The Journey from Darkness to Light
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.