Earlier this week, in Rwanda’s capital, Kigali, a group of six stage poets belted out stanzas about deep-rooted grief. After them, Rapper Bruce The 1st, slow-jammed verses of his song “Nd’urumuri,” which loosely translates to “I am the light.” Accompanied by the stirring harmonies of singer Christiane Boukuru, poet Jean-Jules Irakoze then led a series of chants: “I could see what you saw. I could feel how you felt. But not really. Not really, because I wasn’t born yet. But I was there with you. I feel like I was there with you. But not really. Not really.”

Although visitors were allowed to take photos, the crowd remained transfixed, too engrossed to even reach for their phones.

The scene was from an annual commemoration event organized by a youth-centered NGO called Our Past Initiative – one of many events taking place during this week of Kwibuka, which means to remember in Kinyarwanda. Three decades later, Rwanda is still grappling with the aftermath of the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi. So the organization's strategy is twofold: to impart the grim lessons to younger generations who may have little personal connection to the harrowing ordeal, and to alleviate the immense suffering of genocide survivors through charitable donations.

Being young in present-day Rwanda means taking in 1994’s events sporadically. For many, that means first learning about what human rights advocates called “a failure in humanity,” from external sources. Parents seldom broach the topic, close friends are just as uninformed, and on social media, some people either defend the attack as a justified reaction to President Habyarimana's plane crash, or outright deny it happened.

Searching for ways of understanding

“It's always bits and pieces,” laments 25-year-old Ange Iliza, who recalls first hearing about the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi while in primary school, as her teachers often missed classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays to attend Gacaca court trials. Since then, she hasn't had access to a single source that provides the complete history.

“My feelings are basically just, ‘What happened? How can I learn more? What questions do I have about what happened and its context? What was life like before and after?’” Both of Iliza's parents are survivors, yet they’ve never fully disclosed what happened to her, leaving gaps in their narrations. “I always try to piece together the stories and look for patterns to understand them better,” she says.

Theophilla Uwase, a 23-year-old university student, has taken it upon herself to find out the facts. “I make it my responsibility to learn the truth about what happened,” she says. “Even as a child, I questioned my parents. Now, I read newspapers, listen to radios, and recently added the Kwibuka podcast to my sources of information.” Uwase recently discovered the extent of her family's losses and her father's survival story. “I am not detached to commemoration even though I was born after [the] 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi.”

Our Past Initiative is known for its use of art to spread awareness, and its appeal to youngsters like Uwase and Iliza who often wonder about life before 1994. This year, 6,000 people — many of them young — gathered at the Kicukiro-Nyanza Genocide Memorial, a resting place for over 96,000 victims of the genocide, to commemorate the 30th anniversary of this moment in Rwanda’s history.

An aftermath of emotions

​While those born in the aftermath of the genocide came of age in a relatively stable Rwanda, their reactions upon learning about the bloodshed vary, particularly during the annual commemoration period. Some speak of a deep sadness and horror, shame (especially among those with ties to perpetrators) and disbelief, uncertainty and confusion, intense interest and unending curiosity, solidarity and activism. And perhaps the most prevalent, relief — at not having experienced those dark days firsthand.

In the international media, there's a growing faction of dissenters — some as young as Uwase — known as Jambo ASBL, whose efforts to reinterpret events from 30 years ago unsettle her. However, over time, she has learned “to discern truth from lies,” she says.

24-year-old Laurette Akaliza went even further than most others, by publishing a book titled Wet Under the Rainbow, detailing trans-generational trauma in 2019. The book came about after engaging in meaningful, enlightening face-to-face conversations about the carnage with her peers. “Can you believe that people as young as 20 have vivid nightmares about the genocide? That there are some constantly battling anxiety?” says Akaliza. Dozens of research studies back her claim.

Akaliza’s second book Rebounce, due later this year, focuses on trans-generational resilience. “This topic can provide young people with much-needed context of those years — 1995, 1996, 1997, until maybe 1999 — when beyond words, with wounds still fresh, resilience emerged. That's when someone would say, 'I woke up crying, but I have to find a way for my kids to go to school.'"

Christian Intwari, the chair of Our Past Initiative, believes that openly sharing stories about the violent upheaval that shook Rwanda deeply connects the country’s youth to the experience of confronting such a traumatic history of loss.

In an interview with Sens Magazine, Intwari shares how their efforts have resulted in young people contributing 76 percent of the funds received to aid survivors. “Sometimes, when you watch a play, it raises many questions,” says Intwari. “You go home and discuss with others. Watching people perform in a play can even provide answers,” he adds, explaining that understanding grows through such interactions. “We may not have the power to persuade parents to talk to their kids, but we can encourage kids to ask questions.”

Indeed, as someone in their mid-20s, I am constantly shocked by the new details I encounter about the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi — the actual magnitude seemed to have been watered down when I first heard about it some 10 years ago. But now, when I attend commemoration events, I don’t see aimless young people like 15-year-old me was. I see teens and young adults seeking the deepest truths and answers to their most difficult questions. For love.

They love their families, and aspire to understand them better. They love their country and are determined to ensure that the land of a thousand hills never sees such atrocities again. “Never again” may sound like a buzzword synonymous with commemorations, but in Rwanda, young people have made the decision to live it, as opposed to just saying it. They’ve decided. Never again.