Tag Archives: Genocide

For my existence, I owe this very truth: Memories of my Mother ❤️

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“These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” ~ John‬ ‭16‬:‭33‬ ‭NKJV‬‬

There are topics that I get excited to write about and share, yet there are others that give me pause, particularly when sharing over the vast expanse of cyberspace with individuals I may never encounter face-to-face. It truly exposes a sense of vulnerability within me. Nevertheless, since launching this blog and founding Rising Above the Storms (RAS) over a decade ago, my goal has been to open up to my readers and audience about the wounds of my past, narratives of the present, and the person I aspire to become.

If you are new to my blog, I frequently delve into my personal journey amid the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda. I recount the harrowing stories of humans who became ferocious animals. I share about the tragic loss of my loved ones, the struggles, and immense grief I faced as a young girl, and the arduous path toward healing, forgiveness, and embracing hope. Amidst the trials, I attribute the person I have become today to the profound encounter with God throughout this tumultuous journey.

My Dearest Mommy, the Source of My Inspiration

The month of April permanently reminds me of the darkest time of my life, an experience that left me with wounds that defy healing from any human, object, or time. Amid numerous close calls with death throughout April and subsequent weeks, one particular date stands out as pivotal in shaping my identity: Sunday, April 24, 1994.

That fateful afternoon marked a week since my mother had assumed the role of the head of the household, thrust into this responsibility abruptly. Exactly one week prior, on Sunday afternoon, April 17, my father—my cherished confidant—was murdered. We learned of his death while cowered in hiding and overhead the Hutu Interahamwe militiamen passing by. They boasted: “We just killed Alphonse and cut him into three pieces; he indicated that he left a wife and five children behind. Where are they? We’ll finish them all.”

As newcomers to this town, my resilient mother may have hoped we could blend in unnoticed, believing perhaps that our lives might be spared. Unfortunately, this hope proved futile. On Sunday afternoon, April 24, my mother, elder brother, cousin, and I were led by Hutu Interahamwe militiamen to a mass grave in Mulindi, Kanombe, northeast of Kigali, a mere ten-minute distance from the Kigali International Airport. Despite our unfamiliarity with the area and the fact that the militiamen didn’t know us, our appearance alone betrayed our identity. Trapped in this moment, escape was inconceivable.

My entire family in one place, the only photo I have of us together. Blurred faces are friends/relatives.

We were instructed to sit down on the top of the looming mass grave, a pit that had already consumed countless innocent Tutsi victims and awaited many more. The militia leader, sneering at my mother, questioned how she was still alive, two and a half weeks into the genocide. Then, with chilling certainty, he asked my mother if she had other children not present with us at that dire moment.

Any response such as “I have no other children,” “they ran away,” “they are dead,” or “I am uncertain of their whereabouts” could have sufficed. However, my mother, characterized by her honesty, and extraordinary nature, opted for transparency during this critical moment. She revealed that she had three additional children in hiding. My emotions were already muted; I cannot claim that her response had a specific impact on me. Waiting for death has its own effect that cannot be put into words.

💔A red cross for the souls I lost 30 years ago, from left to right: Jean Felix, Dad, Mom, Marie Claudine💔

The same squad leader singled me out, citing my perceived physical vulnerability compared to my elder brother. The assailants assumed I would be unable to flee as swiftly as he could. My brother, aged only fifteen but appearing mature and towering at almost six feet tall, looked like an adult. Therefore, I was the target. The killers actually thought that my brother was much older and accused my mom of lying about his age. I was given an armed soldier to accompany me, with a mission to locate and bring my younger siblings so that we could all meet the same fate together.

I couldn’t walk away without saying something; I begged the merciless militia leader not to kill my beloved mother before I returned, hoping he would listen. My plea was my last conversation with my mother. The militia had already started beating my brother and he was bleeding when I left.

💞May their Memories Forever Be a Blessing💞

After disclosing my younger siblings’ hiding, the armed soldier didn’t take me back to the crime scene. Instead, he directed me to leave my siblings in their hiding place and escorted me in the opposite direction, towards a small house where a few others were also seeking refuge. While many details from that day remain hazy, I distinctly recall him leaving me in that house. I don’t remember how many people were there or their stories. After some time, the soldier returned and told me to follow him, leaving me no choice but to comply. With an assault rifle in hand, he held not just my safety but my very life in his grasp.

At that moment, I feared he intended to sexually assault me, a tragically common practice by the assailants before executing their victims. Though at just 13, I also harbored a sense of relief, thinking he might simply fulfill my plea and kill me with a bullet instead. It sounds bizarre, but knowing I might die by gunfire felt like a small mercy, a luxury denied to my loved ones.

♥️With my First Rays of Sunshine: Eric, Alice & Noella. ♥️

I followed him and we walked, I cannot say for how long with certainty. Eventually, we reached a home that I’d later learn belonged to his brother, a soldier as well, near the Kanombe military barracks. Darkness had already settled in by then. To my surprise, he offered me food, clothes, and a place to sleep. He also delivered the devastating news, that my brother, mother, and cousin had been killed. Adding to this anguish, he also disclosed that the death squad had discovered the hiding place of my younger siblings, and raised serious doubts about their survival.

As I lay in the tiny bed within that gigantic house, sleep eluded me completely. The events of that day still felt surreal, as if trapped in an unending nightmare. Questions swirled in my mind, wondering about the soldier’s role in the murder of my loved ones. He had claimed to have witnessed their deaths firsthand. I couldn’t shake it off: How did the death squad discover my siblings’ hiding place? Could the soldier have disclosed their whereabouts? After all, he was the only one who had seen them. Yet, despite these suspicions, he didn’t touch me and remained committed to his promise, emphasizing that he had spared my life to be the storyteller of my family’s tragic fate. It was evident that he believed I might be the sole survivor among my family members.

Like many in the ex-Rwandan Army Forces responsible for planning and perpetrating the genocide against the Tutsi, he eventually fled as the Rwandan Patriotic Forces (RPF) advanced, leaving me in that home. Weeks later, around the 4th of July, following intense clashes between the RPF fighters and ex-Rwandan forces, the RPF army seized control, leading me and other survivors to safety. This marked the beginning of a new journey, one marked by solitude but also survival.

My Blessings From Above. Our Parents in heaven must be proud❤️

Upon sensing the first semblance of safety, I embarked on a journey of piecing together fragmented memories to safeguard recollections of my loved ones. Details around when and where they were murdered, and any information I could remember, I attempted to trace back. It was during this introspective process that I grasped the true significance of my mother’s honesty. Had it not been for her truth, my own history would too have concluded on April 24, 1994. If I hadn’t been taken by that soldier to reveal my younger siblings’ hiding, the mass grave that claimed my mother, brother, and cousin would have become my dwelling.

I often ponder what compelled my mother to speak the truth when survival hung in the balance. I will probably never know; nevertheless, of this I am certain: I am alive today because of her actions, and here to share this story.

Although my time with my mom was tragically brief, her legacy lives on through me. She was honest, had immense kindness, a capacity for forgiveness, and devout faith. If I can embody even a fraction of her remarkable qualities, I will consider myself immensely fortunate. In a piece dedicated to her memory a few years ago, I wrote, “To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power,” capturing the essence of her indomitable spirit.

My first Rays of Sunshine: a Sacred Promise to My Dad will take you through the journey of how I found out that my three younger siblings, the ones whose hiding I revealed, had survived.

These narratives form the foundation of my faith; God has been our Father, Provider, Protector, and the source of everything we could ever need.

Thank you for reading my story!

“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” ~ Revelation 21:4

Indulge Me, World!

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In this tender month of April,
Grant me the moment to entreat.
For within this season’s embrace,
Memories abundantly flow.
A path through trials, battles faced anew,
Life’s tapestry woven, by pain and strength tried.

♦

In ’94, hell engulfed Rwanda,
The land of a thousand hills that once gleamed with light.
Rolling hills and lush green, a paradise’s hymn,
Now veiled in the blood of my kin, a tragic tale.
Silent world, their crime?
Physical features they couldn’t curtail.

♦

I harbor no grudge, my word stands strong,
Bitterness won’t mend the past.
No victim’s stance, I claim my place,
Resilience carries on, a path unmarred.
From the ashes rising, steadfast in my stand,
Forgiveness, not vengeance, a lighter hand.

♦

Three decades on, wounds still tender and raw,
Their memories revered, a pledge of eternal splendor.
Their absence echoes, a void within my heart,
Their journey truncated, a poignant call to persevere.
Allow me, O world, to unveil my story arc,
Of valor, endurance, and transcending the dark.

♦

I vow, no tale of despair shall you find,
Instead, one of strength against fate’s bind.
From shadows, a journey to illuminate,
Survivor by name, warrior within.
Carving purpose from chaos,
A new life to behold, another chance to cherish.

♦

Each trial conceals a lesson’s profound lore,
And within every warrior, hope eternally soars.
In brokenness, faith endures in tranquil sway,
In this April’s remembrance, my heart doesn’t tarry.
Allow me to raise this resounding anthem high,
To honor, to unite, in hope’s enduring embrace.

💓


Paying tribute to my dad, mom, brother, and sister who were taken from me so soon, during the 1994 genocide against Tutsi, in Rwanda (4/7, 4/17, 4/24). 
💓May their memories forever remain a blessing💓

My First Rays of Sunshine: a Sacred Promise to my dad!

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“For You have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, and my feet from falling. I will walk before the Lord, in the land of the living.” Psalm 116: 8-9

My First Loves, my Children, my Treasure, my Crown before God! Alice, Jean Eric, Noella and me. Christmas 2021

It must have been sometime in September, or maybe October, I am not entirely sure. Please bear with me as I try to relive the darkest period of my life. Allow me to tell you the horror of my childhood, almost three decades later, as a 13-year old, holding my chin up high, with hope rising. The genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda had just ended a few months earlier, by Rwandans who lived as refugees in exile. They had been denied to return to their home country, with the excuse that it was full. These refugees, formed a grass-roots army, the Rwanda Patriotic Front or RPF. The RPF came fighting without sophisticated artillery, armed with the love and dedication to liberate their beloved country and save any Tutsi who still had breath in them.

I lived with my paternal aunt at the time, whom I miraculously met at the same refugee shelter, Kigali International Airport, where RPF soldiers gathered survivors behind the enemy line. I think it was the end of May or beginning of June.

With my beautiful sisters Alice and Noella; I call them my babies. December 2021

Our airport living quarters were empty cargo shipping containers located right across from the airport hangar. Downtown Kigali, twenty minutes or less north of us, was still an active combat between RPF soldiers and the Rwandan Army Forces who planned and executed the genocide. Some of the refugees were the survivors of the worst atrocities of the 20th century, dehumanized for just being born with certain physical features. This unimaginable cruelty would later be recognized as genocide too little too late.

My aunt and her two toddlers under age three had been hidden by her Hutu neighbor in Remera, just minutes from this airport. (Her husband, my uncle, had been on a business trip out of country before all this started).

As far as I was concerned, before bumping into my aunt, I was the only living soul left in my family and the world that surrounded me. Meeting my aunt was a small glimmer of hope, a connection to a forgotten happy past. I was grateful to see someone familiar and thankful she asked me to live with her, whatever that meant, since everything we held dear was gone.

My nephew Adley and niece Abiella (they’re cousins). I call them my grand-babies. Three years apart but still best friends!

On July 4th, 1994, the country was liberated by the RPF. Victory, we had a sense of hope. Soon after, we were allowed to return to homes, or whatever was left that resembled our lives.

Fast forward a few months later, I believe it was September or October, when my aunt’s friend came to visit in Remera. As soon as he saw me, he said there were two small boys from my family living in an orphanage in the next town, Ndera. I couldn’t believe my ears! Two boys? We initially had two boys and four girls in my family, and my older brother had been killed along with my mother. Besides, there was no way he could be called little, standing at 6 feet tall at fifteen years old.

When we were separated the April before, I left my little brother and two sisters. If there were siblings at the orphanage, I wondered which of the three was not there. My young mind was trying to make sense of it all. Now there was a possibility I still had two siblings. I might not be the only one who survived. I couldn’t believe it. It was a lot to process!

My (not-so-little-anymore) bro Jean Eric and the love of his life Redempta

I honestly don’t recall how I arrived where my siblings were at the time. I probably walked since there was no public transportation in place yet. Then the most life-changing moment arrived. I saw my siblings! And the greatest part was, there were not two, but all three. Memories flooded back to that April 24th day, that life and death defining moment and the last time I saw them. We had just been informed my older brother, Jean Felix, was being held by the Hutu militiamen. My mom, cousin, and I rushed to see Jean Felix. When we arrived at the “crime scene”, which sat at the mouth of a mass grave, our physical features must have given us away. The killing squad leader asked my mom where she had been hiding for that long and if she had any other kids not with us.

For reasons I don’t know today, rather than lying, my mother told the truth. She perhaps thought that we wouldn’t be able to survive on our own, or she was ready to see the Lord. I will never know.

My greatest life’s accomplishment, my three siblings!

I was immediately given an armed soldier as an escort and sent to bring my three younger siblings from hiding, instead of my brother Jean Felix who was believed to be a flight risk. For whatever reason that I still don’t understand, this soldier decided to leave my younger siblings in their hiding place. Moreover, rather than taking me back where my mother, brother and cousin were being held, he took me somewhere else. Sparing you details for now, I am alive today to tell the story because of his decision. This same soldier knew my mom, brother, and cousin were dead and how they had been executed.

I have so many questions that I won’t have answers for in this life. Ironically, I owe my ability to tell this story to this same soldier. Whatever he did or didn’t do, he spared my life.

Holding my newest niece/granddaughter (three month-old Kaylee Shiloh)

Five or six months later, after that horror, I stood in shock unable to believe my eyes at the sight of my siblings. They were so malnourished that I could understand why someone would think my two sisters were boys.

I may have intentionally blurred a lot that happened before and after, such as the fact that my youngest sister didn’t recognize me. While that and so many broken memories shattered my heart, this encounter remains the most treasured moment of my life. From that very moment, I found my life purpose. My survival finally had a meaning!

Adley holding Abiella. Best friends ♥️♥️

Now, what about the Sacred Promise I gave the title of this post?

Sometime after I had found my surviving siblings, I had an incredibly vivid dream. In it was my father, Alphonse, looking as handsome as ever in a white robe. You cannot believe my shock thinking how I had been applying for documents that would exempt me from paying school fees because I was an orphan. Yet, there stood my father looking at me with a big smile. The dream ended with me making a promise to him, that I would love and take care of his surviving children as he would have done himself. When I awoke, I felt like I had met an angel and I felt my father’s presence.

My handsome daddy (in early 1980s)

April 7th, 2022 begins the twenty-eighth commemoration of the genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda. Today, I can humbly divulge that keeping this promise remains the most important accomplishment of my life. And if this is the only success I will ever achieve in this life, I will call myself the luckiest person on God’s earth. Before my God who Has my parents and two siblings with Him, I have unconditionally loved my three younger siblings as my own children, and their children as my grandkids. With every fiber of my being, and breath I take, I will keep my sacred vow to my dad in that dream late 1994 for as long as I shall live.

With my best friend, the love of my life

There’s nothing in this life that I cannot do for my siblings I call my children; God is my witness. Their happiness fills my heart with joy and gratitude before God! I love them more than life itself. I am immensely grateful to our Father God Who has been everything we ever need. He provided, protected and carried my siblings and I through the darkest and trying times of our lives. He truly is the Father to the fatherless!

I am married to my best friend, my partner in righteousness, who’s not only understanding of what my siblings and I endured at a young age, but also supportive of my keeping the sacred promise I made to my father in that dream! When Jesus will come with the clouds and all eyes will see Him, before the heavenly congregation, I will tell my dear parents that I had kept my vow to them and our God!

I found hope, faith and purpose amidst great loss!

❤️ Impore Rwanda; 26 Years Later, We Still Remember! ❤️

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♥ If tears could build a stairway,
and memories a lane.
I would walk right up to Heaven
and bring you back again ♥ 

A memorial wreath laid on one of the graves at Kigali Genocide Memorial, Gisozi, Rwanda. Feb 2019

This specific Wednesday night, my parents and 4 of my siblings, we all went to bed, completely unsure of what even the next day would look like; you see, earlier that evening around dinner time, we suddenly heard loud explosions nearby, and saw flames in the sky. We then rushed to listen to our home radio receiver only to learn that the plane carrying the president of Rwanda had just been shot down as it landed at Kigali International Airport; the announcement added that the president died, along the president of Burundi and everyone onboard.

That night, all of us kids slept together in the same bedroom with our parents; we were too terrified to sleep anywhere else. 

Reflecting on Memories of my Family and Childhood in what used to be our home. Feb 2019

The next day brought a usual warm and sunny morning, that’d have otherwise been a great opportunity to be outdoors. Unfortunately, nothing could ever have prepared my family for what was about to unfold before our eyes. My little sister Marie Claudine (I had 5 siblings) had been visiting her godmother, Theresa, who lived about 15 minutes away, for Spring/Easter Break. All of the sudden, Theresa, showed up at our house unannounced. She wasn’t alone, but not with my sister either; instead, behind her were men carrying a dead body –my little sister’s, we found out! Theresa informed us that Hutu militiamen attacked her home that very morning, killed her 2 kids and my sister, and looted her house. Theresa had been in hiding at the time of the attack.

With our world crumbling down piece by piece, it was as if a double edged sword has cut deep, deep, through our hearts. Unbeknownst to us then, this very Thursday morning, April 7th, 1994 would mark the beginning of the genocide, the Tutsi ethnic cleansing in Rwanda. Theresa’s kids and my little sister were the first victims in our area. The next 100 days would cost 1 million lives of men, women, children, young, old, strong, beautiful. Their crime? The way they were born, something they did not get an opportunity to bargain with their Creator during their births!

That staggering number would include my parents, and 2 of my siblings, neighbors, classmates, friends, amazing people who had an entire future ahead of them!

Beautiful Kigali, the Capital of Rwanda. Feb 2019

Fast forward to 26 years later, today, our whole planet is reeling under a devastating COVID-19 outbreak, a global pandemic that has brought our normal daily routines to a near standstill, my beautiful home country Rwanda included. Countries imposed lockdowns to stop the imminent spread of the virus. Families are huddled in their homes, some with the possibility of dying of hunger, especially people whose income was based on jobs that cannot be done remotely. The losses of lives are astonishing, and no country is immune to the impact.

Somehow, unfortunately, this danger and fear feels all too familiar to me, although not to the same extent. My eyes have seen things that no young child should ever have to endure. The people of Rwanda have been through so much already, and my heart is heavy for them, especially around this time of the year, during this unprecedented time.

So, will you allow me this opportunity to pour my heart out for my people in the Land of a Thousand Hills? Will you indulge me for a moment, while I weep, grieve, remember, honor, and commemorate innocent lives that we lost, the shameful death our loved ones died in 1994? Spare me a moment of silence, to reflect, to pray, to cherish memories of the people who meant the world to me, whose lives were cut short!

Allow me to ponder on the dates that are forever a reminder of the horror that descended on Rwanda, scars that no lifetime can ever heal: Thursday, April 7th, my little sister Marie Claudine (11) was killed. Sunday, April 17th, my Dad (43) was killed. On Sunday, April 24th, my older brother Jean Felix (15) and my Mom (40) were killed together.

Here is the tribute I wrote for them on the 20th Anniversary of their death: In A Garden of Fame Where Their Treasured Memories Grow Fonder!

The Kigali Genocide Memorial is the final resting place for 250,000+ victims of the Genocide against the Tutsi. Feb 2019

Today Tuesday, April 7th, 2020

  • We remember, commemorate & honor all those Tutsi who died in shame! They didn’t choose to be born the way they were born. May they rest in Eternal Peace with you Jesus, until we will see them again, in a life that knows no sorrow or pain! 
  • God, we pray for Your comfort and love wrapped around every survivor. Please, Lord, give each and every hope, endurance, strength, prosperity, courage, a voice, healing, ability to forgive. You alone can heal the brokenhearted and bind up their wounds.
  • We remember & pray for those left vulnerable—widows, orphans, women who were raped and left with pregnancies and diseases, and those inflicted with physical scars that bring emotional trauma and recurring nightmares.
  • We remember those who were not a target but chose to hide Tutsi, risking their lives. They are the heroes of our survival stories!
  • We pray for the leaders of Rwanda, the president, and everyone around him: for wisdom to lead the country with justice and fairness and continue to move Rwanda forward.
  • We pray for peace over Rwanda; and for genocide perpetrators that themselves will receive forgiveness, come to know the Lord, and repent. We will leave vengeance to God, as it is written that vengeance belongs to Him, and He will repay.
  • We thank you Jesus for the unity, renewal, and healing, progress, prosperity, that has been bestowed upon Rwanda and her people. Amen!

My favorite song, for you Rwanda 🇷🇼: Muririmbire Uwiteka (Sing to the Lord)

“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” Revelations 21:4 (NKJV)

Reblog: In A Garden of Fame Where Their Treasured Memories Grow Fonder: 23 years later!

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Resharing a blogpost I wrote 3 years ago:

Source: In A Garden of Fame Where Their Treasured Memories Grow Fonder: Two Decades Later!

Lighting candles in memory of our Loved Ones who were taken away from us so soon!

In A Garden of Fame Where Their Treasured Memories Grow Fonder: Two Decades Later!

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***

It’s hard to believe it’s been twenty years since you left us. The world simply hasn’t been the same without your presence — your beauty, your love, your light.

It still feels like yesterday,
when life was whole — a joyful family of eight, wrapped in your love and safety.

The pain of your absence never fades.
Not a day goes by without thoughts of you.
Though you’re no longer with us in body,
your memory lives — richly, eternally — in our hearts.

I believe God loved you so deeply that He called all four of you to His side.
But if I could ask Him for just one impossible gift,
it would be this:

To give me wings.
To soar to where you are.
To hold you tight,
to say “I love you,”
and never let go.

Until that eternal day, I remain under the shelter of God’s wings.
One day, death will lose its power, our tears will be wiped away,
and our hearts will be whole again — forever.

A Treasured Garden of Fame!

***

My dearest little sister, Marie Claudine “Magnifique” — you were an angel in life, and you left this world like one

Magnifique2014

It still breaks my heart to know you were among the very first taken
in our village when the Genocide against the Tutsi began that Thursday morning.
What could you have possibly done to deserve such cruelty?

I’m grateful I had the chance to say goodbye —
to see you one last time, your arms folded as if in prayer,
even as blood marked the violence that silenced you.
The image haunts me,
but I cling to the truth that God loved you far more than I ever could.

You left this world like an angel,
and I imagine heaven welcomed you with open arms that very morning —
Thursday, April 7th.
I marvel at the celebration held in your honor,
and I smile through tears knowing you were cherished.

One day, you’ll tell me all about it.
And when my time here is complete —
the very life that was spared this same month, twenty years ago —
I’ll catch you up on everything you’ve missed.

Until then,
I’ll carry your memory and love with me… always.
I will love you — forever.

***

Papa, you left too soon, but the confidence you placed in me as a little girl still carries me forward.

Papa2014

I vividly remember the day you surrendered your final breath — Sunday afternoon, April 17th.
That was the day we overheard the Hutu Interahamwe boasting that they had cut you into three pieces, and that they were hunting for us — Mom and the five children — to finish us all.

How could anyone on this earth harm you?

You may have been tortured in the flesh, but I know your sweet soul is safe with the God you taught us to pray to.
Do you remember how your face lit up whenever I did well in school?
I know you would have been proud to see me finish all the way to graduate school, land my dream job, and build a life in a faraway country that has become my new home.
Can you believe you weren’t here to celebrate with me?

I miss you every day.
But Jesus — my Savior and King — stands in your place and Mom’s.
He comforts me when I am afraid, He cheers when I succeed, and He still loves me when I fail.

Late 1994, I had a dream where I promised you:
That I would love your surviving children as you would have, had you lived.
I am humbled to say that I have kept that promise.
Whatever I have, I have shared with them.
And as long as I have breath, they will never lack for anything.

When Jesus returns in glory, and all the nations stand before Him, I will not be ashamed.
The Holy Spirit Himself is my witness.
And I know you, Mama, Marie Claudine, and Jean Felix will be among the great cloud of witnesses there.

There is so much I want to tell you — but for now, I trust God to fill you in.

I miss you, Papa.
But I am strong because of the foundation you laid, and the God you taught me to worship.
P.S. — Thank you and Mama for giving me the name Alphonsine — “warrior.”
You named me well. You prepared me for the battles ahead.

Rest in heavenly peace, Papa.
I will love you eternally.

***

Dear Mama, when I think back to our final moments together, I’m reminded of how you always stood for the truth — even when it cost you everything.

Colette_2014

As we waited by the mass grave for our death sentence that Sunday afternoon, April 24th, I remember how the blood-shedders asked if you had more children elsewhere, so they could hunt them down too.
You didn’t lie. You stood in truth — ready to walk into God’s heaven.

I remember pleading with the killers — begging them not to harm you before I came back, when they assigned a soldier to escort me — not to protect me, but to make sure I wouldn’t escape — as I went to bring Eric, Alice, and Noella.
Those desperate words were my final conversation with you.
And yet, by a miracle I can never explain, all three of them — and I — survived.

Today, I am their mother.
I love them more than anything in this life, and I do everything I think you and Papa would have done for us.
They — and God — are my witnesses.

Oh, how I wish you could see them now!
They’re all grown, beautiful, and extraordinary.
Eric and Alice will finish their Master’s degrees this year, and Noella, your last born, is completing college.
They are the greatest gifts I have ever received.

And there’s more:
Eric is marrying the love of his life later this year — a woman so incredible you would have adored her too.
God and I will take care of every detail in their wedding.
It breaks my heart that you and Papa won’t be there to see it.

Noella barely remembers your faces, but that’s okay. She has me now.
And as long as I live, she will be cherished, spoiled, and protected — this I promise you and Papa forever.

Mama, did God tell you that He blessed me with another mother here on earth?
She may not look like you, but she loves and nurtures me just as you did — almost as if you had sent her yourself.

I have so many amazing friends now, in a land far from our homeland.
They make me feel loved, and special.
I know you would be so proud.

Even though I only had you for a few short years, your love was pure, fierce, and unforgettable.
I still hear your voice when I am sick, feel your comfort when I am overwhelmed, and remember how you spoiled me with a love that asked for nothing in return.

There’s so much more I want to tell you — but I will save it for when we meet again in heaven.

I will love you forever, Mama.
Always.

***

My dear big brother Jean Felix, I’ll never forget how you stood as my protector at school — tall and strong, making sure no one dared come near

Nkeke2014

I’m so sorry that my last memory of you is one of suffering.
I wish I had been stronger — strong enough to stop the Hutu Interahamwe who beat you with sharp wires, while blood poured down your beautiful face.
That moment is burned into my heart.

Whenever I watch The Passion of the Christ, I’m reminded of you.
Just like Jesus, you were brutally beaten though you had done nothing wrong. And when I see His face — broken, bleeding, innocent — I see yours.

But I know, with absolute certainty, that on Sunday afternoon, April 24th, Jesus welcomed you and Mama into His beautiful heaven.
You belonged there far more than in this world of pain and injustice.

Those memories are hard to carry, but they also give me courage.
Knowing you’re no longer suffering brings me comfort and strength to keep going.

I know well that I will see you again — with Mama, Papa, and Magnifique — when I finish the work you all began, and fulfill the mission God entrusted to me.
That’s why He didn’t take me with you that day, okay? He had more for me to do.

Rest in God’s eternal peace.
I miss you every single day.
I will love you, all my days.

***

Jean Eric, Alice, Alphonsine, Mireille Noella

Eric, Alice, Alphonsine, Mireille Noella. 03/10/2014

Dear Loved Ones,

Eric, Alice, Noella, and I — twenty years later — still carry your memory as vividly as ever. Your love continues to water our spirits daily, etched into the pillars of our hearts. You are our heroes, and we hold fast to your words, your example, and your pride.

As we mark this twentieth commemoration of your lives taken too soon, we choose again to forgive those who killed you simply for how you looked, something you never bargained for at birth.

We pray your killers find God and repent, but if not, they will stand before the Redeemer and the Defender of the Fatherless. Justice is His alone. He will repay.

Your legacy lives on in us. We are stronger because of you, and everything we do is to make you proud.
We miss you deeply, but we know that you now dwell in the place where souls like yours belong — in peace, in glory, in heaven.

We will finish what you began.
You are alive in our hearts for as long as we live.
We will love you — forever and always.

“This Is Hope: God Is REAL”

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Thank you for stopping by. I hope and pray that you enjoy my story of how I found Hope in God, through disappointment and hopelessness. Be encouraged, even when those you trust the most turn out to be “not what they claim to be.”

Although almost two decades later, I specifically chose to write this page in the present tense, to truly describe the intensity of suffering in the eyes of a young girl I was back then.

Please click here to read my story under the page called HOPE.

Many many years apart. It looks like I haven't changed much!

Many many years apart. Have I changed much?

This is my story!

God bless you,

Alphonsine

God is not “Fair”. He is JUST!

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By definition, being fair means being free from bias, dishonesty, or injustice. A fair decision, a fair judge—something done properly under the rules. When we receive what we rightly deserve in a good way, we call it fairness. Ideally, systems of justice should be fair.

But God is not “fair”—at least not by human standards. Fairness, as we define it, is shaped by our perspective, not His. Take Psalm 103:10 (NKJV): “He has not dealt with us according to our sins, nor punished us according to our iniquities.” That’s not fairness—it’s mercy. And if you keep reading through verse 14, mercy, not fairness, becomes the focus.

If God was fair in the way we expect, tragedies wouldn’t happen. He doesn’t cause them, yet He allows them. And yes, He has the power to stop them. But we often try to make sense of pain through our human lens of what is “right” or “fair”—which doesn’t always align with God’s greater purpose.

Consider these examples:

The tornado that devastated Moore, Oklahoma was heartbreaking. The emotional reunions of parents and their children who survived the destruction of two elementary schools were moving. Meanwhile, other families waited in anguish for news of loved ones—some with devastating outcomes.

Or the collapsing garment factory in Bangladesh, where workers earning meager wages died as the death toll rose by the minute—an unfathomable loss.

Then there’s the 2010 earthquake in Haiti that reduced its capital Port-au-Prince to rubble. More than 200,000 lives were lost, and the nation suffered immense, lasting damage. I vividly remember waiting to hear if my dear grad school friend, Katarina, her husband, and their infant son had survived. By God’s grace, they did, though they lost everything they owned in Port-au-Prince. Their survival still feels miraculous.

And of course, the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda—one of the most horrific atrocities of the 20th century. In just 100 days, over a million Tutsi were killed. Roméo Dallaire, the Canadian UN Force Commander at the time, shared his firsthand account in “Shake Hands with the Devil“—a book I strongly recommend.

These are only a few examples. Sadly, tragedies continue even as I write this. Most often, the victims have nothing to do with the cause of their suffering. But the point is not to measure who has suffered the most or who deserves the most attention. It’s about what we learn in the aftermath—and how we find God’s power and presence in the middle of the storm.

To our human minds, it feels deeply unfair when innocent people suffer, when children die, or when bad things happen to good people while bad people thrive. In those moments, we cry out, “Where is God?” In Rwanda, many later echoed the haunting belief that the “God of Rwanda” went silent starting April 7, 1994.

Sometimes, we even try to rewrite God’s plans: “If only God had been there…” But we’re not alone in that thinking. When Jesus arrived after Lazarus had died, Martha said, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.” (John 11:21). Yet Jesus came not just to heal—but to raise Lazarus, so that God’s glory would be revealed. A healing would have been amazing. But resurrection? That was undeniable.

The truth is, every person—no matter how composed they may seem—faces their own struggles. We all experience hardship, but the good news is found in 1 Corinthians 10:13: “No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it.”

So no, God is not “fair” by our limited standards—but He is Just. He is omnipresent, omnipotent, and omniscient. It’s not that people or places are cursed and “deserve” tragedy. As Matthew 5:45 reminds us, “For He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.”

God is our Healer, Counselor, Father to the fatherless—overflowing with mercy and grace. But His schedule, His wisdom, His judgment—none of it is reasonable by our terms. His ways are not our ways. His thoughts are far above our thoughts. You can’t advise Him or question His will. He does all things according to His purpose—on earth as in heaven.

God does not cause earthquakes, hurricanes, or tornadoes—but He is there in the midst of them. And when we hear the stories of those who survive against all odds, we know it’s not by their strength—but by His grace.

So trust Him—even when the world falls apart. You are safe in His arms.

Mourn with those who mourn. Rejoice with those who rejoice. Cherish every day. Offer help when you can—you never know when you might need it. Be compassionate, mindful, and generous. Treat others the way you’d hope to be treated.

May God comfort those who mourn today. May He bring healing to the broken, peace to the suffering, and hope to the weary. In Jesus’ Name, may all who are in distress hear His soothing voice and be lifted up.

May His holy name be praised, now and forever!