The red crosses mark my 4 angels, now watching over me. The only photo of us all together—my Catholic First Communion.
💜
I Rise.
April—the month my world went silent, laughter stolen, love torn from my grasp. The embrace of my parents and two siblings— now a memory I hold but can never touch.
April 1994 did not just take them; it tried to take me too— 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 Félix— I Rise every day.
I rise for forgiveness—I do it for me. I rise for love; hatred is too heavy a burden to bear.
I rise for my parents’ three surviving gifts, my first rays of sunshine, whose existence gave my life meaning.
I rise for the little loves they blossomed, —my preciouspearls— 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 bear— 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 was— 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 rise—undefeated. When strength fails, faith lifts me. And one day, beyond sorrow, I will see and hold them again—forever.
For my light that dimmed in April 1994— I am Here. I Remember. I Grieve. I Speak. I Forgive. I Hope. I Love.
31 Years.
Still. I Rise.
💜
🕊️💜 In loving memory of my four angels perished during the Genocide against the Tutsi in April 1994. May their memories remain a blessing.❤️ 🕊️
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 Rwanda’s beauty, this trip held an extraordinary addition—my US parents joined us.
On my wedding day with my parents ♥️ Jan 2019
If you’ve followed my journey on this website, you know I lost my parents in the 1994 Genocide against Tutsi in Rwanda. But “my US parents”? 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 I’d 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 dad’s first visit to Rwanda, and my mom’s second. One highlight was visiting my parents’ 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 don’t 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 ♥️
Our childhood’s main road—oh, 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 Church—a short drive from my parents’ 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 family’s 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 together—taken during my Confirmation—was 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 couldn’t 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 changed—while 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 ♥️ 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 rows—the one I believed we sat in during sacramental celebrations—and 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 couldn’t 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 church— 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 survived—I 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.
♥️♥️ In loving memory of my parents and two siblings who were taken from us in April 1994. May their memories forever be a blessing!♥️♥️
“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.
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.
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
“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 ♥️♥️
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!
♥ 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 thatthepresident 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.
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!
“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)
With some of our kids at the center in Rwanda. Jan 2017
Never in a million years have I ever thought that I would start a nonprofit, leave alone sharing personal, painful wounds of my past with strangers on the cyberspace, or in person for that matter. It has always been a challenge for me to comfortably talk to people I just met, and it still is the case today unfortunately. The idea of starting a nonprofit first came to mind in 2012. I felt urgency and a desire in my heart; I could sense something bigger than I had ever imagined was about to unfold. Soon, it became clear to me that this was what God Has been preparing me for all along.
Losing parents at 13, surviving an ethnic cleansing (the genocide against the Tutsi) with younger siblings who were all under 10, juggling life, pain, loss, poverty, betrayal, disappointment; it has been a long journey to recovery! However, from the very beginning, I perhaps understood that the idea of starting a nonprofit that is centered around my personal journey may possibly mean opening up about my past and personal experiences, something that is extremely difficult for me to do.
You see, I come from a culture that is famous for keeping things to themselves. In Rwanda, you don’t talk about your personal life to people who aren’t your close friends or family members. When you make a casual conversation with a Rwandan around their personal life, they’ll become suspicious of your motives in asking. It is still true today.
Kids in our program during the celebration of International Day of the African Child, July 2017
In fact, more than a decade here, the thought of learning about a stranger’s marital issue or not getting along with a boss during an hour plane ride is still appalling to me today. Don’t get me wrong, I really love listening to others and learning more about their personal stories. My challenge is the other way around; talking to strangers, especially in a group setting, about anything, especially sensitive topics such as 1994 in Rwanda. It doesn’t matter if those people seem harmless. So, when God laid this idea of starting a nonprofit on my heart, I felt equally scared and excited!
RAS Facilities in Rwanda
Summing up my life story and what God has done for me and my siblings, I couldn’t imagine a better name to call my nonprofit: Rising Above the Storms. I chose “Rising” instead of “Rise” as many tend to think of R, to emphasize on a continuing journey, a work in progress. The journey began when the most devastating atrocities of the 20th century hit my beautiful home country on April 6, 1994. By the end of 90 days, my parents and 2 of my siblings have been killed. You can read more on my recollection of their final moments that I wrote on the 20th anniversary of their death: In A Garden of Fame Where Their Treasured Memories Grow Fonder: Two Decades Later.
I like how some people think S means Stars. I will take it 🙂
It’s been a wild ride since the official launch of RAS, in 2014. Combining the expectations of what it takes to get a startup off the ground with my busy engineering career has been close to impossibility to say the least. I now understand why every person I have met who is an executive director of a nonprofit is their full time job. It’s impossible to do anything else.
Earlier this year, we launched our first partnership with a local organization in Rwanda to start a mobile based classroom for street children. We currently have 17 kids in our program, 11 of them back in school. It’s been an incredible journey to get to know these kids, through our team on the ground. The kids who visit the center on weekly basis receive care through therapy sessions after a meal. This allows them to express their challenges and struggles as we walk with them through life.
Group Photo after Launching Treasured Learning Center
There are multiple ways you can become part of this amazing experience: you can sponsor a child for $50 a month. This amount covers their school material, tuition, school uniform, therapy sessions, meals and clean cloths they receive when they come to the center on a weekly basis. Click here to pick one of the 9 children we have remaining that need sponsorship on our website: Sponsor a Child. Or you can simply donate on our website: Donate to Rising Above the Storms.
Rising Above the Storms is my personal story, my non profit and my life’s calling and God’s mission for my life. I can’t imagine doing anything else. This is without a doubt what I am meant to do for the rest of my life. Caring and loving vulnerable children & youth is something that moves me to tears and keeps me up at night. I weep just looking at hungry, abandoned children that I don’t even know; it could be on TV or newspaper. I could have easily become one of those children; it’s not because of anything I did to be very fortunate.
As the Bible quotes in Isaiah 61, I hope to spend the rest of my life striving to be their voice!
When I was growing up, just like most of Rwandans then, for some reasons, I thought that Rwanda was the biggest country ever. It goes way back in history. “Rwanda” comes from “Kwanda“, which means “gettinglarger or expanding“. After I moved to the United States, I of course abandoned the idea. Rwanda is nearly the size of the state of Massachusetts.
Also, I am still convinced that everyone in Rwanda believed in God when I was growing up. Many songs and expressions in Kinyarwanda simply reflected “the God of Rwanda” that spent the day in other countries but definitely came home to Rwanda every night. In fact, most last names in Rwanda carried “God” or “Imana” in it. For instance, my maiden name Imaniraguha, means, “God gives you”, and many many others.
Unfortunately, Rwandan artists also later wrote that God didn’t come to Rwanda on April 7th, 1994. That Thursday morning (ironically this year 2016 exactly matches days of 1994) marked the beginning of an ethnic cleansing, the 1994 genocide against the minority Tutsi group (15% of the population of about 7 millions then).
Personally, as I have written in many posts, although the genocide against the Tutsi lasted about 100 days, April is a unique month in mine and my 3 surviving siblings’ lives. By Sunday April 24th, 1994, I had already lost my parents and two of my siblings. One mourning song especially conveys the degree of my grief, my prayer, my hope. It’s called Hear Me God. Click here to take a listen: Nyumva Mana (Hear me God) by Suzanne Nyiranyamibwa.
Unfortunately it’s in Kinyarwanda; however, below is my attempt to transcript the lyrics in English. Although the song is possibly nearly 2 decades old, it has been my favorite for so many reasons!
♪♫Hear me God, Hear me God, Please Hear me, God of Rwanda.
Keep me from having rancor and rid me of a heart of vengeance. Let Justice roll, and please end oppression in our country.
Hear me God (x2)!
Although many years come to pass, my heart is still stricken with grief! I look everywhere and my sight has no end. And when I call out for someone, echoes answer me, instead!
Hear me God (x2)!
My father! I didn’t bury him! My Mother! I didn’t see her on a deathbed! Many relatives, children and true friends, were killed without a crime and I was left all alone!
Hear me God!
One who could be on my side was taken away in this tsunami, too. They robbed me of love and wrapped me in sorrow. I escaped without hope as the enemy watched!
Hear me God!
Your chosen ones were murdered because of how you created them. Please seat them near you in Your Palace of Life, relieve them of pain and rest them in peace!
Hear me God!
Lord of Mercy, hear me I am begging You. Please come quickly, win over the enemy and protect me with Your Shield. Bless Rwanda with great things and get rid of all bitterness among us!
Hear me God, Please Hear me, God of Rwanda.
Keep me from having rancor and rid me of a heart of vengeance. Let Justice roll, and please end oppression in our country!
Hear me God (x4). Please Hear me, God of Rwanda
Aerial View of Kanombe, near the International Airport in Kigali
“But those who wait on the Lord, shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40:31
“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
“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
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. I 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,“Write: ‘Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.“Yes,” says the Spirit, “that they may rest from their labors, and their works follow them.” ~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.”~ Revelations 21:4
Beauty for Ashes 