My name is Jean Bizimana, and I am a documentary photographer and humanitarian focused on social issues around Africa.

I’ve spent the last couple of years exploring motherhood. I’ve met with so many women to understand their motivations and experiences. One woman told me that “being a mother is love, mercy, happiness, and passion.”

That really stuck with me because I have never felt this passion. I never knew the value of having parents because I grew up an orphan from the Rwandan genocide.

This made me deeply curious about the concept of motherhood. And after making work about other people’s stories, I am now turning to my own. I am starting this process by writing a letter to my parents. I am updating them for the last 27 years of my life. How I grew up and what I am doing today.

This letter is a place for me to put my burdens as an orphan. And while my parents aren’t able to actually read it, there are orphans around the world who can. I hope that by sharing my story and insecurities, I can offer them strength and courage.

Good morning! Or good afternoon!

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

I think that our last meeting was in 1994 during the Genocide against the Tutsi. I understand it is not easy for you to recognize me without seeing me, but with this letter, I will send you my picture, so it can help you to remember that I am your son. I hope to receive your pictures, and maybe pictures of my relatives. I write this letter because I am feeling nostalgic and because I have questions which I need you to answer. I also want to explain to you who I am today and how I grew up after we separated.

I was too little when I lost you, maybe two or three years old. But then some good people brought me to Madam Carr orphanage, where I lived for 18 years. The owner of the orphanage loved me and she gave me whatever I asked her for. It is she who brought me to the organization T.T.E.C (Through the Eyes of Children) that taught me photography from the age of eight or nine until I was 19 years old. Photography is what brought me this far.

Roz found me a caretaker who's named Mukamurugo Immaculée, who worked at the orphanage. She loved me as I loved her, and her children were my friends, she died in 2008. I remember as a teenager I made many mistakes which saddened Roz, and I regret not apologizing to her directly before she passed away in 2006. Her death saddened all the children whose futures would be uncertain without her. The other leaders of the orphanage who took Roz’s place didn’t show us love and sympathy as she did.

The closing of the orphanage was a hard time for me as I didn’t have any family, not even a neighbor I knew who could come to take me from the orphanage. It was not easy for anyone to take in a young 20-year-old man. But there was a family who lived close to the orphanage, and we had known each other for eight years. We first met and became friends when I was taking pictures outside the orphanage. That day I got punished for leaving the orphanage without permission. But I visited them again and would go to their house every Saturday, which helped me get to know them better. Their children came to visit me at the orphanage too. I was one of the first five children who entered the orphanage, and I was one of the last five who left it!

I went to live with that family. My new life with them was not easy, but the mother had known me since 2005 when the orphanage was moved back from Gisenyi to its former location. She did a great thing by persuading her children, her husband, their relatives, and even their friends that adopting me was the right choice.

I learned many things in that family, like patience, tolerance, forgiveness, respect, and love.

All these observations showed me that I missed many things because I didn’t get a chance to live with my family.

I moved to Kigali in 2013 to continue my university studies. It has been 8 years that I live in Kigali now. It was difficult to find a house to live in at first, and the students with whom I lived at the orphanage would not agree to live with me. Therefore, I decided to go to my adoptive Uncle. I lived with him, and he found me a job.

In Kigali, I still talk regularly to my adoptive mother. She always sent me food for their less expensive at her place, she also helped me with kitchen materials. Once, she asked me if I have a girlfriend, and told me that they are ready to help me.

When I told them that I have a girlfriend, everybody was happy, and my sisters asked me to introduce them to each other so they can become her friend and help me get to know her better.

Today I am an independent photojournalist and photography instructor at T.T.E.C all over the world. We train orphans, children from foster homes, etc. I like my job because it is my way of paying back what the organization did for me when I was a young kid. I am also freelancing at Reuters News Agency

These were the stories of my life that I wanted to tell you. I am so sorry for not writing to you before, It has been a long time. I know, but it was not easy to make the decision to write this letter.

To my mother,

I want to tell you why I am writing this letter to you. I lived at an orphanage founded by a woman, where I was mostly surrounded by women, and it was them who were in charge of looking after us. Through the Eyes of the Children was created by women and they are the ones who taught me photography, and photography made me who I am today.

It was a woman who came to the orphanage to adopt me. Her tender care which resembled a mother’s love prompted me to think of you.

I have some questions for you too:

WHAT IS THE DATE OF MY BIRTH? I say that I was born in 1992 based on the information given to the orphanage. When I arrived there,

WHAT ARE MY NAMES? In Rwandan culture, a child is given a name by his parents.

Sometimes the parents do not agree on the name, now my name is Jean Bizimana and it is me who chose it. I preferred Bizimana (meaning: God knows my life). I got “Jean” when I was in 6th grade. I gave my friends and classmates a list of over 15 Christian names and asked them to select one for me, and they selected Jean.

WHERE ARE WE FROM? Living without knowing where you are from causes great sadness. Wherever you arrive, you are asked to introduce yourself. I tell people that I am from the location of the orphanage because that is where I grew up. But it still annoys me that I do not know where I was born. It will be nice if you tell me about that place.

MY FATHERS’ NAMES AND YOURS: I say that my father’s name is Gasi Jean

Damascene. I chose this name because it is the name of my adoptive father. My adoptive mother’s name is Mukashema Angelique. Not knowing my origin and my parents’ names gave hard time with the International Committee of the Red Cross when they looked for my family.

MY PROBLEMS BECAUSE I DIDN’T LIVE WITH YOU, MOM:

Thinking about my life without my parents, I decided to do some research about the problems caused by parental loss and absence. I have found that a mother’s role is unparalleled and that nothing can replace her. By knowing their importance, we can understand our problems caused by lacking a mother’s love. I know that this letter might not reach you, but I wanted to tell you about my life 27 years after our separation. I wanted you to know how I grew up and became who I am today, and I would like to express my feeling via this letter, hoping that my heart will find peace, so I can help other people, mainly the children who didn’t get a chance to live with their parents because of different reasons.

“My project was initially about motherhood, but during the fellowship it changed and became a letter to my own parents. This helped me to express my life experience and the burdens I faced as an orphan. At the beginning, it was very difficult for me and I was very shy to tell the world about my insecurities. But with the help of my mentor Newsha Tavakolian, I did it, and then I was free in my heart.”

I was two years old in 1994 when the Genocide against the Tutsis took place in Rwanda, killing more than one million people and orphaning 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 who found me sitting by the side of the road with the body of an old woman who seemed to be my grandmother in July of 1994. I was taken to Roz Carr, 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 with their families, while 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 ours.

In 2013, the Rwandan government decided to close all orphanages in the country. Our orphanage began removing 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 well-planned. 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 considering how they would be affected. It seems they wanted to start a new business with the farms left by Roz Carr. Some who had family members or relatives were reunited 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 could 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 21 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 it with our 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 lives 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 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 and 2000, or were in jail because of the crimes they committed during 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 contacting the staff who had raised them.

I explore the question: What does it mean to be a mother?

As I was raised in an orphanage, I never had the chance to meet my mother. In August 2019, I set out to ask women the real meaning of being a mom. I talked with single mothers, young mothers, and experienced mothers. Of particular interest to me were single mothers, as they have had a history of being ostracized in Rwandan culture. This series is made up of intimate portraits of single mothers in their homes and their own words about their life and parenting experiences. This photo essay gives an insight into motherhood in Rwanda today.

This is part of a bigger project on women and motherhood where I interviewed every type of mother: single mothers, young mothers, experienced mothers, grandmothers, and women who didn’t have children. In Rwandan culture, single mothers are considered an outcast, pariah, or viewed as someone who rejects cultural values and dignity because they have sex before marriage. Rwandans historically have placed the value of a girl or woman based on the dowry that her fiancé or husband provides to the woman’s family. A dowry could be a cow, or more common today, is money.

For a woman who has had a child out of wedlock, it becomes very difficult for her to marry in the future. For single mothers, often family and society lose hope of her family getting a dowry and she is treated poorly by her family and community. Often, single mothers are viewed as prostitutes, even though the circumstances around their pregnancy could have been caused by rape, an accidental pregnancy, or the abandonment or death of a partner.

Single mothers are often treated as someone who lost their dignity and even their parents and siblings lose respect or view her as not intelligent. In years past, families would send their unwed pregnant daughters to the islands in Lake Kivu or throw the women in rivers to drown because the Rwandan community felt that single mothers had no value. Other families would send their daughters away to another village or country to live as in deceit as a divorced woman. Many single women face additional challenges such as other men taking advantage of their vulnerable situation. Dangerous circumstances can arise with other men who may not treat them well, in hopes the men can help provide for their children. Many Rwandan men however are taught throughout their life, to not get involved or marry a single mother.

During the coronavirus pandemic, single mothers have suffered even more hardship from businesses closing and strict security measures put in place which has caused even more of a financial crisis for them and their children. Many single mothers have had to depend on the support of the fathers’ of their children or the support of their parents to help feed their children. These families often see these women and their children as a burden. Sadly, some men also take advantage of the dire economic situation of these women and force them into sexual relationships they women may not want. The women struggle with the reality of this difficult situation and many feel they are not able to refuse because their children need to be fed.

This project was also published by:

FOTODEMIC, FOUNDRY PHOTO, EVERY DAY AFRICA,  OPEN SOCIETY FOUNDATION,  and THE NEWS-TIMES .