Mwamba's PleaA Story by John Alexander McFadyen This is a short fiction based on facts about the terrible events that took place over 100 bloody days from April to July 1994 in Rwanda. Mwamba’s Plea (The Bone of Contention) He saw his neighbour approaching and knew he should open the door. As he rose he felt very weary; things had been hard enough before the war had broken out but life now was not only tough but also doubly dangerous for everyone. He had known Lutalo for two and a half decades. They had played in the bush together as youngsters pretending to be brave hunters tracking lions. They attended school together and as teenagers they had explored life, straying into things they should not have, such as stealing beer from their fathers supplies and drinking it down by the river. As young men they had worked together on one another’s homes to improve their living conditions. New roofs and balconies were added and gardens fenced off. They had volunteered to dig the village well together and the drainage ditch using only shovels. They had persuaded Hondo and Bomani to join them. Still it was hard sweat but they triumphed in their effort and when they drew the first water from the well they celebrated a little too hard that night on the beer and scotch donated by the grateful village Burgomaster. Many an evening they had sat on one another’s balconies playing igisoro and drinking cheap scotch as they moved the beans from one hole to another strategically across the wooden board in an effort to capture one another’s pieces. They spent many an hour discussing politics, the price of grain, the latest football results and women. From Mwamba’s balcony they had a great view of the road down which the village girls would walk to go to fetch clean water from the well he helped to dig. They wolf whistled at the young single women as they passed and discussed the respective merits of each. Mwamba recalled their two favourites, Muteteli who was far from, as her name suggested, dainty and Netanva who was probably the most sought after young woman in the village as not only was she beautiful but she had a wealthy father. Both had married since as had he. Uwimana was no ‘daughter of God’ but when she fell pregnant following a six month courtship, after the traditional visits between families to negotiate the bride price, he had managed to pay six packs of beer, a cow, a hoe and two spades; the price being lower due to Uwimana’s condition. Her father, Sebabive, a 59 year old village potter and poet, had taken to his new son-in-law from the start. Mwamba had status in the community as he was Tutsi. His family owned cattle unlike his neighbours who were mainly Hutus the majority of whom were known as the ‘rubanda rugufi’ or “low people”. They formed 90% of Rwandan society. Many worked on the land, tended cattle or were itinerant labourers, domestic workers, and hawkers selling merchandise in markets and commercial centers. In general, this group lacked formal education and had little social influence. Mwamba was a teacher, part of the rural elite who formed about 5% of Rwandan society and included politicians, clergymen, doctors, civic association directors and important businessmen. They generally had education beyond primary school level and were wealthier than the low people. They enjoyed substantial influence and status at local level. He looked out of the window as Lutalo came down the drive, followed by five others all carrying machetes. He saw them laughing and joking as they sauntered carefree towards his home. He knew each one from playing soccer on the same team as them. Gahili the squat little midfielder, Adofo the tall gangly goalkeeper, Valour and Bomani the wingers and Amatziah the best striker in town. He recalled their last match barely two weeks previous when, as the team’s central defender, he was awarded man of the match. He could not understand how things could have gotten to this. When the genocide started in April it was remarkable for its pace and intensity. The assassination of Juvénal Habyarimana and Cyprien Ntaryamira on the evening of 6 April was the catalyst. The aircraft carrying the Rwandan president and the Burundian president was shot down by a surface to air missile as it prepared to land in Kigali airport. The killing began very quickly after the assassination. The genocide was led by the Interahamwe whose leader, Robert Kajuga, was in fact a Tutsi. The Interahamwe was formed by groups of young people of the National Republican Movement for Democracy and Development Party. The killings were carried out neighbour against neighbour, oddly without hatred but with some incomprehensible, misguided acceptance that it had to be done. Mwamba and Lutalo had been discussing the causes of the conflict only last week sitting on Lutalo’s balcony as his wife and daughters watched TV inside. They concluded that the difference between their two groups was that the Hutu, the Bantu-speaking farmers, lived there first but were conquered by the Tutsi, Hamatic cattle-keepers who came from the north about 400 years previously. The Tutsi then formed a permanent and separate aristocracy and kept the Hutu as serfs and underlings. This had led the majority Hutu to resent the minority Tutsis. Lutalo had heard rumours through Hutu friends of three massacres in the early days of the conflict at Gikondo where hundreds of Tutsis were said to have been killed in the Pallottine Missionary Catholic Church, at the Nyarubuye Roman Catholic Church were thousands of Tutsi were rumored to have been killed, first by grenades and guns and then by machetes and clubs and stories that 12,000 Tutsis were killed after sheltering at the Gatwaro stadium in Gitesi. Another rumour spoke of 50,000 killed in the hills of Bisesero and more killed in the town's hospital and church. It was early July and the genocide had not yet reached Giti. The Burgomaster placed guards at the entrances to the village and denied access to anyone trying to enter the village carrying weapons. Fear was everywhere though and daily broadcasts from the Hutu sponsored Radio Télévison des Milles Collines or RTLM radio, urged more killing. The station called for the Tutsi to "cut down the tall trees," a coded reference which meant for the Hutu to start killing the Tutsi and it often referred to the inyenzi ("cockroach") when referring to Tutsis and then told Hutu to "crush the cockroaches." It was a popular station widely listened to by the general population and its ceaseless spewing of racist propaganda against Tutsis, moderate Hutus, Belgians and the United Nations Assistance Mission to Rwanda was alarming. Rumours were rife that the Burgomaster of the commune was losing control as he struggled to keep the peace and the constant news of new atrocities was giving the radical Hutu element more and more courage to take matters into their own hands. The only hope for the Tutsis was the Rwandese Patriotic Front led by Paul Kagame, news had reached the village that 6,000 Tutsi “refugee warriors” from Uganda were fighting their way into the country. Mwamba placed his hand on the door handle; he looked back into the room and told his wife to go to the bedroom. “I may be some time, but do not worry.” He reassured her. In his heart he felt a sense of terrible foreboding. He opened the door and tried to look as relaxed and friendly as he could. “Hello Lutalo, how the hell are you?” he said jovially. “Don’t speak to me cockroach!” spat Lutalo Mwamba’s heart froze as he scanned the six men standing around his doorway. “We are Tutsi and Hutu brothers my friend; members of the Church of God. I implore you not to turn our village into the killing fields that those animals have across our great country.” Mwamba said defiantly, stepping out onto the balcony. He scanned the assembled faces only to see them set and determined. He took a breath and spoke again. “Then if I am to be the first, let it be.” He challenged “God will forgive you.” Lutalo took a step back, a puzzled look on his face, suddenly he grinned a warm, wide and toothy smile. He stepped forward again and embraced Mwamba. “Brother we are not here to spill your blood. I am sorry for the poor joke. We are here to tell you God has saved the purity of Giti. RPF forces entered the Rutare commune last night. They will be here by sunset. We are here to make sure you are not attacked on your way to the village centre. Come, call Uwimana, let us go together Tutsi and Hutu and pray and then we will all celebrate.” 18/03/13
© 2013 John Alexander McFadyenReviews
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11 Reviews  Last Updated on March 22, 2013 Tags: The Bone of Contention Author
John Alexander McFadyenBrixworth, England, United KingdomAboutWell, have a long and complicated story and started it as an autobiography on Bebo but got writer's block/memory fogging. People liked it though and kept asking for the next chapter! fools.. more..Writing
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