The Rain in April

The end of the beginning

Chapter 2

Patrick sat beside his mother on one of the benches in the church; he kept on looking back at his father who always sat at the back of the church, evidently uneasy on his seat. There were few people in attendance and Patrick suspected that the low turnout was due to the news they heard that morning.

“We shouldn’t be afraid, we should trust in God and God alone,” the dark Reverend Father said. The Reverend Father was tall and had grey hair with grey beards scattered roughly on his lower jaw. Patrick didn’t know the name of the priest; the man had only been in the village for a few months, unlike the previous priest, Father Donald, who was a white man. Father Donald was popular amongst the locals in the village; he was more open and accommodating unlike this one who kept to himself and hated to interact with people. Although many people liked the new Priest, Patrick found the man to be irritating and tough. One thing his father had loved about Father Donald was that he preached against tribalism. Upholding unity and love among the people was what the priest had majorly dealt with through out his short stay at the village. He was the reason the Hutus and the Tutsis in the village lived in peace.

“Something big is coming. Due to the evils of some men innocent souls would pay for the stupidity and ignorance of some miscreants.”

Patrick was getting tired of the sermon; it was boring to him, unlike Father Donald’s sermon, which was always interesting, and his stories about the other side of the world where everybody looked white like him.

“Mother, I have to go home,” Patrick whispered, rising up to his feet.

“Patrick, wait,” his mother shouted to stop him but stopped when she realized she was causing a scene. Patrick watched as his father’s bloodshot eyes followed him out of the church. This wasn’t the first time Patrick had left the church during the new Father’s sermon. The first time it happened, few weeks after the Father had arrived, his father had thought nothing of it, but after the incidence had repeated itself on several occasions, his father had warned him but Patrick found no use of the Father’s sermons. He believed the Reverend Father was a hypocrite, someone who had nothing to say other than to insult people. Instead of promoting unity, the Father had one way or the other heaped blames, but he was the Reverend Father and his father demanded that Patrick should respect him. Once he had been made to weed round the church compound just because he had been absent from the evening mass. He had weeded the compound under the watchful eyes of the priest who didn’t allow him to rest, calling him back each time to weed any spot he was not satisfied with.

Now he knew he was going to face a similar punishment as his father’s bloodshot eyes were still following him.

“Listen to me ye people of cosmic ignorance, behold I have not come to bring peace, but I have come to turn fathers against their sons.”

Patrick stopped. He turned and looked at the priest who was looking at him, the priest’s grey eyebrows coming together to form a furrow.

“And to turn the sons against their fathers.” The priest smiled wickedly as he spoke.

Patrick felt his heart beat faster.

“The mothers against their daughters and the daughters against their mothers,” the priest said maintaining his gaze at Patrick.

Patrick ran out of the church and was closely followed by his father.

“Patrick…. Patrick,” he barked, pulling him by the shoulder. Patrick turned and stared into his father’s red eyes.

“I can’t…. I just can’t,” he said with clouds of tears forming round his eyes.

“You will, until you learn to respect the Holy Father, you will weed the church tomorrow.” He turned and walked back into the church.

That night, little was said at dinner. His mother complained about a Hutu woman she met earlier at the market, the woman had called her a traitor for marrying a Tutsi. This wasn’t the first time Uwimana had been faced with such insults.

“What do you think of the news this morning?” She asked, clearing the plates from the table. She was sure her husband wasn’t going to talk about it.

“Do you think it was the Rwanda Patriotic Force, the RPF?”

Her husband looked at her; he shook his head and sat in one of the dirty armed chairs in the sitting room.

“Talk to me Frank.” She insisted, walking over to him.

“What do you want to know woman?” Frank snapped in immediately.

“You and I were here when it all started, how you would expect me to know those responsible?” His voice was raised.

“I’m not asking you to tell me those responsible for the attack, I’m just asking for the opinion of my husband.” Uwimana said in a quiet and calm tone. Frank looked her up and down. He had been married to her for seventeen years and he knew she deserved more than he had offered her. She had left her home and family to be with him despite knowing the challenges their marriage would bring. He had to treat her in a better way. She stood up and made to leave.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just that nothing makes sense.” He stood up and held her hands.

“I don’t know what to say about the death of the President, it’s too early to jump into conclusions.” He looked straight into her eyes and pulled her gently towards himself.

“What I know and what I’m sure of is that you and the kids are safe, I will ensure that with my life.” He kissed her on the forehead before hugging her. She knew he meant it; she had been with him for a long time to realize when her husband told a truth. Frank had accepted the Catholic Church faith after they got married. He had abandoned the rift between the Tutsis and the church all because he wanted to be with her, because he believed in the unity many people had termed impossible.

They were still in each other’s embrace when someone knocked on the door.

Patrick could not sleep, he had been thinking about the incident all along, the President had been killed and the possibility of a misunderstanding was eminent. This he had overheard from a group of people after the evening mass that day. He had jumped out of bed when he heard the knock on the door. Usually, no one knocked on the door after dinner and hearing this one at this time of uncertainty was alarming. He had been expecting something unusual to happen. After waiting a few seconds, he heard the door c***k open. He pressed his ears against his bedroom door but he couldn’t hear anything. He had waited for the door to slam shut again before he tiptoed to the sitting room.

“What should we do? We have to start parking up our things.”

“And go where?” his father’s hushed voice asked.

“You heard the man; the Hutus are already blaming the Tutsis for the attack on the President, our village is a Tutsi dominated village, it would be a target.” His mother had enlightened.

“All these are rumors; we don’t do anything until tomorrow morning, the peace agreement signed by the President between the Hutus and the Tutsis is still in progress.” His father reassured.

Patrick walked back into his room. What if his father was wrong? What if they all woke up tomorrow morning to find themselves surrounded by the Hutus? He had heard stories about the killings and the history between the two tribes. He lay on his bed and closed his eyes; he muttered a few words of prayers hoping morning would come soon.

“What a cruel thing is war…to fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors.”

ROBERT E. LEE