Remember (a short story)

        Ok so this is a short story to honor the Rwandan Genocide we had to write for English. I decided to post it here to raise awarness about this genocide. 

         It was April first, 1994, just a few days before the massacre started. I was the princess of my family, though I guess my big brother Habimana and my little sister Erica would disagree. My parents, though just providing enough to make us a middle class Tutsis family, spoiled me rotten-- leaving me needing for nothing and asking for everything. I was walking home on April first with Erica and Habimana when I saw all the warning signs that something was amiss. We witnessed huge Hutu crowds saying thing like, “Down with the cockroaches, kill them all.” Their hatred was like a slap to the face. Scared for our lives while not really knowing what was going on, since Habimana was only seventeen, Erica fourteen, and I fifteen, we ran home. There our parents greeted us at the door assuring us that everything was going to be fine since the United Nations was settling a peace treaty now, but they were soon to be proven wrong. This happened when President Juvénal Habyarimana’s plane crashed only five days later.

         My parents, who refused to believe anything was going on, still sent my siblings and myself to school the next morning. As we walked to school we saw such gore, dead bodies everywhere, and heard radios blasted on high volume repeating over and over “Kill all the Tutsis, the cockroaches do not deserve to live.” My brother and sister faces had turned white with fear, and I felt I must have appeared the same, I was shaking so bad. This made us run back home, but as we were running I tripped, turned my ankle to the point of immense pain, and fell behind a large bush just to the left of our home where you could see through the window. Erica and Habimana kept running to the house until they were safely in it, too consumed with fear and panic never noticed my absence. That is when they came. The men in military uniforms came up to the door and asked for my parents’ identity cards. When my father refused to give them the cards that labeled my family as Tutsi, the military men forced their way into my house and made my mother, father, sister, and brother go into the family room. This was right in front of the window that I could see through. At first it seemed as if they were just shouting at each other when one of the five military men pulled out his machete… and at that moment I knew my pampered life was about to change, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  The man pulled back the machete and cut my father’s arm off, after that the rest of the men joined in hacking my father and brother to death while taking turns raping my mother and poor 14 year old sister, until finally killing them too. I cowered beneath my scant shelter unable to watch but unable to block the terrible screams and please- that would remain with me for the rest of my life. Silent tears streamed down my face while I mourned the death of my family, knowing the same fate was most likely destined for me.  Finally night fell upon Rwanda like a thick suffocating blanket. Welcoming all the same for the protection the darkness provided I decided to gamble with fate and risk changing hiding places so I would be able to get some food and water for later on. Much to my dismay, fate was no more on my side this night, than it had been for my family I was caught and taken to what would be the worst two months of my life.

         As I was trying to sneak to the next bush over, I heard voices and then I saw them; two men wearing Hutu supremacy clothing. I tried running, but with my turned ankle they caught me in no time. Talking to each other they debated over keeping me or just killing me now I was shaking in fear as I heard the men, who I later learned to be Sentwali Gibson and Patrick Hidrogo, ultimately decided to keep me as their new toy. At first I was elated; these two men were not going to kill me, I was going to keep my life! But then we got to the house. Oh, that dreaded, pain-filled house. There they took me and raped me again and again and I was not strong enough to fight them, and even if I had been able to there was no escape for me, not outside where all Tutsi were being killed. Finally the men got tired of me and left to sleep, leaving me whimpering in pain and in grief- for my poor family, and for myself. This harsh, brutal arrangement continued for one month. Every day the men would go out and kill more Tutsi and then come home and rape me for hours on end with no regard for my feelings: not even the slightest sign they cared if I had any.

         One day they had a friend come over, I recognized him as one of my neighbors who had always been good to me, Sebahive Hakiuimana. I was filled with hope that this familiar face that would take me away from this pain filled house! Sentwali and Patrick ushered him into the dining area and they discussed my fate.

          “I will pay you eight hundred francs for the cockroach,” whispered Sebahive to my captors

       “But we like our toy, how could we replace her?” questioned Patrick with a cruel smile on his face. 

         “Fine, nine hundred francs, and that is my final offer,” Sebahive countered.

         “We will take that deal!” Sentwali almost yelled with glee.

         “Finally I will be safe,” I thought to myself, but the odds were not in my favor once again.

         Sebahive nearly dragged me out of the house and into his car. When I tried to thank my dear neighbor for his help he just slapped and told me to shut up or else he would kill me. When we finally arrived to his home, he took me to the bedroom and raped me again

and again and again. I did not understand; how could this man who had been a friend do this to me? What changed?  After he finally stopped, spat on my and told me I was to become his wife tomorrow or be shot now. I agreed to be his wife, still holding out for the help I thought would come.

         Day, weeks, months passed until on July 5th 1994. My husband fled for the Congo because help had finally come, the Tutsi were saved. Although I was elated by the news, worst followed it. I had become pregnant with Sebahive’s baby, and now I was alone in the world with no family to turn to. I was alone.

         Eight months later my beautiful baby boy, Xavier, was born. I did not resent him like many others who had children because of rape: no, I loved him with all I was worth because now he was my only family, my anchor to the world. Xavier and I were taken in by a nice old woman who helped us get back on our feet. She helped me get a job so I could buy a house, food, and clothing for Xavier and I, and sent Xavier to primary school. I am not the same woman I was before because I changed, I have a new outlook on life. I wrote this testimony to honor those that died in the Rwandan Genocide and so it will never be forgotten.