Romain Kabahizi
I grew up in Kicikiro. We had a good childhood and played with the other kids with no problem, but once we got into school, the teacher started asking questions like, "Which of you are Hutu? Which are Tutsi?" All your friends went to one side of the class; you had to go to the other. That was a slap in the face. It felt like, "You're not one of us." In 1990 the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) attacked. Things got worse and worse. Multiple political parties were allowed then; there was a demonstration every other day and you couldn't go out when they were happening. Killings would often happen at night.
The UN had a camp nearby, in the ETO high school. On 6 April, we went there because we thought we would be in good hands. About a week later, they left. People tried to lie down in front of their trucks, but the soldiers kicked them away. I knew we were going to be killed, so I hid. I saw the Interahamwe jumping the fence. I saw them chasing women and children and I could hear kids screaming. I saw them hacking, kicking and hitting with the butts of their guns. One woman was screaming, "Please, please, don't kill me." They just said, "Shut up!" One child was crying and they cut him, but didn't finish him off; he was dying, and I could hear all those things.
My parents, my brother and his pregnant wife, and many of my family and friends were killed. Every time I go to Kigali, everywhere I walk, I remember. As long as I live, it will be impossible to forget. I can forgive, but I can't forget. I can forgive because that's the way to heal myself, to get over the anger, but even if I forgive it doesn't mean I want to see them walking the streets free as they are doing now. I think the UN failed to prevent genocide in Rwanda simply because we Africans were not that important. The International Community could still help with justice. And the International Tribunal in Arusha is very slow. I think people should learn that, as long as you acknowledge a problem exists, you can solve it. As long as we ignore things, they are going to keep on happening. I think there is hope for Rwanda. Reconciliation is something we have to achieve, but reconciliation and trust are two totally different things. I can have my Hutu friends again, but I have lost my trust in them. But in the next generation, I want my children to have the trust I have lost. For me, the scars are too deep to heal. It's going to take generations of healing to regain that trust.
A longer version of this account is published by the Aegis Trust in 'A Time to Remember: Rwanda, ten years after the genocide'.