a life in the lost years: a woman’s harrowing story of surviving the rwandan genocide and her journey towards healing and forgiveness

As we ran for safety to the only place we considered safe - church, we were soon thrown out by a pastor, along with any other Tutsi families. Within a few miles we come to a roadblock and suddenly a towering, bulky man, recognises me. He calls me forward, ’hey, you in a red jumper!’ He holds a machete in one hand, and a rifle in another. Looking down, not to watch my steps but to avoid his intense gaze, I am shaking as I approach him, and he raises my chin with the blood spattered machete. It was then that I looked directly into his evil-filled face, with piercing bloodshot eyes.