As Rwanda marks the 30th anniversary of the genocide against the Tutsi, we remember and mourn. Kwibuka, meaning “to remember” in Kinyarwanda, embodies my act of remembrance as a survivor, alongside my family and the entire country. Being only five years old when the genocide brutally claimed the lives of my family members, Kwibuka has become my deeply personal journey through pain, memory, and, ultimately, resilience.
Losing 27 members of my family in the genocide is a reality I live with every day. The pain of such loss is ineffable, a void that time does not fill. The memories of my loved ones, whose lives were extinguished too soon, are treasures I hold close, though the physical tokens that might have aided my recollection were lost to the flames.
Kwibuka 30 is a time of intense emotion for me. It’s a period where the memories, often tucked away in the corners of my mind, surge to the forefront. There’s an indescribable pain in remembering, yet a powerful determination never to forget. To remember is to honor those I lost, to acknowledge their suffering, and to reaffirm their place in my heart and the world. It’s also a reminder of the resilience that has allowed me to move forward, carrying the weight of my memories with me.
Surviving the genocide is a unique burden. The guilt, the unanswered questions, the what-ifs, and the if-onlys haunt me. I walk a solitary journey, even when surrounded by others. The paths of grief and healing are personal and nonlinear, often entwined with moments of profound sadness and unexpected joy in remembering the quirks and laughter of those who are no longer with me.
Kwibuka brings with it a collective mourning, yet within this shared experience lies a mosaic of individual stories, each marked by personal tragedy and resilience. For me, it is also a time to reflect on what it means to carry forward the legacy of those I lost. It’s a commitment to live in a way that honors their memories, to make known the stories of their lives, and to contribute to building a world where such atrocities can never happen again.
The 30th anniversary of the genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda is a stark reminder of the fragility of peace and the importance of vigilance against hatred and division. For survivors like me, Kwibuka is a reminder of our duty to remember, to tell our stories, and to engage in the painful yet necessary work of healing. It’s a call to the world to listen, to learn, and to stand in solidarity with us, ensuring that the lessons of the past guide us toward a more compassionate and just future.
As I reflect on Kwibuka 30, I am reminded of the strength found in memory, the resilience required to face each day, and the power of love to transcend even the deepest wounds. The journey of surviving is fraught with pain, but it is also filled with the hope that by remembering, we forge a path to a better world.
