The Rain in April

Rays of Hope

Chapter 20

DAY 3

Father Donald was facing Mukamutara who was holding on to her son, Habimana who sat next to her as the lorry rode over a rocky path. He relaxed his back on the wall of the lorry; an old man sat by him, hands folded, they were all without hope. The lorry was filled up with different people many of whom were captured. He came to realize that when he was forced into the lorry. What awaited them he could not say? He looked up and tried to view the sky from his angle, the sun was already up and it made their lorry cast a shadow on the road.

“How are you feeling?” Mukamutara asked, her face showing signs of concern. Father Donald smiled and nodded. He looked at her and wondered how it felt, to lose someone very close to you and yet come to terms with it. He was a priest and he had seen people's lives change over the course of time; yes Mukamutara’s life changed but it made her stronger, stronger than she ever felt. She made a decision that cowards would not make, she saw the need for her people to help stop this virus called g******e from spreading. But in real sense, Mukamutara wasn’t doing fine, she had allowed fate to play its own path but decided to change it, of course that moment, at the room where Father Donald was locked up; she had decided to do for once what she felt was right for her and her son. Sitting there, her son’s head on her lap, Mukamutara reflected on the past three days, how it had been; the strife and the struggle to survive. Just three days and she had done things she wasn’t proud of, she killed her husband, what a shame it was, she knew how hard it was going to be, keeping it away from her son. She smiled as she remembered her wedding day; it was a quiet one with few friends but it was a memorable day in her life.

Michael worked as a truck driver for a company in Nyanza and earned little so they couldn’t throw a large party. He was sweet and caring despite the fact he was always frustrated at work, working double shifts just to earn more money to keep his young family. When she was little, Mukamutara had always dreamed of marrying someone wealthy but that idea changed when she met Michael, she saw and took love above every other material thing but that love wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough to prevent her from making the mistake she made. Now it came down to the day it all started; they had gone to work that morning only to be told that the company was not opening due to an incident. It wasn’t until they were on their way home that two women inside the bus they boarded started discussing the attack on the President. The women who she had suspected to be Hutu had immediately jumped into the conclusion that the Tutsis were responsible for the attack, she blamed it on their rush to gain back power and control; they also referred to the killing of the Burundi President by a Tutsi officer as an evidence establishing the fact the Tutsis could not be trusted. News of some angry mob engaged in a fight which led to the death of few people majorly Tutsis caused her to persuade her husband into traveling with her to her village, Rusatira, some kilometers outside Nyanza. He agreed and together with their son, they boarded a bus to Rusatira, the last bus that left Nyanza before the roadblocks and militias. They had arrived Rusatira that evening only to be greeted with scorn.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” her sister said with disappointment in her tone.

“Why do you say such a thing?” she had asked, looking perplexed.

“The President is dead and generally, it is believed that the RPF who are mostly Tutsis are the one behind it,” her sister said, sounding sure.

“Very soon, the Hutu will turn against the Tutsi, just as the case has always been and we don’t want to be part of it.”

Mukamutara had looked at her sister, confused; she was regarded as an outsider just because she was married to a Tutsi. She could count so many women from her tribe who were married to Tutsis, but the difference was that those women never returned with their husbands and the few that did were not allowed into the village. How stupid she had been, sitting at the back of the lorry, Mukamutara now regretted ever agreeing with her sister to the lure that got her husband killed, the plan that led to her poisoning her husband. Michael had died in his sleep, close to her; she was awake all night, listening to his breathing until she heard them no more. She came to terms with it, believed that his death was worth it but that belief didn’t stand much longer. It was shaken by the man who now sat across her. She had been called by one of the chiefs to look after him few hours after he was brought in by some men. It was through her interaction with him that she understood what he really believed in. He opened her eyes to see many possibilities, most of which she chose to ignore at first and that morning when he had asked her if she trusted her own people, she gave it a thought, she would have let it slide but not after she overheard the chiefs telling her sister that she could be a problem. She had retraced her steps and did what she thought was right, what she felt was salvation. The lorry slowed down and she guessed they were close to their destination. Habimana sat up and so did everyone who were in the lorry prompting the man with a gun guarding them to stand up, he pointed the gun at them and ordered them to get down. They were matched into a small camp with few huts before being filed on a single line. One by one, they separated the females from the males before locking them up in separate huts.

“You are nether a Hutu or a Tutsi, how come you are locked up with us?” one of the two men, a short dark tiny man asked Father Donald after hours of being locked up together inside a hut. Father Donald looked up at the man in the semi dark hut; he guessed that the man didn’t know who he was because nothing in him identified him as a priest.

“I am a priest,” he said in a cold tone.

“I knew it, just that I was wondering how a white priest could be caught up in this crisis,” another man who was tall and lanky said.

Father Donald shook his head and gave a weak smile; he stretched his hands sideway and pulled Habimana who was seated next to him on the floor closer.

“Are you married? Because I saw that boy earlier with a woman inside the lorry; I thought priests don’t marry,” The first person, a short dark man said.

Father Donald smiled and looked at Habimana;

“I am not married nor am I allowed to. Let’s just say…I am his uncle.”

The men laughed but in low tones before the short dark man cleared his throat.

“So Father, how did you end up here?” he asked.

There was a minute of silence before Father Donald spoke up;

“I didn’t choose the path I now tread. It doesn’t matter why I’m here or what wrong I have committed, what matters is what we will do when we leave here.”

“You don’t seem to understand, Father, there is no after here, we all die in this place,” The short dark man said, leaning forward towards the priest.

“What if the canter plays around and we don’t die? What if we find a way to escape? Do we go back preaching hatred, promoting this very violence that has cut deep into our systems?” Father Donald asked.

“I am a Hutu, but still seated among you,” the tall lanky man said as all eyes turned towards his direction.

“Why am I here? It’s because I believe in something far stronger than tribe and beliefs,” the man nodded his head as he spoke.

“None of my family is married nor related to a Tutsi or the Twas, but I’m here all because I didn’t pick up arms against my Tutsi brothers,” the man continued as everyone listened calmly.

“So you admit the Tutsis were not responsible for the attack?” the short man asked.

“I agree with nothing,” The man answered almost immediately.

“The killings, they are not as a result of our ultimate actions, they are as a result of what our fathers did; how they carried and distinguished themselves. This problem has started long ago even before we were born.” The tall man’s face narrowed; he looked at Habimana as he talked.

“The Hutus and Tutsis have always been at war yet they tried to maintain common ground, a name for themselves, Rwanda.”

Father Donald nodded in agreement with what the man said, this was the first time he would hear a Hutu talk in that manner, even the Twas dared not to do so.

“Maybe this is it, the last straw that would break the camel’s back.” The tall man stood up in the almost dark room, his hands clenched into a fist as he took his words one after the other.

“Maybe this killing would bring an end to this long fought war.”

“I find you quite reasonable my friend, despite the mistakes on our sides, we are all one and it shouldn’t matter who sits there as the President,” the short man said, extending his right hand to the tall man, the two men shook hands and smiled at each other.

Father Donald watched the two men, this was what the country should be like, maybe these killings were a blessing in disguise just as the tall man had said. Maybe in years to come, this country would look back at this dreadful period and appreciate its result, unity. He looked up and for some time admired the rays of the setting sun finding its way into the hut, there was hope, hope for the country, the rays of hope.

“Older men declare war but it is the youths that must fight and die.”

HERBERT HOOVER.