Home is Where the Heartbreak Is. Genocide, Despair, Resilience & Football for Hope

Eric Murangwa. survivor of the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda, was the goalkeeper for an international football team, Rayon Sports. He only had his life saved by Hutu team mates and other team supporters because he was a footballer. Eric talks about how this experience has inspired him to dedicate his life to drawing on survivors’ experiences to connect us all to our common humanity through sport and storytelling.

ERIC MURANGWA:   As a survivor of genocide, I know from firsthand experience just what it means to be torn from home, as that’s exactly what happened to me 25 years ago in Rwanda. I remember the day I left my home for the last time, just a few hours after the start of the genocide against the Tutsi on April 7th 1994. Little did I know that the day would be the worst day in Rwandan history, a day that reduced every Rwandan to tears, a day when millions of Rwandans, not just me, were torn from their homes and families. I left soon after being attacked by five armed men who threatened to take my life, because I was a Tutsi and they were Hutu, until one of the soldiers recognised me as ‘Toto’, the nickname by which I was affectionately known by fans of Rayon Sports, the top Rwandan football club where I was the number one goalkeeper. Thankfully my life and the lives of those I was with were spared. For the next 100 days I was forced to move from one place to another, desperately trying to save my life. First I fled to my Hutu teammate’s house. After hiding there for a week or so, I had to move on after being told that the killers were coming for me. My colleagues advised me to try Zuzu, one of the board members of the club who lived nearby, and was helped to his house. I stayed there safely for a few days but it was not long before I had to move on once again. I returned to my old teammate’s house, but unsurprisingly, I did not feel safe and after only a few days, a trio of militia tracked me down and I only narrowly avoided death. Feeling my luck was about to expire and with a dwindling number of people ready to risk their lives to help me, I knew I had to find somewhere more secure - better to die trying than submit to my fate, I thought. I returned to Zuzu who promised to take me to the city’s International Red Cross HQ across town, which was providing sanctuary to refugees. Escorted in Zuzu’s vehicle, with two armed guards commandingly aiming their rifles out of the open windows, it was his clout that safely got me through the roadblocks and to the Red Cross HQ in a largely deserted area of Kigali. Unwilling or unable to get me within the walls of the compound, Zuzu left me outside the gates to fend for myself. The Red Cross director refused to take me in claiming that he could not admit me for the sake of the safety and security of those already inside. Out of ideas and just a stone’s throw from safety, I spent the next few nights sleeping beneath the stars, awaiting a much-needed turn of fortune. Providence, it appeared, was on my side when a young couple and their two-week old baby arrived at the gates of the Red Cross HQ, having been forced out of hiding by a band of militia looting the area. Their presence increased the pressure on the facility’s director and, while he would not grant them admission, he helped organise transportation for the family, as well as mine. Soon I found myself within the safe confines of Hôtel des Mille Collines where more than 1,200 took refuge during the genocide – an act of kindness that was famously re-told in the 2004 film called Hotel Rwanda. I remained at the hotel for over a month, before being evacuated to the RPF controlled area where I finally made it to safety, and it was here that I discovered that my close family had survived. This was such good news, and a miracle for me to have my family survive, because we knew the scale of the killing, and that in the 100 days about 3 out of every 4 people who were Tutsi, like me and my family, had been killed by the Hutu. If it hadn’t been for what my teammate Munyurangabo and his colleagues did for me and my family I am more than convinced that we would never have made it through alive. Even though I was marked for certain death, my teammates made sure that I and a number of other people who were with me, were all looked after. They provided us with protection, supplies and, most of all, hope. In my case, my teammate Munyurangabo even paid his own money to free me from the hands of militiamen when they caught up with me. However, what Munyurangabo did was not just save us, but he went on to lose his own life by going even more extra miles trying to save innocent people. After carrying out two months of humanitarian work in a place called Bugesera, I returned to the capital of Rwanda, where we had been living in Kigali. On my return life was still in chaos and more than 35 family members had perished including my youngest brother Irankunda Jean Paul – he was only 7 years old. My parents’ house was destroyed to the foundations and my old neighbourhood was unrecognisable. It looked more like a ghost town! But though the genocide was over now, my safety was far from assured. Lurking in the remote regions of Rwanda and in neighbouring states were bands of Hutu militia unwavering in their desire to complete their mission to wipe out the Tutsi population. One of these groups was caught by the authorities in late 1995, and was apprehended with a list of named targets to kill – my name was on it. Among the captives was the same trio of militia who attacked me during the genocide, almost killing me. They wanted to finish what they had started. Even though this band of militia had been caught, I knew I was not safe in Rwanda anymore – I had to leave. I emigrated to Belgium and then finally to the UK in 1997. The risky move was a necessity – Rwanda, my home, was no longer safe. The move meant I had to sacrifice everything – my surviving family and friends, my country and my greatest love – my football career. The tragic experience of genocide forced me out of my home, my country, took many of my family members and friends, destroyed pretty much all my childhood possessions including precious personal souvenirs, like photos, paintings and books. It’s now a quarter of century since the end of genocide in Rwanda and I have been able to rebuild my life in many ways, however, there’s no single day that goes by without thinking why did it happen like that? Our suffering did not stop with the killings but lingers 25 years on. Many of us have yet to recover from both psychological and physical trauma. Surviving the genocide itself alone is a big achievement but finding a reason to carry on is even a bigger challenge. The answer lies in our unwavering mission to ensure genocide is eradicated once and for all. Genocide does not destroy lives and properties only, it destroy people’s feelings, values and dreams. We must come together to prevent genocide by challenging all forms of prejudice, discrimination, hate and abuse. Never Again must stop being Yet Again. The theme of ‘Torn from home’ is so important for me because it highlights the fact that “the faces and locations of refugees may change, but not the reasons they are leaving their homes and countries. There are still wars, conflicts, religious and political persecution and economic hardship.” With the current global refugee crisis which is affecting millions of people, including children, it is crucial to bring this particular issue to the public attention so that we can show a sense of solidarity with today’s refugees. I feel that as a survivor and former refugee I have a duty and responsibility to use my experience and voice to highlight the need to help refugees to integrate and to provide them with the support they need to rebuild their shattered lives, to make sure that those who have been torn from one home, feel safe in their new one. This is why I have dedicated my life to working toward developing critical thinking among young people and hopefully instilling in them the spirit of compassion and empathy to make our world a better place. Because football saved me, it has been and continues to be a very important part of my life. That is the main reason why, with the support of my friends, I decided to establish the Ishami Foundation. “Ishami” is a Kinyarwanda word meaning “branch”, symbolising resilience, recovery and connection. Our foundation draws on genocide survivors’ experiences to connect us all to our common humanity through sport and storytelling in Rwanda and the UK. Our vision is to promote equality, diversity and lasting peace, and to teach young people to become engaged and responsible citizens, respectful of each other’s differences. In short, our motto is “Changing Lives Through Football and Storytelling.” Inspired by my teammates actions, after the genocide I realised that sport had a tremendous power to unite where there were divisions, to heal where there were wounds, to see the human in humanity. Football saved my life. It transcended ethnic differences and ultimately gave me hope for the future. It is, therefore, not an overstatement to say that the example of courage and humanity shown by my football teammates was a very powerful lesson of humanity and, in essence, the inspiration behind everything I do today. I have decided to look at the future and have chosen to dedicate my efforts to working for the Ishami Foundation, connecting with the young through football and education work in order to be building a better and more stable society—a society where no child, regardless of ‘ethnic group’ or any other origin, will ever experience such trauma again. Thank you for your kind attention.