Testimonies from Children
Thousands of children were left orphaned, maimed and emotionally traumitised by the genocide in 1994. With no parents or guardians to shield protect them, these children are forced to struggle to meet their daily needs for existence. Many have had no opportunity to talk about their experiences, to release their confusion, sadness and anger. Through these pages, SURF is working to give children the chance to speak out and to be heard. Their stories are haunting and terrifying.
Julienne Uwurukundo's Story
Julienne Uwurukundo was a young girl when the genocide began. With her permission, SURF has posted her story along with her picture on our site, as she is an amazing individual, a true example of all that is beautiful and strong in humanity. Read Julienne Uwurukundo's story.
Mutesa's Story
My father, mother and elder brother were killed in early May. When Interahamwe began searching for Tutsis we made a conscious decision to separate in case some of us survived. My mother wanted us to stick together, but there was no time for discussions. We left our house in Kimironko on the morning of 24th April 1994. I was only 9 years old. My older brother said he would look after me, my little brother aged 4, my sister aged 11 and my mother went together and my father left with my 7-year sister.
Only four of us survived, I saw my brother and all the men running with us beaten and hacked to death. Later I found out my two sisters and little brother had survived. We do not talk about our experiences. We try to stick out for each other because we don't have any one else to care for us.
Mujawayesu's Story
In the early days of April aged 13 years, I watched as Interahamwe killed my father, mother, 2 brothers and baby sister. I still see them crying out to me asking me to plead on their behalf. I became numb, I couldn't cry even though I wanted to scream. Blood was flowing in the bedroom and sitting room. Interahamwe ordered me to sit in one corner of the house and not to help anyone; meanwhile they searched the house and began sharing clothes and household property. I could hear screaming in the neighborhood and shouting. It was raining heavily.
The young one of the 7 men then ordered me to follow him and show him where my parents kept money. He tore my clothes off and raped me. He said that this was the price for saving my life. When he finished he went out of the room laughing, and another one followed him, I was raped by four of them. When the rain stopped, I was made to carry a suitcase full of clothing and they took me to a roadblock. By this time I could not feel anything. I watched as people were being searched at the roadblock, young girls were put on one side and other people killed. Along with 6 other girls, any man chose among us who they wanted and raped us in the house near the roadblock, where they were storing all the stolen goods. We stayed at the same roadblock for one week, then we were moved from one roadblock to another.
The young man suggested that he would take me to his sister's house if I agreed to be his wife. I didn't know what he was asking me. I was tired of being dragged from one roadblock to another. I said I would be his wife. He begun being kind to me. His sister didn't like me. She told me to leave or else threatened to tell Interahamwe about me. I escaped in the evening and hid in a swamp all night. Many people were hiding in the place so I felt safe. We were all rescued when RPF found us. Three months later I found out that I was pregnant. After seeing many people die, I couldn't abort my child. I am Christian, I believe I am condemned to live, although I don't feel motherly love towards my child, I know it was not her fault. She is a reminder of my sins and shame - a burden I have to call forever.
I was not happy for being rescued I wanted to die, I wish I had died. I found out that my two nieces and cousin survived. We live together. I am the eldest and I take care of the others. Although we have relatives who came from Burundi, they only want us to be their domestic servants, they don't care about us, especially my daughter who they call a child of bad luck.
Mujawayesu was discovered by a widow and brought to AVEGA. She gets food assistance and medical bills. At the time of genocide she was attending year seven. Without skills and a large responsibility ahead of her, AVEGA is looking to help her restart her life.
Hodari's Story
"Now that my mother is dead, I feel that one burden is off my shoulder. She was constantly sick, we had no support from anyone else. I couldn't cry when she died because she was suffering a lot and I had no means of relieving her pain. Now I have to find ways of supporting my three siblings. I used to make money during the night as a prostitute, I fear I may be HIV positive. If I had a proper job, I would not be on the street."
Hodari is now 11 years old. She lost every member of her family except her mother and three siblings. Her mother was a regular member of AVEGA; she was receiving support from a counsellor to deal with the sexual violence she was subjected to during genocide. In 1996 she was diagnosed as having AIDS. Hodari dropped out of school to look after her mother. With no alternative source of income, AVEGA provided food and medical bills support. The needs became so many that Hodari became a prostitute to support her family. Her mother died in August this year. Hodari has to look after 3 siblings and a grandmother.
Daniel's Story
When the genocide began Daniel was living in rural Kigali but not far from the city. He was 11 years old and finishing his primary school. Today he is 15 years old and in his second year at secondary school. He has left one school and is trying to find a place in another as he couldn't stand neither the bullies who laugh at him constantly because he cannot accomplish everything with his one arm, nor those who are too nice to him and want to help him with everything.
Daniel's arm was cut off during the genocide. He was hiding with his family, his father, mother and six brothers and sisters. Then they decided to separate into two groups in order to be more discreet. Daniel went with his father but they were immediately discovered. They took the father first and Daniel jumped, ran and escaped. He could not run far so he hid in a bush nearby. He saw his father dying. He heard them kill him with a machete. He stopped breathing so that they would not discover where he was, but they decided to find him later. The father was enough for the day.
During the night he went to find where his mother and the rest of the family were hiding and told his mother that it was over for his father. They all kept silent. Nobody cried - they could not. The neighbour who was bringing them food came during the night and told them there was a safe place, that everybody was now in the church in the Parish, and he advised them to go to the Parish the same night. They went - but it was a mistake. The next morning the militia came to the Parish and started to kill. Everybody tried to rush out of the church but they were surrounded. Then again Daniel saw his mother, sisters and brothers being killed. He was seriously wounded as well. His left leg and his left arm were badly injured. He felt mad when he saw all the bodies and he could not understand how he could have the courage to run through the militia. He jumped the fence and started to hide in the bushes again.
It was only when he was one kilometre away and decided it was far enough from the killers that he realised that his arm had nearly fallen off. There was only one muscle attaching it to his shoulder and his leg was in equally damaged condition. Daniel knew the Rwandese Patriotic Front soldiers were not far from there so he headed slowly to their camp leaving a trail of blood behind. Daniel will never forget the moment the RPF found him. They cut the remaining muscle that attached Daniel's arm to his body and bandaged it. Having seen everybody dying and now losing his arm, he wanted to die himself. But he did not die - he went to the hospital in Byumba where his arm was properly amputated.
Until 1998 Daniel never felt able to talk about his handicap to anybody. He had no physiotherapy to help get used to one arm, or to build his confidence. He was ashamed and felt guilty if ever he dropped anything. He always wore a jacket, however warm the weather, to hide his arm. He found school very hard and changed schools many times. Daniel was living with a relative who returned from Burundi, but felt she did not understand him - that nobody could understand him.
In 1998 Daniel started to see a counsellor at AVEGA's counselling service. He started a new school where the teachers and students understand the trauma many of the students suffer from their experiences in the genocide and he is living with a foster family.
Uyisenga's Story
I do not cry for justice because it is beyond my reach, the horrors of genocide have been reduced to a mere manslaughter, not even justice in totality can bring back my sanity and life. I was there when the madness struck. I was a child, and yet not really, I was only 14 years of age. I don't know how I separated from my family, all I know is that wherever they lie, they have more peace than I can ever achieve, pain and sorrow can never reach them.
I ran with different people in search for safety, children, men, women, grandmothers, grandfathers, were struck with machetes, clubs and pangas, as they fell down, those with energy continued the journey, surrounded by heaps of mutilated and rotting bodies.
I don't know why I was being chased, but it felt a right decision to run. Now I know I should have stayed put, and joined the fate of my family. I was struck several places with sticks and machetes to my body, but I still ran on, I was raped and abused, but still had the courage to keep running. You may say that I am brave and courageous, yes I have looked death in the face, and courageously paid a shocking price to survive.
I didn't see my family get killed, - not knowing whether they were tortured or not, seeing babies shot and killed like targets this should never happen to anybody. Then the day of judgement came; I dug and buried my family, others I don't know where they lie. I am among the many dead and yet I am not buried. I remain as a statement to what happened (to a million others), for you and for the world to see. This should never happen to anybody. History has a way of repeating itself, don't allow it.
By remembering me, you remember all those innocent victims, moving forward and forgetting what happened is forgetting me, then, and there will be no reason for me to live since I will cease to bear witness.
Anne-Marie's Story
At the time of the genocide, other Tutsis around Kigali came to seek refuge because it was hard to get into. Then the Hutu soldiers came and shot down the gates and let the Hutu people through. They knew they would kill us. Everyone was trying to hide, but only I was quick enough. I ran out of the back of the house. Behind me I could hear noises - chopping and screaming. It wasn't just men who were killed, it was women and children too. Even very young children came with their swords, sticks and machetes and joined in the killing.
When I came back in, nearly everyone was dead. Some were still alive. They had their arms and legs chopped off or were cut across their faces and necks. One child had a big knife sticking out of his stomach. It didn't matter how old they were - they were all Tutsis so thay all had to die. I had to leave all of them all, I couldn't help any of them.
Uceye's Story
She lost her mother, father, brothers and sisters and 30 other relatives and suffered many rapes and beatings. Once of her sisters, who also survived, recently went back to resettle in Rwanda, only to be attacked with a machete by the killers of her family, who feared that she would denounce to them the authorities.
A Hutu I knew told me that my family were dead. He was laughing. He just bumped into me in the street and said: "You know what? They sent two big buses to your town to kill all the people." From that day, I didn't care if I lived. Before my family died, I was always frightened, but then I felt nothing.
One day, I was hiding with my friend, another girl, in an open sewer. She ran out to get something and the soldiers caught her and shot her. When I saw what happened, I screamed. I got up and said "Kill me too, I don;t want to stay alive." People would do that when they had seen enough - some would even offer money to be shot rather than killed by machete. The soldiers held a gun to my head bu they wouldn't kill me. Instead they raped me, beat me took off all my clothes and threw me into a mass grave. Because people had been chopped, my body was covered whith othe people's blood. Many were still alive - I saw one woman with her legs chopped off, lying there moaning and dying.
The person who rescued me from the grave kept me in a shed and raped me. He gave me food and water but only so that he could keep on raping me. He said "It doesn't matter. You're going to die anyway." I ran away and met my future husband who hid me in a petrol drum and took me across the border. He used me like a slave, too. I wasn't pleased to be married, I just did what I had to do to survive.
Helen's Story
For some time before the genocide, feeling against the Tutsi was so intense, everyone knew what was going to happen.
When they came to our house, they came running, screaming and singing songs about how they were going to kill us. There was this huge noise, like bees descending around the house.
All the children ran away, but my energy left me. I climbed a mango tree. They didn't see me. They chased the children, then went into my house and killed everyone - my mother, my father, my grandmother, all the people hiding there. I didn't see it, but I could hear the crying and moaning and screaming. Then suddenly the screaming stopped and I knew everyone was dead.
At one point, I saw my mother try to run out of the door, but they killed her under the tree with machetes. Then all the bodies from the house were pulled out into the courtyard. I couldn't recognise anyone - they were all cut up. After the people left, I stayed up in the tree for many hours. I was numb, I couldn't think.
Then wild dogs arrived. They were moving the bodies around, looking for food, eating people. I couldn't bear to watch that so I climbed down from the tree and ran. From that day on, I kept running, joining this group and that, not really knowing where I was going. I just made a conscious decision to keep moving and never stop. I wouldn't eat for so long that when I was given food my mouth wouldn't open. Sometimes I really had to laugh. Like when I decided to put cotton wool in my nostrils to make them look bigger, so that I looked more like a Hutu.
While I was on the run, I found a group of Hutu men who knew me. For a week they kept me and raped me. They used me like everyome else. They would leave every day, then come back at night and boast about how many people they had killed. I thought that I might as well try to escape, I would die anyway. For me, by then, it didn't matter if it was a bullet or a machete.