My Homeland

This captivating image captures Ruhengeri, a town nestled in northern Rwanda during the 1990s. The photo beautifully showcases an aerodrome and a regional stadium as prominent features of the town’s landscape. Beyond these urban amenities, the view extends to the horizon, where the majestic volcanoes of Sabyinyo, Gahinga, and Muhabura loom in the distant background, their ancient, rugged profiles adding to the town’s picturesque charm. During this era, Ruhengeri boasted the presence of Mukungwa FC, a regional football team that held a prestigious reputation as one of Rwanda’s top football clubs. The town also served as the home to the regional hospital of Ruhengeri, the bustling Ruhengeri commercial center, and the administrative offices of Ruhengeri Prefecture, further solidifying its importance as a regional hub

My Homeland

My homeland, my native village, a divine canvas painted by the hands of heaven, emerges as an earthly masterpiece nestled within the cradle of majestic dormant volcanoes. This place is a testament to nature’s grandeur, unrivaled in its beauty and a boundless source of inspiration. Guarded by the towering sierras of Muhabura, Gahinga, Sabyinyo, Bisoke, Kalisimbi, and Mikeno, our town stands at the convergence of Eastern DRC/Zaire, Northern Rwanda, and western Uganda, cradled in the majesty of these formidable peaks. The indigenous forests of Virunga National Park nurture these volcanic giants, while the springs from Rubindi’s aquifers and the twin lakes of Bulera and Ruhondo quench the land and its people. This is Ruhengeri, my cherished birthplace, a treasure where nature’s splendor and the rich heritage of our community blend seamlessly in a breathtaking tableau.

In this enchanting region, we find Mount Muhabura, a sentinel between Rwanda and East Africa, where legend has it that Muhabura earned its name as the guiding light for young Rwandans embarking on journeys to the east in search of opportunities and employment to earn money for their beloveds’ dowries and marriage. The name “Guhabura,” echoing the Kinyarwanda verb for redirecting those lost far from home, perfectly captures the mountain’s role as a compass for these intrepid travelers, safeguarding the secrets of ancient lands. Yet, when painting the vivid tapestry of the Ruhengeri region, we mustn’t overlook its enchanting lakes, winding rivers, rejuvenating hot springs, and the crowning glory, Mount Visoke. This iconic mountain served as the sanctuary for the esteemed American primatologist and conservationist, Dian Fossey Nyiramacibiri. Here, groundbreaking research unfolded, deepening our understanding of the majestic mountain gorillas, elevating them to the status of national treasures. However, Mount Visoke doesn’t stand alone in shaping our region’s destiny. Towering giants like Mount Sabyinyo and Mount Gahinga graciously offer respite from scorching sunbeams, generously showering our land with life-giving rain throughout the year. These majestic volcanic sentinels, standing tall like guardians of the earth, have crafted a fertile landscape that sustains not only our vibrant community but also nourishes the wider Rwanda.

My native land and its enchanting communities find their essence intertwined with the sublime presence of two serene lakes, Bulera and Ruhondo. These twin bodies of water, cradled by the Ndorwa mountains, embody the pristine purity of the human spirit. Their existence is sustained by the life-giving springs that flow beneath, a testament to the generous heart of our homeland. As the waters gracefully merge, the Mukungwa River emerges, carving a meandering path through valleys, creeks, and majestic canyons that adorn the Thousand Hills of Rukiga and the Umulera valleys. This picturesque journey epitomizes the boundless abundance of our region.

The significance of these twin lakes extends far beyond our borders, for they serve as the lifeblood of the mighty River Nile. Throughout millennia, these lakes have bestowed the invaluable gift of sustenance upon the people of Alkebulan. Along the fertile banks of this majestic river, thirst and hunger become distant memories, and communities thrive as they follow its course to the Mediterranean. In the grand symphony of our planet, my homeland harmoniously sings a song of divine blessings. The ancient gods of the Kemets and the Nubians recognized that the life-giving waters of the Umulera twin lakes were a sacred gift, an eternal source of nourishment and enduring generosity bestowed upon our cherished land.

This photo shows the magnificent twin lakes of Bulera and Ruhondo, nestled at the base of Mount Muhabura. These serene landscapes, framed by steep hills, cascading waterfalls, and the majestic volcanic mountains, offer an idyllic setting. In my childhood, I cherished the early mornings when I could witness the sun’s radiant ascent over Mount Muhabura, casting its golden rays upon the twin lakes, a sight that filled me with wonder.

I came into this world in a close-knit village nestled in the northern reaches of Rwanda, where familiarity was the norm, and everyone knew one another. In our community, the bonds ran deep, and children were considered communal treasures. Our village held a unique distinction as one of the oldest shopping centers in the region. Its origins lay in the need to provide opportunities for new communities migrating to the area, specifically those settling on lands designated by the colonial government for pyrethrum cultivation. These settlers required access to an open market where they could exchange their agricultural produce and acquire essential goods like salt and other basic commodities, all without having to undertake the journey to towns like Ruhengeri or Byangabo. It was my father, a young man at the time, who played a pivotal role in advocating for the establishment of this public market. Over the years, this space has evolved to accommodate not just markets but also schools, a health center, local administrative offices, and various other businesses, all thanks to his dedication and foresight.

The Little Switzerland of Africa

When I was growing up in the late 1980s, Rwanda used to be referred to in the western media as the Little Switzerland of Africa. This title must be largely attributed to its exquisite beauty and the leadership of that time, which focused on a philosophy of “Gucunga Neza Ibya Rubanda” – loosely translated as the efficient management of public assets. Having had opportunities to travel across the globe and visit various countries, continents, and regions, I can attest that Rwanda was truly blessed with unique beauty.

The landscape was adorned with hills that seemed to touch the sky, each crowned with vibrant green lushes. The sierra of dormant volcanic mountains such as Kalisimbi, Bisoke, Sabyinyo, Gahinga, and Muhabura was awe-inspiring and breathtaking. Additionally, the country was blessed with meandering rivers that gracefully crisscrossed my beloved motherland, flowing from north to south, south to east, east to north, and west to east. It was for these reasons that Rwanda earned the affectionate title of “the land of a thousand hills” from its maker, right from the time of its creation.

In Umulera, our region takes immense pride in being the birthplace of the mighty River Nile. Here, the enchanting twin lakes of Bulera and Ruhondo gracefully bless River Mukungwa, which gently winds its way through the lush valleys of Ruhengeri and Gitarama. As this river flows on, it joins with River Nyabarongo, gaining strength and momentum as it approaches Kigali. Then, in southern Rwanda, it meets River Akanyaru, which continues its journey to form River Akagera, pouring all the goodness they have collected from the highlands of Congo into Lake Victoria (or Lake Nyanza, as it used to be known by the local indigenous people), marking the beginning of its remarkable 7,000-kilometer journey. This waterway, now transformed into River Nile, becomes the lifeblood of millions of Africans, nurturing those who reside both near and far from its serene banks.

It is important to recognize that our rivers are not mere conduits for water alone; they carry with them the precious gift of fertile volcanic soil. This nutrient-rich soil bestows abundance and blessings that have sustained the people of Kemet for millions of years. As River Nile continues its course, it carries this life-giving soil across the arid and desert sands of Sudan and Egypt, making Cairo and the African Delta region a livable place.

In essence, the journey of River Nile is not just one of physical magnitude but also of profound spiritual significance, shaping the socioeconomic and cultural destinies of countless communities and nations along its path. It starts from the Umulera highlands in northern Rwanda, travels through the plains of central Buganda and Sudan before eventually finding its way to today’s port of Rashid at the Nile mouth, where it pours into the Mediterranean Sea, creating a harmonious connection between my homeland and distant lands.

As a child, I found joy in waking up to witness the beautiful sunrise behind Mt. Muhabura. Evenings were delightful too, especially after visiting the open market, when I could watch the sun setting over the snow-capped Mount Kalisimbi. The word “Kalisimbi” meant a mountain covered in snow, and I learned about its origin from a children’s magazine called Hobe.

Hobe was the most popular and only children’s magazine in Rwanda during the 1980s. It was distributed for free to primary school children across the country. In Grade four, I won an inter-school art competition and was awarded a year’s subscription to Hobe. While I was thrilled, my parents, especially my father, had different career aspirations for me, preferring that I become a doctor, engineer, pilot, neurosurgeon, or something else, but not an artist.

In the captivating landscapes of northern Rwanda, nestled at the base of Volcano Muhabura, you’ll discover the enchanting twin lakes of Bulera and Ruhondo, with the imposing silhouette of Mt. Muhabura serving as a natural demarcation between Rwanda and Uganda. These twin lakes form a breathtaking tableau, their beauty amplified by the backdrop of this majestic volcano. It’s a landscape steeped in geological history, where the Nyabarongo River once meandered through the northern reaches of Rwanda, on its course to join the mighty Nile. However, the course of nature was dramatically altered by a volcanic eruption, a cataclysmic event dating back millions of years. Legend has it that the lava flow from Mt. Muhabura redirected the river’s path, giving rise to the formation of these pristine lakes, Burera and Ruhondo. Nestled on the fringes of Volcanoes National Park in Ruhengeri, northern Rwanda, Lake Ruhondo and Lake Bulera have long been celebrated for their tranquil beauty. During my childhood, I cherished those early morning moments when I could witness the sun’s radiant beams dance upon the waters of Lake Ruhondo, a sight that never ceased to inspire a sense of wonder within me.

These girls, part of our village neighborhood, are on their way back from the stream, each carrying a load expertly balanced on their heads. The practice of head-carrying starts at a young age, beginning with small weights that gradually increase over time. As they carry these loads, their neck muscles undergo a natural strengthening process. This tradition harks back to our own childhoods, where we too mastered the art of head-balancing, with the girls consistently showcasing their remarkable skill. Across many African communities, particularly among girls and women, this art of gracefully carrying loads on one’s head begins at an early age, passed down through generations.

My Childhood

I entered this world in the heart of Northern Rwanda, a place characterized by its quaint rural shopping center. This establishment, a living testament to the dreams of my father, stood proudly as a monument to his youthful ambition. My father, a dedicated professional who had once pursued a path alongside Catholic missionaries in Rwaza with the initial intention of becoming a priest, later found a different calling—one deeply rooted in the broader mission of nation-building. It was under his guidance and vision that this humble village shopping center came into being, offering an open market where the predominantly rural community could kickstart their businesses, sell their produce, and access essential goods. These were tumultuous times, with Rwanda under the colonial rule of Belgium and the weight of an oppressive Tutsi monarchy bearing down upon its people. In this era, my father donned multiple hats, serving both as an administrator and an interim mayor, thus becoming a pivotal force in shaping the destiny of our village as Rwanda steadily marched towards liberation from the 400-year grip of the Tutsi monarchy and the chains of European colonialism.

Our village nestled snugly amidst the embrace of three formidable volcanic plateaus, an awe-inspiring geological marvel sculpted over countless millennia. These plateaus, enduring remnants of primordial volcanic eruptions, bestowed upon us the majestic peaks of Muhabura, Kalisimbi, Visoke (Bushokoro), Sabyinyo, and Gahinga within the boundaries of Rwanda, while across the border in Zaire (now DR Congo), we gazed upon the imposing figures of Mikeno and Nyiragongo.

During my formative years, our region, nestled beyond the towering volcanic sentinels, cradled a labyrinthine network of enigmatic volcanic caves, each carving out a unique place within our community’s collective heart. As children, we eagerly ventured alongside our elder brothers to explore these subterranean wonders. Within their shadowy depths, we embarked on journeys that spanned kilometers beneath the earth’s surface, a pursuit we relished, particularly during the sweltering months of June, July, and August when schools closed for the long summer break and certain caves lay devoid of their typical subterranean pools.

In this region, where the impact of summer’s heat was acutely felt due to its complex volcanic geology, our access to freshwater was limited, with springs and rivers often running dry. It was within these hidden chambers that we sought to secure this life-sustaining resource, bringing it back to our homes to quench our thirst and nurture our families.

Among the mystical caves that punctuated our landscape, names like Nyiragihima, Kukivumu, Akinyanda, Nyarugina, Gikoro, Mbandama, and Musanze still echo with the resonance of our youthful adventures. However, it was the illustrious Rubindi caves that captured our imaginations most profoundly and commanded our unwavering attention. Concealed within their depths lay an extraordinary secret—an abundant spring, gushing forth countless cubic meters of crystalline water. This precious flow drew its sustenance from the aquifers deep beneath the Virunga National Parks, where it intermingled with subterranean currents originating in the distant lands of Congo and Uganda. The result was a profound gift to our community—a ceaseless and boundless supply of freshwater, a lifeline that never faltered, even in the most arid of times.

In this captivating photo, the mighty Mt. Nyamuragira erupts in Eastern DR Congo. Within our ancestral narratives, this imposing peak's eruptions were ascribed to our forebears becoming so engrossed in spirited games of Igisoro that they inadvertently neglected their culinary duties. Nyamuragira, regarded as a priest of our ancestral spirits, was believed to maintain Rubindi Springs as one of his kitchens. Also known as Nyiragongo among local Congolese communities, Nyamuragira is an active shield volcano nestled within the Virunga Mountains, found approximately 25 kilometers north of Lake Kivu. Its name traces its origins to the Bantu verb "Kuragira," signifying to herd or watch over someone in the Kinyarwanda Bantu language. According to ancestral beliefs, Nyamuragira's eruptions were seen as a result of our ancestors lighting fires while watching over them at night. Resembling Hawai'i's Mauna Loa, Nyamuragira stands as one of Africa's most active volcanoes, sporadically erupting from radial fissures, spewing lava fountains and extensive, flowing streams of molten rock that extend deep into the sparsely populated realms of tropical forests and surrounding farmlands.

My village was nestled in close proximity to the renowned Virunga National Park, a sanctuary that harbored the world-famous mountain gorillas. This national park not only served as a refuge for these magnificent creatures but also acted as a natural border, bridging Rwanda, Uganda, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. During my primary school days, one of the most cherished experiences was the school excursion trips that took us to the Visoke area within the park, where we had the privilege of encountering the mountain gorillas in their natural habitat. Occasionally, even when I ventured to my father's farms for the potato harvest, I would be pleasantly surprised by the presence of gorillas. They would visit our fields, either to bask in the warm sun or to enjoy a meal from our crops, feasting on potatoes, maize, and peas. These incredible creatures have shared our landscape for countless millennia, creating a unique bond between humans and the natural world.

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The Nyamuragira Kitchen

However, the Rubindi caves held even greater allure beyond their life-sustaining freshwater. In our youthful adventures, we reveled in the sheer exhilaration of swimming in the subterranean pools of Rubindi. These pools flowed gracefully into the neighboring groves of bamboo, papyrus, and sprawling fields of arrowroots, sweet potatoes, and banana plantations. While immersed in these pristine waters, we’d sip from the neighboring water ponds, where slightly salty springs emerged from the depths beneath the earth, fondly dubbed “Amazi y’Amakera” (salty waters).

When the fatigue of our aquatic adventures in the refreshing Rubindi freshwater ponds inevitably caught up with us, the irresistible allure of Rubindi Springs beckoned with an almost irresistible call. It was as if the beauty of the springs itself had a persuasive power, causing us to momentarily break the fifth commandment that enjoins us to “Honor our parents, that our days may be long in the land that the Lord our God has given us” (Exodus 20:12). With a sense of haste and anticipation, we would make our way to the nearby hot springs, where nature had graciously provided us with a God-given spa experience.

Amidst the soothing embrace of saunas and steam baths nestled within the hidden grottoes, we surrendered ourselves to an experience that bordered on the otherworldly. Our every indulgence unfolded against the awe-inspiring backdrop of Mt. Muhe, a colossal sentinel that presided over the landscape with regal authority. Its lofty heights afforded us a panoramic vista that stretched across the immaculate and incredibly fertile expanse of the Rukingo valleys. It was a view that seemed painted by the gods themselves, a canvas of natural grandeur that left us spellbound.

Yet, even as we luxuriated in these earthly pleasures, our curiosity remained insatiable. With eager hearts, we often turned to our revered elders, imploring them to unravel the enigma surrounding the origins of Rubindi Springs. In response, they wove vibrant narratives, painting pictures with words that transported us to a realm beyond our own. They spoke of Rubindi Springs as the sacred vessels of Nyamuragira’s kitchen, a mystical place where our ancestral priest, Nyamuragira, made his dwelling within the very heart of the volcanic giant, Mt. Nyamuragira. These tales painted a vivid tapestry of Nyamuragira’s divine abode and the life-giving springs that flowed from his culinary sanctum. Yet, they also left our young minds with a tantalizing mystery—why did Nyamuragira, the guardian of these waters, never emerge from the depths of Rubindi Springs to meet us and share the stories of his kingdom? The question lingered, casting a beguiling aura over our cherished legends.

As our adventures wound down and exhaustion began to take its toll, we’d venture to the neighboring sweet potato plantations. The generosity of the farmers in sharing their harvest allowed us to cook these tubers in the therapeutic warmth of the Rubindi hot springs, creating a simple yet deeply satisfying brunch that replenished both body and spirit.

This routine became a familiar part of our daily lives, a responsibility our parents entrusted to us. As the sun began its descent, signaling the end of a playful day, we’d suddenly recall that we had a mission: to fetch water for our families. Without delay, we made our way back to the nearby River Mutobo, fed by the pristine waters of Rubindi Springs. Here, we diligently filled our containers, eager to complete our task and head back home. On the journey home, laden with jerrycans, buckets, and Sufurias filled with precious water, we playfully engaged in a friendly yet spirited challenge. Our goal was to skillfully balance our loads on our heads, all without using our hands to steady them. It evolved into an informal contest where the girls of our village consistently outperformed the boys, displaying remarkable poise as they gracefully carried their burdens for extended distances without the need to touch the jerrycans atop their heads.

As the sun gracefully descended behind the majestic silhouette of Mt. Kalisimbi, its waning rays painted the sky with long, ethereal shadows, gently reminding us that it was time to make our way back home. On certain evenings, this natural spectacle transformed the heavens above Mt. Kalisimbi into a canvas adorned with resplendent shades of gold and fiery red, resembling a vivid wildfire sweeping through the vast Ituri forest in Congo. During these enchanting moments, our parents and the wise elders of our community would gather us close, sharing stories that had been handed down through the generations. These tales explained that when we beheld such breathtaking colors atop Mt. Kalisimbi, it signaled the return of our ancestors in the evening. They would kindle bonfires to warm themselves as they spent the night watching over us. These narratives were not only captivating but also culturally enchanting, weaving a profound sense of wonder into the impressionable minds of young ones like mine.

The people from these regions held common ancestry and followed the African Traditional Religion (ATR). Consequently, there was a constant flow of people moving between Uganda, Rwanda, and Zaire/DR Congo. During those times, my family was the only one to have established a permanent residence in this rural shopping center. My father, a young colonial administrator tasked with designing the district’s boundaries, had gazetted the open market within the center. As a result, he owned vast land and a big house with around 12 rooms. Seeking someone literate to manage the place, fate brought my father and mother together. My mother was the first to start a family in this small rural shopping center in the late 1970s, and I became the first child born there.

Throughout the day, I was accompanied by many neighborhood kids who came to play in the shopping center’s open market. Our playtime extended until about 6 pm when they returned to their families, leaving me alone with my mother since my father was often away for work.

I also used to visit my other siblings who lived about 3 km away. My father had several wives, and my mother was his fourth. Despite the larger family, I felt a sense of belonging. However, I only saw my father on weekends. The loneliness didn’t last long, as my mother had more children and new families settled in the shopping center. By the 1990s, more than 200 families called this place their home, with most residents being teachers, nurses, administrators, and businesspeople, establishing it as a middle-class community. In those days, children were considered part of the entire community, and parents didn’t fret over our whereabouts because every adult took responsibility for our well-being.

Within our shopping center, there stood a Catholic Parish, Health Center, and primary and technical schools, creating a peaceful environment for all. My parents valued education and prioritized my learning. I have fond memories of being allowed to peruse my father’s library, which housed a wide variety of books he had collected during his education. Initially destined to become a priest, my father changed his path after witnessing the oppression of peasants by the colonialists and the Tutsi monarchy. He devoted himself to advocating for independence for his motherland.

In our community, everyone intervened when a family member encountered a problem, making it a communal concern rather than an individual one. Misbehaving children were disciplined by any adult who caught them in the act, ensuring good behavior even when parents weren’t present. However, in the 1990s, this tranquility was destined to be disrupted forever by the Tutsi invasion from Uganda.

In a heartwarming scene set in northern Rwanda, we witness the renowned American primatologist and conservationist, Dian Fossey, affectionately known as Nyiramacibiri by the local community, accompanied by a group of kind-hearted villagers generously assisting her in carrying her belongings and shopping. This image beautifully encapsulates the spirit of collaboration and mutual support that characterized the relationship between this dedicated researcher and the welcoming community. Dian Fossey, whose life tragically ended on December 26, 1985, was celebrated for her extensive and pioneering study of mountain gorilla groups, a commitment that spanned from 1966 until her untimely murder in 1985. The name Nyiramacibiri finds its roots in the Bantu Kinyarwanda language, originating from the verb “Gucibira,” which means to move through the morning bushes in a manner that allows one to remain inconspicuous amidst the dew-covered landscape. Dian Fossey, or Nyiramacibiri, earned this moniker due to her relatively short stature and her ability to navigate the fields and farms with a stealthy grace, often taking people by surprise with her unassuming presence.

At the Cross Road

Nestled beside a bustling crossroads at the intersection of informal international trails, my home thrived as a vital junction connecting neighboring countries such as Uganda, Zaire/DR Congo, and Rwanda. During my formative years in the late 1980s, this bustling shopping center transformed our once-small village into a vibrant hub of commerce and social interactions. Congolese farmers would arrive, bearing bags upon bags of their precious coffee harvest, eager to trade with Rwandan businesspeople who offered more favorable prices than what they could find across the border in Zaire/DR Congo. This favorable exchange was partly due to the strength of the Rwandan Franc compared to their Zairian currency. Instead of returning empty-handed after selling their coffee in our open market, the Congolese would stock up on essential goods like cement, corrugated sheets, cooking oil, and beauty products, which they would then resell back home. Another thriving facet of international trade was our bustling livestock market, bustling with cattle, sheep, and goats destined for Gisenyi and, eventually, Zaire/DR Congo. These animals were sourced from a border market called Rugarama Open Market, located near the Uganda border in Kisoro, western Uganda. The amalgamation of these commercial and social activities contributed to the rapid growth of our town, driven by the circulation of money and the lively exchange of goods and culture.

In the 1980s, a significant political event unfolded in neighboring Uganda, leading to the expulsion of thousands of Rwandan refugees from the country. This action was prompted by the return of Obote to power in the 1980 elections. The Obote government’s stance grew increasingly hostile towards Rwandans, primarily Tutsis, as they were suspected of supporting Idi Amin’s regime and working as intelligence agents, allegedly spying on Ugandans who supported Milton Obote. In an interview, President Obote attributed the “deep-seated problem” among Rwandans in Uganda to their association with Amin’s regime, involvement in looting the properties of Ugandans who had fled Amin’s persecution, and engagement in cattle rustling activities. As a result, a significant portion of these refugees was forcibly returned to Rwanda, with thousands finding themselves in our neighborhood. Some among them were descendants of Rwandans who had settled in Uganda many years ago, while others were the children of Tutsi refugees who had fled Rwanda in the 1960s following the end of the Tutsi monarchy (Dash, 1983, December 2). The arrival of these refugees brought a surge of activity to our town during this period.

Our village’s significance as a sought-after stopover wasn’t solely due to its strategic location; it was deeply woven into the complex tapestry of social, biological, and economic connections uniting the people of Uganda, Zaire/DRC, and Rwanda. Particularly, the regions of Rutshuru and Masisi in eastern Zaire/DRC held strong ties with the Rwandan population. Rwandan families had established themselves in Congo and Uganda, nurturing these close bonds. However, the arbitrary political boundaries enforced by Western imperialism had divided these closely related communities, tragically separating families and clans. For instance, groups like the Bafumbira and Bakiga in western Uganda shared both biological and social ties with the people of Rwanda, despite the political divisions (Griffiths, 1986; Chamberlain, 2014).

Moreover, these communities were bound together by their shared spiritual devotion to African Traditional Religion (ATR). In this context, our village served as an informal waystation along these international, unmarked routes. Travelers, journeying from as far as Walikale in DR Congo, undertaking pilgrimages either to Uganda or the Ndorwa region, where the revered Ryangombe shrines and its priests resided, would seek respite in our bustling shopping center as night descended. They would rest here before continuing their arduous journeys. Given that our town lacked hotels or guesthouses, my family often graciously opened our doors to host these weary travelers, thereby embodying not only the principles of African Ubuntu but also providing an opportunity for my mother to share her Christian faith with strangers. Her hospitality was deeply rooted in her Christian convictions and intertwined with our African traditional philosophy of Ubuntu, which dictated that when night fell and one found themselves far from reaching their destination, they should approach the nearest village and kindly request shelter for the night. The host would warmly welcome them, sharing a meal and offering them water to drink and bathe, thus exemplifying the profound interconnectedness of Ubuntu and hospitality (Magezi & Khlopa, 2021).

Dian Fossey, affectionately known as Nyiramacibiri, shares an endearing moment with her beloved gorillas as she reads them stories. Hailing from San Francisco, California, U.S., Dian dedicated her life to studying and protecting these magnificent creatures. Tragically, she was killed in 1985 at her Kalisoke Research Center (Image: Foto: The Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund International)

This photo encapsulates the essence of a typical farm in Ruhengeri, northern Rwanda. In regions like Kinigi, Nkuli, Mukingo, Mutura, and Kidaho, communities primarily cultivate maize, irish potatoes, beans, sorghum, wheat, peas, and pyrethrum. The income generated from these crops helps families send their children to school, improve their living standards, and meet various needs. Back in the 1980s and 1990s, food security was a shared experience, and families lived in harmony, enjoying an abundance of food. This period witnessed the construction of modern homes, dowry payments for weddings, and the provision of clothing and sustenance for families, leaving lasting memories in Ruhengeri’s history (Photo: Google).

My Father’s Ranch

Growing up in the 1980s, life on our family’s ranches near Virunga National Park was nothing short of enchanting. Our community was blessed with a unique blend of tradition, hard work, and the rare privilege of close encounters with wildlife, particularly the majestic mountain gorillas that roamed nearby. Our family-owned farms were part of a government agricultural initiative known locally as “Peyizana,” a name derived from the French word “paysanat.” This concept was rooted in the “paysanat system,” a social and economic framework deeply ingrained in rural agriculture, which perfectly encapsulated our community’s way of life. Here, the majority of the population engaged in farming, with a special focus on cultivating a cash crop known as pyrethrum. Pyrethrum is renowned for producing Pyrethrins, natural compounds commonly used to control mosquitoes, fleas, flies, moths, ants, and various other pests, making it a valuable agricultural asset in our region.

Nestled near the Virunga National Park, my father’s ranches were graced with elevated altitudes that offered spectacular vistas of the Umulera and Ubuhoma regions. From our privileged vantage point, we could behold the Ndorwa mountain range, stretching from Ruchiga in western Uganda, the tranquil twin lakes of Bulera and Ruhondo, and the sinuous path of the River Mukungwa, its waters drawn from these twin lakes, before merging into the powerful River Nyabarongo, famed as the source of the iconic River Nile. The enchanting Lake Karago in the Buhoma region and the expansive Bukonya region unveiled themselves before our eyes, creating a picturesque panorama. Only the imposing Mt. Kabuye shielded our view of Rwanda’s capital, Kigali. On certain mornings, our farms became an ethereal sight, with the sun rising majestically behind the towering Mt. Muhabura, casting a golden glow upon the Bulera and Ruhondo lakes. These warm mornings often enticed the gorillas from Virunga National Park, drawing them to our land as they sought refuge from the morning dew. They would graze on our maize and peas while indulging in the lush silver fern that adorned a significant portion of my father’s ranches, turning these encounters into truly magical moments.

In our close-knit community, it was a rite of passage for every young child to be allocated a small piece of land as soon as they began their primary school journey. This gesture was a fundamental step in teaching responsibility and instilling the values of property management. In my case, my family entrusted me with a portion of our pyrethrum plantations, which I was tasked with tending until they reached maturity for harvest, after which I would sell them to the pyrethrum factory. Our region was chosen due to its unique combination of volcanic soils, high altitudes, and reliable rainfall patterns, all of which created ideal conditions for cultivating pyrethrum. The pyrethrum industry in Rwanda dates back to 1936 when the colonial government identified around 7,000 farmers and allocated over 14,000 hectares of suitable land near the Virunga National Park for cultivation. In 1972, an extraction plant was established in Musanze, and the industry thrived under the government-controlled company, OPYRWA. While I was responsible for most of the work, the underlying intention was to impart lessons in land management and financial independence. Selling the pyrethrum and earning money at a young age taught me the value of hard work and how to manage my earnings wisely. Our farms, aside from being occasional destinations for the renowned mountain gorillas, also attracted various other animals from the Virunga National Park, including antelope, bushbuck, porcupines, buffalo, elephants, and the elusive pangolin, which would occasionally wander onto our land to graze on our crops.

As Dian Fossey, affectionately known as Nyiramacibiri, dedicated her days to tracking the elusive mountain gorillas within their natural habitat, she often stumbled upon disheartening signs of poachers and other unwelcome human intruders who had crossed her path. It was in response to these troubling encounters that she fervently engaged with various forms of media to raise awareness among the wider population. She recognized the importance of educating the youth and thus reached out to local schools in the region, weaving her message of conservation into the very fabric of their education. Witnessing the devastating effects of poaching on her beloved gorillas and the relentless destruction of their fragile habitat compelled her to broaden her efforts, evolving from a vigilant observer to an active advocate and protector of these magnificent creatures and their environment (Photo: Google).

The Californian Girl

In our neighborhood, there was an unspoken ritual among us kids that revolved around calling each other whenever we spotted these magnificent creatures gathering on our farms, basking in the gentle morning sun, indulging in mutual grooming, playing with their young ones, and peacefully grazing. It was a sight to behold, and our community had no objections to sharing our farmlands with these animals. This peaceful coexistence was facilitated by government mechanisms that ensured compensation for any crop damage or losses caused by wildlife. We often referred to these gatherings as “Barazas,” a Kiswahili term signifying a communal public meeting aimed at discussing important matters affecting our community and finding sustainable solutions. It was an honor to witness these beautiful creatures’ playful antics and tender interactions with their offspring. Once they retreated back to the safety of the Virunga National Park, I could resume my daily farm activities, tending to my pyrethrum, harvesting potatoes, or working the land. Another notable visitor we, as kids in my community, were excited to see passing through our neighborhood maize farms was a dedicated conservation advocate, particularly for the endangered mountain gorilla. This remarkable lady hailed from afar, and although she was different from us, she was cherished and admired within our community, especially by us youngsters who were still growing up. Her name was “Dian Fossey,” but affectionately, my people had nicknamed her “Nyiramacibiri.”

Dian Fossey’s nickname, “Nyiramacibiri,” bestowed upon her by the indigenous locals in my village, carries a profound meaning. In Kinyarwanda, it translates to “the lonely short lady who walks through the jungle full of the morning dew.” This name perfectly encapsulates her unique and solitary lifestyle, dedicated to the study and conservation of mountain gorillas in the Virunga Mountains within our community. Her choice to remain unmarried and devote her life to the wilderness was unconventional in our community, yet it intrigued and inspired us. Early mornings often found her on her way between her base in Kinigi and her visits to her dear American compatriot, Madam Rosamond Carr, fondly known as “Madamikare.”

Madamikare, originally from South Orange, New Jersey, alongside her husband Kenneth Carr, moved into our community as settlers in 1949, acquiring extensive fertile land from the Belgian colonizers in a place called Mutura, near where my uncle Samuel Bazirake owned and managed his farm. Madamikare and her husband settled to manage their pyrethrum plantation. After Madamikare and her British husband, Kenneth Carr, divorced, both Madamikare and Nyiramacibiri became friends. Their shared bond over a passion for wildlife conservation and the gorillas fostered a deep and enduring friendship between them.

As the days passed, the bond between us and Nyiramacibiri deepened, and she became an inspiration to us all. Her tireless efforts to protect the mountain gorillas and raise awareness about the importance of wildlife conservation left an indelible mark on our hearts. She was a living testament to the power of passion and dedication, and her presence ignited a fire within us to protect the precious natural heritage that surrounded us.

In the 1980s, Nyiramacibiri initiated a heartfelt campaign to safeguard the mountain gorillas, which were falling victim to relentless poaching for the European trophy market. This endeavor encompassed the presentation of films and documentaries to indigenous communities, with a particular focus on educating the youth about the significance of wildlife protection, especially for the dwindling mountain gorilla population. Due to the devastating effects of poaching, gorilla numbers had plummeted from 450 in 1960 to a mere 250 by 1981. Nevertheless, Fossey’s relentless “war on poaching” led to the final confirmed killing of a gorilla in 1983. By the late 1980s, the population had rebounded to 280, a testament to her robust community-based conservation campaigns (Plumptre & Williamson, 2001). In 1985, I distinctly recall Nyiramacibiri approaching my mother, seeking permission to mount her video screen on the front wall of our house, which directly faced the bustling open market. She aimed to utilize community television to showcase videos and documentaries, with the goal of educating our community members about the imperative need to protect the mountain gorilla population. On that market day, my mother regretfully informed Nyiramacibiri that my father was absent, as he was away at work. She suggested that Nyiramacibiri return when he was home to obtain his authorization. Nyiramacibiri diligently returned on a subsequent Saturday, providing a comprehensive explanation of her campaign, which my father wholeheartedly supported. Consequently, the film screenings took place in our front yard, an event that cemented her presence in both our community and our family. Nyiramacibiri was more than a conservationist; she was a familiar face, someone who had interacted with my mother on multiple occasions. She would occasionally purchase a cold soft drink (SODA) from my mom’s shop and take a brief respite in our house before continuing her journey to her Karisoke base, leaving a lasting impact on our lives and fostering a sense of shared purpose within our community.

School Excursion to Kalisoke

Dian Fossey’s mesmerizing film documentaries had a profound and lasting impact on our community, captivating the hearts and minds of the local residents who were often unaware of the natural paradise in their midst. These documentaries introduced us to a world of wonders, with many of us, particularly the young schoolchildren, experiencing the novelty of watching videos, seeing photographs, and gaining insights into the technology behind these remarkable creations. The close and seemingly affectionate interactions between Nyiramacibiri and the mountain gorillas left us in awe, sparking numerous discussions and inquiries about how she managed to forge such bonds and gain the trust of these magnificent creatures.

The growing fascination with the mountain gorillas and their tireless protector led our primary school principal, the late Bayacoce Emmanuel, to organize an unforgettable field trip to visit the Virunga National Park, specifically focusing on the Visoke volcano, locally known as “Mt. Bushokoro.” As part of this memorable excursion, he even reached out to Nyiramacibiri, extending an invitation for her to meet with us following our journey to the summit of Mt. Visoke. This trip was a testament to the profound impact of Nyiramacibiri’s work on our community, igniting a shared sense of wonder, curiosity, and the importance of wildlife conservation in our young hearts.

This is Rosamond Carr, affectionately known as “Madamikari,” and her enchanting flower farm. In 1949, she embarked on a journey to Africa, finding herself in the lush landscapes of Rwanda. Here, she was granted a piece of fertile land by the colonial authorities, and she eventually made her home at Mugongo, a flourishing flower plantation nestled in the Mutura district of northwestern Rwanda. Whenever I visited my uncle, who managed agricultural programs nearby Carr’s farm, we would seize the opportunity to visit her house, immersing ourselves in the vibrant colors and fragrant blooms that adorned her gardens. Dian Fossey, the famed gorilla researcher, also cherished the time she spent amid the splendor of this unique flower plantation. For me, it was a place of wonder, and I often dreamt that someday, when I grew up and had the means, I would acquire a similar piece of land and cultivate a garden as resplendent as Madamikari’s. It was within these picturesque surroundings that Rosamond Carr’s enduring love affair with Rwanda and its people began to flourish (Photo: Google).

At the summit of Mt. Bisoke, an awe-inspiring spectacle awaited us – the breathtaking Bisoke Crater Lake. To our amazement, we discovered not one, but two crater lakes nestled within this natural wonder. As we gazed westward from the summit, our eyes were treated to the majestic silhouettes of Mt. Kalisimbi and Mt. Mikeno on the horizon. The mountain’s geological history unveiled itself with two distinct crater lakes – one perched right at the pinnacle and another, Lake Ngezi, nestled midway down the mountain’s slopes. An eruption in 1957, the most recent, had gifted us with one of the grandest Crater Lakes within the Virunga mountain range. At 3,711 meters above sea level, Mt. Bisoke stands as one of the dormant volcanoes in the Virunga Massif. Beyond its geological marvels, it serves as a cherished home to the mountain gorillas, which are unquestionably Rwanda’s most treasured tourism attraction (Photo: Google).

In mid 1985, our long-awaited day of our excursion finally arrived, and at the tender age of eight, I brimmed with excitement, surrounded by a supportive and nurturing community. It was my older stepbrothers, cousins, and our teachers, who also happened to be our neighbors, that insisted I join them, offering heartfelt assurances to my mother that I would be well cared for throughout the journey. My teachers, recognizing my inquisitive nature and thirst for knowledge, believed that participating in this excursion would be a valuable learning opportunity for me, further encouraging my parents to let me go. They wholeheartedly pledged to carry me on their shoulders should fatigue overcome me, providing my parents with the peace of mind they needed to grant their consent. Our adventure began as we embarked on the ascent of Mt. Visoke, also known as Bisoke. The memory of growing tired along the way remains vivid in my mind. However, it was my ever-helpful cousins who came to my rescue, lifting me onto their shoulders as we navigated the slippery slopes of the rain-soaked mountain. In our enthusiasm and laughter, we accidentally tumbled into stinging nettle bushes, an experience that was met with collective amusement and pain, as the stinging nettles mixed with raindrops left us both stung and soaked. Nonetheless, it was all part of the unforgettable journey that strengthened the bonds of camaraderie and adventure among us.

As we ascended to the pinnacle of Mt. Visoke in 1985, the world unfurled before our eyes in a breathtaking 360-degree panorama. Like explorers of an enchanted realm, we circled the majestic Visoke crater, where a pristine lake lay cradled, its waters a shimmering tapestry of icy-cold blues. Mount Bisoke, a vibrant sentinel within the Virunga Mountains of the Albertine Rift, the western tapestry of the East African Rift, straddled the borderlands of Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, yet it unveiled its crown jewel within Rwanda’s embrace. Here, atop this volcanic masterpiece, we stood witness to the heart-stirring spectacle of the Bisoke Crater Lake, a natural wonder that quickened our pulses. At an elevation of 3,700 meters above the Earth’s canvas, this stratovolcano stretched heavenward, its summit crowned by a 450-meter-wide lake, a sibling to its twin, gracing the mount’s zenith. This geographic marvel danced at the confluence of Zaire/DR Congo and Rwanda, a resplendent testament to nature’s boundless artistry.

Perched atop the awe-inspiring summit of Mt. Bisoke, our travel-worn souls were reborn in the embrace of a breathtaking tableau. Before us, two lakes danced with hues of blue so deep and enchanting that they seemed plucked from the very dreams of explorers and poets. The sheer splendor of this vista worked like a magic elixir, banishing the weariness of our arduous ascent in the mere flutter of an eyelid. As I stood there, a witness to nature’s grandeur, I was left utterly spellbound by the paradise unfurling before my very eyes. It was as if the universe had conspired to keep this treasure hidden from the pages of our government-issued textbooks, revealing it only to those lucky enough to stand on this sacred ground. The panorama sprawled outwards in every direction, a vivid tapestry of vibrant colors and enchanting contours, akin to an epic odyssey, where each turn beckoned forth a crescendo of wonder and sheer astonishment.We had brought our lunches with us, but by the time we reached the summit, our food had become a muddy and watery mess, and the unforgiving cold began to bite. We couldn’t linger for long, as the wind howled around us, as if it were eager to sweep us into the depths of the crater lakes below. Despite the unpredictable weather, which saw ten sudden rains in less than an hour, we relished every moment of our adventure, even as we were cautioned that the evening might bring a hailstorm. We circumnavigated the crater, and from that awe-inspiring vantage point, I turned my gaze westward. There, Rutshuru and distant lakes like Albert, Edward, and Mweru in Zaire/DR Congo sprawled across the horizon, their majestic presence forever etched in the canvas of my young mind. To the east, an endless expanse stretched out before us, graced by regal lakes such as Bunyonyi, Kyoga, and Lake George in Uganda, each contributing to the breathtaking tapestry of the landscape.

Turning my gaze homeward, to the cherished lands of Ruhengeri, the serene beauty of Lake Bulera and Ruhondo graced the natural tapestry, their elegance adding the final strokes to this masterpiece. The journey to the summit of Mt. Visoke had been an arduous one, consuming approximately six hours, the path fraught with slippery slopes and relentless showers that seemed to conspire against our ascent. Yet, when the time came for our descent, it was a whirlwind of exhilaration. Seated upon the damp earth, we embarked on a thrilling ride, careening down the mountainside toward the welcoming embrace of Kalisoke’s valleys. It was akin to sliding upon ocean waves, tossed about by the playful tempests of nature, and our laughter echoed through the air as some among us lost control and tumbled into the unforgiving arms of stinging nettle bushes.

Our conversation with Nyiramacibiri, which followed a challenging day of hiking on Mount Bisoke and Bisate Plains, provided us with fascinating insights into the dietary habits of mountain gorillas. These incredible creatures, found in Virunga, Susa Plains, and Bisoke Plains, are primarily herbivores. Their diet comprises an astonishing 80% plant matter, including over 150 different plant species such as leaves, shoots, and stems. Edible roots make up 10% of their diet, flowers contribute 5%, and fruits account for a mere 3%. Unlike their lowland gorilla counterparts, mountain gorillas rarely consume fruits due to their high-altitude habitat. On occasion, they supplement their diet with ants, snails, and grubs, making up the remaining 3%. This knowledge added to our admiration for these gorillas as we marveled at them in their natural habitat, despite enduring an entire day of unexpected rainstorms, fog, and chilling temperatures at the mountain’s summit (Photo: Google).

In this captivating photo, we find ourselves in the tranquil surroundings of Dian Fossey Nyiramacibiri’s Kalisoke Research Center. As kids, we were warmly welcomed into her compound, a collection of several charming cabins, each sporting its own chimney. On this particular day, two of these cabins emitted wisps of smoke, painting a picturesque scene. Amidst this serene setting, a male researcher with a distinguished beard stood silently, observing our approach. Karisoke, once a modest assembly of tents nestled in a forest clearing at a lofty 10,000 feet (3,000 meters), nestled between the extinct giants of Mount Visoke and Mount Karisimbi. However, by the time of our visit in 1985, it had blossomed into a collection of corrugated iron cabins, each furnished with a bed, a desk, a typewriter, and a cozy wood-burning stove, a testament to Dian Fossey’s enduring dedication to her pioneering work.

A View Master

Yet, the most luminous gem of this extraordinary adventure gleamed in our encounter with Nyiramacibiri, the name resonating more famously as Dian Fossey, within her sanctuary, the Kalisoke Research Center. Here, her passion flowed like a mighty river, a cascade of wisdom about the endearing gorillas, her fervent words etching deep furrows into the soil of our young minds, emphasizing the pivotal role we played in safeguarding our precious wildlife, guardians of the sanctity of our environment’s future.

As one of the youngest students in our esteemed assembly, Nyiramacibiri’s perceptive eyes fell upon me, perhaps because I stood at the vanguard of our student cohort. In that moment, she engaged me, curiosity painting her features, and she inquired about my Bisoke summit adventure, a twinkle in her eye hinting at her fondness for tales from the heart of the wild. I recounted my encounter with a group of gorillas, happily regaling the tale of their silver fern feasting. In an unexpected turn of events, Nyiramacibiri, that emblem of our community’s conservation crusade, proposed a challenge—a quiz of five questions. Should I manage to answer two correctly, the promise of an award dangled before me like a shimmering prize.

Bubbling with excitement, I eagerly embraced the challenge, ready to test my newfound knowledge. Nyiramacibiri proceeded to ask a series of questions, their specifics now faded into the annals of time. To my astonishment, out of the five questions posed, I emerged victorious, answering four of them correctly, a feat that left everyone present pleasantly surprised. I can still recall the words of my teacher, Nyirabatware, who exclaimed, “This boy is one of the brightest students on the campus,” filling me with a sense of pride and accomplishment. The applause and praise that followed were like a sweet melody to my young ears. Nyiramacibiri, our guardian of the gorillas, then retreated to her office, returning with a gift that would forever hold a special place in my heart—a View Master (stereoscope) along with its enchanting reels. As I held that remarkable treasure, I became a legend in our village, the sole possessor of such a marvelous toy. That day, I departed as a joyful young boy.

As we reluctantly bid adieu to the enchanting embrace of Virunga National Park, my gaze lingered upon the mountain’s misty shroud, a veil that seemed to echo the day’s emotions – a blend of awe and wonder. The soft drizzle of rain, like tears of gratitude from the heavens, added a touch of poetic beauty to our surroundings. Then, as if choreographed by the divine, a vivid natural rainbow graced the skies above the lush pyrethrum and maize fields, its elegant arc stretching across the horizon. In our tight-knit community, such a spectacle was not merely a meteorological phenomenon but a sign of the divine, a manifestation of God’s presence among His people.

As the ethereal backdrop unfolded before us, our conversations naturally gravitated towards the sense of divine protection that had accompanied us throughout our challenging hike. Amidst this shared sense of awe, us kids, fueled by the boundless energy of youth, found ourselves playfully reminiscing about the gorilla families and their adorable offspring we had encountered on our ascent of Mount Bisoke. In our innocence, we began endearingly naming them, drawing inspiration from the kids in our neighborhood, and in doing so, we forged a special bond with these magnificent creatures and created cherished memories that would last a lifetime.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I found myself utterly spent, my 8-year-old frame stretched to its limits by the day’s exhilarating escapades. Despite my youth, I had navigated the rugged terrain with a determination to keep up with my older cousins, who had been my unwavering companions throughout our journey. Every step had felt like a monumental effort, my young legs unaccustomed to such strenuous activity. Yet, in the twilight of our adventure, the weariness that had gripped me seemed to vanish into thin air, replaced by an overwhelming sense of triumph and joy.

At the heart of this euphoria was the prized possession that hung proudly around my neck – the remarkable red View Master, a gift from the kind-hearted Californian girl. This miraculous device had become an object of fascination, not only for my fellow kid adventurers but also for our teachers. It held within its small frame a treasure trove of gorilla images, each slide a window into the captivating world of these majestic creatures. As we began our journey back home, I couldn’t contain my eagerness to share this newfound treasure with my mother, a testament to the unforgettable day that had left an indelible mark on my young heart.

The rainbow you see here resembles the one we witnessed at the same location back in 1985 during our school hiking expedition to Mt. Bisoke. As we exited the park and reached a place known as “Mu Gisasa,” which translates to “a plain view” in Kinyarwanda, we glanced back to catch a final glimpse of Bisoke and the forest we had left behind, already starting to miss its beauty. It was then that we noticed the rainbow gracefully forming amidst the maize and pyrethrum fields behind us, leaving us in awe of the natural wonders that surrounded us.

A Childhood “Dream”

In my formative years, a profound aspiration took root within me—an unwavering desire to become a medical doctor when I reached adulthood. This heartfelt dream was driven by a deep-seated commitment to serve my community by ensuring equitable access to essential healthcare services, with a special emphasis on providing timely medical care to pregnant women and children, ultimately aiming to prevent unnecessary loss of life. This fervent aspiration found its genesis when I was merely seven years old, during my third-grade journey in school. Remarkably, my teachers recognized my academic aptitude and, impressed by my brightness, made the decision to accelerate my education, having me skip second grade.

One morning, at approximately 9 am, a heart-wrenching incident unfolded in my community that would forever alter the course of my life. It was a scene unlike any other, as the relatives of my classmate arrived at our school unexpectedly, hastening to take her and her brother home in what appeared to be a dire emergency. Such early departures from school had been unprecedented for my classmates. Intrigued, I overheard my teacher inquiring about the nature of the emergency that had prompted this abrupt withdrawal. It was then that my deskmate’s relatives quietly confided in our teacher, revealing the tragic news that her pregnant mother had lost her life while en route to a hospital located approximately 15 kilometers away, where she had hoped to safely give birth. As a child, this revelation struck me to the core, leaving an indelible mark on my young heart and igniting a profound desire to become a doctor. I grappled with the inexplicable tragedy of a mother losing her life while in the process of bringing another life into the world, and from that moment, I told myself that I would study hard to become a medical doctor so that when I grow up, I would become a doctor to save lives, especially those of pregnant mothers and their children.

Growing up in the late 1980s, my community confronted a profound and daunting challenge—a scarcity of accessible healthcare facilities, particularly for pregnant women and children. While the Rwandan government had taken steps to bring healthcare closer to the community, exemplified by the construction of our Community Healthcare Center at the local shopping center, the accessibility of healthcare services remained a significant hurdle, especially during health emergencies. Our Shingiro Health Center served as the solitary beacon of hope for thousands of families residing within a radius of up to 15 kilometers. Adding to the complexity of the situation was the inaccessibility of community roads for the only ambulance available in our vicinity.

These intersecting factors compelled our community to rally together, shouldering the responsibility of carrying patients from their homes to the distant healthcare center. This arduous undertaking involved hours of strenuous walking, with teams of four individuals collectively carrying patients on their shoulders, supported by a determined army of men and women who hastened their steps to save lives. It was a perilous journey fraught with risks, particularly for those in the throes of childbirth. Tragically, this dire scenario became a haunting reality in the case of my classmate’s mother. As they anxiously awaited the return of the ambulance, which had earlier transported another patient to the Ruhengeri Referral Hospital, precious time slipped away. In her valiant effort to bring a new life into the world, she succumbed to devastating bleeding, a heart-wrenching loss that underscored the urgent need for improved healthcare access in my community.

The Ruhengeri Referral Hospital stood as the sole beacon of advanced medical care in our province, yet the challenges it posed were formidable. The region’s roads, largely unpaved, bore the brunt of regular rainfall, which compounded the difficulties faced by the community ambulance tasked with navigating these rugged terrains. This situation also presented considerable challenges to the dedicated individuals who shouldered the responsibility of carrying patients.

The consequences of these challenges weighed heavily on our hearts, leaving an indelible mark of sorrow and loss. Lives were needlessly extinguished during the perilous journey to the Ruhengeri Referral Hospital, located in the heart of Ruhengeri city. As we bore witness to our neighbors’ return from this arduous expedition, they carried not the promise of recovery but the lifeless bodies of their cherished family members who had died because they couldn’t reach the hospital on time. It was a haunting scene, a grim reminder that these precious lives could have been preserved if only there had been hospitals and skilled medical professionals within easy reach. Confronted with the acute scarcity of ambulances in many communities, our resilient people resorted to innovative methods for transporting patients to the closest medical facilities. Among these methods, the use of “Ingobyi,” a traditional African hammock meticulously crafted to provide both comfort and support during these critical moments of need, held a place of great importance. Ingobyi was both sacred and useful for the community because it helped to save lives. This poignant backdrop sowed the seeds of my determination to become a medical doctor and establish a healthcare facility within our community, a childhood dream that, while still unfulfilled.

These four men exemplify the use of “Ingobyi,” a traditional African hammock that holds profound cultural significance. Ingobyi is a meticulously woven litter, traditionally crafted from reeds, designed to be carried on the shoulders. It serves a dual purpose in the Banyarwanda community. Firstly, it functions as a vital means of transporting the sick, allowing patients to be carried either lying down or sitting up. Comprising carrying poles, support pads, and a mat, Ingobyi is a symbol of care and support during times of illness. Beyond its role in healthcare, Ingobyi carries a rich cultural tradition. It was also used in another significant life event—the transportation of a bride from her parents’ home to her husband’s, marking the transformative journey from a single woman to a married one. Thus, Ingobyi embodies both practicality and cultural symbolism.

This is the Shingiro Health Center, the sole healthcare facility that served our community in the 1980s. Remarkably, it remains largely unchanged despite the significant population growth in the region over the years. During my upbringing, this clinic played a vital role in serving not only our immediate community but also people who traveled from far-flung areas such as Bisate, Kinigi, Nkuli, Nykainama, and beyond in search of essential healthcare services. It’s worth noting that during those days, the population of Rwanda was considerably smaller compared to the many millions of people residing in the country today.

Dr. William A. Twayigize

DR. WILLIAM

My Homeland

My Homeland

The Little Switzerland of Africa

My Childhood

The Nyamuragira Kitchen

At the Cross Road

My Father’s Ranch

The Californian Girl

School Excursion to Kalisoke

A View Master

A Childhood “Dream”

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DR. WILLIAM

DR. WILLIAM A. TWAYIGIZE

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