For years, 43-year-old Chantal Bunani has had a recurring dream.
She is back in her hometown of Gikongoro, Rwanda, where her father, a school principal, sits at their living room table playing a traditional African board game called igisoro.
Chantal can hear the clatter of board game pieces hitting the wood.
"I have dreams about him playing with his friends. My siblings and I are watching like cheerleaders, watching who was winning," she said.
"It feels so real, like I am back at home in Rwanda again."
But Chantal's life in Rwanda came to an abrupt end in 1994 when the war started.
Chantal plays with an igisoro board at her home in Syndey
Her father, Bunani Francois-Xavier, older brother Pierre, younger sister, Collette and grandmother, Suzanne were all murdered at a school in Murambi where they were hiding.
100 days of terror
In 1994, over 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus were murdered in Rwanda by ethnic Hutu extremists and militias.
This year marks the 30th anniversary of the genocide, which resulted from decades of tribal resentment and was exacerbated by colonialism and post-colonial power struggles between ethnic groups.
When Belgian colonists arrived in 1916 they favoured the minority Tutsi group, who enjoyed better education and job opportunities.
Resentment among the Hutus gradually built up, culminating in a series of riots in 1959. More than 20,000 Tutsis were killed, and many more fled to the neighbouring countries of Burundi, Tanzania and Uganda.
When the Belgians left in 1962, the Hutus took power and the Tutsi minority became the scapegoat for every following crisis.
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Timeline: Rwandan Genocide
The violence in 1994 started after a plane carrying the presidents of Rwanda and Burundi, both Hutus, was shot down, killing all 12 people on board.
The campaign of violence was well-organised and methodical; lists of government opponents were handed to Hutu militias to track down. Checkpoints were erected where ID papers could be checked and Tutsis were slaughtered. Neighbours and even families turned on one another.
It is thought that one person died every 10 seconds over a period of 100 days as genocidal government troops and an armed militia swept through the country.
Chantal was 13 when the violence broke out.
'We didn't know what was happening'
"We didn’t know what was happening. There was chaos everywhere," she said.
"It didn't reach us until a couple days later. The radio was our only way to get the news. We could hear it from the radio–the propaganda. People calling Tutsis 'snakes' and 'cockroaches'.
"You could see people were very fearful, because they knew it was the end."
When the violence spread to her hometown, her family decided to split up for safety.
"I remember seeing houses burning. We could see the smoke. We could see people leaving their houses, leaving for Murambi."
"We didn't pack anything; we just took the clothes we were wearing. I think [my parents] thought it would be a few days and then we’d come back home."
But they never did.
Caught in a trap
Chantal's father and two siblings sought refuge at a technical school in nearby Murambi, where thousands were killed. There, they had been told French troops would protect them — but it was a trap.
Chantal helped her heavily pregnant mother and two younger siblings at a chaotic, understaffed hospital in Kigeme, inundated with injured people.
She heard horrific reports of murders in the neighbouring town of Murambi.
"Most of the doctors were gone," she said.
"I remember the smell. It was so bad.
"Sometimes we would see people coming in, wounded. There wasn't enough space for them."
"There were times when we sat outside and could hear loud noises coming from the direction of Murambi. People would gossip. 'This person was killed with that person.'
Refugees crowd along the banks of a river at the border of Rwanda and Tanzania. Credit: Scott Peterson/Getty Images
The Hutu militia came to the hospital to find and kill Tutsi men.
Chantal's mother hid her little brother, Augustine, and sometimes dressed him as a girl in order to avoid being detected.
"They were targeting men more. That’s why my dad had to go with my big brother. And I remember my younger brother — Mum used to put him in a dress.
"So we would say, 'She’s a girl, she's a girl, she’s a girl.' Otherwise, I think we would have lost him."
An absent grandpa
Since moving to Australia in 2004, Chantal has built a life far removed from the violence of her past.
She works in the disability sector as a support worker in Sydney and her living room is filled with the typical chaos of family life — schoolbooks, toys, and the chatter of children.
Chantal co-founded Kumva and Kwibuka, an educational program that teaches Australian high school students about the genocide and is working alongside the Head On Foundation in an event Dateline is participating in to mark the anniversary.
But she is careful never to reveal traumatic details of the past in front of Evan, her energetic 10-year-old, who runs through the house playing.
But as he nears the age she was when she lost her father, Evan's curiosity grows.
Young Rwandans take part in a candle-lit vigil commemorating the 30th anniversary of the Tutsi genocide in April 2024. Credit: Luke Dray/Getty Images
"That support isn't there," she said, wiping away tears.
"Even though things are okay, sometimes I still think: 'My dad would have known what to do with everything like this.'
"I used to go to him for advice all the time and I would always listen to what he had to say.
"It's the kind of loss that you can't put into words.
"Sometimes I tell my son Evan about his grandpa. Sometimes, he would ask about his grandpa because he saw him in a photo, and I tell him how cool he was and how fun he was.
"I wonder if he'd still be proud of me, I know he used to be, but I wonder if he still would."
On Tuesday 12 November, Dateline is taking part in at the University of Technology Sydney to honour the survivors and pay tribute to those who died in the Rwandan genocide.
