Epiphanie Gashugi, a veteran member of Imitari, a traditional all-female dance troupe founded in Belgium in 1978 recalls how a group originally formed to preserve culture and foster unity among young Rwandan girls in exile evolved into a quiet but powerful force in Rwanda’s liberation struggle.

What began as a cultural haven for Rwandan refugees grew into an instrument of resilience, identity, and eventual political awakening.

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Initially, Imitari operated with purely cultural intentions. However, everything shifted in 1987 when the troupe connected with the late Fred Gisa Rwigema, who had invited them to meet him during his visit to Germany.

"Rwigema invited us unexpectedly. He was in contact with my sister who was married in Germany,” Gashugi recalls. "He asked my sister to invite our troupe to meet him, and she passed the message on to me. At the time, I was the group leader, as our leadership rotated annually. I was hesitant about meeting a ‘foreign soldier from Uganda,’ as my sister described him, but we were already well-informed about Uganda’s own liberation struggle, which we supported and had celebrated its victory.”

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Despite initial reservations, the group embraced the opportunity.

"When I spoke to the troupe, they were thrilled by the idea of meeting him. We began preparing rigorously, practicing our dances and songs,” she said.

At the time, their knowledge of Uganda was limited to its role as a host nation for Rwandan refugees, including some of their own relatives. They admired Uganda for its post-liberation transformation under President Yoweri Kaguta Museveni and took pride in its victory as a symbol of rebirth and resistance.

"We were thrilled when the man we were told was a foreign soldier, Rwigema, addressed us in fluent Kinyarwanda,” Gashugi said. "We had performed for him and my sister in a secluded venue we had discreetly arranged for the occasion. His speech stirred something deep within us.”

"He did not disclose any future plans then. He simply expressed appreciation for our commitment to preserving Rwandan culture and unity, especially in a country like Belgium, one with a painful colonial legacy tied to Rwanda’s suffering. He spoke of how some Rwandans in Uganda had changed their names and concealed their identities in order to live in peace. He praised us for choosing to remain visible and culturally active.”

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At that stage, they had only heard rumours about the Inkotanyi, quiet murmurs shared in secret among the refugee communities.

"We tried to ask him about Inkotanyi, whom we had heard people mention quietly,” she said. "But Rwigema evaded the subject, saying he did not know much but would try to find out. From that moment, we built a connection. He would meet us whenever he visited the region. Eventually, he invited us to a traditional concert in Uganda, and that is where we learned of the Rwandan Patriotic Army’s covert plan to liberate the country,”

"We were overjoyed to learn about Inkotanyi. We discovered that they loved Rwanda and were determined to liberate it, to make it possible for us, the exiled, to return home,” Gashugi said. "We had grown up hearing the country was too small to accommodate us. Still, we yearned deeply for our homeland. Their mission aligned perfectly with our dreams and longing.”

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Following this encounter, the troupe invited the acclaimed traditional singer Jean Marie Muyango, who traveled from Burundi to rally support for the liberation cause. He went on to form a male troupe called Ishyaka and began organising fundraising concerts dedicated to supporting the liberation efforts.

In an interview with The New Times, Muyango said "Although very few of our performers joined the frontline, through unity and patriotism, we gave all we could financially to support the cause,”

"The songs we composed reminded every Rwandan who cared to listen of who they truly were. They offered hope to refugees, called for unity, and served as both entertainment and spiritual sustenance,” he said.

"Even during the war, we received feedback from frontline soldiers who said our music gave them hope, patience, and a sense of morale. They felt seen, supported, and less alone. We performed in Belgium and beyond, in events attended by Rwandans, foreigners, and music lovers. The money raised from those concerts was entrusted to one of us, who then delivered it to Inkotanyi.”

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For traditional music veteran Intore Butera Massamba, now the trainer of Urukerereza National Ballet, traditional dances not only fostered unity and instilled patriotic values, but also safeguarded the authenticity of Rwanda’s cultural heritage, which was being distorted back home.

"From what we heard, there were extraordinary dance groups and talented performers in Rwanda before the liberation,” Massamba said. "But traditional dances were being deliberately corrupted, merged with foreign styles, especially Congolese influences. Ethnic ideologies and tribalism drove the erasure of authentic dances. Songs became tools of division, spreading propaganda that targeted Tutsi communities. Eventually, even cultural dances became politicised.”

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He explained how most traditional troupes in exile had started as safe spaces where displaced Rwandans could reconnect with their culture and find solidarity amidst hardship.

"We knew we had to first be Rwandans before thinking about liberating Rwanda,” he said. "Our troupes served as classrooms of patriotism. We sang about Rwanda, about the places we had never seen but deeply longed for. We celebrated the beauty of our homeland, its history, and its people. We were young, curious, and driven by a desire to understand our identity. This made it easier to ignite the spirit of heroism when the time came.”

Massamba had been a well-known musician in Burundi, following in the footsteps of his father, Athanase Sentore, who established Burundi’s first Rwandan traditional troupe in 1960. In 1989, in his early twenties, he joined the Rwandan Patriotic Army.

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Serving as the RPA’s Officer in charge of Mobilisation, Recruitment, and Fundraising through Culture, he used music to build support in Uganda and beyond.

He remembers performing at the peak of the conflict, at Lugogo, Makerere University, weddings, and various venues across Kampala. The proceeds from these performances, he recounted, were channeled directly to the party to support the fighters on the frontlines.

Through their music, they composed songs that stirred the souls of soldiers, melodies broadcast on Radio Muhabura and echoed in military camps. These songs chronicled the struggle, reignited the purpose of the mission, celebrated the bravery of the troops, and revived the fading hope of liberation.

Massamba, who visited Rwanda periodically before and during the war, witnessed firsthand the horror left by the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi. "The country was covered in corpses and stripped of hope. In some areas, the killings were still ongoing,” he recalled.

But the role of traditional music did not end with the victory. Like every other sector of the nation, the entertainment and cultural industries had to begin from scratch, amidst a population shattered by genocide and displacement.

Music enthusiasts say traditional rhythms were transformed into songs of hope, carrying messages that promoted unity, encouraged healing, and inspired Rwandans to rebuild their nation together.