* This is a lengthy account of one of my friend's story of survival in 1994. It's long, but I encourage you to read until the end. *
I want to share with you the story of my good friend, Mensier. Mensier hangs out at our house frequently during the week and weekends, watching movies, fixing things, and learning and sharing with his mentor, Janelle, who is my roommate. Mensier was one of Janelle's choir boys in the African Children's Choir a decade ago. (Mensier is camera shy) :)
Last week, Mensier was gracious enough to accompany and welcome me to the villages of Nyamata and Ntarama, two tiny villages a mile apart where his mother and other siblings live. We took Janelle's motorcycle, and headed out of the city. The small Catholic churches at Nyamata and Ntarama are now vivid memorial sites of what took place in 1994 in our country.
For Rwandans, April is an extremely reflective and somber month. It's a month to remember the genocide of the Tutsis and moderate Hutus in 1994. A month to pray, to visit the sites of the tragedies and the graves, and a month to continue reconciling, forgiving, and healing.
Mensier was 7 years old in 1994. His father was a pastor in Butare, a town two hours south of Kigali, and his mother was a mom to Mensier and his two younger siblings. An older brother was away at secondary school in Kigali. They lived a good life. They had enough money to meet their needs, and they felt very blessed.
Late in 1993, when many Rwandans began to feel the tides changing in their country, as they were being persecuted for no apparent reason, Mensier's mom had a vision. A vision that fire was overtaking them, but that God was with them in the fire and would see them through. His mom is one of the most courageous women of faith that I know! She reminds me of my own Grandma.
But after that vision, the family still stayed in their village outside of Butare. On the night of April 7, 1994, when the former President's plane was shot out of the sky, his mom remembered her vision. She tried to send word to the older brother that the family was going to leave and flee into Congo, and that he should come with them. Mensier's dad was away too, preaching in another area of Rwanda. It had been too late. Later they would discover that Meniser's brother had been killed with a machete and beheaded by the Hutu militia. They would also discover that Mensier's father and been beaten, hacked with a machete and burned in the house where he had been staying. The fire was upon them.
Mensier's mother soon realized that she couldn't wait another day. She had to hurry and try to leave with Mensier, his 5 year old sister, and the baby brother on her back. She had wanted to wait for the father and brother, but when the militia came to their village one day just to scare the villagers and said they'd be back to kill, she knew she had to flee right then. That night, before they could leave, the Hutu militia came for them. They found Mensier's mother, and the three children hiding under a bed. After the children watched the militia beat his mother, an auntie came running to them and pleaded with the killers to let them all go. To everyone's surprise, the militia left and their lives were spared for that moment. The killers had recognized the aunt, and knew that she was married to a top official in the region. The auntie had lied and told the killers that Meniser and his sister were her children instead. They believed her.
So that night, in the dark of night, they all began their journey to the border of Congo. Meniser was walking and holding hands with his 5 year old sister, and their baby brother was on his mom's back. They walked for many nights, hiding during the days under bushes and in pit latrines. They walked 140 kilometers (90 miles), the distance from Butare to Cyangugu, on the Congolese border. When they arrived...shoeless, exhausted, and famished, they found the border absolutely packed with Rwandans trying to escape across. Everyone was hungry, shoving, despserate. The border officials weren't letting anyone else cross over. Mensier's mom tried to bribe one of them with the last bit of francs she had left, but nothing worked. Many old dugout wooden canoes were making their way across Lake Kivu into Congo territory. Meniser's mom grabbed and hugged both of them and told them to make a run for it and get on one of those canoes. She would stay behind with the baby and they would all reunite later. She hugged and kissed them, and they both ran to the water. Mensier threw his sister in a canoe and jumped in. There was no room to sit, so they both laid down on the bottom, underneath the feet of everyone else. Many boats were too heavy with passengers, and capsized in the lake. Mensier remembers praying with his sister that their boat would make it across, and thanking God they made it this far. He remembers that moment with his mom, not knowing if he'd ever see her again. But he was determined to protect his younger sister. They made their way across the lake, and when the sun rose, they were in Congo. But their journey was far from over.
In the Congolese refugee camp, Mensier and his sister both came down with cholera, and there was a time where Mensier remembers he woke up and asked himself, Am I dead? Am I alive or dead? He was too sick at one point, that he doesn't remember reality. By the grace of God, after thousands died in the camps, God's hand was on Meniser and his sister, and they both began to slowly recover. When they were a bit stronger, a man befriended them and offered to take them back into Rwanda in the summer to help find their mother.
Since April, after the 100 days, President Paul Kagame and his RPF troops had made their way into Kigal and regained the city. The worst of the genocide was over. It was still many more months before Mensier and his sister were reunited with his mom and baby brother, who had managed to stay alive after hiding in a neighbor's shed.
Knowing Mensier and his mom and sister today, one would never guess the amount of tragedy they have faced and lived through. They are cheerful, happy, thankful believers, and spend their days encouraging others and shining their lights. God has given them an unspeakable testimony, and story to share with others, so that others can know hope and the strength that comes from our Lord. Listening to Mensier's story over a hamburger at Mr. Chips last week, I was numb. I was hanging on to every word, trying to listen and learn, and to understand. I still don't understand how something like the genocide could have taken place in this beautiful country I call home. I still cannot try and comprehend how people can be so brainwashed by evil that they kill in those horrific ways. It doesn't make sense to me.
And the faith and light that shines so strong in Mensier and his family today, would never make sense, either, except for knowing and understanding the True source of strength and light in our world. He is the Truth! The light that shines in the darkness, and no darkness will ever overcome Him! The One who is in Mensier and his mom is greater than the one who is in the world.
Today Mensier provides financially for his mom and siblings. He has started a training program and school near Nyamata village, and he hopes to one day go to university to train in business. Mensier's mom cares for 2 young boys in the village who have no family to care for them. Their family is beautiful; a true reflection of Christ here on earth.
Many Rwandans fled to churches during the genocide, thinking they would be safe. Thousands died in churches all over the country. In Ntarama, 45,000 were killed in the church or on the church grounds. Today this church is a memorial. It was left as it was after the genocide. The clothes and bloodied belongings still lay all over the wooden pews. The holes in the wall are from the grenade blasts to enter the church. The bones and skulls are neatly piled in a makeshift tomb in the basement. There are still bloodstains on the walls of the Sunday School room and on the altar. I waited 3 years to visit this memorial, initially thinking I never wanted to. I'm glad I did now, as I feel it's so important to see, not just hear, but see and know, and to grieve alongside my Rwandan friends this month.
