After Escaping Slaughter in Rwanda, a Deep Instinct to Survive Epiphanie Musabiyemaria still does not know whether she is a Hutu or a Tutsi. When she was growing up in Rwanda among the two tribes, teachers would ask each student "what they were." She could not answer, she said, because her father had never told her. We are all just people, he insisted. When she was 23, at the beginning of the 1994 Rwandan genocide, the government decided for her. Her mother was tall, which was considered a Tutsi trait. The family's friends were Tutsi. Her fiancé, the father of her unborn son, was Tutsi. So every day, the Hutu-led government threatened to kill them. "Three o'clock was a very special hour for our family," she said. That's when they gave you the notice that you were going to be killed. It was rumored that anti-Tutsi forces were waiting for her to give birth, to kill her infant as well. By the end of the war, her brother, her fiancé and her youngest sister were dead. As she spoke at her kitchen table in Poughkeepsie, Ms. Musabiyemaria's voice caught in her throat. She smoothed the tablecloth and took a deep, quiet breath. But before she could steady herself, her youngest son, Sam, appeared beside her. Ga-ga! He grinned up at her. She instantly donned a bright smile, and all of the weight left her voice. "You want juice?" she asked. "Can you say, "I want juice"?" "Ga-ga!" he laughed, louder this time. Sam is autistic. Though 4 years old, he can speak only a few words and communicates primarily through pointing and sounds. Ms. Musabiyemaria, 42, stood, visibly shaking off the memories she had been reliving, and walked across the apartment with Sam on her heels. Let's go to the kitchen. Can you say "juice"?" Ms. Musabiyemaria left Rwanda in 1998, when a married couple who were United Nations officials asked her to be a nanny for their family in Westchester County. She left her son, Joseph, with her mother and, after relocating, sent her family $200 every month. After several years of working and traveling as a nanny, she settled down in Irvington in Westchester and in 2005 arranged for a visa so that Joseph could come to the United States. As she eased back into family life, Ms. Musabiyemaria met the man who would become her husband. She was cautious, but he was persistent. "I liked him because when he walked in, he always looked for Joseph," she recalled. She thought he could be a good father. Their marriage five years ago brought many unwelcome surprises. "I didn't know my husband was bipolar," she said. He was hiding things. He put her and Joseph on his cellphone plan and used "family tracking" to monitor their calls, text messages and locations, she said. He insisted that women should not work; if Ms. Musabiyemaria wanted even a pack of gum, she had to ask his permission. And when Sam was born and found to be autistic, he refused to help care for him. He drank, she said, and the more he drank, the more dangerous he became. "He told me he's going to make me suffer, he's going to make me a victim," she said. On that same night, while her husband was at work, Ms. Musabiyemaria decided she had to leave. The only shelter that would accept her with a baby and a 17-year-old son was an hour away, in Poughkeepsie. They moved there the next morning. With no resources of her own, Ms. Musabiyemaria sought help from Catholic Charities Archdiocese of New York, one of the agencies supported by The New York Times Neediest Cases Fund. Her first concern was getting a green card without her husband, which she was able to do under the Violence Against Women Act; her second was finding a home. For a year and a half, the family of three lived in transitional housing that she affectionately called their "freedom apartment" before moving this week to Section 8 housing. Between Social Security, child support and food stamps, the family barely make ends meet, and Ms. Musabiyemaria struggles to find work that she can balance with Sam's care. He goes to preschool for five hours a day, and she uses those hours to make phone calls, go to appointments and do the grocery shopping. Outside of those few hours, her life is dictated by Sam's needs. "But he's so sweet," she said, warmly. I used to cry, but now I just enjoy him. Sam has a book filled with pictures of the things he might want - cereal, snacks, juice - and he points to them when he cannot say the words. Ms. Musabiyemaria uses a mirror to teach him about emotions and empathy. "When he cries," she said, "I bring him here to see what a sad face looks like." Joseph is a senior in high school and is focused on college. His teachers love him and his grades are high. He is applying for scholarships in hopes of going to Vassar next year. Ms. Musabiyemaria's next hurdle is getting United States citizenship. She qualifies, but could not afford the $680 application fee. After she was declined twice for a fee waiver, the Neediest Cases Fund provided a grant so that she could file the application. It's a dream, you know? Her voice was heavy but her eyes were bright. Citizenship would allow her to visit Rwanda without the fear of being unable to return home. "Christmas is the time to think about family," she said. I talk to my mom on the phone, and I want to just pull her to me. In the meantime, Ms. Musabiyemaria is studying for her high school equivalency diploma. "I want to be a successful woman," she said. For her, that means helping people. She hopes to work in a nursing home or a hospital. But first and foremost, she wants to see her children succeed. "I can't wait to see my son go to college," she said, glowing.