We were at a funeral on the 7th of April when we learned président Juvenal's plane had been shot down. We went home afraid but weren't thinking much of it, until we woke up next day seeing house ablaze on Mwogo hill and refugees flocking to us with nothing, telling us of killings

We immediately took a few belongings and immediately came here at this church. There was also a school at the time, and the entire place (classrooms, field) was filled with refugees from all over. Groups of militias started attacking us, but we'd fend them off with stones

Some time later, Burgmeister Biniga came to "comfort us" telling us he'd protect us, telling us he'd bring soldiers to protect us. But the very next morning came the largest Interahamwe attack at around 11 am on April 14th. The women were cooking, and all of a sudden we saw buses

Filled with militiamen from Rwamiko and truckloads of soldiers. Our men immediately left to fight them off, but it was a battle lost before it even began. The soldiers started shooting in the crowd, systematically mowing them down. They then came to where we were and started

Hacking at people like they were tree barks. I don't know how I survived that. I only know I crawled through their legs and fled to the church. That's where I saw my husband. A bullet had pierced his head, and came out in the back, shattering his skull. I got in the church, but

The sight was horrendous. Many died of the wounds they'd incurred trying to get in. We barricaded ourselves inside, and that's when the soldiers started shooting gas grenades inside. We couldn't breather, and the little ones died from asphyxiation. The priest we were with, seeing

The situation started performing last rites for the people inside. Fortunately, the killers heard there was money stashed at the priest's house and ran to take it. That's when we ran out trying to save ourselves. I ran back to the school trying to find my kids and saw my daughter

I picked her up in the rain, at night and ran downhill, falling over, picking myself up again, jumping over piles and piles of bodies. As we got over to Ntacyo do, that's when we heard screams and looked back to see the church in flames. We knew thousands of people had stayed

Inside. During my flight, my body and my daughters were in tatters because of thorn cuts. I hid myself in the bush in Rukoko, but met up with a few other survivors and made our way to Karama. We started being evacuated to Butare hospital because some of use were in really

Critical condition. But when we got to Faucon hotel, we found a roadblock. We were stopped, and a certain professor Karenzi was taken out and lapidated with bricks. We thought it was over for us, but then the leader of the Interahamwe at this roadblock said to let us pass, saying

They'd kill us anyway later on at the hospital. We got to the hospital and doctors without borders started bandaging us. But as we thought we were finally safe, a doctor Gatera came and started asking our ID cards. I said we didn't have any. He looked at the people he was with

And said "All of these are Tutsi cockroaches. You know what to do with them". They started taking people out the back to a mass grave and killing them there, but I somehow got away and hid myself in the maternity ward. I found a lady who was sick, and she told me I could hide

By masquerading as her helper since her husband was a known Interahamwe who had gone to kill. I did that, and found a sympathetic doctor Mbarutso, a Hutu who knew well I was a Tutsi, but forged papers for me so I could stay there. During my time there, many other Tutsi kept

Getting discovered and killed. I would see them being taken to be killed and couldn't do anything about it. But someone finally recognized me, and asked where I was from. I lied, telling him I was the daughter of a Hutu he knew, but that I had left my ID to care for the sick

Woman, and the war had found me there. That day he told the soldiers to give me food, and they gave me bucket loads. But sometime later he went back to my supposed father to get my ID and learned of my true identity. He was so mad he came back with lots of soldiers to kill me

But fortunately someone tipped off the woman I was caring for, who then told me. I ran and hid in a toiled cabinet that had not been in use. It usually couldn't open, but somehow that day it did. That's why they never thought to look for me there. But those soldiers savagely beat

The woman up, and would have killed her, had her husband not come and dissuaded them. They finally left, and at night she came to see me with food and begged me to leave so the soldiers wouldn't kill me. I left that night with my daughter, and in the morning I

walked with people who were about their business as usual. As we got to the military school we found another roadblock, but I was able to lie my way out of having to show my ID. I got to the province HQ and found a very large Tutsi refugee makeshift camp. The refugees had come

From all over, including here in Gikongoro. But honestly, we had all made peace with death already that we did not even make efforts to save ourselves anymore. Trucks would come and pack up hundreds of us, and take them to be killed and thrown in mass graves. They killed all the

Men and started taking the women and children. They kill people, throw them in the mass graves, fill them to the brink, seal them off and dig other mass graves. These efforts were being supervised by officials from MINITRAP. At one point we were moved to EER near the house of

Minister Nyiramasuhuko, who was so mad that "smelly Tutsi had been brought near her house". They then closed the classrooms so we wouldn't get inside. That rainy night, a lot of people died of frostbite. Soldiers would also randomly come, pick women and burn their hair on their

Heads. I had lost track of the date by then, so I have no idea what month it was. But the RPF started getting closer, and the Hutu started fleeing. But they made a last ditch effort to kill us all. They brought trucks and filled them with Tutsi, took them to Nyaruhengeri and

Killed them there. One kid who had been in the second truck was able to flee and come back to warn us. We were packed in the last truck and when we got to Nyaruhengeri, the field was filled with hundreds of bodies. I could see toddlers and babies still sucking on their dead

Mothers' breasts. At some point before the killers got to us, the militiamen at Nyaruhengeri told the men who had brought us to take us back. We were taken back to the provincial HQ. When the governor saw us he started saying "The Tutsi have no dignity left at all. Imagine, even

The Interahamwe don't want to kill them anymore". A few days later we were taken to Rango forest. The governor said it was to show the French that he had saved some Tutsi, but gave strict orders not to give us any food at all. Someone did bring us food but was almost killed.

We resorted to eating grass and dirt. I remember one time we were taken to a river to drink water. We found the river red with blood, but we were all so thirsty that we did not think twice before drinking it. I also remember the killers leaving us there and going to greet the

French, with their blood soaked killing instruments. But a few days later we heard rumors that the RPF was getting to Rusatira, fighting off the government forces. The next morning at around 11 am, we saw government soldiers running past us with their guns. We thought they were

There to kill us, but they ran past us, and in moments, RPF soldiers found us there. That is how we were saved. At the end of the genocide I went to work at Butare hospital, and found all those killers and accomplices working alongside me. I'm the one who testified against them

All and showed the mass graves. They tried many times to kill me, to the extent I was given people to protect me. I ended up moving to Nyagatare, but found that many of the killers from Kibeho and Butare had fled Gacaca courts there.

I am most grateful to RPF soldiers for saving

Our lives, and to FARG for helping us to rebuild our lives. I also want to say that we survived for a reason. To live and rebuild, and carry the memory of what happened.