Writing Assignment 8

Remember My Country

A plane fell from the sky
And all fell with it.
It was then that I entered Hell,
Afraid of never escaping
Waiting
Shaking
Crying…
The stench of bodies,
The loss
The fear.
I will never be able to forget.
My country,
Refrain from hatred.
And you, who reads this,
Remember Rwanda.
Remember
Those who suffered.
Those who killed.
Those who died.
Remember me, my family,
My country.

“On this night of April 6th 1994, my Hutu friends, I have terrible news. Our President Juvénal Habyarimana and the President of Burundi, Cyprien Ntaryamira, were shot down in a plane to Kigali. Today, the peace talks come to an end, and you know as well as I do that we must punish the cockroaches who are responsible for these deaths. It is now that you must cut the tall trees. I repeat, cut the tall trees!” I still remember the moment these words were spoken on the Radio Mille Collines, when the expression on my mother’s face was the most troubled I had ever seen it. I sat in the living room of our small house in Kigali with my mother, father, and sister, all of us crowded around our small radio.

“What does he mean by cut the tall trees, mama?” I remember my sister saying. My mother did not answer. She only gave my father a worried look. But three violent pounds on our door interrupted any chance to exchange words.

“Military! Open the door!” Pounding again. My mother instantly drew my sister and I closer to her.

“You must get out now!” said my father in a harsh whisper, “Tom, go with your mother and sister. Hide in the bushes out back. Do not make a sound! Go now, take anything of value that you can!” My mother frantically ran to her bedroom to collect her jewelry as the pounding on our door continued. I can still remember the voice, the sound of the fist banging on the wood, haunting.

After embracing my father and taking the keys to our car, my mother grabbed my hand and I, my sisters, as we escaped through the back door and into the brush that separated our yard from our neighbor’s. We huddled together, shaking, straining our ears to hear what was happening inside. I glanced toward our neighbor’s yard, only to see the house in flames. Bloody, motionless bodies lay on the ground. My mother gasped and shielded my eyes toward her chest as I began to weep.

It was then that we heard the shouting from the house—the muffled yells of my father and the military man. It ended with a gunshot. A gunshot that pierced my heart, and still leaves a wound. My mother clamped her hand to her mouth as the shock paralyzed her. It only took a few minutes for the men to drive away in their military truck. Soon, our own house was enveloped in an angry blaze, and we knew there was no helping him. My mother wept and wept, the tears flowing as a stream, and I wept with her. At the age of thirteen, I did not know of anything I could do but embrace her, even in my own pain. How do you find comfort when someone so special has been lost?

“You there!” The fear struck me as it rarely has before, “Come out from there!” A member of the Hutu militia had found us. “Come out, you cockroaches!”

“Please sir,” replied my mother as she wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood up, “It is only I and my children.” He pointed the gun at us threateningly. “We will leave, I promise, if you only let us take our car. We will go.”

“And what makes you think I will let you do that?” The smirk on his face and the way he looked at my mother disgusted me.

“Because I have all this to give you.” My mother pulled jewelry out of her pocket, and stretched her hand out toward him. “It is real silver and gold. Please, take it. And we will leave.”

His eyes lit up the way they do when greed takes over. “Alright…I suppose you can go. Just go quickly! And never come back!”

“Thank you. Thank you, sir. Come quickly, children!” My mother hurried us to our car, and I was fearful of the soldier changing his mind. But he did not. We drove toward the center of Kigali, as roadblocks prevented us from leaving the city. It is still difficult for me to describe what I saw on those death-ridden roads. I can remember the stench, the blood, the upturned cars, the fiery houses. My mother began to speak as tears ran down her pale cheeks, “I am sorry. Don’t look and don’t worry. We will find a place where we can sleep, and then I will take you to your father’s friend, Paul. He may be able to help us.” My mother stared off down the street, still as a stone, cheeks damp, but no expression. I sat in a daze, holding my sister’s hand, for what must have been about twenty minutes. My mother pulled the car into a seemingly secluded garage where we were to sleep for the remainder of the night. My sleep was restless for hours, but I eventually drifted off, my mother and sister lying next to me…

I thought I heard the pounds of a fist against our wooden door again, but I awoke only to remember the happenings of the night before, and to see a young man banging against the window of our car. He suddenly broke the window and opened the door, waving a bloodstained machete in the air. My screams woke my mother and sister, and my mother frantically got out of the car in her determination to protect us. The colorful shirt the young man wore made it clear that he was a member of the Interhamwe, the ones that we knew to fear the most.

He grabbed my arm, squeezing it to the point where I thought it would burst, and as I cringed at the thought of his machete coming down upon me, he yelled that we must all follow him onto the street. There were others with him that we could see now, and we knew there was no way of resisting them. We followed him to the street, only to see a large group of armed members of the Interhamwe surrounding other Tutsis that were lined up against a wall. The look of utter fear on their faces was all too familiar, and I could not help but stare at the ground, as I could not bring myself to look into their eyes.

My mother, sister, and I were thrust upon the wall, and my sister began to cry at the pain of her fall. As I went to comfort her, a member of the Interhamwe pushed my mother up against the wall and brought a machete to her neck, causing my sister to sob even louder. It was then that I closed my eyes, ready for them to take my mother and my sister, ready for them to take me.