JEANNE Allaire Kayigirwa believed she would die three times during the Rwandan genocide, where most of her friends and family were massacred.
She and her sister hid in the bush for six weeks, constantly moving as Hutu extremists hunted Tutsis like them.
“I don’t know how we survived,” she said, but much of that time she prefers not to remember.
“Otherwise, I won’t be able to go on.”
Now 46 and a senior local government official in Paris, Allaire Kayigirwa reflects on how she learned to live with her demons.
“You cannot wipe a genocide from your memory. It comes back when it wants.”
Eventually, she asked herself, “Am I going to let the killers who tried to wipe me out take my second life too? Or am I going to live it?”
More than a million people were killed in 1994, when the extremist Hutu regime systematically exterminated men, women and children from the Tutsi minority, often with machetes.
The killings were carried out not just by soldiers but also by neighbours, colleagues and even friends.
Thirty years on, survivors who were adopted or grew up abroad recount their paths to healing and reconnection.
Living with the weight of loss
Allaire Kayigirwa lost her father, sister, cousins and friends.
“I try not to count,” she said.
Moving to France allowed her to study and escape the daily presence of the killers.
She co-founded the survivor group Ibuka to keep the genocide’s memory alive, speaking to students about the horrors.
Her second life came with haunting reminders. French streets would conjure images of hiding places. The sound of gunfire in cinemas startled her.
“The nightmares lasted a long time,” Allaire Kayigirwa admitted.
For others, silence filled the spaces left by trauma.
Manzi Rugirangoga was only 15 months old when his mother, aunt and uncle were killed during a Hutu militia attack in Butare.
He and his siblings, aged four and seven, were left to die of hunger. His father, who was abroad during the genocide, found him in an orphanage three months later.
Now 31 and living in Kigali, Rugirangoga says, “Dozens of my family members were killed. My father is the only survivor on his side.”
Growing up in France, little was spoken about the past.
Rugirangoga working on his laptop at the French cultural centre in Kigali. Rugirangoga survived the genocide against the Tutsi in 1994 when he was only a year old and where he lost his mother and dozens of family members. — AFP
“People would ask where I came from, and I knew very little,” said Rugirangoga.
At age 10, a visit to Rwanda triggered an “instinctive need” to reconnect.
He returned permanently at 15, learned the language and embraced his roots.
Now an entrepreneur, Rugirangoga has written a novel, founded a publishing house and invested in local farms.
“The idea that we can totally reconstruct ourselves and not think about what happened? That is unattainable,” he said.
Trauma’s quiet persistence
For Sandrine Lorusso, silence about the genocide was a coping mechanism.
Adopted by her eldest sister in France, the nurse lost her parents and siblings. She still doesn’t know how her father died – his body was found in a mass grave.
As an adult, suppressed memories caught up with her. Panic attacks and depression followed.
“You try to keep it down, but sooner or later it comes out,” she said.
Her first pregnancy brought fresh waves of trauma.
Lorusso now wants to explore therapy and get involved in preserving the genocide’s memory.
“There are things I can’t remember about 1994, and it has robbed me of my early childhood memories.”
Acts of extraordinary kindness
For some survivors, extraordinary rescues changed their lives.
As a six-year-old, Gaspard Jassef hid alone in the forest for five months after Hutu relatives poisoned his Tutsi mother and sister.
Malnourished and near death, he was discovered by a French nurse, Dominique Jassef, who adopted him.
“She probably saved my life with a week to spare,” Jassef said.
He recalls the difficulty of burying his family at such a young age and the trauma that followed him. Yet, he cherishes the love of both his biological and adoptive mothers.
Jassef later co-founded The Adopted of Rwanda, a support group for survivors. Now in his 30s, he is deeply engaged in politics and advocacy, though he still struggles with sleeplessness and emotional scars.
Jassef showing a photograph of him with his adoptive mother Dominique taken on June 21, 1995. Gaspard was orphaned by the Rwandan genocide in 1994. He was adopted in 1995 in France, where he has been trying to rebuild his life for the past 30 years. — AFP
Returning home
For many survivors, reconnection with Rwanda has been essential.
Allaire Kayigirwa recently moved back with her husband and son to be closer to her elderly mother and rebuild ties with her homeland.
“Even 6,000km away, you bring the genocide with you,” she said.
Others like Rugirangoga found hope in contributing to Rwanda’s recovery. His projects in Kigali help him honour the memory of those who died.
“Reconnecting with my roots, my family, and my history has helped me,” he said.
For Lorusso and others who remain abroad, the path to healing involves bridging the gaps between their lost childhoods and their present lives.
“The genocide didn’t just take people from us; it took pieces of our past.”
Despite the pain, survivors are finding ways to honour those they lost and rebuild futures full of resilience.
As Allaire Kayigirwa put it, “Talking about it is how I ensure the dead are not silenced.” — AFP
