A gem is taken, how can it be? How dare the world go on as if nothing has shattered? The sun still rises â oblivious to all thatâs been lost. Do they not see a light has gone out in our generation?
Lily, my sweet cousin, my sister, you were woven into the fabric of my childhood â bound by friendship that run deep, laughter that found us even in the hard times. Weâd look back on those days and marvel at how far weâd come, how grace carried us through storms.
You were the best of us, Lily.
You held softness like breath, kindness like a second skin. You never raised your voice, wouldnât hurt a fly, and carried everyone else’s burdens without complaint, or judgement, as though your heart was made to shelter the world.
You loved Jesus with a fierce, quiet fire. Not performative. Not loud. Just deep, real, unshakable. Iâve known many people, but few I would call righteousâ you were one of them. You loved without limits, cared without keeping score, gave of yourself and asked for nothing.
With your other half!
You were the Proverbs 31 womanâ for your children, for your home. Clothed in dignity, love on your tongue, your life was a sermon they watched daily. You rose early, gave endlessly, and your children called you blessed.
And now you leave behind a husband, beautiful childrenâ too young to lose their mother, too young to understand why love sometimes gets taken too soon. Oh heavenâs gain! We werenât ready Lily, we never would be.
Say hi to your auntâmy momâfor me. What an incredible reunion that must be! Tell her I miss her every single day. And tell Papa, Manyike and Nkeke. Tell them grief still lingers like smoke here.
How I wish this were like Tabithaâs storyâ where the widows wept with such aching love, that life was summoned back from death.
I am weeping. My soul is heavy. I have more to sayâso much more. Too much silence between us now, too much unsaid.
The righteous has left us, and the earth should tremble in mourning. I will carry youâ your memory etched in every heartbeat, until we see each other again, where no goodbye will ever be needed.
âWell done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord.â (Matthew 25:23)
The red crosses mark my 4 angels, now watching over me. The only photo of us all togetherâmy Catholic First Communion.
đ
I Rise.
Aprilâthe month my world went silent, laughter stolen, love torn from my grasp. The embrace of my parents and two siblingsâ now a memory I hold but can never touch.
April 1994 did not just take them; it tried to take me tooâ my voice, my light, my innocence, my will to exist. Darkness swallowed my paradise, grief clung like a shadow, but even then, something within refused to fade.
So I Rise.
Not only on April 7th for my little sister Marie Claudine, or April 17thfor Papa, or April 24th for Mama and my big brother Jean FĂŠlixâ I Rise every day.
I rise for forgivenessâI do it for me. I rise for love; hatred is too heavy a burden to bear.
I rise for my parentsâ three surviving gifts, my first rays of sunshine, whose existence gave my life meaning.
I rise for the little loves they blossomed, âmy preciouspearlsâ treasures my parents never got to hold, spoil or adore. I rise for their other halves, who cherish and are deeply cherished.
I rise for the scars I bearâ a testament to survival. I rise for the journey I have walked. For the life I built far from home, Rooted in love, standing on solid ground.
I rise for the child I once wasâ orphaned, lost, abandoned, poor. Now, a proof that hope survives.
I rise beyond trauma, beyond nightmares. My story is no longer just my own. I rise for the children who walk the road I once did, for those unseen, unheard, alone.
Rising Above the Storms, a whisper: “You are not alone, your pain does not define you. You are seen, you are worthy, you too can rise.”
I carry wounds neither time nor any human can heal, yet still, I riseâundefeated. When strength fails, faith lifts me. And one day, beyond sorrow, I will see and hold them againâforever.
For my light that dimmed in April 1994â I am Here. I Remember. I Grieve. I Speak. I Forgive. I Hope. I Love.
31 Years.
Still. I Rise.
đ
đď¸đ In loving memory of my four angels perished during the Genocide against the Tutsi in April 1994. May their memories remain a blessing.â¤ď¸ đď¸
The past few months have felt like a walk through memory lane. My husband and I took our annual Christmas holiday trip to Rwanda, my homeland, and it turned out to be more special than I ever imagined. While our visits always include spending time with my siblings and their families, the children and staff of Rising Above the Storms (RAS), and exploring Rwandaâs beauty, this trip held an extraordinary additionâmy US parents joined us.
On my wedding day with my parents âĽď¸ Jan 2019
If youâve followed my journey on this website, you know I lost my parents in the 1994 Genocide against Tutsi in Rwanda. But âmy US parentsâ? Allow me to explain.
In 2008, shortly before I graduated from grad school in Rochester, NY, I met an incredible couple through a local church connection. They invited me into their home, and while most students they hosted came and went, I stayed. Over time, they unofficially adopted me as their daughter. They gave me the motherly and fatherly love I thought Iâd never feel again. Their unconditional love helped heal the wounds inflicted by surviving relatives who had been abusive and heartless.
My parents arriving at Kigali International Airport, Rwanda (Jan 2025)
Kigali International Airport Arrivals.
From left: dad, mom, me and my youngest sister, and my husband (front) taking the selfie
This trip marked my dadâs first visit to Rwanda, and my momâs second. One highlight was visiting my parentsâ land, just outside Kigali. As I stood there, I reflected on how, from the ashes of my deepest losses, God had blessed me with parents who love me fiercely, even if we donât share the same blood or story.
Getting ready for the 30 min ride to my childhood town
Giving my new parents a tour. One of the roads around my heavenly parents’ land âĽď¸
Our childhood’s main roadâoh, if only it could speak!
My childhood’s driveway
My childhood’s driveway
So many memories
My parents’ hard work!
My innocent childhood lives here
So many memories
And so much more
Another special stop on our itinerary was my childhood Catholic Churchâa short drive from my parentsâ land but, in my childhood memories, a distant hike.
Standing before my childhood parish. I couldn’t quite recall it ever having this shape!
The moment I stepped onto the parish grounds, a flood of memories overwhelmed me. Standing tall and unchanged was the magnificent acacia tree that had witnessed so much of my familyâs life.
Only the two of us, out of four siblings, had the chance to witness this moment. We hope to return together someday, all four of us, to share and compare our memories!
The only photo I possess of my entire family togetherâtaken during my Confirmationâwas very near this tree, beneath another acacia tree.
My beloved family, captured during my Catholic Confirmation. The red cross honors our cherished loved ones now in heaven.
As I stared at its sprawling branches, I couldnât help but wonder: Does this tree remember my parents? Does it remember me? If only it could speak, I would have lingered longer beneath its shade.
This tree stood as a silent witness while the world around it changedâwhile neighbors turned into enemies, while innocence was lost. But the acacia remained steadfast, offering shade to churchgoers and a home to nesting birds. In its stillness, it felt like a keeper of memories.
The Mighty Acacia Tree
The Parish Courtyards
With my baby sister âĽď¸ Guardians of our loved ones’ memories!
Under the Acacia Tree. The last time we were here she was a few years old
Stepping inside the church, everything seemed smaller than I could remember. The once-grand sanctuary of my childhood felt humble now, though its spiritual significance had not diminished. I knelt in one of the rowsâthe one I believed we sat in during sacramental celebrationsâand whispered prayers to the Savior my parents had taught me to worship.
Silently, I mourned the loss of my innocence and childhood, reflecting on how I was forced to grow up in a rush, denied the chance to be young. As I reminisced on cherished memories, I marveled at the journey that has brought me back to where it all began.
Stepping into the church and absorbing it all after more than 30 years!
One of the rows where I believe my parents once sat. The emotions were beyond words!
Saying a prayer to honor the memories of my loved ones and worship the God my parents taught me!
I shed tears of both sorrow and gratitude, praising the Lord for His protection over the past 30 years and 9 months.
Thank you Lord for your Faithfulness!
With my parents
And with my husband
With my baby sister
With my hubby
I couldnât help but marvel at how deeply my parents had rooted us in faith. Amid unimaginable loss and pain, that foundation gave me strength and, eventually, hope.
Lastly, I wanted to see the eucalyptus forest behind the churchâ somehow a place of peace and meditation in my prayers, often appearing in my nightly dreams. To my disappointment, the trees had been cleared for construction. It felt like a part of my sanctuary had been taken, but the memories remain, vivid and unshaken. It will be interesting to see how my nightly dreams change as a result; this area was one of the reasons I longed to return here.
The eucalyptus forest that once stood here is now gone.
Now being transformed into a convent.
Sunday school hall
It was taller in my childhood memories
My new family walking my memory lane
My baby sister
This church, and the acacia tree in its courtyard, is where my faith began. It is a place of cherished memories, not resentment or guilt. It is a reminder of my extraordinary parents, who continue to guide me even in their absence.
I survivedâI made it. I am my parents’ wildest dream and their best wishes fulfilled, their pride, and the voice of my loved ones who perished. I carry their legacy, a beacon of their hopes, resilience, and the enduring love they left behind.
With my baby sister, beneath the tree that holds the cherished memories of our loved ones, taken from us too soon.
âĽď¸âĽď¸ In loving memory of my parents and two siblings who were taken from us in April 1994. May their memories forever be a blessing!âĽď¸âĽď¸
âThese 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.â ~ John⏠â16âŹ:â33⏠âNKJVâŹâŹ
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 fatherâmy cherished confidantâwas 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 didnât 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.
đA red cross for the souls I lost 30 years ago, from left to right: Jean Felix, Dad, Mom, Marie Claudineđ
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 couldnât 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.
đMay their Memories Forever Be a Blessingđ
After disclosing my younger siblingsâ 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.
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 proudâ¤ď¸
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.
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.â ~ Revelation 21:4
“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. December2021
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 âĽď¸âĽď¸
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, whoâs 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!
Our new t-shirt & mask with a new logo, at Our Center in Rwanda, setting up new laptops. Dec 2021
How do I even begin? It has been a little over 9 years since the idea of starting a nonprofit first came to me. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I lived in North Carolina at the time, and had been at Cisco for less than 2 years. I remember pondering over names that I felt would fit the mission of the work I had on my mind: how do I use my personal story to encourage & be a blessing to others? The name “Rising Above the Storms (RAS)” was born.
However, I also understood that doing this nonprofit thing meant entering some uncharted waters; for example the vulnerability that might come with sharing a personal tragic story to strangers I may never meet in person. In tandem, I also launched this personal blog, initially called a Soothing Voice, and later changed to Beauty for Ashes (Isaiah 61:3).
The early days of RAS were unequivocally slow, rightfully so. Albeit, 9 years down the road, I can safely say that I didnât fully grasp the burden of launching a nonprofit while early on my career as a female engineer, with zero leadership experience. While it might sound clichĂŠ, all I was armed with was a vision and a passion. And 9+ years later, I am still as passionate, and more hopeful.
While I mostly winged it, there’s one thing I fully understood from the beginning: I absolutely had no budget to spend upfront. I couldn’t afford a lawyer to help with putting together our ByLaws, Articles of Incorporation and file them with the State. For that reason, I decided to take my sweet time with everything. I built our first website from scratch, got approved by the State of North Carolina and opened a bank account, all by myself.
The next step, if I had to start receiving donations, it was critical that I get the public charity status with the Internal Revenue Services first. The application was probably the most challenging part of the process with the amount of information it required. This time, a friend helped me! However, struggling to understand differences, Rising Above the Storms was first approved as a Private Foundation in 2016. This meant that we couldnât solicit donations; immediately, I had to file for an amendment and shortly after we were a public charity the same year and ready to rock and roll đ
Speaking at our Gala in September 2016 in Raleigh, NC
The upside to all this is that you learn so much when you do everything from scratch; while this post’s intention isn’t to share the wisdom and lessons learned, but if I had to write one thing now it would be this: if you start a nonprofit, alone, with no funds to do the preliminary work, it might be wise NOT to combine it with a full time, demanding job. Although I have to say that I love the idea of having a career so that all funds for RAS go directly to where they need to be. Another mistake I made early on was my inability to discern talents I needed due lack of time or luxury to be selective when it came to volunteers. Consequently, I’ve had to rely on friends who absolutely cared for my vision, but didn’t necessarily have the skill I needed to advance my mission. Being at the mercy of whoever is willing to give it a try is not a good feeling!
Our team showing off our new t-shirts and new logo
Please don’t get me wrong; I am eternally indebted to everyone who had served as a guinea pig at the beginning of this journey. It definitely shaped the way we do things today and helped us get us started. But if I could do it over again, there are things I would do differently. I’d just have a concrete business plan before embarking in this incredible journey. Because I sure didn’t have one in place.
We navigated from small fundraiser events, to a successful gala to a canceled one to building a solid Board and team of volunteers. Surprisingly, 2020 was our best year yet in terms of fundraising. It’s been a game changer to watch how much can be done when you are surrounded by people who are both talented and equally passionate about the vision and mission of an organization. Everyone starts from somewhere.
Our partnership with Amahoro (Peace Builders) that launched a Learning Center in January 2017 with 11 children found on the streets in Rwanda keeps growing, with most children joined in the past 1.5 years, which unfortunately is a consequence of the pandemic. Most children are boys, ranging between 12-16 years old. Numbers go up and down but the majority of children have remained consistent. Today, we have over 50 children who attend on regular basis. Also, as of November 2021, we launched a year-long partnership with Westcon-Comstor Subsaharan Africa to expand our Computer Lab, sponsor 10 children, as well as building a longterm strategy for a lasting impact on the children through mentorship.
Finally, in 2021, we launched a new logo, gear, and a new website. Through an anonymous donor, we shipped items worth over US$10k to Rwanda from the US worth that includes soccer gear, school material, shoes and clothes for the kids.
Here is a good chart we did in the fall of 2021. Number of kids go up and down at any given time!
All in all, we have come along way, as an organization, me personally and our kids in Rwanda. But we still have a long way to go. Like a lot of organizations and companies, the vision evolves. We’ve had to shift focus from time to time. An example was my assumption on how education would look like for our youth. I figured they all would be like me: go from high school, to college and grad school and professional career. This couldn’t be far from the reality on the ground: as you see from the stats above, more than a half of our kids’ grades don’t even hit 50%. It was eye opening for me.
The truth is that education for some of them will perhaps look different; while ideally we want everyone to finish high school at minimum, we watch very closely and monitor their progress. Our focus will shift to trade careers and job skills training to prepare them for the job market. Only a handful may make it to a traditional university. In fact, our very first high school – university bound candidate Idrissa – graduated last year. He’s interested in mechanical engineering. I look forward to seeing wonderful things he will do for himself, his family and community.
With Idrissa (our first college bound graduate), with his two siblings (Amina & Hussein). They all have been part of our Rwanda program since the beginning, January 2017). Picture taken in Dec 2021
In the end, the important thing is that they gain experience or learn a skill that will better their lives and those around them. I am eternally grateful to everyone who has contributed from small to great thing to Rising Above the Storms. I have met and I am blessed to be surrounded by many generous people who have made RAS a possibility. They are too many to number for sure.
It would be a very remiss not to mention one person in particular: my adopted mother Glori who’s a gift from heaven (check out this post I wrote about her). When I first shared with her about my vision to start RAS, she immediately gave me a donation check. I chuckle about it because back then I was not ready to accept donations. However, her reasoning was that eventually I’d get to put it to a good use. The first few deposits to our RAS checking account, in a few thousands of dollars, have all been from her. She believed in me even before I believed in myself. To say that my new parents have changed my life is an understatement.
So many people to thank who have poured into RAS with their expertise, time and finances. If I wrote each one, it’d be pages and pages. But let me just say that they are appreciated more than they will ever know. I pray for God’s blessings for each one!
2021 Christmas Celebration. Pictured above are the top performers in their class this past year
Will you join us today in this incredible journey? You can change a kid’s life. There are many ways you can join our journey:
You can sponsor a K-12 student at $50 a month. This amount covers basic needs for a child to participate in life changing programs at the Center
You can buy and wear an item from our collection, powered by the Cisco Store; Cisco goes above and beyond to ensure their employees are cared for, professionally and individually. Giving back is in our Cisco’s DNA
You can share and like our social media pages found at the bottom of our RAS page.
I am so thankful to everyone who contributes to making my dream of being a blessing to the most vulnerable youth come true. I look forward to 2022 with hope and anticipation! God bless!
Posing for a photo shortly before our gala. Sept 2016
It has been a busy few months, or year for that matter. What a journey! Since January of this year, I have traveled to more than 20 US states (many of them first time), dozens of cities, and three European countries (mostly for business), as well as working 50-80 hours a week on average for my full-time job. If that was not enough, add planning, thinking, worrying, coordinating, and struggling to keep up with what it takes to coordinate our very first annual gala, on top of being the founder of a startup nonprofit.
Let me first start telling you a little bit about me: I am a female engineer; I speak English as a third language. I am terrified by asking people for money, even if its sole purpose is to help orphans out of hopelessness and enable them to dream.
I am not eloquent by any means; I am a nervous wreck before speaking to a large audience. I don’t know how to talk to people I just met. A group of strangers terrifies me, even if they are all friendly. I grew up in a third world country and moved here later in life, but certain aspects of the American culture still puzzle me a decade later!
I dislike conflicts; I don’t like it when someone is mad at me! I can’t keep up when humor revolves around the art of slangs, cursing or sarcasm. I have never met anyone in the same situation as me: running a nonprofit with another full time, technical job. Oh, and I have zero talent!
Well by this time, if you are still reading this, you are wondering, âWhy is she saying all this?â I have a point, I promise! Now, if you can tie it back to everything I lack or my busy life, you may wonder why anyone like this would want to start a nonprofit. Well, that makes two of us. I have a secret though! This one may make you think over everything that makes you doubt yourself.
My friends and I performing a traditional Rwandan dance at our gala. Sept 2016.
I lost my parents at the age 13. Though I was absolutely alone and left to fend off myself at that young age, I encountered someone who became my hope in trials, my refuge in time of trouble, my comfort in sorrow, my counselor in hopelessness, my provision when no one cared, a father to the orphan, a friend in need. That is Jesus, my Savior and King, my God!
You see, all these things I lack, and many more I didn’t want to bore you with, He’s taken upon Himself. Before God, I am warrior, victorious, loved, a daughter of the Most High. I am able to do everything through Jesus who strengthens me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what keeps me pressing on in spite of my lack of experience in nonprofit management and many other things in life.
So, circling back to my nonprofit: YES, it was very stressful to combine my schedule and responsibilities as I got pulled in many directions. It still is and I often wonder what I got myself into. However, a constant reminder as I navigated a busy schedule this year has been a reassuring voice telling me to be still and know that God will be glorified as David quoted in Psalm 46:10 NKJV.
This is what kept me calm even when people and promises fell through and schedules didn’t align with our planning needs and requirements. After all, this vision is God’s work; I don’t really need to worry, as long as He is on my side. Obviously, He doesn’t need my skills or experience. All He wants is my obedience!
I have been fortunate enough to understand my life calling, the reason God spared my life from the machetes and bullets of 1994 in Rwanda. I may not accomplish much in this life, but as God has been to me, so I will be to others. Today, I can afford anything I need, and my siblings feel the same way. God has been everything we ever need, up to this very minute as I type this. My prayer and hope is to be God’s hands and feet through loving and being a blessing for those who have not been as fortunate.
Matthew 25:34-36 (NKJV) gives me a glimpse of how things will look on the judgement day, when God will impartially judge all the nations. This long chapter is wrapped in the true meaning of LOVE. Also, Paul said it well: although all these three are excellent: faith, hope and love, but the greatest of them is LOVE.
Sharing my story and our vision at our gala. Sept 2016!
Through God’s LOVE that spoke the earth into existence, I hope to spend the rest of my life striving to learn and practice what it means to love everyone unconditionally regardless of who they are or their life choices: race, religion, color, sex, age, national origin or ancestry etc.
I am really thankful that our first annual gala was a success, and we are currently almost halfway to our final goal in terms of raising funds for our first learning center in Rwanda to benefit street children and at-risk-youth. God has been great to me, and blessed me with a great team of volunteers who are very passionate about my vision and cause.
Will you join forces with me to share this hope, advocate for orphans, and empower the most vulnerable children through education? I am eternally thankful that the Lord would entrust me with this great mission! I still cannot believe that He picked ME!! Rising Above the Storms (RAS) is not a work I feel burdened to do, it is simply my life story, and a soul that has been truly satisfied & touched by God’s Mercy!
” Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.” James 1:27
I wanted to re-blog this article {and I hope Pastor J.D Greear & his team don’t mind) that points out what the Kingdom of God is about and shows important facts that most of us often miss out. In the end, it’s not how eloquent one is at quoting Biblical verses or religiously righteous as much as it is for how our love and actions should put the LOVE of Jesus on display! This is my opinion but Matthew says it so well too: Matthew 25: 34-40
Š Mother Teresa Quotes
Enjoy the reading..
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I have one solution for every computer problem I encounter. Reboot it. And if that doesnât work, reboot it again. The worst moment in my technological existence comes when Iâve rebooted four or fives times and the problem is still thereâbecause then I know itâs going to be a long, painful process on the phoneâŚ
“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.â~ Revelations 21:4
It’s almost February and April is around the corner. Oh how I anxiously wait for this month all year around! Why is April a big deal? Because it will be the 22nd anniversary of the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda, in which I lost my beloved parents and 2 of my siblings. Unfortunately, although a lot has happened since then, it  still feels like it was yesterday to me!
Though I still grieve for them with a deep sorrow and always will, however, I have encountered someone who has deeply touched my shattered heart with a mighty healing power and gave me a reason to rejoice forever: my Lord and King Jesus! He has turned my mourning into dancing! Therefore, I grieve with hope!
That’s my prayer for anyone who has lost someone close, especially tragically. IÂ know how you feel!
“Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep” ~ Romans 12:15
My Dearly Beloved Parents
Today, I am again reminded that life is extremely short and that tomorrow is NOT guaranteed! I knew that already, but my weary heart needs a constant reminder. This evening, I learned of a death of someone so young and full of life. This young man was a newlywed to an extremely beautiful young woman who is a close friend to my family in Rwanda.
He died of a motorcycle accident, the most popular means of public transportation in Rwanda, besides buses. Quite frankly, a cruel fact may be that those commercial motorcycles probably claim more lives than any other cause of death in Rwanda.
I weep so deep with this very young widow. My heart breaks for her, her family and many whose loved ones have been taken away so suddenly. This life begs more questions than answers unfortunately. You may have many examples. My prayer is that the whole world will come to know how much God loves us despite our circumstances. That’s very important.
You see, the Bible tells me that one day, God will make everything new, and wipe away all our tears. Our mourning will be no more. This gives me hope! And that we will see again all those who died in the Lord, in the new life that knows no sorrow.
There, hatred, discrimination, accidents, killings, injustice, tragedies, natural disasters, diseases, illness, hunger, wars, all will lose battle. Love & peace will be victorious and eternal life will be our song forever!
“Then I heard a voice from heaven saying to me,âWrite: âBlessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.âYes,â says the Spirit, âthat they may rest from their labors, and their works follow them.” ~Â Revelations 14:13
Father God, I pray that You’ll comfort all those who are grieving & hurting. You alone are their Strength, Shield and Salvation. You are capable of consoling them even when the outpouring sympathy & support is not enough. Will You send them Peace, surround them with Your unfailing Love and Kindness! Will You be their only Joy, Hope and Refuge! Now and always!
In Jesus name! Amen!
“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.â~ Revelations 21:4
Beauty for Ashes 