At first, many things did not make sense in my 10-year-old mind. I could not understand why we,  the Tutsi, were hiding,  being murdered in cold blood and our houses being burnt down while our Hutu neighbors were just living a normal life. Going to the market, bars, even celebrating weddings. But I quickly understood one thing: that being a Tutsi, or at least being identified as such, was a terrible crime punishable by horrific death. I also realized that my parents and grandparents were guilty of this crime too – the crime of having been born. A crime against the very who we were-Genocide.