The Rain in April

White Cassock

Chapter 3

DAY 1

Father Donald stood still by the window of his office. He watched the sun rise above the crucifix which was high above the roof of the St. Christopher Catholic Church, Nyanza. He had just finished his morning prayers inside the church and had entered his office to watch the rising sun. He had taken up the habit of watching the sun rise since he left Kigali for Nyanza, a city in the southern province of the country. He found it hard to leave Kigali but he knew it would take a lot of time for him to get over Kigali and its people. He had been moved to a bigger church located right in the heart of the city. He had since then decided to take on the habit of watching the sun rise as a constant reminder of the circles of life. He left his parents in America for a missionary school in France after which he was deployed to Africa, first in Nigeria, then to Rwanda. Since Father Donald’s arrival to Rwanda, he had only been able to travel home to America once. The circles as they went throughout his life as a priest. He had met a lot of people, people he wished he could spend the rest of his life with, but life wasn’t meant to be like that, most especially for people like him. He had spent a little time with those people but one thing he was happy about was the impact he made in their lives, he always tried his best to build people for the work of God.

Father Donald sat at his desk with his eyes buried under his large eye glasses thinking about the Church. He tried to recollect what had happened the other day. It was exactly by this time in the morning. He had finished his morning prayers and was on his way into his office when Sentwali, a young priest ran up to him.

“Father, there is a problem; you need to listen to the news now.”

The two of them immediately run into his office where he had switched on the medium-sized-table radio on top of a wooden locker beside the desk. He had been shocked after hearing the news. The President had been killed. He knew what was coming next, the blaming war, one tribe pushing the blame on the other when they could have co-operatively flushed out the perpetuators of the evil act. He stood up from his desk and sat on the wooden chair behind it. He looked around his office, apart from the desk and chair that occupied a larger part of the room; there was a small wooden locker on top of which lay a medium sized radio. On the other side of his desk were two chairs meant for his visitors, he had been told that the office was previously occupied by Father White, who returned to the United States four years ago, since then, no one had occupied the office. Since his arrival in Rwanda, Father Donald had done nothing but preached unity and peace, now, all that was about to crumble. He remembered being visited yesterday by some Hutu chiefs who had blamed the Tutsis for the death of the President. He tried to wave their thoughts into another direction, bringing up ideas that took the Tutsis out of the picture but failed, they told him they had only come to him because the Church had supported them in the past. They maintained their stand, claiming they were sure the Tutsis committed the act. He still tried to persuade them but it was to no avail. He looked at the small frame on his desk and smiled, inside the frame was a black and white picture of him. The picture was taken in France after he had completed his first missionary course, he was young then, perfect hair all curled up to the left hand side of his head, no beards at all, not now, his black hair had completely been replaced by grey hair and shaving his beards was now like taking his bath. He leaned forward and picked up the frame, the picture reminded him of his youthful and active years. He was the tallest student in his class that year. He placed the frame gently on the desk, stood up and walked towards where the radio was, a plastic rosary was on top of it. He switched on the radio, took the rosary and went back to his seat.

“Who else can we blame other than the Rwandan Patriotic Force, the Tutsis who are hell bent on destroying the peace deal signed by the President?” came a voice he recognized from the radio. It was the voice of one of the Hutu Chiefs who visited him yesterday.

He walked over to the radio and switched it off. For no reason he was sure the RPF did not carry out the attack on the President. To him, they had no reason whatsoever to stage an attack on the President after a peace deal had already been signed. The deal favored the Tutsis because they could now live in big cities without being harassed or challenged. He looked at the white plastic rosary he was holding and began to reflect on the issue, of the two tribes, which one had profited more from the deal.

Both, in terms of a general consideration, but the Tutsis in a narrow and precise view, he said to himself.

Which side did not profit and why? He asked again, running his right hand through his hairs.

That question wasn’t a difficult one to answer. It was a general fact that some Hutus were not happy after the peace deal was signed, some saw it as a means devised by the Tutsis and those backing them to regain power in the country. Something they, that is, the Hutus had been enjoying since independence even though it came with a price.

But could that have led the Hutus into killing their President? He asked himself before dismissing the idea, right now, to him; no one could ascertain those who had carried out the act, an act of war.

He was still in his thought when a woman ran into the church, he watched her from the window in his office. From the way she ran, he suspected something was wrong. He was still puzzled about the way the woman ran into the church when he heard a loud hurried knock on his office door. He opened it and Sentwali rushed in breathing hard.

“What is wrong?” he asked, trying to hold the young priest on his feet.

“Sir… There is a riot in the main streets.”

Father Donald looked outside through the window and saw many people running into the church.

“We need to get to the church.” He ran out of his office followed closely by Sentwali. The church was almost filled with people when Father Donald and the young priest arrived. Sentwali shut the door as Father Donald made to address the people in the church.

“Father, you can’t send us out there.” A woman said, stepping out of the crowd of people.

The real test humanity faces is sincerity to itself

OGUINE SOMTOCHUKWU