By Mark Washburn
The Charlotte Observer.
There has always been something special about Liliane, even when she was 7 and the soldier who came to kill her pinned her arm to the ground with his boot.
“You look like my daughter,” he said. “So I’m not going to kill you. But we will have to kill the others.”
Now, 20 years later, Umuhire Liliane Ntabana (she goes by Liliane because it is easier for people to pronounce) is a biology major at Johnson C. Smith University in Charlotte. She is a survivor of the genocide that swept through Rwanda in April 1994.
At least 800,000 people were slaughtered when Rwanda’s Hutu majority descended upon the Tutsi minority, who were persecuted and blamed for social ills. Men, women, elders, children and infants were butchered in their homes, at roadblocks, at churches and in schools. Hutus who rose in their defense were killed as well.
It lasted 100 days. On the 98th day, Liliane’s parents were murdered.
Liliane is the youngest of nine children. Also killed: her three sisters, her aunts and her uncles.
“People they didn’t know came to kill them,” Liliane said. “It’s hard to understand how they were killed with no reason.”
After the genocide was halted by a rebel army, she and two of her sisters were taken in by her godmother, who was already sheltering about 30 orphans living in her house in the Gitarama Province.
Life returned to a new normal. And Liliane returned to school.
Phone call in the night
Sparking the 1994 genocide was the mysterious crash April 6 of the plane carrying Rwandan president Juvenal Habyarimana. Hutus blamed the Tutsis for shooting down the plane.
Local officials, military groups and Hutu civilians were encouraged to kill Tutsis through radio broadcasts. Many of the Tutsis were killed by their Hutu neighbors, who were often brandishing machetes or garden tools.
Liliane remembers being awakened by a phone call late in the night after the plane was shot down. She listened as her father, Ntabana Trojan, talked on the phone and could tell by his tone it was something serious, something menacing.
“He was on a list of people who had to die,” Liliane said.
Her father was a dentist, and her mother was a nurse.
Her father was funny, she remembered. Her mother was calm, always calm — even on the day when she told the children they would have to go into hiding.
Her mother and father decided to split up the children to have a better chance of surviving. “He kissed us, and we went to say goodbye to my mom. She asked my oldest sister to be like my mom.”
Across time, borders
Decades after the genocide, trials are still going on in Rwanda. After testifying against a man involved with the genocide who then went to prison, Liliane left Rwanda in 2008 because it was no longer safe for her.
She went to Boston, applied for asylum and started learning English. She found work cleaning airplane interiors between flights, as a hotel maid, as a parking lot attendant and at a Moroccan restaurant. She attended Bunker Hill Community College.
In Boston, she came to the attention of Eugenie Mukeshimana, whose husband, father, sister and cousins were killed in the genocide.
Mukeshimana was eight months pregnant and went into hiding when the killings began. Hutus found her in a garbage pit. They decided not to kill her or her baby. Instead they raped her and kept her prisoner as a cook, she tells audiences to raise awareness of the genocide.
Mukeshimana, now 42, came to the United States in 2001, earned a college degree in social work and founded the Genocide Survivors Support Network, which helps survivors rebuild their lives and uses their voices to raise awareness about genocide through education.
As she got to know Liliane, she realized there was something special about her.
“Everyone wants revenge, but we’re doing it the way Liliane is doing it — by working hard, going from surviving to living.”
Going into hiding
Slender and vivacious, Liliane weeps and stares into the middle distance when she talks about being on the run.
At first, she and some siblings were sent to live with nuns. When the nuns had to leave the country, they were sent to the protection of a priest, and then friends.
Throughout the 100 days, there was a recurring refrain: “Men were coming to kill us.”
She said she prayed constantly while staying with the nuns. Something came over her.
“I heard in my heart every day — ‘They’re coming to kill you, but you’re going to be OK.’ ”
Asking for help at JCSU
On a speaking engagement in 2010 at JCSU about the Rwanda survivors organization arranged by Racelle Weiman of Charlotte, who helps place genocide survivors in schools in North Carolina, Mukeshimana was invited to meet with university President Ronald Carter. She told him about Liliane and asked whether there was something the university could do for her.
“Liliane’s narrative was very compelling,” Carter said. “We have a commitment to working and supporting young men and women whose contract with life has been compromised.”
Carter found her a scholarship for international students as part of the university’s support from the Duke Endowment.
“I couldn’t think of a more deserving person,” Carter said. “She is quiet but an illuminating presence across the campus, not afraid to venture into the unknown.”
Part of the paperwork for entering JCSU included a survey for roommate compatibility. Under the question, “What do you do in your free time?” Liliane answered: “Pray.”
Escaping from killers
Sometimes during the genocide, Liliane said when the men came, they would ask for money for bullets to kill their victims rather than machetes. Sometimes the men would accept the money and leave, promising to return for more.
Usually they came at night. “To be safe, we would sleep in the bushes and come back in the morning,” Liliane said.
One day she was hiding in a house. She peeked out a window to see a woman begging on her knees, then hacked to death by a machete. Liliane hid under the bed.
Weeks later, the last group came and found them. “They said, We know you are Tutsi, and so we’re going to kill you,’ ” Liliane said.
Money was offered to save them, but the men burned the bills. That was when the soldier pinned her to the ground, then let her go because there was something about Liliane that reminded him of his own daughter.
The sound of gunfire interrupted them. The group went to investigate and never returned. Soon the rebels were in control and the genocide was ended.
Finding her way in Charlotte
Kirsten Hemmy, an associate professor in English at JCSU, picked up Liliane when she arrived at the Charlotte airport in 2010.
Hemmy’s first impression of her was that she was sweet and nervous, and the professor soon came to realize there was something special about Liliane.
“She quickly became my weekend and holiday guest, or child — she’d come to stay at my house whenever there was a long weekend or school break. She’d cook, clean, hang out, watch TV, be a kid.
“From time to time, I just marveled at her: She had moments where she could really act like a kid, like a young woman, like a college student. It was remarkable to me, really, that resilience.”
Liliane had trouble making friendships with fellow students at first, but a retinue of adults began to gather around her, providing bedding, clothes, gift cards, cash.
“It was hard for her to imagine the randomness of it all: What she’d survived, what she was carrying — that burden of survival — the kind of opportunity that presented itself to her now,” Hemmy said. “There were lots of days of being overwhelmed.”