Rwanda has grown accustomed to living with dangers the world refuses to hear, or believe, and it still remains unknown how narrowly the nation escaped catastrophe on November 25, 2021, and January 2025.

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In the shadows of Nyiragongo volcano and the tangled forests of Virunga National Park, the Congolese armed forces (FARDC), backed by a cocktail of genocidal forces and foreign enablers, prepared a coordinated invasion designed to sever northern Rwanda in a single night. It was a plan years in the making; tested, rehearsed, and politically blessed. But fate, geography, and the ruthless efficiency of the M23 rebellion combined to flip the script. What was supposed to be Rwanda’s darkest hour became, instead, the moment the invasion silently collapsed.

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In late 2021, Kinshasa’s military planners set a date they believed would reshape the region: November 25.

Congolese army brigades, flanked by FDLR elements still wearing the insignia of the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi, would punch through Rwanda’s northern flank. Behind them, Mai-Mai militias and every armed group with an axe to grind were to follow. The operation was brazen, relying on MONUSCO’s habitual indifference and on the cover of volcanic terrain ideal for infiltration. Rocket launchers disguised as food supplies rolled in under tarps marked "rice.” Tshisekedi approved it personally.

It wasn’t a fantasy. DR Congo had already tested Rwanda’s response two years earlier. In October 2019, FDLR fighters crossed into Kinigi from Rutshuru and butchered 14 civilians. This was a clear reconnaissance mission, a probe to measure response time and border readiness.

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If one is to agree with the ancient Rwandan saying that "God spends the day elsewhere, but returns to sleep in Rwanda,” then in 2021, he overstayed his welcome. Divine intervention came not from the heavens but from the forests around eastern DR Congo’s Sarambwe hills.

Eighteen days before the circled date, on November 7, 2021, M23 Commander Sultani Makenga’s fighters slipped out of the undergrowth like smoke from a hidden fire. Before breakfast, Ndiza, a village in the Rutshuru Territory, was in their control. By nightfall, Runyoni, a strategic area in the region, had fallen. Makenga did not stop there. His forces pressed onward with the relentless momentum of a volcanic eruption in reverse. They seized Rumangabo, a key military base stocked with artillery and supplies. Then Cyanzu fell, followed by the high ground overlooking Mount Nyiragongo. Within six months, Bunagana, a town on the DR Congo-Uganda border, had fallen into M23 administration.

Rwanda, watched quietly exultant as its border receded behind a rebel buffer thicker than any minefield. The volcanic corridor intended for invasion became an impenetrable wall of M23 checkpoints. God had handed Rwandans this strategic depth on a platter. The militias massing for a push into Musanze found themselves staring down M23 barrels instead of Rwandan villages.

The November 25 invasion plan wasn’t cancelled. It simply died of irrelevance. The armed groups meant for the attack dissolved into chaos. FDLR units looted Congolese villages. Ammunition stockpiles prepared for the assault were seized by the rebels. And by the time Kinshasa realized what had happened, Makenga’s tax collectors were already posted at Bunagana border.

If one expected caution from Kinshasa after such humiliation, they misread Tshisekedi.

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He doubled down. Between 2022 and 2024, Kinshasa assembled a louder, more expensive coalition: FDLR, SADC forces under the SAMIDRC banner, Burundi government forces thirsty for revenge, South African Rooivalk helicopters, Wazalendo militias, and, most dangerously, waves of eastern European mercenaries.

By mid-2023, nearly 900 ex-Legionnaires and freelance fighters from Romania, Belarus, and Bulgaria had entrenched themselves in Goma. Officially, they were "trainers.” In reality, they guarded the airport, drilled Wazalendo militias, manned defensive lines, and prepared for a renewed assault toward Rubavu, a scenic town on the northern shores of Lake Kivu, in Rwanda.

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SADC trenches ringed Sake, a Congolese town 25 kilometers west-northwest of Goma. Burundian armor pressed toward Nyiragongo. Rooivalks hovered in the humid air as symbols of regional dominance. The coalition believed this time, victory was certain.

The new invasion date was January 25, 2025. Tshisekedi said it boldly on the campaign trail. Rubavu, a waterfront town on the shores of Lake Kivu, in Rwanda, would fall. Musanze would follow, where FDLR commanders would feast on pork and primus beer. Rwanda, they imagined, would be forced into negotiations with the génocidaires.

But Kigali was watching. Kagame’s warnings about existential threats were not rhetorical flourishes; they were grounded in daily intelligence showing a war machine being built on its doorstep. Once more, the world ignored his warning.

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But once again, Kinshasa would not live to see its January 25 Rubavu attack D-Day. Five days earlier, Gen Makenga taught the world a lesson that will echo in military history books for generations. The siege of Goma kicked off at dawn. All forces were given a 48-hour ultimatum: surrender and gather at Goma's stadium, or face annihilation. Kinshasa was confident, the amassed ammunition, guns, and forces in Goma would simply swallow the AFC/M23 "boys” without a fight.

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On January 23, AFC/M23 jammers turned SADC radios to static, blinding command structures. Precision missiles erased two Rooivalk helicopters in fiery plumes. For the next 12 grueling hours, FARDC’s coalition pushed with everything they had.

As day broke, on January 25, the very day planned for an attack on Rubavu, Goma awoke to lightning gunfire unlike any heard before. By 1 p.m., the mercenaries, caught in the chaotic retreat, surrendered by the hundreds. Over 280 Romanians alone lined up like ghosts at the La Corniche border, begging passage through Rwanda.

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Congolese soldiers and FDLR fled into Rwanda, the same country they had been preparing to invade. By morning, AFC/M23 flags flew from the North Kivu governor’s office. The collapse was total.

Western analysts dismissed Rwanda’s existential threat warnings as bluster. They ignored the weight of history, the legacy of 1994, and the region’s habit of turning a blind eye to FDLR when politically convenient. But Rwanda has learned, permanently, that no one will rescue it. The UN will not. Regional blocs will not. Rwanda survives because it must.

As for these two phantom invasions, we are thankful to AFC/M23 that neutralized the threat and has given Rwanda a strategic depth. Indeed, the mercy of a God seems to sleep only in Rwanda.