LETTERS OF DEATH

THE PROMISE STILL STANDS

“My love for you, Melanie,” — you can’t imagine the joy and relief I felt when I saw your handwriting again, how my body tingled as if tickled by an unseen hand, the way prisoners who haven’t seen me in a long time looked on in silence while my laughter filled the room. Because in that moment, laughter alone could express the life I’m living now.

You told me my last letter lifted your spirits; well, your letter strengthened my hope. Now my heart whispers, “One day, I will see you again.” Before I say anything else, let me thank you deeply for still loving me — I never doubt it. But my beautiful one, days come and go, each with its own twists.

Let me share some news with you. As I write about my longing for you, this sheet of paper they gave me could hold only one letter if that’s all I wrote. Although the news isn’t good, I can’t hide anything from you. The other day, my mother came to visit me. She wasn’t alone; she was with my sister. You know how warmly I received them — they are my only family. But sadness clung to them, as it has ever since I was imprisoned.

We talked, but they disappointed me. They reminded me of how I loved you against their wishes, bringing up again that girl they wanted me to marry — her name is Mahoro. Normally, such things wouldn’t bother me because you and I already fought and won that battle. But what hurt me deeply was when they called you “a troublemaker” and asked me to stay away from you. I couldn’t take it. I told them if that was why they came, they should never visit me again.

Before leaving, my sister gave me a letter from Mahoro. I didn’t even feel the urge to read it — I tore it apart right in front of them. I couldn’t stain my eyes with it, especially after having just read yours. They left unhappy; I was left sad. That visit ended up being useless.

I hope this news doesn’t discourage your love for me, because this is a fight we’ve fought for years and will win. What my mother said made me wonder if my family might have a hand in our imprisonment — maybe they wanted you to take the blame. But then I remembered that my mother has a human heart, and you’ve never wronged her, so why would she wish for you to be in prison? I see no benefit for her in that, so I decided not to suspect her.

Let me change the subject — and talk to you. Don’t worry: when I get out of here, I will care for you as much as you’ve cared for me. I’ve already started learning to play guitar so I can surprise you when we’re both free. I’m also practicing my voice so I can sing to you. You too could learn a trade — it helps keep your mind busy so you don’t fall into sadness or despair, and you gain knowledge along the way. Whatever you do, never forget how much I love you.

Since you’ve committed to reading my letters, prepare yourself — they will be coming one after another. My friend Ruzirampuhwe promised to deliver them to you and wait for your reply, then bring it back to me. He’ll be the bird that carries the papers holding our sorrow and longing. I pray blessings for him because what he’s doing for us is rare, and I believe the Lord of love will reward him greatly.

Forgive me if I can’t promise to always eat well — sometimes my thoughts overtake me, and I wonder why my body and soul are imprisoned, making even sweet things taste bitter. Still, I will try so I don’t sadden you when we meet again in… love. (Oops, I meant in court.)

Tomorrow, I’ll meet my lawyer and ask him to work with yours so they can find the person who betrayed us. I’ll share whatever news I get in my next letter. Stay at peace, my soul; don’t be shaken by these hard times. Hide yourself under the wings of my love. I stretch out my arms — stretch yours too — so we can embrace again, you my rose.

Even though I’m saying goodbye, I’m only pausing, because I know I’ll send you another letter through our messenger. Please, try to eat so we don’t meet in court with you looking thin — that would truly hurt me. I miss giving you my playful cheek taps; now I only do them in my dreams, sometimes hitting the wall instead and waking up laughing.

You asked me to greet my friends for you — to be honest, I’m only now going to look for them. But if you meet any of mine, greet them for me too.

Farewell, my soul.

From the one hopelessly in love with you,

Irasubiza Chance

---

DELIGHT FROM MY LOVER

But really, my love, you’re something else. Instead of dreaming about us playing together, I dream you’re hitting me! You made me feel sad, and in the dream, my cheeks even felt swollen. But don’t worry, darling — I was only playing, and it felt good to know that even in dreams, we’re together.

When I read your last letter, I wondered, “Will his sweet words ever run out?” You should have seen how I smiled when I read that you stretched out your arms asking for a hug — well, here I am stretching mine too. Hug, hug, hug — a long one. How could I refuse you something so small when I’ve already given you my heart and soul? No, never.

In my joy, I even forgot to greet you — hello, my love, are you well? I hope you’re doing fine, better than “just fine” in the Kinyarwanda sense. My friends here also greet you. I kept re-reading your letter to be sure I wasn’t imagining the part where you said you’re learning guitar.

Let me give you a challenge — in all the songs you learn, never forget to master the one I love most, so you can play it for me when we’re free. But protect your fingers — I hear guitar is tough. I take your advice seriously, my dear, so I too will look for a trade to learn here in prison. It would be best if you chose one for me yourself; I’ll wait for your suggestion.

I’ve already asked my lawyer to meet yours so they can work together on preparing our case. It’s been months now — though they say it’s only thirty days — but only nine remain before we stand in court for the false charge they put on us. I trust the court’s wisdom will see we are innocent and set us free.

My love, forgive me for asking this, but if possible, once we’re out, please promise we will never return to the place where Iraguha’s body was found. It’s my deepest wish — and yours too, I’m sure.

I haven’t forgotten the battle we fought when our families tried to separate us, but don’t let that make you hate your mother or sister. When we leave here, we’ll explain to them, and I believe they’ll understand — just like they once did — and then we can marry. Do you remember when your mother and sister came to our wedding, but my parents refused? At least your family visited you; mine turned their backs on me, even cutting me off from my own cousins.

When I sit here in prison, I wonder how deep my parents’ hatred goes, but nothing will change the great love we’ve shared all these years. I believe love will eventually soften them and make them welcome you as their own.

The other day I was happy — my brother came to visit me. He told me that was the day they removed Iraguha’s mourning cloth. You know he was Iraguha’s close friend. I was glad to see that at least he trusts us and doesn’t accuse us of killing his friend. He even said he’d testify in court, because he met you before Iraguha died and before those who betrayed us framed us.

My brother also reminded me how much Iraguha loved me and how upset he was when I left him for you. I don’t know if following my heart was the mistake — but I couldn’t ignore my great love for you in exchange for the wealth in Iraguha’s family. My brother even suggested that maybe Iraguha took his own life, and his family, unable to explain it, blamed us instead. He has no proof, but who knows — we can tell our lawyers, and it might help.

I’m confident the court will see our innocence, because all the evidence is in our favor. My brother also said that when the next visiting day comes, he’ll visit you too — so be ready.

If you allow me, I’ll take a moment to silently honor Iraguha — but for now, I’ll say goodbye. I don’t know if you’ll be able to write to me before we meet in court, but if you can’t, please come strong and stand with me in calling on our ancestors and the God of Rwanda — who spends the day elsewhere but returns to rest in our hearts — to be with us during the trial.

But if you do get the chance to write before then, I’ll be overjoyed. I stretch out the arms of my heart, waiting for yours, so we can embrace. And don’t be lonely — make friends. I know you’re not naturally talkative, but I can’t believe all this time you haven’t made even one friend. Keep practicing your guitar. I’m holding strong and believe you are too, though lately I’ve been losing weight — the food here doesn’t agree with me. But don’t worry, I’m not sick.

I’m writing this lying in the bed I sleep in, hiding so other inmates won’t see me, in case this news reaches the prison warden. Let me close here, wishing you joy. I’m counting the few nights left until I can see you again.

It’s me, the one who gave you her soul to live in,

Nyenyeri Melanie