#SOSRefugees Letter from Amani 10 years old, #Rwanda n #refugee in #DRC. Hear his call. They are #stillalive. Amani December 16th 2014 Democratic Republic of Congo Dear friend (may refer to you as such?) I am so excited to write to you and to know I will be hearing from you soon. Where shall I begin? I have so much I want to say and my mind seems uneager to help me put this puzzle of words together. I guess my mind and I are feeling both excitement and in fear of lacking the appropriate words. But let me try and I apologize if you get lost with details I will give you. My mum always told me the best way to break the ice is to introduce ourselves. So I guess I should start with that. My name is Amani, I am a ten year old boy. I have a seven year old sister named Maïsha and a step brother, Asanti, who is three. I live in Democratic Republic of Congo. Maybe you have heard of it. It’s in Eastern Africa. My exact address is quite difficult to explain as I live in the middle of nowhere. I am surrounded by trees and loads of other people. I am a Rwandan refugee. Let me tell you about my name Amani. Amani it is a Swahili word that means “Peace”. I have always wondered why my parents chose this name for me. When I was five, I asked my mum and she just looked at me and said I will explain it to you later my son. I didnt insist. Later would come soon enough. Its only few months ago, when there were rumours about us being forced to go back to Rwanda, that my mum sat us down to tell us her life story and the meaning of our names. So I learnt that my parents decided to call me Amani because Peace was all they were praying for back when I was born. During that period they were so desperate to one day taste the flavour of peace. My sister inherited the name Maïsha, a Swahili word that means “Life”. My father picked that name because, we were alive and we had to keep on living as long as we possibly could. It was his way of telling us that life must go on no matter what situation we were in. My father died when my sister was one year old. My mum was so devastated. She was lost. I still remember the nights of her crying when she thought we were asleep. She tried her best to hide it, from me especially, but I could see the sadness in her eyes. What was I to do ? I was so little and so helpless. I kept on being a four year old kid. That was all I knew. When my sister turned four, my mum introduced to us a new man that would become our father. We dont say step father in our culture. I thought then that my mum was over the pain of losing my father. But now when I think about it I wonder if it was really because she was tired of raising two young kids on her own. One year later, she gave birth to my little brother, Asanti, which means “Thank you” in Swahili. When our parents asked us what we thought of the name, I laughed. I could not understand why they chose to thank God considering our constant struggles since 1996. How can someone say thank you while they are living in a forest with no decent food, no clean water, no hospital, no education for their children; no future at all! We were constantly living in fear of being killed without reason. If they were trying to be ironic they had definitely succeeded. Our “step” father who is typically of a calm disposition took a long pause before explaining the reason behind their decision. He coolly said that in each situation we should thank God for our lives as so many others lost theirs. Our blessings were free. I couldnt understand what he meant by blessings. I am still trying to understand it. Guess it will take me some time. Oh my God. Its almost night time. I better stop my daydreaming and go to look for water before mum comes back home from work. I will continue my story the next time, if I am still alive, rumours has it that we will be hunted again by the end of the year. Pray for me my dear friend. That is all I can hope for… for the time being. Yours sincerely Amani
Posted on: Tue, 16 Dec 2014 13:12:04 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015