The brave soldier who risked his life to save ours

Posted: July 22, 2016 in Uncategorized
Inkotanyi Cyane

Inkotanyi cyane yabyirutse atsinda

I met them recently when I was paying tribute and celebrating the life well lived of my grandmother, one of them Mzee Ignace, I remember him with a small black and worn-out radio, which he used to cover in a similar leather Jacket.

As the cows were coming home, while the sun was setting, that hour of the day when men are relieving themselves from a working long day while women are getting ready for the evening meal preparations and  children being showered by bigger sisters.

Ignace hissed a cry of joy which erupted into uncontrollable laughter, while everybody’s head demandingly turned with curiosity as the relentless war was in progress; the radio holder turned up the volume for everybody to hear, and the victory song was heard soothing everybody in tears.

Kigali city, at that particular hour of the day had fallen in the hands of liberators who had been strategically fighting a bloody and tiresome war, the journey was still long though, an uphill task awaited the same soldiers who had captured the smelly, totally destroyed city of Kigali when the Genocide was in its midst days.

I was 10 years old then, we were living in temporal camp in Kayonza district while part of my family had escaped in the unknown locations, my sister and my little brother had breathed a bit from coldness of bush and the windy rain that could still fill our small trench that Grandma had miraculously discovered during the bloody mass killings.

Little I knew about wars, the that joyful celebration signaled at least for my uncles and other people we knew in the environs, a great achievement for soldiers who were fighting to stop the genocide and restore a dignity to lost innocent souls who succumbed to merciless scavengers under the masks of human beings.

My memory might be as small as a fish, but I won’t forget a tall black and skin soldier who extended his hand while holding his AK 47 on the other, and reached out from his pocket and handed my sister and I, a can of Sardine and rice on a small plate with tears rolling down his face.

Only if I knew he was alive or a member of his family, I would give something for him, a thing that I deem valuable because he raised a hope in our living, poor kids who previously were told that their days were numbered, the same soldier’s message was: “beautiful kids go find other people up there, more fights are going to take place from here.”

Our life was saved then but his remained continuously perilous, he had a dream to achieve, a command to execute, a cause to die for but most importantly a country to revive, that soldier’s trance defines today’s Rwanda which is rising to the climax.

I will still sing hymn of the celebration, that I personally composed, I will sing it alongside other coupled songs from the bush, the motivation, the consoling, endurance, heroic and altruistic songs that harmoniously pitched the greatest tone of success for a long battle of resilience.

22 years down the road, for that liberation happened, erupted a message of hope for the future, every day is a new day to dream of a better tomorrow, because the liberators saved us from frying bullets, those astray, and machetes held by roaming heinous wild beasts’ disguised as human beings.

There was a song, I quote every day, in its Swahili lingo it reads as follows: “Hata tukonde kama misumali hatuezi kuludi nyuma,” literary meaning that however thinner and or skinnier we get, we cannot afford to retrogress.

Rwanda has ‘changed’ to use President Kagame’s wise words and it has changed for good and forever, but that does not mean that everyday’s struggle for betterness cannot make us loose meats on our bodies, the chorus of that motivating song rejuvenate our days and we keep the ball rolling.

I will forever be grateful for our liberators and other architects of the today’s shining, resilient, and aggressive and the development craving Rwanda is and forever will be.

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