In The Kigali Mortuary

Dr. William A. Twayigize

DR. WILLIAM

THROWN IN THE KIGALI MORTUARY

A Deadly Explosion

On Sunday, December 20, 1998, a Tutsi soldier known as Afande Kayihura approached the entrance to our torture chamber, where we had been imprisoned for years. The title ‘Afande’ denotes a senior rank within the army. Kayihura, evidently inebriated, mentioned he had just returned from the frontlines in DR Congo, where the Kagame administration was embroiled in a proxy war, vying for the West’s access to the nation’s rare minerals. With only four days left until Christmas, those fortunate enough to be free were making preparations to join their families for the festivities, a stark contrast to our grim confinement.

Yet, Kayihura’s intentions were far from peaceful. As he approached the door, venomous words spilled from his lips. “Every time I gaze upon the Hutus, rage engulfs me,” he spat with contempt. “The sight of their blood, pouring until life leaves them, brings me dark pleasure. I hail from Kisangani, where I’ve relentlessly pursued Hutu refugees. I relish the hunt, cornering them in the heart of the Congolese jungle. The desperate cries of their children, torn from the mothers we’ve mercilessly eliminated, only heightens my satisfaction. We abandon these young Hutus, condemning them to a grim fate.” Kayihura recounted his malevolent deeds with pride, viewing his acts against the Hutus as his crowning achievements.

We listened in silence, bound by our circumstances to hear his harrowing tales. As he recounted his acts against Hutu refugees in DRC, nightmarish memories flooded back. The savage killings at Lubutu Bridge, the torment endured at the hands of the Tutsis in their chambers of torture, and the haunting laughter that echoed after witnessing hundreds of our kin suffer excruciating deaths. Desperation gnawed at us; many sought an end to escape the relentless pain. “You Hutus were destined to be our slaves,” Afande Kayihura taunted. “The Bantus are our rightful servants. With the support of our allies in the USA, UK, and Belgium, who seek Congo’s gold, this fate will remain.

In the 1990s, when the Tutsi rebels of the RPF invaded Rwanda from Uganda, they brought with them a white sheep. This animal, believed to have been acquired from an Ethiopian witch doctor, was symbolic of their anticipated victory. The sheep was meant to die, serving as a sacrificial sign, symbolizing the sacrifice of Rwandans for the RPF’s triumph. This sheep was not merely an animal to the RPA rebels but a fetish they revered, hoping it would magically aid their wartime efforts. As recounted by General Kabarebe, the war came to an end, marked by the death of the white sheep, which was struck by a mortar gun, heralding the victory of the Tutsi rebels.

In senseless act, a Tutsi soldier threw a handheld grenade into our midst, claiming the lives of 17 innocent people in an instant. I was among the injured, bleeding profusely and slipping into unconsciousness. Subsequently, I was taken to the mortuary, left to await for mass burial in Kigali.

They’ll ensure you stay subjugated,” he smirked. His chilling declaration of a future deployment to Nyarutovu—hinting at further slaughters—struck a nerve with Kagaba, a native of that very place. In a visceral reaction, knowing Kayihura referred to his family, Kagaba lunged, his arm slipping through a gap to slap the tormentor. The weight of what transpired hung in the air; retaliation seemed imminent. Disbelief etched on his face, Kayihura shouted threats of reprisal as he exited, “Today marks your end!” he vowed.

In the looming presence of catastrophe, an overwhelming despair gripped us all. We had witnessed Tutsi soldiers coldly snuff out the lives of our kin and friends, leaving us feeling as if our own end was imminent. Where once hope flourished, now an all-encompassing gloom took its place, so profound it felt almost physical. We gazed skyward, longing for an end to our anguish and pleading for respite.

But in this sea of hopelessness, Kagaba’s daring act—striking Afande Kayihura—became a symbol of resistance, throwing the room into chaos. Almost immediately, a deafening explosion erupted, its potent aftermath filling the air. The force threw me off balance, blurring my vision. That grenade, set off by Kayihura, snuffed out 17 more souls within that confined space. The blast severely wounded me, sending me spiraling into a dark void of unconsciousness.

During that eerie night, 18 of us, some still clinging to life while others had succumbed, were layered upon one another, our blood mingling as we were moved to a makeshift mortuary. In this somber setting, we remained heaped together, our fresh wounds continuing to seep, intertwining our life essences. This somber move marked the beginning of our impending journey to the mass graves in a nearby Kigali neighborhood. The Red Cross took on the grave task, ensuring that the numerous Rwandan souls were accorded some form of rest. With our open wounds constantly intermingling our blood, the risk of transmitting diseases was rife, yet to the Tutsi soldiers who brought us to this grim location, we were already deemed lifeless, rendering any concerns moot.

Later on, the Red Cross was summoned, as was customary, to retrieve our bodies for a mass burial. Among them was a student from one of the Scandinavian countries who was conducting research. In line with the World Health Organization’s (WHO) burial procedures, she had the meticulous task of ensuring each individual was indeed deceased before proceeding with the burial. As per the WHO’s Clinical Criteria for the Determination of Death, the Red Cross needed to verify four crucial indicators: 1) the absence of a detectable central pulse, 2) the absence of heart sounds upon auscultation, 3) no signs of breathing, and 4) a lack of pupillary response to light. Only once these criteria were met were the bodies prepared for mass burial.

While diligently following the protocol, the researcher made a startling discovery: out of the eighteen bodies, only one showed signs of life. Miraculously, that sole survivor was me, having withstood the explosion and still possessing a faint central pulse upon examination. I was swiftly transported to the Red Cross’s emergency humanitarian clinic in Kigali. Word of my improbable survival spread rapidly throughout Kigali, capturing the community’s attention. The Red Cross immediately initiated various life-saving treatments and provided nutritional support to address my severe malnutrition.

At the Ingando training sessions designed for teachers, Gen. Kabarebe delved into the narrative of a white sheep, which held a pivotal role in the RPF’s 1994 strategies for the Kigali assault. This unique sheep didn’t merely stand on the sidelines; it actively participated in military parades. Acquired from an Ethiopian witch doctor, the sheep was marked for sacrifice, seen as a crucial step towards securing the Tutsi rebels’ triumph in Rwanda. However, Gen. Kabarebe’s legacy is tainted with dark allegations. Prominent human rights organizations accuse him of orchestrating the mass extermination of Rwandan Hutu refugees and the Congolese in DR Congo in 1997.

Welcome to Iwawa Island, a haunting destination often referred to as the “Island of No Return.” Here, the Kigali government sends Hutu youth with the dual purpose of exerting control over them and maintaining the cleanliness of Kigali city. However, the grim reality is that these young individuals find themselves subjected to grueling forced labor during their stay on the island (Photo: Jehad Nga for The New York Times).

The devoted team at the Red Cross worked relentlessly to nurse me back to health. Among them were Hutu nurses, their faces marked with anxiety. They had sought sanctuary in the Red Cross facility to evade possible threats from the RPF. Several of these nurses had honed their expertise in emergency care while serving with the Red Cross in the Rwandan refugee camps in Congo. Their invaluable experience was a primary reason the Red Cross maintained their collaboration even within Rwanda’s borders. These same nurses, having endured the hardships of life in the refugee camps, poured their heart and soul into ensuring my recovery and survival.

One of the nurses, having learned of my past, inquired if I had any knowledge of her brother, Jean Berchmans. They were together during the 1997 attack on the Tingi-Tingi refugee camp by Tutsi soldiers. She shared with me that she was the sole survivor from her family, and held on to hope that her brother might have also escaped the onslaught. Often, she would tend to the oxygen supply that was vital for me, given the severe bleeding and my weakened state. These brief moments, while she adjusted the oxygen mask aiding my feeble lungs, became our clandestine opportunities to converse and share our stories.

After several grueling months, the unwavering support of the Red Cross bore fruit, as I started to exhibit noticeable signs of healing. Eventually, I managed to stand and walk, albeit with the aid of crutches. Some nurses took it upon themselves to share with me the grim news of Ruhengeri — detailing the devastation brought upon its people by the Tutsi regime during the Songamana Military Operations. Their intention was clear: they wanted to brace me for the heartbreak, ensuring that the revelation of my family’s potential fate wouldn’t shatter me completely. In time, I, alongside other survivors, was relocated to the Ingando Training Center. Far from benign educational institutions, these centers harbored a darker intent. They aimed to mold and intimidate Rwandans, pressing them into aligning with the RPF’s new political vision and supremacy.

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DR. WILLIAM

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Dr. William A. Twayigize

DR. WILLIAM