On a sun-warmed ridge at the edge of Kigali, Rwanda, where the paved road gives way to red clay and goats roam between kitchen gardens, pastor Kamanzi folds his hands beside a chipped water tank and listens. From the living room, ten voices in low unison sing “Yesu Ni Wanjye,” barely louder than the creaking of banana leaves in the wind. No drums thump. No amplifiers hum. There are just whispers, because anything louder invites trouble.
Kamanzi’s house is solid but plain: glazed brick, iron windows, tiled floors swept clean that morning. I have also swept clean this story for pastors’ safety. Due to the autocratic political environment in Rwanda and personal risk to church leaders involved in advocacy, I have at times withheld or changed names, such as Kamanzi’s, and identifying details, such as church locations. I cross-verified all reported statements and facts with publicly accessible documentation and human rights organizations.
Inside the 2,180-square-foot house, a single bulb swings overhead. A plastic table holds an open Kinyarwanda Bible, a bowl of sugar cubes, and an envelope stamped “Loan Installment Due.” A threadbare curtain, sewn from three different fabrics, divides the room in two. Behind it, a mosquito net hangs limp above the bunk bed where Kamanzi’s sons sleep.
Kamanzi built his church from nothing, selling his old house, taking loans, laying tiles, installing toilets, even muffling the ceilings with foam. He thought he had followed every rule the Rwanda Governance Board (RGB) has thrown at his church since 2018. Yet in March, an anonymous complaint about noise sealed its gates. “They shut us down despite the evidence of all the improvements we’ve made,” Kamanzi said, his eyes darting to the window. “Now we worship here in shadows, praying no one reports us again.”
Kamanzi’s story echoes across Rwanda, where the government’s blanket regulations, meant to curb rogue preachers and ensure safety, push thousands of churches into hiding. The RGB enforces Law No. 72/2018 and its 2025 updates, demanding theological degrees, soundproof buildings, parking lots, and hefty fees from every pastor and branch. Officials hail these measures as protections against exploitation. Critics call them a chokehold on faith.
As of August 2024, the inspections had hit 14,000 prayer houses, closing 9,800 for noncompliance with building codes, hygiene regulations, and noise rules. By June 2025, over 7,700 remained shuttered, unable to reopen due to stricter 2025 regulations and leaders scrambling or going underground.
President Paul Kagame drives this crackdown, viewing unchecked churches as manipulative and accusing some of “squeezing money” from the poor. In a 2024 speech, he doubled down on exploitation concerns: “These unscrupulous people who use religion and churches to manipulate and fleece people of their money and other things, will force us to introduce a tax.”
Kagame’s vision aligns with Rwanda’s post-genocide rebuilding, prioritizing order over unchecked growth. The 1994 genocide by Hutu extremists killed 800,000 people in just 100 days, targeting mostly the Tutsi ethnic group but also some moderate Hutu and Twa people. That trauma continues to shape how Rwandans understand community, politics, and faith.
The RGB, under CEO Doris Uwicyeza Picard as of March, rolls out these church restrictions through meetings and online systems. Summarizing a March 21 consultation session with Picard and church leaders, the RGB promised efficiency: “RGB will put in place all means through online system that will facilitate Faith Based Organizations to get services related to getting all required documents including registration and compliance certificates.”
The board’s former CEO, Usta Kaitesi, who oversaw earlier enforcements, emphasized accountability in 2024. In a post by Christian Daily, she defended the reforms: “There should be an intentional willingness to comply with the law.” She argued the initial requirements applied only to senior clergy, but the 2025 updates extended to all leaders.
Many churches, like pastor Kamanzi’s, had made the necessary adjustments. But the March regulation No. 01/2025 enacted by the Rwanda Governance Board (RGB) now required all church branches to secure 1,200 hours of theological training (roughly one year of study) for every pastor and branch leader, at least 1,000 supporting signatures from local residents, and a fee of 2,000,000 Rwandan francs (approximately $1,400 USD) to register each new church or mosque.
Kamanzi said the abruptness of these changes felt the most suffocating. “The new requirements were introduced with no transition period for existing branch pastors to obtain the required education,” he explained.
Previously, such qualifications applied only to leaders who oversaw several congregations, not to those tending a single flock. For many churches, especially rural or newly compliant ones, the goalposts moved just when they thought they had finished the changes.
Buildings must prove exclusive worship use, meet district codes, and include soundproofing, even in remote areas with no neighbors. Foreign theology degrees need equivalence certificates. RGB officials frame this as safeguarding believers, stating in the March meeting summary that regulations will “enhance good leadership” and promote “transparency and accountability in Faith Based Organizations.”
These rules apply uniformly, whether a church sits in Kigali’s bustling neighborhoods or on a remote hillside with no neighbors to disturb. This one-size-fits-all approach, while aimed at standardization, often ignores the realities of rural congregations, pushing them toward closure or secrecy.
Some pastors cheer these changes, seeing them as a cleanup of charlatans. Laurent Mbanda, Anglican archbishop of Rwanda, urged compliance: “If we had taken the requirements more seriously and taken responsibility, we would have made significant progress in complying with the standards.” Esron Maniragaba, president of the Evangelical Free Church of Rwanda, welcomes infrastructure upgrades: “Government efforts to have churches build better structures are welcome to all of us.”
Fred Kayitare, pastor at Harvesters Church in Kigali, embodies this support. After planting his church without formal training, he pursued a theology degree and sent four others from his congregation for theological training. Kayitare “totally agreed” with the theological training requirements and said, “I am the living example. I planted a church before I attended theological college. I can witness the change and transformation I acquired from school. I’m another person now. And everyone at our church who knew me before can witness that.”
Recent graduations highlight compliance efforts. On August 2, 100 students from Africa College of Theology (ACT) in Kigali earned degrees in theology and leadership, “pledging to be responsible, inspiring religious leaders,” according to AllAfrica. A week later, Bible Communication Center Rwanda celebrated its 11th graduation, equipping more pastors with accredited training. In February, 46 leaders graduated with global diplomas from a partnership with Erskine Theological Seminary, focusing on practical ministry skills. These ceremonies show churches adapting, with ACT alone training hundreds since 2018 to meet RGB demands.
Yet opposition swells. Church leaders say the regulations don’t feel like protection. They feel like punishment.
Tomorrow, AJ Johnson will provide the second part in this series showing how Rwandan leaders and overseas communities are pushing back.
