Marguerite Barankitse and the courage to keep choosing care

Some women do not begin with a vision. They begin with an emergency.

Introduction

Some women do not begin with a vision. They begin with an emergency.

Marguerite Barankitse did not set out to build an organisation, become a symbol of peace, or speak on global stages. She began by refusing to abandon children who had nowhere to go. Her life’s work grew from that refusal. It remains relevant today because it speaks to a truth many women recognise. Care often begins when systems collapse. And leadership sometimes looks like staying present when walking away would be easier.

Her story matters not because it is heroic in scale, but because it shows what it means to choose care in conditions designed to erase it.

Context

Marguerite Barankitse was born in 1957 in Ruyigi, one of the poorest regions of Burundi. She grew up in a society marked by deep ethnic divisions between Hutu and Tutsi communities. As a teacher and later a secretary to a Catholic bishop, she was already known for speaking out against discrimination, a stance that cost her professional stability long before violence reached its peak. [en.wikipedia.org]

In October 1993, Burundi descended into civil war following the assassination of the country’s first democratically elected president. Massacres erupted across the country. Barankitse witnessed the killing of dozens of people who had sought refuge in the diocesan compound where she worked. She survived, but the world she knew did not. [maisonshalom.org]

Amid that collapse, she managed to save 25 children. They were Hutu and Tutsi. They were not her own. She did not separate them by identity, background or perceived innocence. That decision was both practical and radical in a context where ethnic belonging had become a death sentence.

Choosing care in the middle of collapse

Maison Shalom began without funding, without a roadmap, and without institutional support. It began because children kept appearing at her door. Orphans, traumatised, hungry, and unwanted by a society tearing itself apart.

Barankitse refused to send them away.

Over time, what started as an improvised refuge became a community. Maison Shalom offered education, healthcare, psychological support and cultural life to children affected by war. It grew into a network of schools, hospitals and social services that supported more than 20,000 children over two decades. [en.wikipedia.org]

This was not charity as spectacle. It was care as infrastructure. Care designed to last, even in a country marked by repeated cycles of violence.

Leadership rooted in repair, not control

Marguerite Barankitse’s leadership style does not fit dominant narratives. She did not lead by commanding from a distance or imposing ideology. She led by proximity. By knowing children by name. By insisting on daily routines in the midst of chaos.

Her authority came from consistency. From showing up. From refusing to adopt the language of revenge that surrounded her. Maison Shalom deliberately raised children from different ethnic backgrounds together, teaching coexistence not as theory but as daily practice. [berkleycen…getown.edu]

This form of leadership is often feminised and therefore undervalued. It is slow. Relational. Emotionally demanding. It is also transformative. For women navigating leadership roles today, especially in care heavy environments, her example challenges the idea that authority must be loud to be effective.

Intersectionality made real

Marguerite Barankitse’s life sits at the intersection of gender, ethnicity, faith and political power. As a woman, she operated in spaces where authority was rarely granted to her. As a Tutsi protecting Hutu children, she disrupted narratives of collective guilt. As a deeply religious woman, she insisted on faith as a source of responsibility rather than submission. [berkleycen…getown.edu]

Intersectionality in her work was not theoretical. It was embodied. It meant understanding how children, women and refugees are differently exposed to violence. It meant recognising that care work is often carried by women precisely because it is dismissed as secondary.

When she later spoke out against President Pierre Nkurunziza’s third term in office, she was forced into exile. Maison Shalom in Burundi was dismantled. Once again, care had a political cost. [en.wikipedia.org]

Exile and continuity

Exile did not end her work. It changed its geography.

From Rwanda, Barankitse founded Oasis of Peace, a community centre supporting Burundian refugees. Many were women and children who had survived torture, sexual violence and displacement. The work continued. Education, psychological care, vocational training. The same principles, in a new place. [nobelwomen…iative.org]

Exile is often framed as loss alone. In her story, it is also continuity. A reminder that care does not belong to a territory. It belongs to relationships.

Why her story speaks to women today

Most women will never find an international organisation. Many will recognise something quieter in this story.

The exhaustion of holding things together when institutions fail. The moral fatigue of choosing care again and again. The pressure to remain human in environments that reward indifference.

Marguerite Barankitse’s life does not ask women to sacrifice themselves endlessly. It shows the cost of care, without denying its necessity. It validates the anger, grief and doubt that coexist with commitment.

In a world where women are still expected to absorb crises silently, her story legitimises refusal. Refusal of hatred. Refusal of dehumanisation. Refusal of the idea that care is weakness.

What can be taken into daily life

This story does not demand extraordinary courage. It invites grounded choices.

To practise care without romanticising suffering.
To recognise relational work as real leadership.
To resist narratives that normalise cruelty as realism.
To understand that building humane spaces, even small ones, is a political act.

For women balancing work, family, community and conscience, Marguerite Barankitse offers something rare. A model of leadership that does not dominate, but repairs.

Sources

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