With nowhere to run, I burrowed my way underneath a smoking mound of bodies
Gilbert Tuhabonye is a survivor. More than ten years ago the centuries-old battle between the Hutu and Tutsi tribes of Africa came to his school. Fueled by hatred, the Hutus forced more than a hundred Tutsi children and teachers into a small room and used machetes to slash most of them to death. The unfortunate ones who survived were doused with gasoline and set on fire. After hiding under a heap of his smoldering classmates for more than eight hours, Gilbert heard a voice saying, "You will be all right; you will survive." He knew it was God speaking to him. Gilbert was the lone survivor of the attack at his school, and thanks his enduring faith in God for his survival.
Today, Gilbert is a world-class athlete, running coach, and celebrity in his new hometown of Austin, Texas. The road to this point has been a tough one, but he uses his survival instincts to spur him on to the goal of qualifying for the 2008 Olympic summer games. This Voice in My Heart portrays not only the horrific event, but the transformative power of real forgiveness and the gift of faith in God. This riveting story will touch you from its first page and offer inspiration for years to come.
|Product dimensions:||5.50(w) x 8.25(h) x 0.93(d)|
About the Author
Gilbert Tuhabonye is a graduate of Abilene Christian University and a world-class runner. He lives with his wife and two daughters in Austin, Texas, where he is an elite coach in the world of running.
Gary Brozek is a freelance writer and the author of more than 20 books, including 6 New York Times bestsellers. He lives in Colorado.
Read an Excerpt
This Voice in My HeartA Genocide Survivor's Story of Escape, Faith, and Forgiveness
By Gilbert Tuhabonye
HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.Copyright © 2006 Gilbert Tuhabonye
All right reserved.
If you were to read the history of Burundi in a schoolbook, it would tell a story very different from the story of my early years. You would read words like war-torn, genocide, impoverished, and sanctions. Despite all the violence and unrest that has plagued the country since it first achieved independence in 1962, for me, growing up on its southern hillsides and deep valleys, Burundi was truly a paradise. Beneath its lush triple canopy of forest and jungle foliage and from its rich volcanic soil, my family has made its home for generations. Like many Tutsi families, we grew our crops and raised our cows on land our ancestors settled after coming from the more arid south and what is today Ethiopia and Somalia. If you know anything about life in those places, then you can understand why most Burundians, Tutsi and Hutu alike, have such a deep love of and fierce loyalty to their fertile adopted homeland.
I do not know all of my family's history. I do know that my great-grandfather was a somewhat influential person during colonization, when Burundi was under the influence of the Belgians, who ruled it, aspart of Rwanda-Urundi, under a League of Nations mandate granted in 1923 after it was no longer a part of German East Africa. While under colonial rule, the people of Burundi still had their own loose form of independent governance, and a good friend of my great-grandfather was responsible for the administration and distribution of land to the native people. This man, whose name my grandmother, Pauline Banyankanizi, had forgotten by the time she was telling me the stories of my family's early days on our land, granted my great-grandfather the equivalent of a deed or title to hundreds of acres on the hillsides of what is known as Fuku Mountain. Since written titles and deeds and a court system to administer them and settle land disputes were forbidden under colonial rule, that amounted to an understanding among the Tutsis that the land we cleared and cultivated was ours by the mandate of our labor as much as anything else. My great-grandfather chose this hilly land for many reasons, not the least of which was, as any military strategy book will tell you, that high ground is easy to defend.
He picked one mountaintop for himself, and he and each of his three brothers built a settlement there. More land was cleared for planting and grazing, and with each successive generation the land was passed down to the male children. For that reason, I grew up surrounded by family, and while we lived in separate dwellings (at first huts and later houses), we cared for one another's land when necessary and socialized constantly. My grandfather Simeone Ndayirukiye died when I was very young, and so my grandmother Pauline served as the head of our family. In the highlands of Burundi, I was isolated from the outside world and protected from its more violent elements.
By the time I was born, my father, Sabiyumva (the oldest son), and his seven siblings all worked our land. Our huts were gathered in an oval cluster, compound-style. While individual families had small gardens, we shared and worked together our largest plots of land. We got along well with our neighbors who lived on adjacent hillsides. While we considered ourselves a community and lived in a kind of village, we had no central buildings and only a few footpaths connecting our homes; what connected us was our bloodline.
Burundi itself lies on a high plateau rising from the shores of Lake Tanganyika, which serves as much of the western border with the Democratic Republic of Congo. Our property rose to nearly 5,500 feet above sea level, keeping it relatively cool compared with the steamy heat of the Lake Tanganyika region and other parts of the country.
Is it any wonder that this cool, fertile land should be the subject of so many disputes? Who wouldn't fight for control of a place as beautiful and life-sustaining as this, a place where people from many tribes and clans settled in order to feed themselves? Like most African people, Burundians have many loyalties: to their country, to their ethnic group, to their clan, and to their family. While I was born a Tutsi in Comina Songa (the rough equivalent of Songa County) in the province of Bururi in the country of Burundi, the story has more chapters than that. The Tutsis are a Bantu people -- people who speak a Bantu language -- and my family is part of the Batsinga tribe and the Abasafu clan. Those names tell you much about my family: Batsinga means "strong" and Abasafu means "those people who like to own cows." In our culture we do not have surnames; your individual name is meant to convey something of your personality, your history, or the circumstances of your birth.
To name a thing gives you great power over it, and for that reason, when I was born in April 1974, my mother named me Tuhabonyemana, which means "child of God." (Later in life, when I gained some fame as a runner, I would drop the "mana" from my name because the radio announcers and the officials at the meets found it easier to say that way.) Though my mother was not as strictly religious as my grandmother or others in the family, I suppose she had several reasons for selecting this name. The months and years leading up to my birth were difficult ones -- when it seemed as though a series of plagues visited us.
My parents had their first child, my oldest sister, Beatrice, shortly after independence in 1962. My brother, Dieudonne Irabandutira, was born in 1966. In the eight years between his birth and mine, much happened in our family. Perhaps most important, in 1972 a civil war erupted, and thousands of Hutus, and two of my uncles, were killed. The violence was a result of decades-long and complex conflicts going all the way back to 1966, when King Mwambutsa IV (a Tutsi) was deposed. He had reigned for fifty years, before his son Charles, aided by the army, overthrew him and suspended the constitution. Charles ruled as Ntare V, and his reign was considerably shorter than his father's. Captain Michel Micombero ousted Ntare V that same year and declared Burundi a republic. Micombero was also a Tutsi; thus his main rivals were the majority Hutus. But in 1972 the Hutus killed Ntare V, fearing that he would return to power and end the republic. In retaliation, the Tutsi military exacted revenge on the Hutus for having killed one of their own, regardless of what they felt about Ntare V previously. War ensued, and in the succeeding years, thousands and thousands of Burundians lost their lives as a Hutu rebellion was quashed. By the time I was born, this violence had for the most part ended; in Comina Songa particularly, things had been quiet...
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
This book is well written and very inspiring. How can someone forgive as Gilbert did his attackers? Amazing. I highly recommend this book.