There are stories we tell every year, Stories of loss, of pain, of shattered families and unspoken grief. We carry them in our bones, etched into the fabric of who we are as Rwandans. The world remembers a country brought to its knees, bleeding in silence, cradling the bodies of its own, whispering names that still echo in our hearts. But today, I choose to speak of the ones who refused to die. The ones who faced horror with nothing but bare hands and unbreakable will. I speak of Bisesero—where men, women, and children with bare hands held back hate, They fought because dignity was worth defending, because their lives, however fragile, were not for the taking. Their courage humbles us, reminding us that the human spirit, when rooted in truth and honor, refuses to be extinguished. I speak of Nyundo, I speak of Bigogwe, I speak of Kibirira. I speak of the mothers who buried her children with trembling hands but held the nation close, becoming a pillar of love for those left behind. I speak of the men who carried the weight of tragedy in one hand and a gun in the other, not to seek revenge but to protect what was left. I speak of the children who learned to laugh again, who sang songs of peace while their hearts ached for those who would never come home. I speak of the children— The ones who never knew childhood. The ones who raised other children while still children themselves. The ones who dared to find joy again. I speak of your resilience. Muri intwari. Ndavuga abafite imitima yihanganiye umutwaro w’imbabazi— I speak of the ones whose hearts bore the impossible weight of forgiveness. Abacitse ku icumu, mwe mwatwambitse amahoro, muduha ikuzo ryo kongera kubaho. Igihango dufitanye namwe ni indangagaciro itarondoreka, isumba amagambo n’ibihe. Ni indahiro yo gukomeza kubaka u Rwanda ku musingi w’ubumwe n’amahoro. Guhitamo kwanyu, mugahitamo imbabazi, ni umurage ugize u Rwanda. Mu mbabazi zanyu, mwaturaze urukundo. Icyo ni icyubahiro tubafitiye, kizahoraho. Turabumva, turababona, turabubaha, kandi hejuru ya byose—turabakunda. Muri intwari nyazo, muri urunigi ruduhuza, mukaba urufatiro rutuma umuryango nyarwanda udacika intege. Muri urumuri mu mwijima, umutima utera igihugu cyacu icyizere.Mwarakoze! I speak of the heroes of resilience, the survivors who walk among us with heads held high, the mothers, fathers, and children who carried the flame of hope—I honor you. You are the pillars upon which our nation rises. Your courage, your forgiveness, your unwavering strength—they are the roots that nourish our rebirth. From the depths of unspeakable pain, you have crafted something greater than survival. You are a testament to the power of the human spirit. Today, I honor you—not as survivors, but as creators of the future, as architects of peace. Mwanditse inkuru nshya, y’ubudacogora, y’urukundo, y’ubumwe. Muri ishusho y’ubushobozi bw’umutima muntu. Tuzahora twibuka, tuzahora tubibubahira, kuko muri mwe, twabonye ikiraro cy'icyizere n'ubumwe.
