People think I am crazy because I am always crying, and I do not blame them for thinking so. I am always angry, and I do not sleep at night. I hoped secretly that I would die during the genocide, but being among other survivors with in a survivors’ organization has brought me comfort and hope. I feel like I have a family now, and I am very grateful for that. (…)

On April 6, 1994, when President Habyarimana died, the local authorities ordered my family to go back to our house. We had been walking outside. But we did not feel secure in our house, and we went to pass the night on our cassava plantation instead. The next morning, we went to our uncle's house, which was about a thirty-minute walk from our house. The Interahamwe [Hutu-militia] surrounded my uncle's house a few hours later. As the killings hadn't started yet, the militia were just trying to frighten us. When the Interahamwe got tired of this and left , we ran to the Catholic church of Mboza, which was about fift een minutes’ walking distance from my uncle's house. Almost three hundred Tutsi had found refuge in the church.

We arrived at the church at about ten in the morning, and a few minutes later the Interahamwe and FAR soldiers [Forces Armees Rwandaises/government soldiers] started shooting. They had guns and shot all the men, including my uncle. I fell, and some dead bodies fell on top of me. I was all covered withblood. I heard screams and babies crying, but I was unconscious for most of the time the attack was continuing.

The next day, they came back to kill those who were not yet dead. There was blood all over me, and the killers thought that I was dead, too, so they left me there, lying among those dead bodies. Once I had regained consciousness, all I could see were a lot of bodies lying around the church. The stench of blood was thick in the air. Except for one of my sisters, all my other relatives died during this attack at the church. Out of three hundred people in the church, only five had survived.