Part I

Conversations in the car are intense. Colonization, spirituality, politics and utter brutality, violence and betrayal—all incomprehensible factors that led up to genocide. Our conversations are set to the backdrop of thousands of lush hills and thousands of massive graves concealing bones—bones of innocent men, women and children whose only crime was being born Tutsi. The…

Part II

Next to a glass casing displaying neatly stacked skulls, Rwamasirabo flipped through the pages of a dusty notebook holding the church’s paperwork. He pulled out a church program. On it, was a photo of his former friend, Father Athanase Seromba, a 31 year-old Roman Catholic priest who was responsible for killing 3,000 of his Tutsi…

Part III

I felt the ground crumbling from beneath me and so I clung to silence. Still, the sound of death was there. I tried to drown out the haunting screams echoing in my brain with my breath—but the rising and falling of my chest exhausted my efforts. In remembering those suffocated by inhumanity, I felt guilty…

Part IV

Over banana beer and fried plantains, we sat around a communal table—us and them. Together with both a victim and a perpetrator of genocide, it seemed impossible. My mind could not comprehend the juxtaposition I was seeing with my eyes—from betrayal into brotherhood, these men came. As they sat beside each other, I felt as…

Part V

Our fearless driver, Jacque, is a security guard. He speaks with an eloquent French accent. His words are few, but every now and then he’ll tell us a pertinent and profound fact as we drive. The tone of his voice perfectly narrates our scenic drive—whether we’re driving along the backroads of Rwanda’s hills, cruising peacefully…

Part VI

She was no more than five-feet tall, wearing a traditional sari in white cotton decorated with only three blue stripes hugging the fabric’s edge. Her face was framed perfectly within the blue border wrapped around her head, symbolizing her vow to the life of chastity, poverty and obedience—her life’s work is to serve the poorest…

Artist Statement

I was a reluctant artist, self-doubting leader and a broken soul. I was in search of healing. After a series of traumatic experiences that culminated with my hospitalization in Zambia, I went on a sabbatical in search of courage, tenacity and renewal to continue in my vocation. It was early 2014 and we were entering…