Heres the first few pages from a new writing project. see what you think. THE PRECIOUS . PROLOUGE MARCH 2015. The old battered faded white Toyota land cruiser rocked and bounced on suspension that badly needed attention along the highway on the way out of Kigali, the capital city of Rwanda. This beautiful nation is located in the heart of Central and East Africa with easy access to bordering countries of Uganda, Tanzania, Burundi and Democratic Republic of Congo as well as to Kenya, thus making Rwanda a pivot nation of sorts. With a rich cultural history that has seen many changes over the year but for all that it’s a nation remembered more for the horrors of the late 20th century. Between April 6 and the beginning of July, 1994, a genocide of unprecedented swiftness left between 500,000 and 1,000,000 Tutsis (800,000 is a commonly noted number) and moderate Hutus dead at the hands of organized bands of militia (Interahamwe) or organized rebels (Inkotanyi). Even ordinary citizens were called on by local officials to kill their neighbours, often those they had lived and worked with for many years. It was a time of horror and evil on a scale that has never been beaten. Gerry sat back in the seat of the vehicle, his eyes shut, as the warm air flooded in through the open window, washing over him. He had declined the offer of air conditioning instead wanting to savour the smell of a nation he had loved so much but hadn’t had the courage to return to until now. It had been so terribly hard to gather the courage to return, after all he had seen; and done here. He shuddered, suddenly very cold, as if immersed in a freezing pool of water. Long suppressed memories began to bark like waking dogs at the back of his head. He opened his eyes and sucked in the sights as they moved along roads which although not good by UK standards were better than he remembered from 1994. Maybe some of the money that had poured into the country in the last years had been used well after all and not gone into the deep pockets of government officials as was normal. Back then it had all been a great adventure, a calling from God to come and love those people here who needed both practical medical help as well as spiritual help. He allowed himself a short smile at the thought of how almost boyishly foolish he had been back then, actually believing that he could help change the world. And maybe he had in some small unidentifiable way. He had spent years trying to make sense of it all and to have done some good was the only light in an often dark tunnel of hopelessness, that even now threatened to swamp him like a small boat in the open sea. Small open plan villages passed by the window some consisting of low single storey bungalows with red topped roofs, others the more traditional mud built huts with that peculiar thatched high pointed roof. Lots of new builds dotted the countryside. And everywhere you looked people walked and stood around in a way that was only ever found in Africa. He suddenly realised how much he loved this place and felt a slight pang of shame at why he had not returned before now. He shrugged off the thought like dust from a sleeve. He had his reasons. He glanced at his driver, sent out from Shango in the Gasabo district to meet him at the airport and wondered how old he was. Twenty years perhaps, certainly not much more. Certainly not old enough to have witnessed the horrors. Also there were no visible scars on him which marked so many of the nation’s population from that era. The Machete kiss. Gerry sighed deeply wondering again why he had come so far, given up so much to come, almost on a whim the decision to come made only a few days previous. Then they rounded the bend on the Kigali Byumba road and he remembered exactly why. “Stop the car please.” The driver hesitated obviously lost in thought during the long drive. “Stop the car!” this time Gerry slapped the dashboard but harder than he intended. The car slowed pulling onto the wide bank, the driver looking very concerned at the sudden commands from his passenger. Gerry opened the door and began to step out. The driver grabbed at his arm. “Sir! Stop!” a near panic gripping his voice as real and as tight as his grip on Gerry’s arm. “There are many mines in the countryside!” “I know.” Said Gerry calmly, pulling free of the drivers grip and stepping down onto the ground. He placed his bag on the vacant seat and pushed the door shut. The driver looked terrified now, eyes wide, a haunted expression on his face. “Sir there are also bodies out there as well!” Gerry was already walking away towards the bush line. “I know.” He said softly to himself.
Posted on: Wed, 06 Aug 2014 12:03:22 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015