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

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!