Memory and justice

EUGÉNIE – I was twenty-seven years old, married and had four children. I have two orphans left that I took care of. These orphans are my brother’s children. From the whole family, as far as one seeks, only I and these two children remain. After the death of Habyarimana, we first wandered in the hills, in the bush. Until the moment when the military told us to go to the commune to better protect ourselves. We trusted them. We went near the shops of the shopping center. It was in the middle of the night that we went to the church. We spent two days there and the third one we were attacked. The militiamen and the military were mixed. They were very numerous, it seemed like there were a thousand of them. The church was full and the surroundings too. They entered. They first threw pili-pili (tear gas grenades) into the air. Immediately, they looted us. “Give money, give money” they shouted. But at the same time they were killing. The one on the left was holding you back, the one on the right was hitting you with a machete. You no longer knew who you were dealing with.
YOLANDE – What weapons did they have?
EUGENIE – All the weapons. Machetes, clubs, axes, knives, firearms. They murdered everyone and they left. After their departure, I heard cries of suffering of all kinds. They were half-dead people. Children crying under the corpses, anxious mothers, so much suffering that I cannot identify them. I was in the middle of those two benches that you see there. In the morning, they returned to finish off those who were not quite dead. Me, I wasn’t visible. I had too many corpses above me. It was my chance. After their departure, the silence was total. All the survivors had been murdered. The assassins returned two days later. They killed again and after their departure I fainted. I stayed there for a very long time. Probably two weeks. I wasn’t even bleeding anymore. It looked like I was out of blood. I didn’t realize anything. I couldn’t stand up. Fifteen days after the attack on the church, I was still there, half dead, naked among the corpses rotting above me. I had my hands crushed and the tendons of my feet cut off. And I had my head split with machete blows, my neck was half open. I was covered with maggots, I even ate some because they were in my mouth. I didn’t realize that my parents, my children, my husband were dead. I didn’t realize anything. I was hungry. I crawled on the less painful side to the outside. There, I met the assassins.
“Were you in the church?
– Yes.
– Were you breastfeeding your dead children?
– Yes.
– You, even death cannot accept you.
– Finish me off, I beg you.
– We don’t want to get our hands dirty.
` They spat in my face one by one, and left. I went back to the church where I found sweet potatoes that I ate. I looked for clothes on the corpses, put them on as I could. The assassins returned shortly afterwards and undressed me again. They told me 'You need to stay naked until the end of your life.
` Today, it is my brother’s two little orphans that I picked up after the genocide that dress me up every morning. I don’t tell my story to anyone, because I am disgusted by human nature.
The man destroyed everything in me. I only agreed to testify because you too are a widow who lost her children. We have a similar story.
That’s why I trust you.