luggage. They do not have enough hands for me.

A man pushes past. I am three years old. I let go. I climb a little hill, scramble to the top, scanning faces, calling Mama! Mama! Mama! It is only later in the orphanage when they’re trying to trace my family that I realise that I do not know their names. Every other child on the hill was calling Mama too.

My daughters are four and two. It was a struggle at first, being a father, having not had my own father to teach me how to do it, but I’m getting better now. One thing I make sure is that they know my name. I make them practice it. I wake them up, ask them, what is my name?

Mussa, they say, Mussa Uwitonze. It used to be that it was a mark of disrespect in Rwanda to call your parents by their name, but not . I want them always, always to be able to find me.

I teach them ‘Mussa’, not ‘Samuel’, the Roman Catholic name I was given in the orphanage. Mussa is a Muslim name. I cannot remember my parents’ faces, but I remember the call to prayer, waking up, going with them to the first of the five daily prayers.

So my children call me Mussa and with that name they remember their father. And I remember mine.

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Consolee Nishimwe

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Life in Rwanda before the genocide was beautiful. I was fortunate to have good parents and a great family. I had a happy childhood despite all the things that the country was enduring at that time and the discrimination against us as Tutsis. My parents are carrying my little sister and the luggage. They do not have enough hands for me.

Things started to change way before 1994, even before I was born. Tutsis had always been discriminated against and most of them went into exile while those who remained in the country were sometimes denied certain services. I started to experience this discrimination when I joined school as a young girl. However, the situation got worse when we started hearing local radio stations calling Tutsis “cockroaches” and “snakes,” explaining how they were going to kill us. And then the genocide happened.

My parents tried to protect us from all the rumours that were going around, yet I could see the fear in their faces. At that time, I was not paying much attention to their reactions. After the genocide that’s when I thought: “Wow, they were really scared, they were fearful of what was going to happen.” As a child, I never thought there would be genocide. I kept saying to myself, “I will go back to school despite all that is being said.” I never expected what happened, especially because my neighbours and friends were Hutus; we were going to school together and visited each other’s homes.

Exactly, and it really affected me. Every survivor will tell you how horrible it was. The announcements over the radio were becoming increasingly alarming; it was really scary to hear how Tutsis were being killed in some areas of Rwanda. We were told we would be killed. It became risky staying at home as people were being killed in their own homes and in the streets. So my family and I, as many other Tutsi families, were forced to run away from home and hide. I still remember how scared my parents were, but as children, my siblings and I thought the mayhem would stop soon but that was not the case.

We spent three months hiding in many different places and during this period many of my family members were murdered — including my father, my three brothers, my grandparents, my uncles, and many friends. My father was the first person to be killed, followed by my brothers. So my mother, my sisters and I kept hiding without knowing whether we were going to survive or not. I also remember hearing the people who took my father talking about how happy they were to have killed him. It was one of the worst times in my life. I wished they had killed me too.

We survived but we were crashed emotionally and psychologically, especially my mother. We didn’t want to leave; we just hoped we could die too. So we just kept praying and hiding, without knowing whether we would survive or not. The killers were also raping and torturing women. During the time we were hiding, I was among the many girls who were raped and, unfortunately, I contracted HIV as a result. It was very hard for me. I can’t find words to describe how I felt. I never thought I would be a normal teenager again.

I was deeply wounded. I still have nightmares. Yet, the voice of God kept telling me never to give up. Having my sisters and my mother around, someone I could speak to, helped a lot. Being able to tell my personal story to others helped me in my healing journey. People are still going through tragedies around the world. Terrorist groups are doing horrible things to people. This is why we need to speak up and be a voice for these people.

I want to be a voice for the genocide survivors, especially women, who are still not able to share their own stories. When they hear me telling my story, they feel that there is someone out there who has gone through similar trauma. It is also a way of honoring those who lost their lives during the genocide. We do not want them to be forgotten. My first experience telling my story, however, was not easy. I did not have words to describe what happened to me and my family.

Telling my story in many other places where Boko Haram, ISIS and other terrorist groups are doing horrible things, I feel obligated, like other advocates and social activists, to contribute to help raise our voices to stop these horrible deeds. Every time I think that someone like me, a young girl, is being tortured and raped, or people are being killed, I am convinced that my voice, in my capacity as a survivor, must be used to help prevent such things. Hopefully, our world would be a better place.

I am a gender activist, focusing on women survivors around the world where there is conflict, not just in Africa.

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