As Rwanda marks the 32nd commemoration of the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi, voices across the country rise once again in remembrance, healing, and reflection. Among them is Jean-Marie Jabo, an artiste whose music has evolved into far more than performance. It is testimony. It is memory. And for many who return to his songs each commemoration season, it is a quiet companion in moments of reflection. Known professionally as Jean-Marie, Jabo sees music as more than art—it is a bridge between the past and the present, between those who survived and those who didn’t. “I would describe myself as an artiste who sings about life, sharing stories, emotions, and truths about the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi,” he says. “Music has the power to connect hearts and give voice to those who no longer can speak.” A childhood shaped by love—and loss Jabo was born in Ruhango District, Kinihira Sector, Nyarutovu village. His early years were filled with warmth and simple joy. He remembers his older brother carrying him in a playful upside-down style known as “Guheka mapyisi,” and his mother singing as she cooked—small, tender moments that defined his childhood. That world was shattered in 1994. At just four years old, Jabo was thrust into the horrors of the Genocide against the Tutsi. Too young tofully understand, yet old enough to feel fear, he was forced to flee alone. “One of the most defining moments was when I had to flee by myself,” he recalls. “That experience forced me to grow up far beyond my age.” During his escape, he was briefly sheltered by a woman named Budensiyana, alongside her son and niece. They were later killed. He survived. That memory remains one of many painful fragments that continue to shape his understanding of loss, resilience, and survival. The genocide claimed more than 70 of Jabo’s family members. Yet, for him, the deepest pain lies not only in the number, but in what was never fully known. “I was too young to meet many of them, to remember their faces clearly, or to truly experience their presence,” he says. “For many, I carry only fragments.” Over time, that absence became part of his identity—and his purpose. “Surviving carries a responsibility,” he explains. “To speak, to remember, and to honour those who can no longer speak for themselves. It is not only about staying alive physically—it is a long, often painful journey of rebuilding yourself emotionally and mentally.” From survival to expression For Jabo, survival did not end with life. It became a lifelong process of rebuilding—piece by piece. “It requires accepting your past without letting it imprison you,” he reflects. “Instead, it becomes asource of strength.” That strength found its voice in music. He began composing commemorative songs as a way to express emotions that words alone could not carry. Through music, he preserves memory while offering comfort to others navigating similar pain. Many of his songs are rooted in personal experience. Others are drawn from stories shared by fellow survivors. To him, each story carries equal weight. “If you listen closely, most of my songs are testimonies,” he says. “Some are mine, others belong toothers—but each one is chosen carefully.” Among the songs closest to his own journey are Umusonga and Ntituzabibagirwa. Yet even in deeply personal pieces, Jabo often uses a collective voice—turning “I” into “we.” “I mix your story and mine,” he explains. “When I perform, it becomes more than singing—it is relieving.” This approach allows listeners to see themselves in his music, transforming individual grief intoshared understanding. Healing through sound Some argue that revisiting such painful history risks reopening wounds. Jabo understands this perspective—but sees it differently. “I understand why people say my songs reflect unhealed wounds,” he says. “In some ways, they do. But people also need to understand how heavy those wounds are. For me, singing is part of the healing process.” Silence, he believes, does not protect survivors—it prolongs pain. Expression, however difficult, opens a path toward healing. His music has since become an important part of commemoration events, where he is often invited to perform. Through audience feedback, he has come to understand the deeper impact of his work. “Music gave me a voice when words were not enough,” he says. “And in sharing it, healing extends beyond me to others.” A life rebuilt Today, Jabo’s life reflects resilience and renewal. He now holds a Master’s degree in Business Administration. He has since built a family and is now a father. “Life is a precious gift that I cannot take for granted,” he says. “Being alive, building a future, and raising my child gives me purpose.” That purpose remains rooted in remembrance—but always looking forward. A message for Kwibuka 32 As Rwanda commemorates Kwibuka 32, Jabo’s message is clear: remember, reflect, and rebuild. He calls on Rwandans to honour the past by strengthening unity, rejecting genocide ideology in all its forms, and building a future grounded in truth and compassion. This commemoration season, he points listeners to songs such as Ihwa, Ibikomere, Ishavu, Impano, Impamba, and his latest release, Sindakira—each carrying its own thread of grief, remembrance, and hope. Through it all, Jabo continues to fulfil what he believes survival demands: ensuring memory lives not only in history books, but in people’s hearts. “Music becomes a bridge,” he says, “between memory and understanding.”
