EXCERPTS...Shared
Some of you heard I took a break
from work to write. Sometimes, it is fun. Other time...it takes me considerable
effort to find the joy in it. Today is one of those days I could do with arrows
of energy and love. I thought I would share!
Apr 1994
"One of the mobsters prepares himself to “do the work”. It is Mwubatsi, the man whose calmness I admired when he was one of the builders renovating our house not... long ago. He was the kindest of them all and very good with children. I remember him patiently teaching me how to lay bricks, and cheering with me when he didn’t have to redo the few bricks I would lay under his careful watch. But today is different. With his bloodshot eyes and frightening look of his face, he seems to have turned into the meanest of them all. He abruptly points his brand new AK-47 towards the sky, and with his right thumb, he pushes the safely catch to middle position. I am standing close enough to notice the open dark hole on the side of the gun’s chamber, the position of the catch and his straight right index finger ready to pull the trigger. I know this means he is preparing for full automatic shooting. I take a few steps back as I feel the chill on my back and my jaws getting tense. Scared."
Apr 1994
"One of the mobsters prepares himself to “do the work”. It is Mwubatsi, the man whose calmness I admired when he was one of the builders renovating our house not... long ago. He was the kindest of them all and very good with children. I remember him patiently teaching me how to lay bricks, and cheering with me when he didn’t have to redo the few bricks I would lay under his careful watch. But today is different. With his bloodshot eyes and frightening look of his face, he seems to have turned into the meanest of them all. He abruptly points his brand new AK-47 towards the sky, and with his right thumb, he pushes the safely catch to middle position. I am standing close enough to notice the open dark hole on the side of the gun’s chamber, the position of the catch and his straight right index finger ready to pull the trigger. I know this means he is preparing for full automatic shooting. I take a few steps back as I feel the chill on my back and my jaws getting tense. Scared."
Back to writing! Sharing more...
July 1994
"People frantically gather around the girl sitting in the pool of her own blood. Some are debating what to do next. In my mind appears the thought of many more bullets coming our way now, considering that we are still in sight of the Gisozi hill, the rebels’ territory where the first bullet was clearly shot from. The agitation of the small crowd may well attract m...ore attention from that far. Against the pull to stay and watch, I decide to walk back home now.
My mother has been waiting for me to bring the vegetables for long. She seems irritated. I start telling her what I have just seen, as I do so often when I get home. As I report why I took so long, I realise more of what just happened: being the only one standing with the girl on the little bridge, the bullet missed me by mere centimetres, flying past the my lower back, ending in the girl’s upper leg. Only now do I start obsessing with what could should would have happened, and none of it is pleasant. I feel terrified of now frequent quiet bullets, striking at any time of day and night."
...
July 1994
"People frantically gather around the girl sitting in the pool of her own blood. Some are debating what to do next. In my mind appears the thought of many more bullets coming our way now, considering that we are still in sight of the Gisozi hill, the rebels’ territory where the first bullet was clearly shot from. The agitation of the small crowd may well attract m...ore attention from that far. Against the pull to stay and watch, I decide to walk back home now.
My mother has been waiting for me to bring the vegetables for long. She seems irritated. I start telling her what I have just seen, as I do so often when I get home. As I report why I took so long, I realise more of what just happened: being the only one standing with the girl on the little bridge, the bullet missed me by mere centimetres, flying past the my lower back, ending in the girl’s upper leg. Only now do I start obsessing with what could should would have happened, and none of it is pleasant. I feel terrified of now frequent quiet bullets, striking at any time of day and night."
...
Some people asked me if the writing I share
with you all is fiction or not. This is my life experience. It is not fiction.
I am writing down my memories as a context for something bigger: what I am
learning from it all as the journey unfolds.
July 1994
"We help each other to climb. Other people are doing the same. We climb into the banana plantation, going up the hill. I hear several other rounds of shoo...ting. I can’t tell from which direction. As we run up the hill, we avoid tripping and stepping onto a few dead and injured people scattered on the way. I hear more shooting. I hang on to my baggage, and my mother doesn’t drop the mattress. As we run through the plantation, I notice banana trees being shattered by bullets. Most remain erect, a few break and fall. Suddenly, the whistling sound of flying bullets. Very close. Only two. I am now sweating and nearly out of breath."
"We help each other to climb. Other people are doing the same. We climb into the banana plantation, going up the hill. I hear several other rounds of shoo...ting. I can’t tell from which direction. As we run up the hill, we avoid tripping and stepping onto a few dead and injured people scattered on the way. I hear more shooting. I hang on to my baggage, and my mother doesn’t drop the mattress. As we run through the plantation, I notice banana trees being shattered by bullets. Most remain erect, a few break and fall. Suddenly, the whistling sound of flying bullets. Very close. Only two. I am now sweating and nearly out of breath."
Writing has been light today! Unusually so!
Sharing some more...
July 1994
“Yes, since lately, I see and hear guns all the time. I touched guns on a few occasions, and I generally know how they work. But I have never fired, carried or had any training on how to fire or carry a gun before. Still, I am excited to be the one chosen to carry one of the guns we found when we woke up this morning.
One more time, I check that the chamber is empty and ensure that the safety catch is closed. I untie the magazines apart, put one in my bag and mount the other on the gun, then I hang it on my right shoulder, barrel pointing down. People walking past notice that I have a gun, but they all seem indifferent as it is no big deal. They have seen young people in civilian clothes with guns before. So it seems normal. Except that I am not only young! I am a boy still to celebrate my fourteenth birthday in several weeks’ time, now very excited to have an AK-47 I am beginning to call mine!”
July 1994
“Yes, since lately, I see and hear guns all the time. I touched guns on a few occasions, and I generally know how they work. But I have never fired, carried or had any training on how to fire or carry a gun before. Still, I am excited to be the one chosen to carry one of the guns we found when we woke up this morning.
One more time, I check that the chamber is empty and ensure that the safety catch is closed. I untie the magazines apart, put one in my bag and mount the other on the gun, then I hang it on my right shoulder, barrel pointing down. People walking past notice that I have a gun, but they all seem indifferent as it is no big deal. They have seen young people in civilian clothes with guns before. So it seems normal. Except that I am not only young! I am a boy still to celebrate my fourteenth birthday in several weeks’ time, now very excited to have an AK-47 I am beginning to call mine!”
Sharing more of the writing! At
times, this exercise is leading me to memories of people who touched us in a
connecting, significant way. I enjoyed remembering this! Grateful!
Jul 1994
Jul 1994
"The sun sets. We finish chewing
the sugarcane pieces. It is getting dark and cold, and mosquitoes are biting. I
am not sure how long we have been outside the gates of the Bourgoumestre’s
home. An hour? Longer? Suddenly, the la...dy who greeted and spoke to us earlier
comes back. She starts talking from a few steps distance, walking towards us,
barely visible in the darkness.
-You know, I am born-again. Just now, as I was about to eat, the Spirit suggested that I can’t possibly be in the house, eat and sleep well while you are out in the cold. Sometimes, my neighbour comes home very late or not at all. So please do come with me inside, let’s share the little I have. I will send a child to alert their workers that you are with us, and if they call you in, you will move. Otherwise, you can stay in my house, though you will have to sleep on the floor. I don’t have much, but we will share what I have.
My mother hesitates. She has a decision to make. She doesn’t take long. With a bit of struggle, she stands up from the ground, and with a teary voice, she expresses her gratitude to the woman. I also stand up, and prepare to pick up some of our belongings to move. I am cold and hungry, but very relieved."
-You know, I am born-again. Just now, as I was about to eat, the Spirit suggested that I can’t possibly be in the house, eat and sleep well while you are out in the cold. Sometimes, my neighbour comes home very late or not at all. So please do come with me inside, let’s share the little I have. I will send a child to alert their workers that you are with us, and if they call you in, you will move. Otherwise, you can stay in my house, though you will have to sleep on the floor. I don’t have much, but we will share what I have.
My mother hesitates. She has a decision to make. She doesn’t take long. With a bit of struggle, she stands up from the ground, and with a teary voice, she expresses her gratitude to the woman. I also stand up, and prepare to pick up some of our belongings to move. I am cold and hungry, but very relieved."
Sharing some more writing. It is
difficult today. I am feeling very, very sad, remembering my gracious
grandmother. Bless her.
July 1994
We are all on the ground. We hear a second popping sound and we know it is another bomb coming. The whistling noise, which starts almost immediately, gets louder as whatever is flying approaches us. This time, it lands much closer, throwing the black and dump volcanic soil into the air, and scattering it in all directions as it explodes, digging a big hole with a bang clearly dampened by the softness of the ground in this area. Some of the soil rains down on us as it falls back into the fields. I am not scared. Instead, I am excited as if I want this to go on. But the excitement quickly dissipates as I look down to my left in the direction of my grandmother. I notice her eyes wide open. Her lips are tensely closing her mouth, and her face frozen in complete terror. Her fragile body is on the ground, leaning against a heap of earth covered by some dry grass, supporting herself by her arms with elbows sticking out above her back. Her brown wool beret has fallen, leaving a clean and shiny bald head, which I have never seen before. She normally keeps her beret on permanently, and I feel so embarrassed as if on her behalf. This is the most private sight of my grandmother ever in my experience, and I feel so shocked and ashamed as if I am seeing her naked. At nearly ninety, in the open fields she has walked and tilled for many years, she is now helplessly ducking, stripped of her dignity, with no knowledge of who is attempting to kill her or why.
We are all on the ground. We hear a second popping sound and we know it is another bomb coming. The whistling noise, which starts almost immediately, gets louder as whatever is flying approaches us. This time, it lands much closer, throwing the black and dump volcanic soil into the air, and scattering it in all directions as it explodes, digging a big hole with a bang clearly dampened by the softness of the ground in this area. Some of the soil rains down on us as it falls back into the fields. I am not scared. Instead, I am excited as if I want this to go on. But the excitement quickly dissipates as I look down to my left in the direction of my grandmother. I notice her eyes wide open. Her lips are tensely closing her mouth, and her face frozen in complete terror. Her fragile body is on the ground, leaning against a heap of earth covered by some dry grass, supporting herself by her arms with elbows sticking out above her back. Her brown wool beret has fallen, leaving a clean and shiny bald head, which I have never seen before. She normally keeps her beret on permanently, and I feel so embarrassed as if on her behalf. This is the most private sight of my grandmother ever in my experience, and I feel so shocked and ashamed as if I am seeing her naked. At nearly ninety, in the open fields she has walked and tilled for many years, she is now helplessly ducking, stripped of her dignity, with no knowledge of who is attempting to kill her or why.
Still working on the book, or
better...it working on me! Now sharing more the writing...
This is a memory I share with
fellow Mandela Rhodes Scholars...
===
Aug 2008
The attention turns to scholars.
Shaun Johnson, the CEO of the Mandela Rhodes Foundation asks us to stand.
Photographers turn cameras our way. Shaun starts to speak to Nelson Mandela as
he and the other dignitaries pay attention.
-Madiba, you are old now. 90
years of age! On behalf of the Foundation, I would like to take this
opportunity to present to you your 90th birthday gift. We could not find a
better gift for your 90th birthday than these young man and women standing in
front of you.
Shaun extends his left hand to
point it in our direction, while Nelson Mandela listens attentively, with an
approving look on his face. Shaun continues.
-As you know, our scholars have
committed to picking up the baton. So Madiba, please accept our gift to you,
and rest assured that your legacy will live on, in Africa and beyond.
I feel chills down my spine, and
my body is covered in goose-pumps. We, the scholars who are here, are being
presented to Nelson Mandela as his 90th birthday gift. Several scholars have
tears rolling down their cheeks. I too feel a lump in my throat. It is an
emotional moment for most. Nelson Mandela’s face displays an apparent sense of
satisfaction, clearly accepting the gift. I have not heard the words ‘Mandela
Rhodes Scholar’ louder than today, or felt the weight of the responsibility it
comes with as clearly as I feel it now. In front of Nelson Mandela himself, we
are privileged to represent the generations committed to keeping his legacy
alive long after he is gone.
One more time, in my head is a nagging voice I
seem unable to shut down. It is carrying a familiar question: how did I end up
here, being presented to Nelson Mandela as his 90th birthday gift?
...
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