A Journey of Storytelling, Sisterhood, and Spirit

There are places that call to your soul before your body ever arrives. For me, Colombia was that place.

I first set foot in Colombia in 2022. I was invited to be part of Imagine: Reflections on Peace, a global project about what it means to rebuild after war. As a genocide survivor, I’ve spent much of my life telling stories — my own, and those of my people. But in Colombia, something shifted. I arrived expecting to share my truth. I did not expect to find such deep reflection, belonging, and healing in return.

I was not alone. My husband, Alex, came with me. And so did my story, which traveled with us across Bogotá, Cali, and Buenaventura — cities filled with history, resilience, and powerful Afro-Colombian women who welcomed me like a sister they’d never met, but somehow always known.

Imagine Peace — Bogotá, Cali & Buenaventura (2022)

In Bogotá, I found a city layered with contradiction — colonial history wrapped in radical art, fast streets holding soft resistance. It was our first stop with the Imagine team. From there, we journeyed to Cali, then Buenaventura — where the pulse of the Pacific coast echoed through drums, through voices, through skin.

I sat in circles with Afro-Latina women and survivors of Colombia’s decades-long conflict. We shared more than language could carry — a knowing. A grief. A fierce tenderness.

I saw Rwanda in their eyes. I heard echoes of my grandmother’s songs in their chants. And even though we came from different continents, our spirits spoke fluently.

It was in those rooms that I first felt what Colombia would come to mean to me: a mirror, a sisterhood, a second home.

Medellín and the Power of Youth

The second time I returned to Colombia, it was to Medellín — a city once known for pain, now blooming with innovation and resilience.

In collaboration with Artemania Editorial, I had the privilege of speaking to youth about identity, forgiveness, and reclaiming your story. The young people of Medellín carried the same kind of fire I once saw in myself — a hunger for hope. A boldness to dream differently.

I remember one girl who raised her hand and said, “How do you tell your story when it hurts?” And I told her: “You begin with love. You speak it aloud, so it no longer holds you in silence.”

Cartagena and the Echoes of the African Diaspora

Cartagena is the kind of city that greets you with music — not just in the streets, but in the way the sea crashes, in the way people dance as if their ancestors are still watching. It’s a night city, a city that doesn’t sleep — not because of noise, but because it dreams loudly.

My book Abraza La Vida was published here, with the love and support of the University of Cartagena and the incredible team at Artemania. We held gatherings and conversations in bookstores and historic courtyards. I met women who said, “Your story is ours too.” I cried. I laughed. I held hands with strangers who felt like family.

One moment I will never forget was sitting near the statue of Gabriel García Márquez, author of One Hundred Years of Solitude. As someone whose life was once defined by silence, sitting in front of his likeness — in a city that brought my voice to life in Spanish — felt like divine alignment.

Nueva Colombia — Where I Was Held

In April 2024, I traveled to Nueva Colombia to participate in Kwibuka 30 — the global commemoration of the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi. I thought I was going to give testimony. What I didn’t know was that I would receive something I didn’t even know I needed: healing.

The women of Nueva Colombia created a sacred space for me. They honored my story not with pity, but with profound care. The Afro-Colombian activist and singer Mayora wrote and performed a song — just for me. For my pain. For my healing.

I couldn’t stop crying. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. I felt understood. I wasn’t a guest; I was family. That day marked a turning point in my journey as a survivor. I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I was receiving.

Behind the Book — Abraza La Vida

None of this would have been possible without the dreamers behind Abraza La Vida. My deepest gratitude goes to Ángel Unfred and everyone at Artemania Editorial, who believed that my story deserved to be told in Spanish, in Colombia, in this moment.

To the editors, translators, professors, artists — thank you. You didn’t just translate a book. You carried a soul across an ocean.

To every reader who showed up with open hearts and thoughtful questions. To the women who told me, “I saw myself in your pages.” To the students, journalists, and sisters who shared tears and hugs — this book belongs to all of you now.

Gratitude Across Borders

I want to thank the communities who welcomed me into their homes, their hearts, and their histories. The media outlets who helped amplify the message. The bookstores and event organizers who created space. And above all — the women. The women of Colombia who reminded me of the power of presence. The power of tenderness. The power of standing together in story.

Rwanda to Colombia, and Back Again

What began as an invitation to speak has become a lifelong relationship with a country that cracked open my spirit. Colombia gave me joy, music, community — but more than anything, it gave me reflection.

The Rwandan in me saw the Colombian in them. The storyteller in me met the listener in them. And somewhere between Bogotá and Barranquilla, I found another version of myself.

Colombia, thank you. For the healing. For the memory. For the love.

This is not goodbye — this is a continuation.