Fallen peacekeeper's widow brokenhearted but not broken

Its a sun-drenched break of the day in Ruhango town when Eugenie Mushimiyimana returns from the lively town’s market and finds The New Times team waiting at a pre-arranged meeting place near Nyamagana Cell offices. Clad in a colourful African fabric (kitenge) dress, the 33-year-old looked content having concluded some of her day’s errands before she could sit down to talk to us. Her elder sister’s house, a large but modest unit shared with some tenants in Ngurukizi Village – that became her address since the ill-fated death of her husband – is barely two minutes away from our rendezvous. Inside, her 58-year-old sister, Antoinette Utamuliza, is curious about our interview but hospitable nonetheless. It was when the interview started that it became clear that Mushimiyimana, the widow of a fallen Rwandan peacekeeper honoured posthumously during a ceremony in New York on May 29 as part of activities to mark the International Day of United Nations Peacekeepers, still grieves for her lost love. The man who meant the world to her, Corporal Vincent Murangwa, was killed in action in May, last year, when his unit of Rwandan peacekeepers was mediating between two militia factions in the volatile region of Darfur in Sudan. Reports say the incident that claimed Murangwa started when the militiamen suddenly became hostile and started exchanging fire. Removing pictures of their wedding day from an old white envelope, in an often inaudible gentle voice, Mushimiyimana recounted how they first met. It is a tale of fond memories of a two-year courtship that led to civil marriage in 2013; her depression after two successive miscarriages (the last coming shortly before her husband was killed); and her endless grief. The couple had no children when Murangwa passed away. Mushimiyimana and her deceased husband the late Murangwa. Her memory of an inauspicious afternoon, last year, when a family member relayed the sad news remains emotively vivid. After the funeral, she relocated from her family’s then temporary abode at Mulindi in Kigali, and moved in with her sister in Ruhango. Finding love One Tuesday afternoon, in 2010, as she returned from school – the Adventist University of Central Africa (Masoro campus) – Mushimiyimana was reprimanded by security personnel near the Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre, Gisozi. Mushimiyimana details events leading to the moment she first met her deceased husband. She was leisurely walking uphill to a relative’s home while often stopping to marvel at the memorial. A plain-clothed Murangwa noticed her interaction with a Police officer and also moved in to warn Mushimiyimana. Seemingly attracted to her, Murangwa walked the student further, got her telephone number and promised to keep in touch. Later that day, he called and they met again. “Our friendship grew. Later (end of 2010), he asked me to introduce him to my relatives. I first brought him here [Ruhango] and introduced him to my older sister,” Mushimiyimana said, gesturing at Utamuliza, a woman who had by this point in the interview manifested a very domineering character. The sisters are survivors of the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi. Along with two brothers, they are the sole survivors in a family of 10 where Mushimiyimana was the much envied and loved last born. This partly explains why Utamuliza continues to be overly protective of her. Mushimiyimana said: “Murangwa was an open-minded person who was sociable, fearless too and his boldness always manifested in his day-to-day deeds. Whenever I was ill, even though he was on duty, he would frequently check on me. When on the foreign mission, he called regularly.” Resting her feet on a chair, Utamuliza chipped in: “She had not cried and missed Murangwa as she did this year. In May, she said ‘it has been a year now without Murangwa,’ and she was inconsolable. Murangwa really loved her. He was a loving husband. He loved his work too. In the week he died, he had called home three times.”Murangwa left for Darfur in November 2013. “He told me to take heart as I was going to be alone at home. He said, ‘I am going but not returning is also a possibility and you must be brave.’ I said, ‘don’t you worry. You will come back,’” Mushimiyimana added, with a distressed tone. No regrets marrying military man Despite the sadness, Mushimiyimana is amazingly strong hearted. Life’s hardships must be embraced, she said. “A soldier’s wife is also a soldier and must be tough, disciplined and must ably settle in whatever life situation,” she says. Mushimiyimana with her sister Utamuliza. (Photos by Fernand Mugisha) Her message to women whose spouses are serving in the military is that they must always know and uphold their values: self-respect; standing firm when a spouse is away; and working hard. “If the house needs any repair work, you should be able to work on it, and do it contentedly.” Mushimiyimana knew Murangwa was a soldier right from the start, but she says she never would have married anyone other than a soldier. “My decision to marry a soldier was influenced by the instances I had seen in military homes in the past. Soldiers don’t complicate life. They easily adapt to life situations. They persevere, are patient and can offer fine guidance when it is needed,” she said. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she added: “In their difficult job, they know how to accept and welcome life’s unchangeable and often hard circumstances. In their difficult day to day work, there will be times when he will go into things he will never reveal to you. He doesn’t want you to get worried. You have to accept this.” Mushimiyimana explained that she understood well that soldiers will have work related secrets, just like other professionals yet “women usually want their men to tell them everything.” “I don’t ever regret marrying a military man. I married him for love.”Carrying on As Mushimiyimana comes to terms with one of life’s most profound losses, she is thinking about carrying on with life’s daily struggles. Apart from every day domestic chores, she attends communal women Genocide survivor meetings and training workshops. The trauma of adjusting to her new identity while being besieged with a multitude of urgent questions and decisions is overwhelming, she admitted, but she has to start thinking about work, especially as an entrepreneur. Mushimiyimana is undecided – and anxious – because she thinks she needs money first. So far, she has not given much thought to her degree in education. When The New Times bade her goodbye, she was planning to travel to Muhanga, a nearby town, for a Hepatitis C immunisation programme for military widows. Outside, the heat from the sun was slightly more intense but playful primary school children were running around. editorial@newtimes.co.rw

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Fallen peacekeeper's widow brokenhearted but not broken