Anticipatory Worry and Faith: A Refugee’s Journey Through Christmas

By Dr. William A. Twayigize

The Christmas Eve

Whereas to all of us, Christmas seasons bring joy, anticipation, expectations, and a sense of awe and wonder, to me, it is another story because whenever Christmas approaches, I am gripped by anguished anticipation. Now, as Christmas 2024 nears, my mind takes me back, my heart becomes heavy with the haunting memories of Christmas Eve 1996—a night of unrelenting rain, blood, and despair in the suffocating Tingi Tingi jungle, deep within the vast and menacing Ituri forest. While the world celebrated, I was among millions of desperate refugees: pregnant women with swollen feet trudging through endless mud, children clinging to their mothers, orphaned little ones wailing for parents who would never return, the pregnant mothers with swollen feet due to thousands of miles trekked, the elderly too weak to walk, and the wounded bleeding into the rain-soaked earth—all seeking shelter in a place that offered none. The jungle, a labyrinth of ancient trees and oppressive shadows, became a theater of horror; its rustling leaves masked the footsteps of killers, its damp air carried the cries of the slaughtered, and its relentless rain seeped into our blistered feet and broken bodies. Around us, our enemies prowled like wolves, their AK 47 bayonets gleaming faintly in the dim light, their savage hatred echoing in the screams of the dying. The stench of decay, of death, and of despair clung to us as I sat shivering, drenched, and alone, consumed by the weight of profound loss—my family slaughtered, others forcibly returned to Rwanda to meet the same fate, and all of us abandoned to a world indifferent to our suffering. In the midst of this hell, the promise of “Emmanuel—God with us” felt like a cruel jest, a name distant and hollow in a place seemingly forsaken by Heaven. And yet, even in the depths of this abyss, a fragile thread of faith flickered within me, and through trembling lips, I whispered the words of Psalm 23:4, “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” It was this fragile faith that became my crutch, holding me up and daring me to believe that even amidst the blood, the rain, and the death, God’s mercy was still there, quietly sustaining me in ways I could not yet see.

Darkness and Despair

That Christmas Eve, we found ourselves running from death itself, hunted relentlessly from the Rwandan refugee camps in Uvira, Nyangezi, Panzi, Kavumu, NRA, Nyamirangwe, Kashusha, Mugunga, Lac Vert, Kibumba, Kahindo, and Katale, until we finally arrived at Tingi Tingi—a place once an aerodrome meant to connect Kisangani to Goma and Bukavu but long abandoned and overtaken by the jungle. This desolate place, steeped in history as a hub for looting rare minerals, became our makeshift camp, a fragile sanctuary for millions of desperate refugees. The dense jungle was both our shield and our prison, offering no comfort or hope. That rainy Christmas Eve, there were no lights, no gifts, no festive meals. Hunger clawed at our insides, and the air was filled with the cries of the sick and dying. Torrential rain, mixed with hail, pounded our fragile bodies throughout the night as we lay exposed to the merciless elements. Mosquitoes feasted on our blood, celebrating their own Christmas in a jungle teeming with swamps and disease. The ground became our bed, and the few who had arrived earlier claimed spots on the soaked tarmac to rest their emaciated bodies. Beneath the vast, indifferent sky, the stars bore silent witness to our silent night of tears, sorrow, and mourning.

I stood alone in the storm, the cold rain drenching me to the bone, as despair wrapped itself around us like the unyielding darkness of that night. The faces around me were etched with pain beyond words: mothers cradling lifeless children, men hollowed by atrocities, pregnant women with swollen feet trudging through the mud, and children too young to understand the horrors they had endured, their eyes asking questions no one could answer. The weight of the night pressed down on me: Would I survive? Would I ever escape this jungle of death? Did God hear our cries, or had He abandoned us? My heart echoed with questions and faint whispers of Matthew 6:25: “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink…”—words that felt like a cruel irony in a place devoid of provision. Could God be here in this desolation? The night stretched endlessly, filled with doubt and despair, as death roamed among us. We were convinced we would not see Christmas morning, but as the rain continued to pour, I clung to the faintest thread of hope that perhaps, even in this darkness, God had not forgotten us.

The Crushing Weight of Uncertainty

Anticipatory worry weighed heavily on me as we huddled together in the dense jungle that Christmas Eve at Tingi Tingi. The once-abandoned aerodrome had become a sprawling, chaotic camp for millions of refugees, and yet it offered no sense of safety. The jungle was alive with terror—distant gunfire echoing like a grim reminder of our pursuers, bullets streaking through the night sky like fiery warnings. Explosions rumbled like thunder, and the ground beneath us trembled with the violence that surrounded us. The cries of children, the muffled sobs of mothers, and the distant screams of the wounded filled the damp air, mingling with the acrid smell of gunpowder. Rain poured mercilessly, soaking our already weakened bodies, and small hailstones battered us as if the heavens themselves were punishing us. For shelter, we had nothing but the jungle’s thick canopy, where mosquitoes swarmed in a relentless feast upon our emaciated bodies. I watched as the ground became a cold, muddy grave for some and an unforgiving bed for others, the lifeless bodies of those who couldn’t endure blending with the soaked earth beneath us.

In the midst of this chaos, despair crept into every heart. The distant flashes of gunfire painted the night sky, their light mocking the absence of Christmas candles or festive warmth. The thunderous explosions drowned out any thoughts of peace, and we were left to wonder if we would see another dawn. My mind swirled with questions that had no answers: Would I live to see the end of this nightmare? Had God abandoned us entirely? As I stared into the rain-soaked darkness, the words of Isaiah 41:10 echoed faintly in my heart: “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Yet, they felt distant and almost cruel in a place where survival seemed impossible. The chaos around us made every breath a battle and every moment an act of defiance. The air, thick with fear and the lingering stench of death, felt like a suffocating shroud. Yet, even in that desolation, a fragile thread of hope held me. As explosions mingled with the cries of despair, I whispered the words of Lamentations 3:22-23: “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.” It was a glimmer of light in the darkest of nights, a reminder that perhaps—even there—God had not forgotten us.

Reflections on Hope and Resilience

As Christmas 2024 and the New Year 2025 approach, my heart inevitably returns to that haunting Christmas Eve in the jungle of Tingi Tingi. I was not spared because of strength, wisdom, or merit above the countless childhood friends, schoolmates, and loved ones who perished in that desolate Congolese wilderness. It was only by God’s grace that I am here today, able to recount the story. That night, the jungle was deprived of the “Jingle Bells” and was drenched in relentless rain and suffused with despair. The cries of the sick and dying filled the air, intermingled with the ominous echoes of gunfire and explosions as death prowled among us. Our makeshift beds on the cold, soaked ground, the biting fear of imminent danger, and the shadows of death that loomed over us remain etched into my memory. Life since that night has been unpredictable, and the anticipatory fears from those days never fully fade. Yet one truth continues to shine brightly: “For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:8-9).

In those harrowing moments, I couldn’t fathom why my life had been spared amid the chaos and relentless death surrounding me, nor could I grasp what purpose God had for my survival. Yet, as time unfolded, I came to realize that life’s truest meaning lies in the lives we touch and the burdens we help carry. To be a “tree of blessings”—bringing light to places of despair—is not merely an act of kindness but a sacred calling, rooted in God’s unfailing love. This conviction shapes the heart of ANEHOPE Ministry, where we strive to “educate future compassionate servant leaders for Christ” by easing pain, opening doors to education, and transforming lives through His love. In that jungle, I did not witness hundreds or thousands but millions of souls vanish, and yet, by grace alone, my life was spared. Through it all, one profound truth revealed itself: the true nourishment of the soul is found in kindness, in touching someone’s life for Christ, and in leaving behind a legacy of hope and gratitude. Beyond wealth or status, it is the memories of kindness and the lives uplifted that endure. That same God who sustained me through the terror of that Christmas Eve continues to inspire us today. His presence shone through the chaos in the smallest mercies: the grace to see another day, whispered prayers, and the resilience to keep going. The words of Psalm 23:4 have been my anchor: “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” This Christmas, whether you are surrounded by joy or weighed down by uncertainty, remember Emmanuel—God with us. His love transcends every shadow, and His peace is freely given to all who seek Him. Let us carry this truth forward, becoming vessels of His blessings, and sharing the hope and eternal love that only He can provide, because through it all, only hope sustained me.

A haunting image of Rwandan refugees arriving at the desolate Tingi Tingi camp—a place of sorrow and survival where millions of Rwandan women, children, pregnant mothers, the sick, and the elderly converged after enduring two and a half harrowing months in the dense jungles of Congo. They had been relentlessly hunted and slaughtered by Rwandan Tutsi soldiers, and for many, Tingi Tingi became both a sanctuary and a graveyard. Countless lives were lost within its confines, with thousands of children perishing in this heart-wrenching chapter of human suffering. This photo captures not just their arrival but the unspeakable pain and resilience etched into every face, a testament to their fight for survival against all odds. (Image: Google)

The Promise Fulfillment: From Deadly Explosion to Miraculous Deliverance

In the depths of a torture chamber, where death seemed imminent and hope was a distant memory, I found myself holding onto the only glimmer of light that remained – a Bible handed to me by a mysterious voice. It led me to Psalm 91, a chapter filled with promises and assurance of God’s protection. Little did I know that these words would become my lifeline, my source of strength, and ultimately the testimony of my miraculous deliverance.

Within those hellish walls, I was accompanied by believers like Jonas and Schadrack, who had tirelessly supported me in starting a Bible Fellowship group. Despite the relentless stench of death that permeated the air, we gathered together, calling it our “Bible Fellowship in Hell.” But even in the depths of despair, a divine message reached me, assuring that our lives would not end within those grim confines. The voice spoke with authority, telling me that Jonas, Schadrack, and I would walk free.

Reality jolted me back as the footsteps faded into the distance, leaving me confined to the torture chamber, awaiting the day of my demise. It was a recurring cycle of suffering and torment. Each morning, Tutsi soldiers would bring prisoners to collect our lifeless bodies, destined for the mortuary.

Then, one fateful day, a drunk Tutsi soldier, who had been fighting in the DR Congo, entered the torture chamber and questioned why we were still alive. In a fit of rage, he grabbed a handheld grenade and threw it towards us. The deafening explosion and smoke consumed my senses, and the world around me faded into darkness of death.

Eighteen souls were presumed dead, and I was counted among them. My body was ravaged by the blast, my tibia shattered, and shrapnel pierced through my weakened flesh. I bled profusely, until the last drop of life trickled away, and I slipped into a comatose state. Death seemed to have claimed me.

As expected, the Tutsi soldiers arrived to collect our bodies, taking us to the mortuary – the final stop before a mass burial in Gisozi’s mass graves. But amidst this bleak scene, a foreign lady conducting research for her nursing school with the Red Cross discovered a faint pulse within me. With urgency and determination, she rushed me to the Red Cross clinic in Kigali. The news of the clandestine torture chambers had already spread, making it unfavorable for the government to execute me. Instead, I received the medical support I desperately needed, and against all odds, I began to recover.

Others who had survived were also released, a move by the Kagame government to demonstrate that it was not complicit in the mass killings. Among us were innocent children, like a one-year-old boy, whose only “crime” was being born into the wrong tribe at a dark chapter of history. It was in this moment that I realized how God had faithfully fulfilled His promises, as declared in Psalm 91, in my own life.

Today, as I reflect upon my journey from the depths of that torture chamber to the freedom I now embrace, I stand as a living testimony of the promise fulfillment. God’s divine intervention and His unwavering protection saved me from the jaws of death. I am a testament to His faithfulness, His love, and His power to bring light even in the darkest of places. 

“Bible Verses”:

1.  Psalm 91:14-15 (NIV):

“Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.”

2.  Psalm 34:17-18 (NIV):

“The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

3.  Isaiah 41:10 (NIV):

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.

I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

4.  Psalm 27:1 (NIV):

“The Lord is my light and my salvation— whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life— of whom shall I be afraid?” 

Resilience in the Depths of Hell: A Story of Survival,  Faith, and God’s Promises

In 1998, two years had passed since the UNHCR accepted a bribe from the new government in Kigali led by General Paul Kagame. Despite knowing the grave danger awaiting us in Kigali, a regime we had been fleeing since October 1996 when Kagame’s troops invaded the Rwandan refugee camps in Eastern Zaire/DR Congo, the UNHCR forcefully repatriated over 500 Rwandan refugees from Franceville in Gabon.

I had traversed over 6,000 miles on foot through the dense jungle of the Congolese Ituri Forest, braving treacherous rivers and battling venomous snakes, as the Tutsi rebels and the new Rwandan army under General Paul Kagame, along with General Yoweri Museveni, relentlessly sought to exterminate us.

I survived the attacks on Tingi-Tingi camps, witnessing countless refugee families drown in the merciless waters of River Lubutu, their desperate cries for help echoing in my ears. It was 6 a.m., and the shelling persisted, mercilessly claiming lives.

Now, I found myself back in the clutches of my enemies. Anger towards God welled up within me, yet I knew that His ways were beyond my understanding. He saw the resolution to the catastrophe I was enduring. Upon our return to Kigali, tears streamed down my cheeks as I gazed into the sky, questioning God’s intentions. I stood in a country I once called home, but nothing seemed familiar except for the encompassing hills. The air felt suffocating, for I realized there was no escape from this place alive. As I peered into the horizon, I discerned distant cemeteries. One of those graves would soon belong to me. With tears in my eyes, I whispered, “God, if I am fortunate, let them kill me and lay me to rest there. Otherwise, no one will know who ended my life or where my body will find its final repose.”

As these thoughts plagued my mind, we arrived at a warehouse in Kigali, our final destination. “God, why have You brought us back to our enemies to endure such excruciating torment?” I questioned, but before receiving an answer, an unprepared Tutsi soldier delivered a powerful blow from behind, propelling me forcefully into the unyielding concrete wall. The impact drew blood, marking my return to Rwandan soil. It was the commencement of the horrors that awaited us. “Ensure you bring me forty of these animals’ bodies every day,” commanded a Tutsi officer to his subordinates. I swiftly calculated that since we were approximately 547 refugees crammed into this chamber of torture, if the Tutsi soldiers executed 40 of us daily, it would take a mere 14 days for us all to perish.

As my mind was overwhelmed with thoughts of our impending doom, another Tutsi soldier approached and inquired, “Who is William?” Startled, I responded, “It’s me.” He then returned my confiscated Bible, which they had believed contained money. “I have perused your Bible, and I must confess, I was deeply moved by your diligent reading and underlining of the memory verses that offered solace. I can no longer withhold this treasure from you, for I know you will need it within that ‘hell’,” he said, returning my Bible to me.

Later, I utilized the same Bible to initiate a Bible Fellowship within the confines of the torture chamber. As the Tutsi government continued its merciless slaughter through various forms of torture—starvation, beatings, waterboarding, mock executions, and slamming our heads against the unfeeling concrete walls—more victims of torture surrendered their lives to Jesus.

We all recognized that regardless of our circumstances, the government remained resolute in exterminating us. During our fellowships, which commenced when we still possessed voices and endured until they were silenced by starvation, over 67 torture victims found solace in Jesus. Tragically, more than 60 of these innocent souls—accounting for 95% of the new believers—succumbed within the torture chamber.

One day, my turn to meet my Maker arrived. My feeble body could no longer stand. Curled up like a cocoon, akin to a caterpillar awaiting transformation, I awaited the final breath. A week prior, we had spent eight days in the presence of lifeless bodies, including that of a seven-year-old boy, until decay claimed them. I knew my body would soon resemble theirs.

In my state of unconsciousness, teetering on the brink of death, darkness enveloped my mind. It was the dead of night. Many of my colleagues had perished, leaving the torture chamber nearly empty. Unlike when we were herded inside in 1997, cramped and incapable of movement or sitting due to the lack of space, the chamber now appeared desolate. The few remaining survivors lacked the strength to speak, and an eerie silence pervaded our surroundings.

Then, footsteps echoed, drawing nearer from a distance. As they approached, I sensed someone traversing the empty torture chamber. I cared little, for my body had relinquished all desire to live. Death loomed, an inevitable fate. Gradually, someone approached me, lifting my weakened body against their chest. They retrieved the Bible that had served as my pillow throughout the years spent in the torture chamber.

Whoever it was then opened my Bible and requested that I read Psalm 91. I was surprised to discover that, despite reading my Bible cover to cover repeatedly, I had overlooked Psalm 91, failing to underline any portion of it. As I immersed myself in its verses, I realized it brimmed with promises. God faithfully fulfilled those promises, delivering me from the clutches of my enemies. Amen!

A Story of God’s Unwavering Faithfulness

Dr. William Twayigize’s life began in a small village nestled between the borders of northern Rwanda, western Uganda, and the eastern part of the Democratic Republic of Congo. This picturesque region, adorned with dormant volcanoes and abundant natural resources, held the potential for greatness.

Within the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) lay vast deposits of the world’s most coveted minerals, including Coltan, a substance powering the circuit boards of smartphones and gaming consoles used globally. These precious resources were embedded within the villages inhabited by the native people of the DRC. Tragically, these villages and communities fell victim to the horrific “Congo Massacres,” marking some of Africa’s darkest and most brutal chapters.

As a young boy, William held a profound dream—to become a medical doctor and assist pregnant women in safely delivering their babies. Life in his village was peaceful, until that one unforgettable night that would forever alter William’s trajectory. In the dead of night, Rwandan rebels descended upon his village, just after his youth soccer team had concluded their final match of the quarter. Awoken by the blood curdling screams of his fellow villagers being mercilessly slaughtered, William emerged as one of the few survivors, instantly catapulted into the relentless plight of a refugee.

For four years, war ravaged Rwanda until the rebel soldiers returned under the cover of darkness, driven by their insatiable hunger for the wealth bestowed upon the land. As a young boy, William sought refuge within the depths of the forest, eventually finding solace in refugee camps. However, tragedy struck once more when another invasion forced thousands of refugees into the treacherous embrace of the Volcanic Forest of Nyiragongo. Many souls met a fiery end, consumed by the wrath of the active volcanoes. It was during this tumultuous period that William was cruelly separated from his beloved parents and siblings. According to the UN Human Rights Mapping Report, over 8 million lives were lost during this dark and harrowing era.

After a perilous journey spanning roughly 6,000 miles on foot, William finally crossed into the Congo Republic. There, he was met by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, who loaded the weary refugees onto a plane bound for safety—or so they believed. Unbeknownst to William, this flight was a malevolent ruse, leading them to a nightmarish chamber of torture where survival became their only objective. At a tender age, William found himself plunged into a grueling battle for life.

In the depths of this horrifying chamber, where starvation and unspeakable torture were their constant companions, William found solace in the presence of his Bible—the sole possession he managed to conceal within the cell. From the depths of despair, he courageously initiated a prayer group, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. Within the confines of that cell, William’s unwavering faith guided him, leading more than 67 captives to embrace faith and find solace in God. Tragically, 90% of these brave souls would perish in that torture chamber, succumbing to beatings and starvation. William endured unimaginable pain, spending a week amidst the lifeless bodies of his friends, awaiting the cold embrace of death.

Then, on an unsuspecting day, a grenade mercilessly shattered the thin veil of existence within William’s cell. Eighteen of his cellmates were instantly extinguished, while he lay gravely injured, slipping into an unconscious state. The bodies, including William’s, were carelessly tossed into a mortuary, awaiting their final journey. It was a stroke of fate that the Red Cross arrived, their discerning eyes catching a faint pulse within William’s fragile frame. They rushed him to a clinic, clinging to the hope of saving a life. Several arduous months later, William miraculously emerged from the depths of despair, his recovery a testament to God’s mercy and the compassionate aid provided by those around him.Emerging from this harrowing ordeal, William found himself adrift on the unforgiving streets of Nairobi. Reduced to the status of a “street boy,” he scavenged and begged for sustenance, his dreams of education slipping further away. Yet, amidst the harshness of his existence, a chance encounter altered his path forever.

A compassionate missionary from Sierra Leone called Rev. Arnold C. Temple crossed William’s path, pausing to engage in conversation. Struck by William’s intelligence and potential, the missionary uttered words that would change everything: “I don’t think you should be on this street. You seem like a very smart kid. I am rushing to the airport, but I will be back in two weeks, and I hope to see you again.”

True to his word, the missionary returned, determined to rescue William from the depths of destitution. Extending a lifeline, he supported William in pursuing a university education. However, as William delved into his studies, the missionary’s resources dwindled, leaving him in a precarious position. The threat of returning to the streets loomed ominously. But just as hope began to waver, God once again revealed His unwavering faithfulness.

A man named Dr. Tom Englund entered William’s life—a providential encounter that would alter his course forever. Recognizing William’s immense potential, Tom selflessly provided the necessary funding for him to complete his education.

Today, Dr. William Twayigize stands as a living testament to the power of faith, resilience, and God’s unwavering faithfulness. Guided by his profound journey, he now imparts wisdom and knowledge to others as a dedicated teacher in San Diego. His story resonates as a powerful example of how God can transform even the most unbearable circumstances into instruments of profound good. It serves as a testament to the indomitable power of a single act of kindness, capable of forever altering the course of a life.

Dr. William Twayigize’s life is a radiant beacon of hope, reminding us that amidst the deepest darkness, God’s faithfulness prevails. His story echoes the resounding truth that no matter how dire our circumstances may seem, restoration, purpose, and blessings can emerge from the ashes of adversity. In addition to his remarkable achievements, Dr. William Twayigize has been blessed with a loving family—his wife, Dorah Anono, and their four children, Natalia, Liam, Lulu, and Simba—creating a legacy that embodies the essence of God’s enduring faithfulness.

The Journey from Darkness to Light: A Remarkable Journey Through Turbulence and Triumph

January 22, 1991, is a day etched deeply in my memory. The tranquility of our small Rwandan village, nestled between Rwanda, Zaire/DRC, and Uganda, was shattered when Tutsi rebels swept in under the cover of darkness. The silence of the night was punctuated by chilling cries of our neighbors being brutally hacked to death, accompanied by hushed whispers of fear. Just earlier that day, I had been a carefree schoolboy, tending to the goalposts for our primary school team during a friendly match for an inter-school tournament. This tournament had been sponsored by Father Guy Pinard, a beloved figure from Trois Rivieres in Canada’s Quebec province. Father Pinard’s love for the youth and his commitment to the well-being of the community since 1962 were widely recognized, making him a cherished member of our community.

Our world turned upside down that night, and my childhood dream of becoming a medical doctor and owning my own clinic to help women and children was shattered. As gunfire dominated the night, we ran aimlessly, driven only by the instinct to escape the terror unfolding in our homes. Seeking refuge, we found ourselves in the maize farms by the River Rwebeya. Life as I knew it had come to an end, and my journey as a refugee had just begun. It was January 23, 1991.

I vividly remember our household becoming a beacon of hope amidst the violence, offering refuge to families fleeing from Kidaho, Butaro, and Ruhondo villages near the Rwanda-Uganda border. The ongoing conflict between the Rwandan government forces and the Tutsi rebels, backed by Uganda, continued to escalate between 1991 and 1994, crushing any hope of experiencing peace in our ancestral land again. Then, on April 6, 1994, at 8 pm Kigali time, the Rwandan rebels shot down Habyarimana’s plane as it prepared to land at Kanombe Airport. This marked the assassination of two sitting presidents, Rwanda’s Habyarimana Juvenal and Burundi’s Ntaryamira Cyprian, along with their entire entourage. This tragic event triggered horrific ethnic mass killings across Rwanda. While millions left Rwanda for neighboring countries, I chose to remain inside and sought shelter in the Kibeho Internally Displaced Refugee Camps located at the Kibeho Catholic Parish, hoping to witness peace and return home.

However, there was no respite there either. After a year in the Kibeho refugee camp, on April 22, 1995, the new Tutsi government forces launched a brutal assault on the Kibeho Refugee Camps, resulting in the massacre of over 15,000 refugees, including men, women, and children. I managed to survive that day, albeit with severe injuries to my right ankle, which propelled me on a perilous journey to Burundi and then to Zaire.

My injuries worsened in Zaire, and doctors contemplated amputating my leg. However, by some divine intervention, during the scheduled surgery, a sudden blackout thwarted their plans, sparing me from amputation. Instead, I was advised to undergo physiotherapy. I relocated from the Bukavu refugee camps to Kibumba, where I was eventually reunited with my parents.

Fate, it seemed, was not yet finished with us. After spending some months in the Kibumba refugee camp, on a fateful night in October 1996, the Rwandan Tutsi army invaded the refugee camps in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). An unimaginable night of horror unfolded, claiming the lives of hundreds of thousands. Armed with nothing but sheer willpower and the instinct to survive, I fled from Goma, traversing over 6000 miles across the DR Congo, until I reached Franceville in Gabon by July 1997.

In a twisted turn of events, over 500 Rwandan refugees, including myself, were forcibly repatriated to Rwanda by the UNHCR. Upon our return, we were not welcomed home. The Tutsi government subjected us to torture chambers, where 90% of those confined met a merciless demise under the Kagame regime. It was during one of those torturous nights that an unknown voice whispered to me, urging me to read Psalm 91. I am certain it was the voice of God. It reassured me that I would survive the torture and regain my freedom.

After several months, a Tutsi soldier hurled a grenade into our midst, claiming the lives of 18 people and leaving me critically injured. Mistaken for dead, I was taken to a mortuary among the lifeless bodies, waiting for burial. However, a Red Cross worker who came to select bodies for burial noticed a faint pulse in me. Her swift actions saved me from the brink of death, rushing me to the emergency room where I was resuscitated. I was later released because human rights organizations had identified my case. Returning to what was once called home, I discovered that my father, siblings, and thousands of our neighbors had been killed by Tutsi soldiers led by General Nyamwasa. In addition, my uncle Samuel Bazirake and 17 church members from Bigogwe village had been abducted from the church pulpit and slaughtered in Mahoko caves, their bodies later discovered by the Agence Presse (AP). Captain Richard Sezibera troops manned the entrance of the Mahoko caves as my uncle and his friends’ bodies rotted away. Death continued to cast its shadow over my village.

A Human Right Watch Depiction of Torture Victims in Rwanda

In 2000, I embarked on another escape, making my way to Uganda and then Kenya. Life on the streets of Nairobi was a struggle, where I scrounged for food and relied on the kindness of strangers. It was during this time that I encountered the family of Reverend Arnold C. Temple, who became my angels. They provided me with shelter, food, and an opportunity to continue my education at Daystar University. Later on, I also met the family of Dr. Thomas H. Englund at Daystar University, who generously sponsored my studies until I graduated.

Years later, with the support of the Englund family, my educational journey led me to the United States, where I pursued further studies at Southern New Hampshire University and subsequently at Brandeis University. I had the privilege of working as an associate researcher at Harvard University and as the African Presidential Center program coordinator at Boston University.

In 2013, I was honored to receive a prestigious scholarship from the Australian government for my doctoral degree, which temporarily took me to Australia—an accomplishment that holds a special place in my heart. Today, as Dr. William A. Twayigize, I proudly serve as a university professor in the USA, standing as a testament to the promise held in Psalm 91, the whispered words of hope that saved me in my darkest hour.

 

 

My journey, though marked by excruciating pain and hardships, also holds incredible stories of kindness, resilience, and hope. It stands as a testament to the indomitable spirit of humanity and its capacity to endure and emerge stronger. Each day, as I embrace my role as an educator, I carry within me the memories of my past, using them as a compass to guide and inspire my students, illuminating the path to a brighter future with the embers of my own history.

The promise whispered to me all those years ago, in the depths of a torture chamber, was kept. And today, I strive to fulfill my promise—to be a beacon of hope, resilience, and unwavering faith, just as many were for me during my extraordinary journey from darkness to light. This is why I founded ANEHOPE, an organization that provides scholarships to bright children from slums and refugee communities, inspiring them to aim higher while also serving as a way to pay forward the blessings I have received.