The Founder’s Story

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The war had been going on for more than 3 years. The extremist government of Rwanda had refused Rwandan refugees of the 60s and 70s the right to return to Rwanda, their own country. The latter had raised an army and were fighting to go back to their homeland.

Working for an international aid organization in Rwanda, ADRA, I went on many trips to distribute relief supplies (food, blankets, clothing, cooking pots, etc.) to thousands of people displaced by the war in the north-eastern part of the country. Living conditions in the makeshift grass huts of the so-called refugee camps were inhumane to say the least. Signs of hunger and disease were everywhere. Swollen feet and bellies particularly among children and the elderly were a common sight. One day, I was especially disheartened to see children fight over banana peelings I had just thrown away.

The war raged on and spread towards Kigali, the capital city, less than 15 miles from my rural home village. Naive as I was, I believed that somehow the war would end before it reached my community. The peace agreement had been signed between the warring parties. The end of the war and peace were in sight. It appeared that my family and I would not have to flee and endure the sufferings I had witnessed in the camps.

On the morning of April 6, 1994, my wife and I turned the radio on, as usual, for the news. We were shocked and dumbfounded upon hearing the unthinkable. The president of Rwanda and his counterpart of Burundi had been killed on the same night, their plane shot down as it approached Kigali international airport for landing. We were speechless, a sense of doom and helplessness filled our bedroom.

My wife spoke first: "we are finished", she told me. "The Tutsi tribe is going to be exterminated." "Let us not despair. God will protect us," I said without conviction. Tragically, the ensuing news bulletins only confirmed our worst fears: barbaric killings had already started in Kigali. Horrific announcements of hatred were broadcast over the national radio inciting people to kill.

In just a few days the killers attacked our village. Soon afterwards, the attacks became more focused, targeting individuals and families. On April 16 morning, a friend warned me that my family and I must flee or we would be killed. Immediately, my wife, our two children (6 and 3) and I left our home aiming to seek refuge at Gitwe Adventist Mission, scores of miles away. However, we found out the roads were blocked and the killings were going on everywhere. We returned to our community and began hiding in banana or coffee plantations, in the bush and occasionally returning to our home, back and forth as friends and circumstances dictated. This went on from April to June, the peak of the rainy season.

One day in May, desperate, I cried out loud: "Oh God, where are you? Why do people have to be hunted down as wild beasts and you allow it to go on like this? And the world, where is the world? Why doesn't someone do something to stop this?" I lamented.

On the morning of June 16 we had returned home, tired of unbearable conditions in the plantations, to seek relief for my children and my pregnant wife. A government military officer and his two armed body guards suddenly knocked on our door. The officer said that he wanted to ask my wife a few questions. I gave him permission to talk to my wife inside the house because she was so tired. The officer declined saying that he wanted to talk to her along with the other ladies they had in their vehicle. I never saw my wife again. Several days later, I learned that my wife had been cruelly slaughtered, and our unborn twins removed from her womb. Their remains were thrown into a deep common pit that was the fateful destination of many, many other innocent people.

Pen cannot portray my anguish and sorrow I went through on that nameless day, and in the following weeks, months, and years. At times I wished I could vanish into the thin air were it not for my two children. Life as I knew it had ended or lost its meaning. It had never occurred to me that my people, Rwandan people, could stoop so low, to the level of wild beasts. To this day I wonder how human beings with flesh and blood could be so atrocious. My country, which I loved so dearly did not exist any more and had lost all value to me. At some point, I tore up my national identity in my grief, shame and anger at the conduct of my countrymen. My mind was made up to leave Rwanda and go far, far away where I would never hear about this country any more.

With my 3-year old son on my shoulders, and my 6-year old daughter holding unto my belt (as we had done for over two months now, we left our village on what I hoped was going to be our last flight, never to return to this community and country. For 17 days we walked, rain or sunshine, sleeping in the open not knowing where we were heading, hoping that we would reach the border soon. As we reached the forest in the western part of the country, we camped along with thousands others. In the first week of July the new army defeated the extremist government and put an end to the killings. The new government appealed to all people to go back home. I could not resist the appeal and the urge in spite of myself. Although we went back to what used to be our home, my heart and mind were somewhere else. I longed for a better place where I could start life all over, away from haunting memories of hatred, atrocities and death.

Upon returning to my village I learned of countless instances where individuals or groups of people had intervened to save my children and myself. One particular person, from her hiding place heard the killers planning the final assault on the area where we were hiding but the same morning the new army overran the village and they fled before executing their deadly plan. A young man showed me the hand grenade he had been given to throw at us but decided against it. Another man had requested the honor to be the one to plunge his sword into my body but had been told to hold off until the "right" time. The other guy, armed with a pistol, searched for me and was comforted to learn that I had been "killed" a long time ago. I could go on and on. Surely, God's protecting hand had been present all along although I did not feel it, and certainly cannot explain why He intervened in one case or did not in another.

Certainly there were many good people who risked their own lives to save others, else who could have survived. In a particular way, my heart goes out to Pastor Carl Wilkens, former Director of ADRA in Rwanda, who risked his own life when other expatriates were being evacuated but chose to stay and saved many, many lives from certain death.

Three years after the genocide the perpetrators hiding in neighboring countries still threatened and planned attacks on Rwanda "to finish what they had started in 1994". The urge for me to leave had never been stronger.

With the help of my brother, my cousin and Mr. Bryan Mierau of Indiana, I reached American soil in November, 1997. For the first time in several years I could now go to sleep believing that I would be alive in the morning. Now I could breathe the air of peace, and have a sense of freedom like I had never experienced in my entire life.

In December, 2000, my children joined me here thanks to the assistance of members of the Paw Paw Seventh-day Adventist Church for which I will ever be so grateful. I had promised God that after my children got here I would not ask for anything else. But God was and continues to be so good and so generous to me even though I broke this particular promise.

He granted my request to start an organization to help the orphans, the widows, and the needy in Rwanda and elsewhere. After several years of struggling, God led me to Mr. Jack Neal, Erick and Ivy Kirchberg and other American friends, as well as fellow Rwandans who understood my cause and helped me to organize and start "Life Lifting Hands, Inc." non-profit organization.

My story would not be complete without expressing my deep gratitude to generous supporters and donors in Ohio, in Michigan, and all over this great and blessed Nation, the U.S.A.

Sincerely,

Amiel Gahima