Editor’s note: Agnes Muhongerwa is a visiting scholar at the Institute for Family Violence Studies in the College of Social Work at Florida State University. She is a prosecutor in Rwanda and a survivor of genocide. She tells her story below.

My name is Agnes Muhongerwa. I am a Rwandan lawyer, born in 1978, in the Eastern Province of Rwanda. I grew up in a loving home with my parents, four brothers and three sisters. I lived a happy life with my family. My father was a businessman. My mother was a housewife, and she was very happy with us. Many times she asked us to be stronger in every situation, to like to help other people and to not forget to pray to God.

In 1985, I started my primary school. In the classroom, many times the teachers would ask the ethnic of the students. The students would stand up and say whether they were Hutu or Tutsi, and the teacher would complete a form for each student.

Things began to change around 1992/1993: you would be in class, for example, and people would ask you if you were Tutsi. Being just a kid, you wouldn’t understand, and you would just say, “yes.” But now, if you were a Tutsi student, you would have no peace; there was always someone bullying you.

In 1992, in our region, the Government of Juvenal HABYARIMANA tried to kill the Tutsi ethnic, and the death lists had been prepared in advance. My father was much maltreated because he had brothers who went out of the country in 1959 as refugees. My father received a message telling him that he would be killed one day. We went to ask for refuge in the Catholic Church at Nyamata. We had a chance to go and received the refuge for two weeks. After we returned home, many people were killed.

In January 1993, I started high school, and my father sent me to the private high school because Tutsi students were not allowed in the government high school.

At this time, I liked to pray, and when I went to sleep, I had bad dreams. One time, I dreamed that I saw an airplane in the sky killing people, and another time, I saw people killing people. In the morning when I woke up, I told my mother about my dreams, and she answered, “They are dreams, not reality.”

After a few days, my dreams became reality.

Genocide

I was 16 years old at the time of the genocide. One day, one night, one month, one year; it’s impossible for me to forget it. It began on April 6, 1994. President Juvenal HABYARIMANA was returning from Tanzania where he had been negotiating the Arusha Accords between the Rwandan Government and the RPF (Rwandan Patriotic Front). His airplane crashed, and starting that day, many Tutsi people were killed. In our region, we started to hide in the forest. We had fear, and our parents could do nothing.

Later, we heard the songs and the whistles of the murderers, saying, “Heeee kill them! The Tutsi killed our president HABYARIMANA. They are the snake that must be killed .”

In the afternoon of April 10, 1994, Dad was killed, and everybody went to hide. I went into the forest around our home, and other family members went to be with neighbors. Fear was our food. When I arrived in the forest, I saw the murderers come in, but they did not see me.

At night, I prayed to God, asking Him two things: to be with me during all bad times, and to protect me from the bad people who could come here to rape and kill me. After this prayer, I promised to be a good Christian and to work for Him.

I stayed in this forest for three days. Then, I went out to look for other people like me who were trying to find a better hiding place. When I arrived in the field, I saw nobody; the houses were destroyed. I wondered, “What can I do?!” It was a big problem. At the same time, I saw many murderers with knives, machetes and other objects used in their activities. I ran into the house of our neighbor and hid under his bed.

Two boys saw me and came to ask my neighbor, “Who entered here?” He said, “I do not know!” They continued to ask the same question, and finally they said, “We know it is Agnes. We saw her.” After that, they told me to come out, and said, “Don’t worry. We will not kill you!” I went out, and they told me to go hide in another field.

Those boys were our neighbors. Before the genocide, we were like brothers and sisters. We went to the same primary school, the same church, and so much more! My family had helped them many times when they were hungry and needed food.

That afternoon, I heard the boys come into the field and begin to call me. I did not answer them. They entered the field, and I saw that they had a plate of food. One saw me. They came and asked me to go with them to their house.

Once we arrived, they put me in a room where nobody would find me. That night, they told me, “Your father was killed by Mr. Sematama, and your mother, brother, and sisters went to Nyamata to find refuge in the Nyamata Catholic Church, but we don’t know if they are alive or not.”

In the morning, they woke up and went to work (to kill). After their departure, I stood up to stretch my legs and walked around the bed. I saw that they had slept on the bed of my parents. They had stolen it from my home. I saw the mattress, and it had a big stain of blood, and I thought, “That is the blood of my father!” I was very sad and confused, but I tried to be quiet.

After the boys came back home, they told me about the victims of genocide. And when I listened, I had fear and thought, “Those boys can kill me at any time!” But I hadn’t had any opportunity to escape them. One day they went out, and after a few minutes, one boy returned. He asked me to have sex with him. I answered him, “I have never committed that sin in my life, and now I would prefer to die than commit sin in the eyes of my God.” I left the house and immediately saw another murderer coming toward the house. I was afraid, and the boy told me to come back into the house because “that man can kill you!” I went back into the house, and the boy locked the door and left.

I continued to stay in this house for two weeks until the boys accompanied me at midnight to the house of another neighbor called Mr. Nzaramba. This man was my father’s friend.

When I arrived, Mr. Nzaramba and his wife were afraid and asked me, “Where will we hide you?” They told me that my mother and my brothers and sisters who went to the Nyamata Catholic Church to ask refuge had all been killed. I was missing my brothers and sisters very much. At night, I prayed to God and asked him to allow me see at least one of my brothers or sisters.

In the morning, I heard the voice of Mr. Nzaramba. He entered the house, came into the room where I was, and told me that my brother and two sisters had come from the Nyamata Catholic Church. He said to be quiet and careful because these children did not know that I was there. I asked him, “Why?” And he answered that everybody knew the children were there, that the Interahamwe* could come and kill them, and that the children might say that I was there in the house, too!

After Mr. Nzaramba left, his wife came, and I ask her to show me my sister. She was four years old. When the woman came with my sister, I could see her through a bookshelf, but she could not see me. She had a big injury on her head caused by a machete. The woman asked her, “Diane, what happened to your head?” And the child answered, “I hit my head on the big stone!” When I heard her, I cried in my heart, and I was filled with sadness. She was so young that she did not know that she had been injured by a machete.

That night, my other brother came from the same church, and I had an opportunity to be with him. He told me about the death of my mother, my brother, and other relatives inside the church. He told me that the Interahamwe entered the church and killed all of the people using the machetes, the guns and other traditional materials. They sprayed pepper spray to make any survivors cough, then found them and kill them, too.

After a few days, the murderers came and killed my brother and two sisters who were at Mr. Nzaramba’s house with me. After their deaths, I made the decision to return to the forest. The RPF soon won the war, and looked everywhere for survivors, but I did not know this. I stayed in the forest at least another month until, in July, 1994, I was found by other survivors.

Now I am alone without family, but I am strong.

*The Interahamwe was the group of young people who were members of the political party of President Juvenal HABYARIMANA and who had been trained to kill Tutsi.

Editor’s note: Agnes Muhongerwa is a visiting scholar at the Institute for Family Violence Studies in the College of Social Work at Florida State University. She is a prosecutor in Rwanda and a survivor of genocide. She tells her story below.My name is Agnes Muhongerwa. I am a Rwandan lawyer, born in 1978, in the Eastern Province of Rwanda. I grew up in a loving home with my parents, four brothers and three sisters. I lived a happy life with my family. My father was a businessman. My mother was a housewife, and she was very happy with us. Many times she asked us to be stronger in every situation, to like to help other people and to not forget to pray to God.In 1985, I started my primary school. In the classroom, many times the teachers would ask the ethnic of the students. The students would stand up and say whether they were Hutu or Tutsi, and the teacher would complete a form for each student.Things began to change around 1992/1993: you would be in class, for example, and people would ask you if you were Tutsi. Being just a kid, you wouldn’t understand, and you would just say, “yes.” But now, if you were a Tutsi student, you would have no peace; there was always someone bullying you.In 1992, in our region, the Government of Juvenal HABYARIMANA tried to kill the Tutsi ethnic, and the death lists had been prepared in advance. My father was much maltreated because he had brothers who went out of the country in 1959 as refugees. My father received a message telling him that he would be killed one day. We went to ask for refuge in the Catholic Church at Nyamata. We had a chance to go and received the refuge for two weeks. After we returned home, many people were killed.In January 1993, I started high school, and my father sent me to the private high school because Tutsi students were not allowed in the government high school.At this time, I liked to pray, and when I went to sleep, I had bad dreams. One time, I dreamed that I saw an airplane in the sky killing people, and another time, I saw people killing people. In the morning when I woke up, I told my mother about my dreams, and she answered, “They are dreams, not reality.”

 http://www.tallahassee.com/article/20111016/NEWS01/110160327/-Now-am-alone-without-family-am-strong