A former colleague, Alloys Badege, called me and broke down in tears: 'Ingabire is dead! Ingabire is dead!' Rwandan men are not known for expressing grief through tears, yet here he was weeping like a child. That is how much she was revered.
I last worked with Ingabire in June 1999, when I was a journalist. Print media, radio, TV, professional associations, you name it, she was there. Little did I know that more than 26 years later, so many people would still associate me with her. As if to confirm this connection, my daughter, who had known her since she was just nine years old and was fond of her, sent me a message.
It read: 'Ingabire was passionate about accountability; she fought with style and a good sense of humour. Before that, she was a brilliant journalist; we will also remember her fiery articles in Imvaho Nshya, alongside those of Mweusi Karake, at a time when our national experiment was at a crossroads. You will be missed.'
I later learned that this tribute was from Dr. Jean Pierre Kimonyo, a respected scholar, author, and Regional Director at the Levy Mwanawasa Centre for Democracy and Good Governance, under the International Conference on the Great Lakes Region (ICGLR). He is not one to offer praise lightly, which made his words even more meaningful.
When I considered quoting his tribute, I debated with myself about whether to remove my name from it. To me, being mentioned alongside Mikii felt like over-glorification. I did not want to be celebrated. I wanted her to be. Yet editing out my name seemed like a rejection of the bond we shared. In the end, I respected the choice of the tribute-giver. And truthfully, I am proud to be associated with her. I know many others feel the sameâ”women’s organisations, media houses, human rights activists, to mention just a few.
Death consults no one, nor does God. Mikii, like all of us, knew that sooner or later death would come. But if she had been consulted on when to die, I swear she would have chosen October.
It was in October 1990 that Rwanda’s liberation heroes made the decisive step to free our nation, knowing well that death could be the price. And die they didâ”starting with General Fred Gisa Rwigyema on October 2, followed by Major Peter Bayingana and Chris Bunyenyezi weeks later, and countless unnamed soldiers who carried the burden of war. As the Jamaican poet Claude McKay once wrote: 'If we must die, let it not be like hogs hunted and penned in an inglorious spot.'
If Mikii had been consulted, she would have chosen to go in this season of heroes. Even in death, she departed a winner. If she had been at the frontlines, she would have died with the rank of a general. A hero she was.
Mikii was born in 1961 in Bujumbura, Burundi, then part of the Belgian colonial territory of Ruanda-Urundi. But she was not born there by chance. She was born there because Belgian-backed PARMEHUTU leaders had already begun ethnic cleansing that would culminate in the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi.
She grew up, studied, and began her journalism career in Burundi, speaking Kirundi as her first language. Burundi was home. With a good career she loved and that sustained her, many expected her to stay until a 'soft landing' appeared, as others did.
But in 1994, when Rwanda was at its lowest, she crossed the border to contribute. As Dr. Kimonyo put it: 'at a time when our national experiment was at a crossroads.' She jumped into the deep end, fearless of whether she would sink or swim.
I had the misfortune of being her boss. Whenever she felt a pressing national issue was being ignored, she would storm into my office with disarming humour: 'Ariko sha shefu!' ('But boss!'). 'Sha,' in Kirundi, was affectionate, but in Kinyarwanda it usually addressed a child. On the other hand, 'shefu' meant boss. I once told her she had to choose between 'sha' and 'shefu,' but never both! She laughed, but her point always landed, and I knew the issue had to go on the editorial agenda.
Her pursuit of justice was relentless. At Radio Rwanda, when I introduced Kubaza Bitera Kumenya ('To Ask is to Know'), a live programme that challenged leaders, I made sure to include her. Our bosses at ORINFOR warned me: 'This will get you sacked.' But I wanted her on the team because she was fearless, a daredevil.
At one point, I was called by the Ministry of Information, who complained: 'How can Ingabire interrupt the President of the Republic?' They 'politely' advised me to remove her from the programme. I 'politely' agreed, but never implemented it. By the time I left Radio Rwanda in 1999, the show had become such a hit that churches complained their congregants skipped Sunday services to listen to it.
Mikii was never motivated by money. She was driven by causes she believed in. When she left government media, she joined UN Women Rwanda. But bureaucracy suffocated her spirit. She thought she could walk into her boss’s office as she once did mine, saying 'Ariko sha shefu!' and get things moving. It did not work that way. She left.
In 2021, she became Chair of Transparency International Rwanda’s Board. Finally, she had a platform free of bureaucratic shackles. She was not just a chair; she was a field commander. Women who faced abuse went to her instead of the police, knowing she would act. She listened, connected them to legal aid, confronted prosecutors, and stormed into offices demanding answers. She became a legend among women and girls. Even some men quietly sought her help, though few would admit it.
She ridiculed immorality and corruption with wit and fearlessness. She exposed traffic police as the 'judge, prosecutor, and bailiff' all rolled into one. She spoke truth at Umushyikirano (the National Dialogue Council) before the President himself, and her recommendations often shaped resolutions.
If she had wanted fame or wealth, she could have joined politics and won with ease. But that was not her way. Formalities were foreign to her. She followed her instinct, always.
The nation mourns a hero. As a Tuscarora proverb says: 'The legends are not dead who live in the hearts they leave behind.'
Adieu, Mikii.
Mweusi Karake is Marie Immaculée Ingabire’s former media colleague and friend.
