By Sr. Mary Santrina, CJ
At 78 years of age, Ishimwe carries a story that stretches across countries,
decades, and generations. His journey from Rwanda to Kenya is a story of
forced migration, loss, survival, faith, and hope. Today, in Nairobi, his hands
are his livelihood. He makes sacred sculptures such as Stations of the Cross,
statues of Our Lady, and images of the saints for churches and religious
congregations.
Recently, he created the figures of the Holy Family for Katiti
Outstation, an outstation of Naddangira Parish in Uganda. His work has also
reached Loreto institutions, where he made the Stations of the Cross for
Loreto Convent Msongari and sculpted a figure of Mary Ward, the founder of
the Loreto Sisters, for Loreto Convent Valley Road School. Beyond these
larger commissions, Ishimwe continues to create and sell various wooden
artworks on a small scale, producing a range of handcrafted pieces and other
items.
Through this work, he survives and continues to rebuild a life that was
violently interrupted more than three decades ago.
I first encountered Ishimwe through a referral as we searched for someone
with the skill to create a statue of Our Lady for the new A-Level block at
Loreto Convent Msongari, a project he is currently working on. What began as
a simple professional interaction gradually became something much more
meaningful. Through our casual conversations, I became curious about how
he had acquired such remarkable skills and asked him about his journey.
What followed was the story of a life shaped by displacement, faith and an
extraordinary gift for art. Months later, when I travelled to Rwanda for the
SIGNIS World Congress, I visited the Genocide Memorial site. There, I found
myself returning to Ishimwe’s story. The experience gave a much deeper
meaning to what he had shared with me and helped me appreciate not only
the artist behind the sculptures, but also the moving human story carried
within his work.
Ishimwe was born in Rwanda and began travelling across the region as a
young man. At 19, he was already going to Congo and engaging in business.
He also travelled and worked in Burundi and Tanzania. He had established a
family, a shamba (an agricultural property), businesses, and rental properties.
Then came the political and ethnic divisions that eventually erupted into the
1994 Rwandan genocide. As Hutu and Tutsi communities were turned against
one another, violence spread, and many innocent people became victims.
Ishimwe feared for his life. He fled Rwanda, passing through Burundi and
Congo before reaching Tanzania. But Tanzania did not immediately become a
place of safety. He was imprisoned for about two years before people helped
him out. Once free, he continued his journey.
In 1997, he reached Kenya. “What I expected to be a temporary refuge
gradually became my home”, he said. But arriving in Kenya did not mean that
the wounds of displacement disappeared. One of the deepest wounds was
separation from his family. For about 20 years, his family did not know where
he was, and he did not know how they were. His children and relatives
became scattered.
The losses were devastating. Ishimwe says that he counts up to 67 relatives
that were killed during the genocide adding that six girls who were living in his
rental properties were also killed. His wife was forced to sell the houses. He
remembers how people could be accused of crimes they had never
committed. A person could be accused of stealing cows even though the
accuser had never owned cows. Cases could be created, witnesses coached,
and people imprisoned for many years. For Ishimwe, the destruction was not
only physical. It destroyed trust, security, and the sense that one could live
without fear.
Yet, after everything he lost, Ishimwe did not abandon his faith. “My hands
have no blood for anybody,” he says, and believes God has preserved his life
and knows the truth about him. He also believes that God continues to bless
the work of his hands each day. His hope for Rwanda remains alive. He prays
for his country and for people who remain in prison, especially those he
believes are innocent. He longs for a day when people can return home and
live with dignity and freedom. At one point, he expresses that hope through the biblical story of Moses. He prays that God may provide “a second Moses
to take us back home.”
For Ishimwe, going home is not simply a matter of
crossing a border. It represents the possibility of reconciliation, justice,
freedom, and healing.
His experience also reveals a less visible dimension of forced migration: the
pain that continues long after a refugee reaches physical safety. A person
may find shelter while still carrying fear, grief, and memories of loss. Ishimwe
observes that “peace is external, but people have no peace in their hearts.”
This is why he says many people who have experienced such suffering
continue to live cautiously. They may remain silent about painful experiences
because they fear what might happen if they speak.
His experience also makes him appreciate the freedom he encounters in Kenya. He is struck by
the fact that Kenyans can openly discuss politics, criticize leaders, and even
draw cartoons of political figures. To someone shaped by years of fear and
silence, this openness is remarkable.
His life therefore challenges the way society looks at refugees and migrants.
A refugee is not simply a person who has crossed a border. Behind the label
is a human being who may have once been a farmer, businessperson,
teacher, artisan, parent or community leader.
Displacement may take away a person’s home and possessions, but it does not take away his or her skills,
dignity or capacity to contribute. For Ishimwe, his greatest resource in Kenya
has been his skill. His ability to create religious sculptures has given him a
means of survival. Churches and religious congregations have given him
opportunities to work, and this has enabled him to remain productive and
independent. His story demonstrates why refugee and migrant support must
go beyond immediate material assistance. Shelter and food are important, but
people also need opportunities to work, use their talents, reconnect with
family, receive accompaniment, and recover a sense of belonging.
At 78, Ishimwe continues to work. He continues to pray. He continues to
hope. He has lost land, businesses, relatives, and many years of family life.
Yet he has not lost his faith.