They lived,So we are

As we come to the end of this commemoration week, while still carrying the weight of mourning our loved ones, I find myself deeply reminded of how extraordinary our parents are. As a post-genocide generation, I feel like we don’t always pause enough to truly appreciate the strength, resilience, and quiet sacrifices they’ve made to raise us malgré everything they have been through.

For those who may not know, I am referring to the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi.

As someone born after the Genocide, I didn’t fully understand the depth and extremity of what happened.

Uretse gusa, growing up knowing that every 9th of April the whole family had to meet to put flowers ku rwibutso, then go to mass, and later gather at Grandpa’s house with all the cousins

I felt like, as a small child, it was just another hangout .

But malgré ça, we always knew who we were going to put flowers to.

As a small child, around 5 or 6, we had my grandma’s (my dad’s mom) picture in the living room a tall, elegant, light-skinned woman with beautiful natural hair and kind, striking eyes. Funnily enough, nobody knows this, but my sister and I used to think she was watching us like the other portrait, the Mona Lisa.

To move on, our family did everything possible to keep them alive not only by kujya kubibuka from 1994 up to now, but also by telling us their stories: how Grandma was strict but deeply loving; how my aunt, whom I resemble so much, was intelligent, beautiful, well-mannered, and always laughing; and how my uncle loved dancing and even went to competitions .

It all sounded so beautiful to realize that the people in those pictures truly lived full, vibrant lives.

And as I grow older, despite carrying these memories and witnessing my family mourn to this day, I find it deeply absurd that there are still people who claim that this Genocide never happened, or who try to minimize it to fit their own narratives.

Nonese if it never happened, where are our grandparents, aunties, uncles, cousins?

The ones who would have loved us so deeply.

Erega, even when we hear stories of how they lived, we can’t help but imagine…

what would our lives look like if they were still here with us?

And to end, I would like to express my deepest gratitude not only to my parents, but to the parents of this entire nation, and most especially to the Inkotanyi.

A few days ago, I came across a tweet that said:

“Ese ko Inkotanyi zatwomoye, zo zomowe nande?”

And it stayed with me.

It is such a powerful way to reflect on how they saved us, how they chose to give everything for us, and continue to do so without ever putting themselves first.

I cannot even begin to imagine what it means to be 16 or 17 years old, to leave everything behind and go to war to fight for your country, to liberate your people only to return and find that your entire family has been massacred.

And yet, despite that pain, they chose to rebuild.

They chose to give us a future.

Thank you, dear parents, for giving us what this life did not give you:

a happy and stable family, a country, peace, and love ..things we grew up experiencing without even realizing how privileged we were.

And most importantly

may God, in His grace, heal every hidden wound,

comfort every heavy heart,

and restore to you the peace you so selflessly gave us.