Hassan Mutabazi is one of the many Rwandan Genocide victims that gathered in a small, mud house in the village of Kabuga, Rwanda last month.

Initially, his age is hard to decipher. He is short and slight, with a thick moustache that seems to clash with his young face. ‘I am 26,’ he tells me as we walk away from the group of teenagers hovering quietly near the entrance of the house. Mutabazi is the only one willing to talk to me. Possibly because his story is different to those of the other Genocide victims gathered that day. Unlike the others, he does not worry about the implications of sharing his mother's story. She is no longer alive and so if he does not tell it, no one will.

What soon becomes obvious is that the crowd is made up of only women and children, Mutabazi being one of the oldest. The Best Hope Rwanda organisation, a grassroots NGO that had been growing incrementally over the past two years, is holding a meeting to collect the names of Genocide victims seeking assistance.

Although the name lacks originality (the post 1994 period saw the birth of an array of 'Best Hopes', 'Good Hopes', 'Rwanda's Best Good Hopes’, etc) this organisation is unique in that it caters specifically to women subjected to mass rape during the genocide, and to their children, born from these rapes. In addition to the social and emotional implications of this unusual mother-child relationship, taxonomy issues are another reason these women are here today: children born post 1994 are not considered Genocide victims, by both national and international standards.

‘I remember hearing Habyarimanya's plane crash,’ says Mutabazi. The shooting down of the then president's plane was seen by many as the spark which ignited the Genocide eruption. He then recalls the arrival of the Hutu soldiers with a list of Tutsi names.

‘That was when I ran with my mother.’

Mutabazi when I ran with my mother.ith a list of Tutsi names.his mother because she ‘was very beautiful’. The Hutu soldiers took a liking to her, keeping her as a sex slave to be raped, at times in front of Mutabazi.

His younger brother was born from these rapes and is living with HIV, which eventually took his mother's life in 1998.

And yet, at this meeting Mutabazi is alone. ‘My brother is ill. I have come to ask for medicine and,’ he adds, ‘because I am looking for help too.’

Best Hope Rwanda assists with healthcare, counselling and education for 80 women and 110 children. The founder of the organisation, Dieudonne Gahizi Ganza, decided to start Best Hope Rwanda after shooting a documentary about the suffering to which the families had been subjected for the past 19 years.

‘Some women were still suffering physically and emotionally from rapes committed during the Genocide. Many of them were still bleeding because they had not received proper medical care.d Ganza also lost many relatives during the Genocide, and at the age of 26 he decided to take this on full-time. ‘Before, these children were called me.the Genocide, and at the age of 26not received proper medical careound’ he says.

The names of the growing number of beneficiaries are taken down. There are no lines formed and, with multiple voices competing with one another in Kinyarawandan, it seems chaotic. But, somehow, every person is documented and every angst recorded, including Mutabazi's.

Canadian journalist Sue Montgomery had come along to connect with the women and children through cooking. ‘Rwanda has the most incredible vegetables and I wanted to show the women how to make the most of this,’ Montgomery says. Carrying a big bag of the carrots, tomatoes, celery and green peppers that are sold alongside most Rwandan streets, the chopping began. Montgomery, chatty and sarcastic, confesses she can't stomach a single more helping of cassava, rice or posho (the South African equivalent of pap).

Initial intermittent laughter soon turns into a food fight, instigated by Montgomery.
‘Cooking is a way of bringing people together. Everyone loves eating,’ she says.

‘It is rare that these women can laugh so easily,’ admits Ganza. ‘One cannot imagine how difficult it is to be a rape survivor.’

Mutabazi hovers towards the outskirts of the group, laughing occasionally but keeping his distance from both the mothers and the other children. For someone like Mutabazi, the lines guiding post-Genocide support are blurred. He has no mother to attend the Best Hope meetings, nor was he born out of rape. After school, he trained as an electrician but he is yet to find a job. Both he and his brother are HIV-positive.’aGanza helps my brother with schooling and medicine,’ Mutabazi says. But the question remains, who will help Mutabazi?

When I visit Ezra Mutwara, he shakes my hand emphatically before listening intently to the dilemmas of the people it is his job to support. Mutwara is the Director of Finance and Administration for FARG. This French acronym roughly translates to Fund for Rwandan Genocide Survivors and aims to assist survivors in different ways a financially, emotionally and otherwise.

Beginning in January, FARG has earmarked Rwf60 million (the equivalent of around R1 million) to help female victims of the Genocide.G has earmarked Rwf60 million (the equivalent of around R1 million) to help f the people it is his job to support. Mutwara is the ‘We feel that the children will be indirectly supported through the support FARG offers the mothers.’

But then why is there such a pertinent need for Best Hope Rwanda, if indeed there is one?

‘Although we cannot fund an organisation that is not working within the FARG framework, if a charity like Best Hope was to work closely with local administration, we could help with phase-by-phase funding as we monitor the progress,’lsays Mutwara.

It sounds like bureaucratic lingo. Seeing the frown which has unconsciously formed on my face, he adds, ‘There are so many victims. We need to make sure that those existing organisations have the right intentions.’

Mutabazie so many victims. We need to make sure that t ‘The question surrounding Mutabazi is a valid one. We hope to help all victims of the Genocide in the future. For now, we are working on getting funding, both from FARG and private donors,’ Ganza says.

‘He is clearly a victim of the Genocide, and therefore a clear FARG beneficiary. He has been misinformed! He should approach FARG for further training. Give him my number! Tell him to call me!’ says Mutwara enthusiastically.

With a growing number of Genocide victims reaching out for help, the equal value and urgency of both public and private assistance is evident. ‘We applaud organisations like Best Hope,’ Mutwara said.anisations like Best Hope,hing out for help, the ARG beneficiary. He has bee

Fully aware of this limitation, Ganza was one of the speakers at the National Dialogue earlier this month. His message was pressing. uThe counselling of women and children is something that has been overlooked. If this is not dealt with now, the impact of this trauma on the children will become a bigger problem in the future.’

In Mutabazi's case, his story fell through the cracks too. Since the publishing of this article in Rwandan press, he has been registered for further vocational training. Undoubtedly, his story is one of many and perhaps a lesson for organisations and genocide victims alike.

With the SURF Survivors Fund estimating that there are 300,000 to 400,000 survivors of the Genocide, the collaboration of a variety of organisations is vital for Rwanda organisations and genocide victims.

* Kim Harrisberg is a journalism BPhil graduate from Stellenbosch University, South Africa. She spent the last four months in East Africa, writing, travelling and interning with different media agencies.

* THE VIEWS OF THE ABOVE ARTICLE ARE THOSE OF THE AUTHOR/S AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THE VIEWS OF THE PAMBAZUKA NEWS EDITORIAL TEAM

* BROUGHT TO YOU BY PAMBAZUKA NEWS

* Please do not take Pambazuka for granted! Become a Friend of Pambazuka and make a donation NOW to help keep Pambazuka FREE and INDEPENDENT!

* Please send comments to editor[at]pambazuka[dot]org or comment online at Pambazuka News.