[spider-ndwalz]

The letter below depicts the experience of one, Pauline isobeko, during the tragic and trying period of the Rwandan genocide. The letter is written by Pauline, to her lover Hajima Isukuzwe just moments away from her death. It is later discovered by journalists who tour Kigali after the genocide. The journalists try their best to find Hajima so that they deliver the letter to him. Their search turns out to be a success and they find him in one of the deserted farms of Kigali trying to pick up the pieces of his life after the genocide. Hajima keeps this letter in his pocket wherever he goes and reads it every night before retiring to bed. To him this letter is more than mere words. It is everything that he loved- the memories and joys of his lover, Pauline. He holds on to this letter close to his chest again today like he usually does every other night and then he gently flaps the ragged paper open and reads it for the umpteenth time……….




Somewhere in Kigali, Rwanda
April 28th 1994
To: Hajima Isukuzwe
From: Pauline Sebeka

Dear Hajima,

I write this letter to you amidst tears. Tears of pain and anguish of what is happening. I am writing this letter in a small hidden room of st.pauls church in Kigali. I have been hiding here for close to 30 days now without much as anything to neither eat nor drink, but that is the least of my worries, for I shall inevitably succumb to death sooner or later. My greatest worry is you my love. I wanted to let you know that you would be the last memory I will have before I die. With this letter is attached a cloth that I tore from the dress that I now wear. You remember that dress hajima? You bought it for me when we went to our first dance in town! Oh Hajima, I remember how vibrant we looked that night. You and your dark blue shirt and tight pants, and I with this dress I now wear that will soon serve as my burial rag! How we danced the night away Hajima. I can still clearly remember you and how handsome you looked. Good memories those. Good memories. Then they came; the interharmwe. That same special night, soon turned tragic. I saw them chopping everyone that stood by the door as they tried to make a forced entry into the restaurant. I will never forget how you grabbed me and held me close to your chest Hajima. Though I could hear your heart beat so loud, I felt protected in your arms. I remember the screams that rent the air that night. I can still hear them in my dreams. The nightmares never cease to leave me alone; they keep coming each night and I immediately wish that you were here with me so that you may hold me tight like you did that night. Just the mere thought of you makes me burst into tears. I do not know whether you are alive or dead. All I remember is being taken away from your arms; and beaten senseless. Then nothing. I remember nothing. Hajima, I often ask God why this had to happen to us; but then no answer comes back to me. It is like talking to a brick wall. The pain cuts so deep.
When I came to, it was morning. I was in a cell among other girls. There was blood everywhere hajima. I saw this one girl being raped before my very eyes and then I instantly knew I too would soon go through the same brutality and crueltly. I can still remember the way she was looking at me while being raped. It was as though she was calling out to me to help her but yet I could do nothing. I just watched and cried. Then he came towards me after he was finished with her. I remember how tall and scary he looked. He approached me and asked me what my name was. I answered, ‘Pauline Isobeko sir’. He then spat on my face whispered some obscenities and left the cell, banging the cell door behind him. You may wonder hajima, how I ended up in this room at st.pauls church. Well, while I was in the interharmwe prison, I formed a friendship with this lady by the name Tabitha omutwa. She too was a Tutsi prisoner. We became very good friends while at the cell. One day she told me that she had a plan for us to escape. I remember how I looked at her in utter dismay wondering if she was going mad. ‘Escape?” I asked her, ‘ but how ?”. She then laid out her plan. It was certainly risky and I thought that if we ever made it alive, it would have been nothing less of a miracle. I remember the night of April 15th 1994. This was the night when we would carry out our plan. The interhamwe guard usually came around this time to bring us bread and water. Once he entered, Tabitha and I were to hold him down, beat him with a plank of wood that lay at the corner of the cell and then escape from the cell. As we whiled away time waiting for the guard to come, my heart beat so loudly. I was afraid that possibly we would not make it; and that if we did not succeed, we would be instantly killed. I had to be ready for anything. The chiming of keys startled me from my thoughts. He was here, carrying a bowl of water and some bread. Once he was inside, the time would come. I looked at Tabitha and she looked back at me. She did not seem afraid. Her eyes revealed so much strength. She gave me a slight nod and I knew they would be no turning back. We plunged upon him, as tall as he was, and threw blows on his face and his crotch. I think we may have mutilated him (chuckles). We got out of the cell and left him there writhing in pain. Not a minute to waste, we found our way out of the interharmwe prison. Hajim, I have never been so scared in my life like I was that night! Oh! How we ran!
For 7days and nights we trekked through the bushes looking for anything that looked like a safe haven. Every path we crossed, there were bodies lying everywhere. Some had begun to rot, while others still had been swallowed up halfway by the earth like a plastic paper would. It was horrific, but yet we kept going until we came across this deserted church. Around the church, we found more bodies. The bodies seemed to form a fence around the church building.
We have stayed here for 30 days like I had told you before. Sadly though, my good friend Tabitha succumbed last night due to an infection. As I watched her die, I felt my heart break, for even she, a woman of such great strength, would be buried among the masses of thousands of others. Not even a body bag was in sight so that I may bury her myself as a sign of respect.
My love, as I sign off this letter, I ask only one favor of you; that you would carry only the good memories that we shared in your heart. I don’t know where you are, but my hope is that someone will be so kind as to deliver this letter to you. I know that I will not make it; I am too weak to even walk, let alone crawl. I await my death, hoping that it may come quickly and that the suffering may cease.
My time here expires, and I must send you all my love.
Yours forever,
Pauline Isobeko.

…….Hajima folds the piece of paper yet again today, cries the same tears he cried last night and every other night for the rest of his life. He takes the red cloth that Pauline attached to the letter and presses it upon his face. He must retire to bed now for it is getting late and hard work awaits him tomorrow.


In loving memory of Pauline Isobeko, Tabitha isuzwe and the entire Rwandan people that lost their lives during the Rwandan genocide. Rest in peace.

WRITTEN BY: Caroline Ndwale Ndambuki- all rights reserved.

[Paudah_Paf]

That story brought tears to my eyes.

In any conflict, any genocide, disaster, our minds become overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it all and we find ourselves numb, unable to comprehend the tragedy of it all.

The individual stories, the pathos.

You touched a raw nerve there though.

I've been around Africa after being born and raised in Kenya, been to different countries, learned other languages, cultures.

And it has begun to dawn on me how similar we are.

So it saddens me to think of the millions who have lost their lives whose stories we shall never know.

Thank you for sharing that story, I'll be watching for the next one...

[spider-ndwalz]

thanks Paudah paf-it's just something I imagined and wrote down- but even so, alot of people went through such hell during the genocide- and I wanted to aknowledge the forgotten, both dead and alive that they are still very much on our minds- one love Africa.

[Jibril Cessay]

I was numbed by the story. I could see Pauline in my mind, bulbous eyes beaming from her tear-streaked face. I could see her sitted on her ashy legs bespangled with a few scabs from previous ventures. I could see the torn patch from her red dress. Pauline is a very sensual woman, a courageous soul denied the opportunity to raise her seed. I could see plump Tabitha masticated by death, violated by hovering flies and inspecting vultures. I felt angst in my heart. I felt as though I was Hajima, reading the earth-shattering letter. To have a seraphic being ripped from your prehensile hold....Lord have mercy!

Wondrous tale. Wondrous, heartrending...I'm still numbed, nearly succumbing to tears now.

Ndwalz, your story is so beautiful. You should enter it for the The Commonwealth Writers' Prize. Here is a link for the Competition. You could win £1,000.

http://www.commonwealthwriters.com/

You should also try the Caine Prize for African Writing.

http://www.caineprize.com/

[spider-ndwalz]

@ Jibril cassey...thanks for the links- i will try that- thanks for the sike!

[Wired Wierd]

One of those occasions where words fail me. Very well written.