Good morning… or perhaps good afternoon, Mama.

My name is Jean Bizimana, and I am your son.

I believe our last meeting was in 1994, during the terrible Genocide against the Tutsi. I understand it may be difficult for you to recognize me now, but I have enclosed my picture so you may remember me. I hope, if possible, that you can send me your pictures and perhaps pictures of my relatives. I am writing because my heart longs for you, because I have questions that only you can answer, and because I want to tell you who I have become, after we were separated.

I was only two or three years old when I lost you. Some kind souls brought me to Madam Roz Carr’s orphanage, where I lived for eighteen years. Roz loved us all fiercely, giving me whatever I needed, and introducing me to Through the Eyes of Children (T.T.E.C.), where I discovered photography from the age of eight or nine until I was nineteen. Photography has shaped my life; it gave me purpose, direction, and hope.

At the orphanage, I was cared for by Mukamurugo Immaculée, who loved me as I loved her. Her children were my friends, and her care became a second family to me. She passed away in 2008, and I remember feeling that immense sorrow that only the loss of a mother can bring. I also regret that I never apologized to Roz directly for my teenage mistakes before her passing in 2006. Her death left us all uncertain, as the new leaders of the orphanage did not show the same love and understanding she had given.

When the orphanage closed, I had no family to return to. There was no neighbor, no relative to guide me. At twenty years old, it is not easy for anyone to take in a young man. But a kind family, whom I had known for eight years, opened their hearts to me. We first met when I was taking pictures outside the orphanage and was punished for leaving without permission. Over time, I visited them every Saturday, learning to know them, and their children came to visit me at the orphanage. I was one of the first five children to enter the orphanage and one of the last five to leave.

Living with that family was not easy at first, but the mother, who had known me since 2005, persuaded her children, her husband, relatives, and friends to welcome me as her own. Living with them taught me patience, tolerance, forgiveness, respect, and love. These lessons reminded me of all the things I missed by not growing up with my family.

In 2013, I moved to Kigali to continue my university studies. Finding a place to live was difficult. The students I had grown up with at the orphanage were unwilling to live with me, so I stayed with my adoptive uncle, who also helped me find work. Even now, I still speak regularly with my adoptive mother. She sends me food, kitchen supplies, and once asked if I had a girlfriend, promising that they would help me. When I told them I did, everyone rejoiced, and my sisters asked to meet her so that they could be friends and support me.

Today, I am an independent photojournalist and photography instructor at T.T.E.C., teaching orphans and children from foster homes across Rwanda and beyond. I also freelance for Reuters News Agency. Photography is not only my profession—it is my way of giving back, of honoring those who nurtured me when I was young.

Mother, I have lived many years without you, and yet I carry your presence in my heart. I have questions I hope you can answer:

When was I born? I was told I was born in 1992 at the orphanage.

What are my given names? Currently, I go by Jean Bizimana. “Bizimana” means “God knows my life.” “Jean” was chosen by my classmates in the sixth grade from a list of Christian names I provided.

Where are we from? I tell people I am from the orphanage because that is where I grew up, but I long to know my true birthplace.

What were our names? I currently say my father’s name is Gasi Jean Damascene, after my adoptive father, and my adoptive mother’s name is Mukashema Angelique. Not knowing my biological parents’ names made it difficult when the International Committee of the Red Cross tried to find my family.

Mother, living without you has taught me the irreplaceable value of a mother’s love. No one can ever take your place. Writing this letter after twenty-seven years of separation is both my longing and my hope—to share my life with you, to express my feelings, and to seek peace in my heart. I also hope that my story can help other children who, like me, were separated from their parents, showing them that life can still hold love, hope, and purpose.

Thank you, Mother. Please greet those around you for me. I pray that God grants you and Father peace.

Your son,
Jean Bizimana

"To learn more about this project, please visit: https://www.magnumfoundation.org/a-letter-to-my-parents-jean-bizimana"

I was two years old in 1994 when the Genocide against the Tustis took place in Rwanda and killed more than one million people and orphaned more than 400,000 children who were left scattered throughout Rwanda with no one to care for them. I don’t remember my parents or 

siblings and do not know what happened to them in the genocide. I was rescued by an old man which found me sitting by the side of the road with a dead body of an old woman who seems to be my grandmother in July of 1994. I was taken to Roz Car, an American woman who lived on a farm in Mugongo Rwanda. She sheltered children in her barn during the immediate aftermath of the genocide. She took in hundreds of children and created the Imbabazi Orphanage which means "a place where you will receive all the love and care a mother would give” 

Over time, some of the children were reconnected to their families, and 120 children were left at the orphanage where they would live out their childhood. The children considered each other to be brothers and sisters. I spent almost 19 years at the orphanage until I left for University to study. The orphanage was the only home I had ever known. I call it home because Roz made sure we felt like it was our home. 

In 2013 the Rwandan government decided to close all the orphanages in the country. Our orphanage started to remove children after the death of its founder, Roz Carr in 2006. They sent young adults out of the orphanage to live independently. However, this program was not planned well. The orphanage staff used it as a tool to remove the kids they did not like or who challenged them. 

The government’s decision to close down orphanages, caused the Imbabazi orphanage board to remove kids from the orphanage without thinking about how the kids were going to be affected. It seems they wanted to start a new business with the farms that were left by Roz Carr. Some who had family members or relatives were unified with them, but others, like me, who didn’t have any family, were told to look for families that could adopt or foster us. 

It was very hard for us because we didn’t have anywhere to go. It created feelings of instability and fear. It felt like the only home we had ever known disappeared overnight. We missed the days we had together as a family, with peace, security, comfort, and love. I still have nightmares of the last days in the orphanage, with children leaving without saying goodbye. I was at boarding school at the time and when I returned home to the orphanage for the holidays, I found that I was one of 5 remaining children out of 120. We didn’t know where to go. The orphanage staff told us to look for people who can adopt or foster us. I went to see a mother who went to the same church and she accepted to take me in even if I got a chance of being adopted at 20 years old, it was very hard for me to get used to my new family.

After having nightmares every night triggered by the abrupt way I left the orphanage, I came up with this photo project, “Losing Family, Gaining Family Memories of Loss” to reminisce about the life my brothers and sisters once lived and to compare what time with our to lives now. I always dreamt of the last time we were together and when we were saying goodbye to each other because we didn’t have time, and I hadn’t heard any news about them since then. 

Most people thought that living in an orphanage was a bad thing, with only bad days, hoping and waiting for someone to come and adopt you, or convincing someone to take you in. I want to share with the world that while we didn’t have parents or relatives who wanted to take us in, the orphanage took good care of us. We had a good time in the orphanage. I want to show the world that the orphanage was not a bad institution due to the caring and loving staff. 

I have decided to embark on a photographic journey to find out how the Rwandan community treats orphans and how Rwandan culture sees them. This is part of the broader Motherhood project I am working on, where I’ve been focusing on a handful of mothers in Rwanda to show what motherhood means and also to discover for myself what it’s like to have a mother. 

During my time in the orphanage, I was a normal child compared to those who excelled in academics and sports. I was not exceptional at either. However, I discovered photography through the generous teachings of Through the Eyes of Children, a program founded by David Jiranek. These workshops ignited a passion for the visual medium and have given me direction in my life. 

I often miss the good times, the love, and the care all the children at the orphanage had. I remember the fun we had during the Christmas and Thanksgiving holidays. Christmas is one of my favorite times of the year because of the gifts and special meals we used to share. I also love Thanksgiving because we were served a special turkey meal. 

During the time I spent in the orphanage, I didn’t dwell on the past. I didn’t know anything about my past life – life before the orphanage. The only life I knew was life at Imbabazi and it was good. I was a happy kid. 

For this photo project, I plan to travel throughout Rwanda to visit the homes of the people I grew up with. I will document their current life in photographs. We all grew up together at Imbabazi orphanage, and sharing our current experiences along with the old memories we had back in the orphanage will help me understand how we adapted to life beyond the orphanage fence. When we lived there we were not allowed to leave and spend time in the surrounding communities, except for special occasions. I want to understand how that affected us. 

2023 marks the 10th anniversary of the closing of Imbabazi. This anniversary provides a moment to pause and look back. It also marks a departure point to see all the progress and

new lives we live. This project will stand as a testament to the love and care we all received as orphans at the Imbabazi Orphanage. 

I hope this photo project will help others understand more about life in an orphanage. Despite not having parents, I want to share with others the story of how my brothers and sisters came together through tragic circumstances to build our own family and found love in each other. I 

think this project can be a tool to help people working in institutions like orphanages or the foster care system to identify the love and care orphans around the world need. 

Between 1994 and 1997, the International Committee of the Red Cross (IRC) registered 120,000 unaccompanied children, but some observers including the government of Rwanda estimate that there were more than 400,000 children placed into orphanages. 

The IRC program of restoring family links had unified some orphans, but the vast majority of children, who didn’t have relatives, remained in orphanages. According to the National Commission of Children, Rwanda had 35 orphanages that sheltered 120,000 orphans. The remaining orphaned children lived in child-headed households. These children’s parents died either in the genocide, refugee camps, or civil war period between 1996 to 2000, or were in jail because of the crime they committed in the genocide. 

These orphanages were in place for seventeen years until 2011 when Tumurerere mu muryango (Let's Raise Children in the Family ), a program initiated by the government of Rwanda began to close down orphanages country-wide. At that point, there were 3,325 orphans remaining in 33 orphanages. By the time all those orphanages were closed in 2015 the remaining, 2,294 orphans were either unified with families, adopted, or sent to foster families. According to the National Commission for Children, the government decided to close down orphanages in order to give vulnerable children a better start in life. But the project didn’t include children living in the streets or children with disabilities. 

Global evidence shows that children have more balanced development when raised and cared for within a family. Research showed that 70 percent of orphaned children living in orphanages in Rwanda had extended families. Following the United Nations declaration that every child has the right to grow up in a family and based on the research that children had extended families, the move was taken to remove children from institutional living. 

According to a 2013 study done by Tulane University, among three orphanages in Rwanda that housed 130 children, 70 percent of those children still had extended family members living in Rwanda. One in four children was able to return to a mother or father. Of the remaining children, 38 percent returned to grandparents, a brother or sister, or other family members, and 35 percent were sent to an adoptive family. 

Following the orphanage closures and unification efforts, both the NCC and UNICEF refused to disclose the number of children who had left their new homes and ended up living on the

streets or returned to the orphanages that were turned into community centers, by contactingthe staff whohad raised them.

Through this project, I hope to show the world that orphanages, when run with love, can foster family bonds, joy, and growth. I want to honor the memories of the brothers and sisters I grew up with and advocate for better care, support, and understanding for orphans worldwide.

In this project, I explore the question: What does it mean to be a mother?

I was raised in an orphanage and never had the chance to meet my mother. In August 2019, reflecting on what I had not experienced, I set out to ask women what motherhood truly means. This work is part of a larger project on women and motherhood, where I listened to every kind of mother: young mothers, experienced mothers, grandmothers, and even women who longed for children but did not have them.

Of particular importance to me was understanding how motherhood is lived and defined in Rwanda today. Motherhood takes many forms — from raising children as a teenager, to guiding them into adulthood, to caring for grandchildren. It can mean nurturing biological children, adopted children, or entire communities. It can mean shouldering responsibility alone, or sharing it within marriage and family.

This series features intimate portraits of mothers in their homes. The photographs are paired with the women’s own words about their lives, their children, and their hopes. Together, these stories reveal not only the challenges of motherhood but also its resilience, dignity, and strength.

In Rwandan culture, motherhood has long been celebrated as the foundation of family and community. Yet, cultural expectations often shape how different mothers are perceived. For generations, the value of a girl or woman was measured by the dowry her marriage could bring to her family — a cow, or more commonly today, money. Mothers raising children outside of marriage, for example, have carried stigma and discrimination, sometimes being treated as outcasts. Others, such as very young mothers, often face judgment and isolation within schools or neighborhoods.

At the same time, motherhood is a role filled with profound meaning. For some, it is about unconditional love. For others, it is about sacrifice, responsibility, or the joy of seeing a child grow. It is both an intimate personal experience and a deeply social identity, shaped by cultural traditions, economic realities, and generational change.

During the coronavirus pandemic, mothers across Rwanda faced additional hardship. School closures, business shutdowns, and stricter security measures created financial crises for many families. Women often bore the greatest weight of this, struggling to feed their children, balancing work and care, and navigating vulnerabilities that came with economic dependency.

Through the voices of women, this project gives insight into the living reality of motherhood in Rwanda today.

The Motherhood Project captures intimate and diverse stories of women in Rwanda as they define and live motherhood in their own ways.

For Aline Murara Tuyisenge, motherhood is rooted in love, mercy, happiness, and patience. Photographed at home in Kicukiro with her daughter Sarah, first while pregnant and later during Sarah’s fifth birthday celebration, Aline’s story embodies the nurturing bonds that grow across generations. Surrounded by family and community, she finds joy in both the quiet moments of daily life and in milestones that mark her daughter’s growth.

Ishimwe Devote, known as Devo Queen, balances multiple roles as a single mother, entrepreneur, and emerging music artist. Managing her bar while raising her daughter Bina with the support of a friend, she reflects on strength drawn from her own mother after losing her father. For Devo, choosing to be an unmarried mother is a conscious decision to prioritize her child’s well-being above societal expectations.

Jeanne Uwizeye, a single mother from northern Rwanda, faced immense challenges after becoming pregnant following high school and losing her parents in 1998. Relocating to Kigali, she has built a life around caregiving — both for her son and for her brother’s children. For Jeanne, motherhood is as simple and profound as giving life, especially knowing that some women long for that opportunity but cannot experience it.

Melanie Nyiraninda, photographed at home with her daughters Sandrine and Francaise in Gatsata, describes motherhood as a source of respect within society. Her gestures of love, from sharing daily moments of joy to gifting her daughter a diamond necklace, reflect the pride and honor she associates with being a mother.

Together, these portraits reveal motherhood as a mosaic of love, resilience, respect, and sacrifice. Each woman’s voice adds a distinct perspective, showing how motherhood in Rwanda is both deeply personal and universally significant — an enduring bond that shapes families, strengthens communities, and redefines cultural expectations.

Captions:

Aline Murara Tuyisenge shares a moment with her firstborn while her daughter kisses her sister, who is still in the womb, as Aline is seven months pregnant in their home in Kicukiro, Kigali, Rwanda, on August 14, 2019. For Aline, motherhood embodies love, mercy, happiness, and patience.

Aline, alongside her brother and their mother, celebrates her daughter’s 5th birthday at school in Kigali, Rwanda. This heartwarming scene captures the joy shared with classmates on August 14, 2019. For Aline, motherhood embodies love, mercy, happiness, and patience.

Sarah is captivated by her birthday gifts during her 5th birthday celebration, surrounded by loved ones including her mother, uncle, grandmother, and classmates. For Aline, motherhood embodies love, mercy, happiness, and patience; Kigali, Rwanda, August 14, 2019.

Ishimwe Devote, also known as Devo Queen, prepares herself before heading to her bar where she serves as a bartender and cashier, managing her own establishment to sustain herself financially. Accompanied by her high school classmate, who helps care for her daughter while she works, the two friends are captured at Devo Queen’s residence in Kanombe, Kigali, Rwanda, on August 15, 2019. As an emerging Rwandan music artist and single mother, Devo Queen finds strength in her upbringing, shaped by her single mother's influence following her father's passing. Reflecting on her journey, she shares that being an unmarried mother is a conscious choice to prioritize the care and well-being of her child.

Devo Queen embodies resilience as she fulfills dual roles in her bar, serving as both bartender and cashier, in Gikondo, Kicukiro, Kigali, Rwanda, on August 15, 2019. Balancing her responsibilities, she manages her own establishment, striving for financial stability. As an emerging Rwandan music artist and single mother, she draws strength from her upbringing, shaped by her single mother's guidance after her father's passing. Reflecting on her journey, she shares that being an unmarried mother is a conscious choice to prioritize the care and well-being of her child.

Jeanne Uwizeye demonstrates her culinary expertise as she prepares meals for patrons at her brother’s restaurant in Kicukiro Centre, Kigali, Rwanda, on August 16, 2019. Jeanne, a single mother, navigated challenges after becoming pregnant following high school. Originally from Gisenyo, northern Rwanda, she relocated to Kigali at her family’s insistence, feeling the weight of societal expectations after her parents’ passing in 1998. Despite facing adversity, Jeanne embraces motherhood, emphasizing, “Being a mother is giving birth to a child because they are those women who are not able to go.”

Sandrine Intwari captures moments of joy as she photographs her mother and younger sister using her phone within the comfort of their home in Gatsata, Kigali, Rwanda, on August 16, 2019. Reflecting on the essence of motherhood, her mother expresses, “Being a mother means gaining respect in my society.”

Melanie Nyiraninda lovingly adorns her daughter with a diamond necklace she purchased, symbolizing affection and devotion, within the comfort of their home in Gatsata, Kigali, Rwanda, on August 16, 2019. Reflecting on motherhood, Melanie shares, “Being a mother means gaining respect in my society.”

Jeanne Uwizeye accompanies her son and her brother’s children, whom she cares for, on their journey to school in Kicukiro, Kigali, Rwanda, captured on August 16, 2019. As a single mother, Jeanne overcame challenges stemming from her pregnancy after high school. Originally from Gisenyo, northern Rwanda, she relocated to Kigali at her family’s urging, grappling with societal pressures following her parents’ passing in 1998. Despite adversity, Jeanne embraces motherhood, remarking, “Being a mother is giving birth to a child because they are those women who are not able to go.”

Motherhood transforms life in ways both tender and tumultuous, shaping identity, priorities, and purpose. For the young women in this series — child-mothers between 18 and 25 — it has meant navigating societal judgment, family pressures, and personal sacrifice, while discovering courage, resilience, and love that often goes unseen.

I became an orphan at the age of two and spent over a decade of my childhood in an orphanage. While the orphanage provided shelter, it could not replace the warmth, guidance, or affection of a mother. This absence sparked a lifelong curiosity: What does it truly mean to be a mother?

From 2019 to 2022, I began this project to explore the lives of child-mothers in Rwanda — young women who became mothers while still in school or early adulthood, facing cultural stigma and social pressure while carrying the profound responsibility of nurturing life. This series, Child-Mother, is the second part of my larger motherhood project, Uri Mwiza Mama. It focuses on child-mothers, whose courage and love shape the next generation, often overlooked by society.

The Cultural Landscape

In Rwanda, girls who become pregnant before marriage face immense social pressure. Families may ostracize them, and in some cases, punitive measures are taken. Child-mothers are often labeled irresponsible, without recognition of the circumstances — which may include rape, abandonment, or unintended relationships. Even with legal protections and government support, stigma persists.

In rural areas, young mothers may be forced to leave school, while in urban settings, scrutiny comes from peers, teachers, and neighbors. Despite ongoing efforts to empower women, cultural expectations remain powerful, and child-mothers often carry the burden of shame alongside the demands of parenting.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, these challenges intensified. Economic hardship, school closures, and social restrictions forced many young mothers into precarious situations, sometimes compelling them into unwanted relationships. The pandemic highlighted the fragility of support systems for child-mothers and revealed the extraordinary resilience required to navigate daily life.

Ernestine Uwamahoro: Strength in Responsibility

Ernestine, 23, is a university student in civil engineering. She became pregnant in her second year and now lives with her mother and four younger sisters. “Being a mother means accepting responsibility for my child,” she says. “I have to take care of myself so I can be strong and healthy for him.”

Her days are a rhythm of study, childcare, and household tasks. She bathes her six-month-old son, folds his clothes, prepares meals, and returns to her textbooks, balancing deadlines and diaper changes with remarkable composure. Her father is absent, and while her mother provides support, the responsibility rests largely on Ernestine’s young shoulders.

Reflecting on the father of her child, Ernestine admits, “We don’t share many things in common. I don’t think he will be my husband. But I must provide for my child, and that is my priority.”

Despite societal judgment, Ernestine approaches her life with quiet determination. She has adjusted her habits, avoiding drinking, smoking, or partying, and focuses on her child’s well-being and her future. Her story is one of perseverance, patience, and courage that is often invisible to the public eye.

Afissa Usanase: Transformation Through Motherhood

Afissa, 19, became a mother at a very young age and left school due to her family’s financial struggles. “Having a child has changed everything,” she says. “I no longer drink, smoke, or party. Being a mother is taking care of my child with love and responsibility.”

Afissa’s life is consumed by childcare, household chores, and creating a stable environment for her baby. Despite her youth, she has found in motherhood a sense of purpose and maturity that had been absent before.

In Rwanda, young mothers like Afissa face judgment from neighbors, school authorities, and extended family. Yet their determination to care for their children demonstrates extraordinary resilience. Afissa’s story exemplifies how early motherhood can catalyze personal transformation, instilling responsibility, empathy, and growth far beyond her years.

Thérèse Tuyisenge: Balancing School and Parenthood

Thérèse, 21, is a high school student raising her six-year-old son while pursuing her senior six education in math, economics, and computer studies. “A mother is a little god to a child, a hero, and a teacher,” she says. Her words capture both the spiritual and practical dimensions of motherhood.

Every day is a careful balancing act — attending classes, completing assignments, and caring for her child. Becoming a mother while in school attracts scrutiny from teachers and peers alike. Yet Thérèse continues her education, determined to provide a better future for her son. Her story highlights the dual pressures faced by child-mothers in Rwanda: societal judgment and the challenge of continuing education while parenting.

Thérèse’s journey is a testament to the resilience of young women who refuse to allow circumstances to define them. Her philosophy of motherhood — hero, teacher, god — reflects her belief in the transformative power of love, guidance, and care.

Uwanse Inèse: Transformation and Self-Discovery

Uwanse, 25, became a mother during her final year of college. Having grown up without a mother, she approached motherhood with deep awareness and responsibility. “Being a mother is change and transformation,” she says. “You become stronger than you were before. You endure more, make new choices, and learn what is most important.”

Her days are filled with study, childcare, and household tasks. She draws strength from her own motherless childhood, using it to guide her through the challenges of raising a child while pursuing higher education.

Uwanse’s story illustrates the complex intersection of personal ambition, cultural expectation, and maternal responsibility. Her reflections reveal how young mothers often redefine themselves while nurturing their children, discovering resilience and strength they may not have known existed.

If you would like to learn more about this project, please visit the following websites:

Fotodemic – Uri Mwiza Mama

The New Times – The Life of Single Mothers: A Photo Essay

Changing Lives – Motherhood Project