Kizito D. Kalima's Story | Voices of Survival

AKizito Kalima's Journey of Survival, Reconciliation, and the Power of Forgiveness

Born in Rwanda in 1979, Kizito D. Kalima survived the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi, enduring hiding and multiple violent attacks before finding refuge in the swamps. Displaced but resilient, his basketball talent led him to the U.S. in 1998—offering safety, purpose, and a new beginning.

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Roots of Resilience

Kizito D. Kalima, the youngest of 10, is born on June 3, 1979, in Nyanza, Rwanda. His father, Denis, is a respected school administrator, while his mother, Cecilia, guides the community as a health advisor.

A close-up, soulful portrait of Kizito’s mother, wearing a white headband and traditional clothing

A studious image of Kizito’s father, wearing glasses and a blazer, focused intently on writing in a large ledger or notebook — Kizito’s Mother (Left)
and Father (Right)

We were a big family. My father was loving and a community leader. My mom was a very giving person, always there to help and guide us.

The Burden of Identity

Kizito begins primary school and immediately senses a shift, a feeling of being different. Teachers now ostracize him and his Tutsi classmates, often demanding they identify themselves as either Hutu or Tutsi.

A young Kizito Kalima posing confidently against a door, capturing a moment of innocence before the 1994 genocide — Kizito at primary school

As a Tutsi kid in the classroom when I was growing up, it was very tough because every day we would sing our national anthem, we’d pray, and the teacher would call out the Tutsis. They'll say, “The Tutsis stand up. The Hutus stand up.

Faded classroom interior with desks and a chalkboard, overlaid with a translucent yellow tint.

The Preparation

Curfews and restrictions grip Kizito’s village. Hutu extremists set up checkpoints outside Kizito's home, watching his prominent father. At school, Hutu classmates boast of training, chillingly telling Kizito they are learning to kill "Tutsi cockroaches."

A line of young men, shirtless and somber, standing in formation while carrying heavy wooden poles over their shoulders during training — Hutu Militia

A group of Interahamwe militia members running down a road, brandishing wooden clubs and traditional weapons alongside a military vehicle — Members of the Interahamwe militia run alongside trucks carrying French troops.

My family became prisoners in their house. Not only my family, but the whole village. Anybody who was Tutsi was a target. You are watched 24/7.

Faded close-up of weapons materials, bullets and debris on ground surface

The Loss

Kizito is called out of class. His brother-in-law, Fiedel, breaks the news: his father is dead. Fiedel takes him home. Kizito's father, Denis, has been poisoned and murdered by the Hutus.

A youthful portrait of Kizito Kalima during his school years, standing in front of an open locker with a striped shirt hanging behind him — Kizito at primary school

I remember one time when my dad took me back to boarding school. He hugged me and told me that he was afraid that he will never be there to see me finish high school. And that’s something that hurts because I think he knew what was going on, and he didn’t want to scare me.

A soldier in camouflage and a red beret stands guard near the charred, mangled wreckage of a downed aircraft in a grassy field. — A Rwanda Patriotic Front (RPF) rebel walking by the
site of the April 6 plane crash which killed Rwanda
President Juvénal Habyarimana.

The Spark that Ignites
Genocide

Home for Easter break, Kizito hears the news on the radio: Rwandan President Habyarimana's plane is shot down. He thinks the Tutsi will be free, but his mother warns him, telling the children to grab clothes, jackets, and a blanket. The whole country changes in a single day.

My mom got up, and her eyes got big, and she says, 'Young man, any time a leader of this country dies, we,' meaning the Tutsis, 'we pay a heavy price.'

Plane crash broadcast from BBC

The crumbling, roofless ruins of Kizito's home in Rwanda. a brick and concrete structure, now overgrown with grass.

A Home Invaded

Hutu militia attack Kizito's home. He runs to hide in a banana plantation; his mother and sister flee to a local church. Hiding, he watches his house explode. The reality of genocide hits him.

The Parigny family in Normandy — Kizito's home when he went back to Rwanda in 2020.
He noted, "behind my house, where I was sitting on the
bottom step you can see in the picture, when the milita
attacked my house."

They (the militia) were kicking our gate and they jumped our fence. They came through our living room. I took off running. … I knew exactly that this is the beginning.

Close-up of light brown wood grain with natural streaking.

A chilling juxtaposition showing a man in the foreground holding a large machete, while an armed soldier and a mud-covered vehicle stand in the background. — AFP

The Brutal Escape

At fourteen, Kizito flees his home. He hides with a family friend, Aimable Munyaneza, but renewed threats force them back to their old neighborhood. Militiamen find them and attack with clubs and machetes. Aimable throws himself over Kizito to shield him, but both are struck. Left for dead after a blow to the head, Kizito later crawls out of a ditch filled with bodies.

A full-body outdoor shot of three people standing in front of a rustic, mud-walled home in Rwanda. On the left, Kizito stands tall in a black leather jacket and jeans. In the center, a shorter man. Aimable, in a yellow polo shirt, dark trousers, and black rubber boots stands with his arm around a woman. On the right, Kizito's sister n wears a vibrant pink and yellow patterned dress and a brown scarf. They all look directly at the camera with serious expressions. — Kizito, Aimable, and Kizito's sister
Monique in 2020 at Aimable's home.

I made a cross sign. And while I was trying to figure out what was going on, that's when one of the killers grabbed my shirt and grabbed the machete, and he struck me. I was dumped on top of these dead bodies. When I woke up a couple hours later, I remember vividly just pushing a guy who was wearing a maroon sweater. He was dying there on my lap. And I pushed him away and walked.

Black-and-white ID-style portrait of a young Kizito — Kizito’s passport photo

Brief Sanctuary

Escaping the ditch, Kizito returns to his old neighborhood and learns his family is safe in a nearby church. He arrives and finds his mother, sister Monique, and other relatives. But safety is fleeting; soon, Kizito leaves the church again to hide with a friend, Dominique, in Kigoma.

When she (my mother) saw me, she was shocked and cried and could not believe I was still alive. But at the same time, she was scared of my life, and that's why she encouraged me to leave the church because she thought that I was the only male Kalima left.

Lines of people carrying large bags and baskets walk along a paved road. — Lines of people carrying large bags

The Trap

Lured by the Kigoma mayor and police chief's false announcement of peace, Kizito leaves hiding. He meets his mother and sisters at the church, joining 200 people marching toward the mayor's office. Along the way, former neighbors and classmates scream insults—calling them "cockroaches" and "snakes." Walking into a trap, they are taken to a "butcher house," an abandoned warehouse in the Mukingo district.

When they saw us marching, of course they were happy and excited because they knew what was going to happen. They knew, the locals and the militias, they knew that they were going to kill us.

The Final Separation

Spotting the incoming militia, Kizito races to wake everyone in the warehouse. He flees through gunfire and hides. He is soon discovered and dragged back at gunpoint to the Mukingo "butcher house." There, he is forced to watch as vehicles load up the victims, including his mother. They lift her into the trunk of a red car—the last time he ever sees her.

I never get a chance to say goodbye to my mom, and it's something haunting me up to now. I'm terrified to drive behind a red car, and I feel like I failed my mom, because I feel like I should have fought. But when I look back, I was a kid, and I was overpowered.

The Swamp

Afraid he will be killed by machete, Kizito escapes the “butcher house” again, finding refuge deep within the swamps. He locates a dry "island," a harsh, hidden place that offers a bitter safety—it's impenetrable to the militia. He endures here, surviving the rest of the genocide.

Kizito its on the ground in a field of tall grass, looking away from the camera toward the greenery. A white rosary lays over the photo. — Kizito sits on the land where the
swamps that once sheltered him
have disappeared. 2020.

I started losing weight, losing my vision, and the hunger. I started regretting why I'm alive. And the only thing that could keep me alive or could keep me sane was the rosary my mom gave to me. So, I will say my rosary every single day.

Liberation

Guided by his rescued cousins, the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) finds Kizito deep in the swamps. He is on the brink of death. They pull his body out, load him into a wheelbarrow, and rush him toward a makeshift clinic with other survivors.

The day I was liberated, I felt happy and sad at the same time. And that's how I realized I was 100% orphaned. I realized everybody in my family is gone.

The Aftermath

Kizito is shuffled between the Mugandamure and Busoro refugee camps as the country remains unstable. Afterward, he moves through various group homes, orphanages, and boarding schools, struggling with profound loneliness and grief for his lost parents.

A line of people carrying large bags and baskets on their heads walks along a paved road, while a massive pile of discarded machetes sits in the foreground

Kids would go home during the break. Or the parents would come visit them on Sundays. And I would sit there, and I was just imagining seeing my mom and my dad.

The Search Begins

Kizito sets out to find his family, traveling to Kenya in search of his brother Tharcisse and sister Zita, who had fled there in the early 1990s. Unbeknownst to him, they had already left for Rwanda to look for him. He would not reunite with Zita until 2012, and with Tharcisse until 2020. While in Kenya, Kizito joins the Kenya Commercial Bank basketball team (KCB Lions), a top team in the Kenyan Premier League. After several months, he leaves Kenya and heads south to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania.

Kizito and his brother Tharcisse smile warmly for a photo while sitting together outdoors; Tharcisse wears a white button-down shirt and Kizito a black and red track jacket.

Kizito and his sister Beata smily warmly for a photo while standing indoors. Beata wears a black shirt with a gray jacket and Kizito a brown and red argyle sweater. — TOP Kizito and brother Tharcisse in 2020
BOTTOM Kizito and sister Beata in 2016.
She passed away in March 2020.

Beyond Survival

A basketball scholarship offers Kizito a fresh start, pulling him from Kenya to Uganda. He enrolls at Progressive High School and joins the Blue Jackets Basketball Club. On the court, he finds a new identity: he is a basketball player, not just a genocide survivor.

Sports became everything. I used to sleep with a basketball because basketball to me was the only thing I could do and find peace. You know, mental, it would help me to deal with my anxiety. And seeing people cheering me, it would give me a sense of belonging.

Tinted light beige background with basketball hoop and shadows behind it

The American Chapter

Kizito comes to the United States for a basketball tournament in Chicago. He remains in Chicago and attends Providence St. Mel High School.

A vintage photograph of a young Kizito in Chicago, sitting on the hood of a bronze-colored vintage station wagon. He is dressed in a white hooded sweatshirt, light-wash blue jeans, and a white baseball cap, holding a basketball on his knee. The setting is a residential driveway with a wooden fence and green trees in the background. — Young Kizito in Chicago

A studio portrait of a Kizito in a white and purple 'Providence St. Mel' basketball uniform, kneeling and holding a basketball while wearing a brace on his left leg. — Kizito in his
basketball
uniform

Kizito stands proudly in a purple graduation cap and gown in front of a building with a — Kizito in his purple graduation cap and gown

Close-up of white-painted brick with visible mortar lines.

A vintage film photograph of a young Kizito Kalima smiling brightly. He is wearing a blue and white checkered button-down shirt and dark jeans with a brown leather belt. He stands indoors in front of a window with beige blinds and an older wood-panelled air conditioning unit.

Graduation

Kizito graduates from Indiana University South Bend with a Bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice.

The whole college experience was good. I was able to work, attend school, and play sports, and it was beautiful. That's when I started seeing life coming back and knowing that I can live a decent life.

Faded image of graduates wearing caps, softened with a light overlay.

Building a Family

Kizito adopts his daughters, Josiane and Liliane, who are also Tutsi survivors of the 1994 genocide. He ultimately has a biological daughter, Keza.

Kizito stands inside the Ntarama Genocide Memorial in Rwanda, a brick building with arched windows and a corrugated metal roof. He wears a black leather jacket over a white shirt and blue jeans, looking upward with a somber, reflective expression. In the background, glass display cases hold the remains of victims, and a person holding a camera on a tripod is partially visible — Kizito visits the Ntarama Genocide Memorial, once a Catholic church and the place where his adopted daughters—three-month-old Liliane and eighteen-month-old Josiane—were found alive inside. Their mother was killed during the Interahamwe massacre of the 5,000 Tutsi who had taken refuge there. Today, the memorial still holds the bones, clothing, and belongings of the victims.

They are a blessing.
I am proud of them.

Light tan sand surface with fine, natural texture.

The Path to Healing

Kizito meets Holocaust Survivor Eva Kor at CANDLES Holocaust Museum & Education Center in Terre Haute, Indiana. She pushes him to share his story of survival. Moved by her profound work on forgiveness, Kizito finds the inspiration he needs to start his own difficult journey toward healing and reconciliation.

A candid, joyful photo of Kizito and Holocaust survivor Eva Mozes Kor standing together indoors. Kizito wears a black sweater and has his arm around Kor’s shoulder. Kor, an elderly woman with short blonde hair, wears a bright teal blazer and a patterned scarf, smiling broadly at the camera. — Kizito and Eva Kor

I told my story. And I remember at the end she said, ‘You see… different continent, different skin color, different agenda, but the same devil.’

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A Center for Peace

Kizito becomes the founder and executive director of the non-profit organization, The Peace Center for Forgiveness and Reconciliation, in Indianapolis, Indiana. The organization provides mental health services, refugee resettlement, and youth mentorship as pathways to peace and forgiveness for those who experience violence and injustice.

Kizito is seated at the front of a classroom, gesturing with one hand as he speaks to a group of seated students and an adult woman. He is wearing a black blazer over a black sweater and blue jeans. The room features a white wall decorated with the words

Peace center for forgiveness and reconciliation

To rebuild their (refugees) lives, it's not just giving houses or giving them shoes or money. They need to rebuild their soul and their spirit in their mind.

20 Years Later

Kizito is invited to speak at the UN headquarters in New York City for the commemoration of the 20th anniversary of the genocide against the Tutsi.

Blue background with fine grid and technical line pattern.

I talked about my survival journey and the hope we have in being resilient, in forgiveness and reconciliation, and in rebuilding our country, Rwanda.

A formal photograph of Kizito seated behind a desk at a United Nations summit. A blue sign in front of him reads — Kizito speaking at the UN Headquarters

A somber photo of Kizito sitting on the edge of a concrete slab that serves as a memorial at his family's mass grave site in Rwanda. He is wearing a black leather jacket, a white t-shirt, and blue jeans, with his hands clasped together. He gazes off into the distance with a pained, reflective expression. The site is surrounded by tall evergreen trees and a weathered concrete wall under an overcast sky. — Kizito sits on the mass gravesite where his
parents and relatives are buried. The tomb sits
behind the ruins of his old home.

Facing the Past

Kizito travels back to Rwanda for the first time since the genocide and retraces his journey of survival from his places of hiding, the hill where he was attacked by machete, and the swamp. Years later, he returns to Rwanda and visits the man who attacked him with a machete. While the man shows no remorse, Kizito forgives him.

Forgiveness is freeing myself from the hostage of a perpetrator. Because I don't have to think about him, I don't have to talk about him. I own my life right now. I own my story, my journey right now.