At each commemoration of the genocide, “the images come back as if it were yesterday”. Thirty years later, Irene's navy blue eyes shine modestly when she recalls her memories, still painfully vivid. The endless flight, the fear in her stomach, the hunger of her children. And then the violent loss of many members of his family and friends. A few days before the country begins its week of national mourning, she comes to pay her respects at their grave. Or rather on one of the fifteen mass graves at the Gisozi National Memorial in Kigali, where they rest.
“It’s always hard to come here. I have to collect my emotions to tell the story well,” Irene composes herself as she gently descends the stairs of the “Forest of Memory” in Gisozi towards the immense gray concrete tombs, arranged in a balcony between the trees.
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