Je me tiens au bords de ces eaux. La nuit tombe vite et l’obscurité fait que le ciel et la terre sont confondus. les petites lumières sur les 29 îles de Bunyonyi sont commes des étoiles tombées doucement sur la surface de l’eau. Il y a le même silence de ‘94 sauf que celui-ci n’est pas mêlé à la terreur. C’est étrange comment la beauté puisse coexister avec tant de douleur. Hier matin, le soleil s’est levé derrière les collines. Ç’était comme un signe d’espoir. Les rayon du soleil dansaient sur la surface de l’eau, rendant le lac brillant. Je suis montée dans une pirogue et je me suis trouvée sur l’eau. Le vent soufflait doucement comme un murmure ancienne qui contait des histoires de résilience et de courage, et la douce chaleur de l’Ouganda réchauffait mon coeur tandis que ma traversée se poursuivait. Je ne sais pas si mon coeur accepte ce que mes yeux voient. Mais, peu à peu il guérisse et le lac se réinvente dans ma mémoire.

Après des heures, je suis retournée au bord pour contempler le coucher du soleil. Le bleu du ciel se transformait en un mélange de rose et orange. Cela ressemblait à une voile de Claude Monet. À mesure que le soleil descendait, ma tristesse disparaissait avec lui, et je me sentais de plus en plus légère. Quelle beauté! C’est en ce moment là que j’ai trouvé la raison de mon retour.

Avant le malheur de 1994, une vie paisible éxistait içi. Les pêcheurs chantaient pendant qu’ils pêchaient et les enfants jouaient dans l’eau sans crainte. Je suis reconnaissant que j’aie survécu, comme ça j’ai pu trouver la paix que j’avais perdu trente deux ans passé. Amahoro. Paix!

Translated version:

It’s been two years since I last saw Lake Bunyonyi. It was in 1994, when I was fleeing the anti-Tutsi regime and the genocide. Now that there is peace, I have to go back. I want the lake to become something else in my memory.

I stand at the edge of these waters. Night falls quickly, and the darkness blurs sky and earth together. The small lights scattered across the 29 islands of Bunyonyi look like stars that have gently fallen onto the surface of the water. There is the same silence as in 1994, except this time it is not laced with terror. It’s strange how beauty can coexist with so much pain. Yesterday morning, the sun rose behind the hills. It felt like a sign of hope. The sun’s rays danced across the surface of the lake, making it shimmer. I climbed into a boat and found myself out on the water. The wind blew softly, like an ancient whisper telling stories of resilience and courage, and the gentle warmth of Uganda warmed my heart as my crossing went on. I don’t know if my heart can accept what my eyes are seeing. But little by little, it was healing, and the lake was reshaping itself in my memory.

After hours, I returned to the shore to watch the sunset. The blue of the sky slowly turned into a blend of pink and orange. It looked like a Claude Monet painting. As the sun sank lower, my sadness faded with it, and I felt lighter and lighter. What beauty. It was in that moment that I understood why I had come back.

Before the tragedy of 1994, a peaceful life existed here. Fishermen sang as they worked, and children played in the water without fear. I am grateful that I survived, so that I could find the peace I had lost two years before. Amahoro. Peace.

I wrote this piece for my French class, days after I had learned about lake Bunyonyi. It is very close to our border and it is a possibility that some people might have crossed it as they escaped the country, hence the imagination that birthed this story of return. I am a big believer in reinventing memory for the sake of healing(yeah I know how that sounds ). I love going back to places where I’ve felt pain and spending time there. When I feel as though the time is right, I try to rewrite the narrative.

Thunder rumbled in my stomach first thing in the morning,

The winds chilled my skin when I threw the blanket off,

The dark clouds gathered before my eyes when I looked in the mirror, and then I cried.

Alas, it rained.

I haven’t felt in bulk for a long time now. Joy is fleeting, pain doesn’t last, and shame doesn’t make it all the way to my insula. So I’ve left the idea of embarrassment behind. That’s why I lay before you. An open book, an open wound. I picked at the little scab that was forming on top so you could see me clearly. (I can’t seem to let myself heal.) I love picking at my wounds. I love sitting fair and square with my pain. (I can’t seem to let myself heal.) We talk, we laugh, we fight, we kiss, we dance, we hate each other, but we love each other. So we go back and forth and back and forth. Side to side, side by side. We rekindle at sunset. We hug it out– the same hug our parents forced us to hug our siblings after a fight to show that we forgive each other. It is awkward. It’s always awkward. And it’s always one of the two who actually lets go(first). I let go of my pain. it doesn’t let go of me.

From the crack of my heart and the crack of my butt,

Yours until I’m not,

Melinda

• Films:

  1.Notre Dame du Nil: The story is about life at a Catholic boarding secondary school in Rwanda, circa 1980, prior to the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi. I can argue that it does a very light job at portraying the hate and propaganda but they ain’t wrong.

  2.Neptune Frost: If you’re into Afrofuturism, and would love to see it brought to life by Rwandans this is definitely for you. The only thing that pushed me to watch this was because my favorites Michael Makembe, scored the soundtrack for the film, and Cedric Mizero designed the costumes.

  3.Grey Matter: Still, I am biased because the one and only Kivu Ruhorahoza produced it. I would sincerely love to spend a day in his mind and look at the world from his eyes.

  4.Kubandwa- a documentary: Take time and learn about it, I obviously don’t support such practices but it wouldn’t hurt to learn about it.

  5.Uzabumwana Gandhi: If you engage with only one of these recommendations, let it be this one! Gandhi’s ambition is infectious. He is working on his project Mille Collines Series where he’s documenting his journey across all 30 districts of Rwanda. The footage is raw and moving and it will not leave you the same.

• Websites and podcasts:

  1.Inyamibwa.com: Best resource for learning about our culture and history.

  2. Umutagara : Nukuri don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. The conversations are enriching en plus bacishamo bakanatarama. My favorites are the sessions with Rugumyamuheto (God bless the work of his hands),Kavuna, and Gihana.

  3.Afrika Nzuri: Just recently got into reading travel blogs, and this is the first one I landed on. George Baguma is a full-time tourist and he journals his visits all across Rwanda and Africa. He also has books, feel free to check those out as well.

  4.Milele museum: There’s nothing much to see on this page, but I really love their mission, they are slowly working to restoring stolen artifacts to their rightful countries among other things, feel free to contribute in any way possible.

• Playlists:

  1.Love Is a Kingdom- Tems : This EP explores Love’s shapes and forms in Tems’ perspective and ofcourse vocals are angelic as ever.

  2.Oh to be Rwandan😌 : This playlist is still in the making, but it really gets me through it, give it a listen if you need.

• Books:

  For those in Rwanda, you can find these at KPL, pro tip if you know someone from the IRST I think you can get your hands on them easier:

  1.Souvenirs du Rwanda

  2.Ibyivugo, ingeri y’ubusizi bunyarwanda bwo hambere by Karori M. Kayumba

  3.Icara nkumare irungu by A. Kagame

  4.Iyo wiriwe nta rungu by A. Kagame

  5.Abambari b’inganzo ngari by Rugamba Cyprien

  6.U Rwanda rugari rwa Gasabo by Kimenyi A.

  Lastly, I want to leave you with words that stayed with me this week, in hopes they can carry you through rough days as well: “If the sky falls, hold up your hands. You will catch the stars.”— Mizero Cedric - Falling skies (2016)

I once had a theater/poetry coach, Jules César. I resented him for reasons not worth typing but I learnt one thing from him: never start a performance with an explanation. I don’t have to apologize for my art, I don’t have to excuse its flaws. You present it as it is - the beauty is in the eye of the beholder after all. The reason I’m saying this is because I was going to start this piece with an explanation then stopped half way and realised I didn’t have to. The rightful beholder will indeed see the beauty.

I’ve been back-ferrying quite a lot recently, spending more time in the past as it has proved itself to be much more pleasant than the present . Lately, in those rooms of memory at the back of mind, I spend most of my time in yours. I have to admit it does make my eyes a bit teary (partly because of all the red colors), but mainly because I am in awe. It moves me, seeing how gently and patiently you nurture yourself. You have so much love for that tiny version of yourself inside you and both you and I can’t wait to see that little you grow.

I’ve come to learn that you stopped following your routines because you thought it limited your freedom and i think it’s so ironic because the time you decided to let go of such a lifestyle, I started following it. It’s as if you dropped something and I picked it up on the same journey we share (except I’m a little behind). There’s a way you express yourself….you do it so silently but boy is it loud to the person paying attention. There are things you’ve said to me that carry me through some days, and it is in those times that I think of you so much. I grab a seat in that room of your memory and sit with your words. I try to understand them fully, but i can never truly. That’s why I revisit that same corner often. I stare at this one wall all the time. There’s dark red hibiscus flowers scattered beautifully on the floor, a red pen on top of a journal for your thoughts, if not mine, and a carefully picked out playlist playing in the background. Quelle beauté!

Do you wanna know what I think? I think the luckiest of people are those who get to be with you. Those who can behold your beauty, and stay there for as long the Lord wills. And how lucky is the one who gets to have you forever to themselves and bask in all that red, stick their pinky finger in your right dimple when you smile, be loved by you, be your muse for eternity, have a place in your heart and your mind, spending time with all your wisdom and whimsy thoughts and even better, learn from it.

I want to leave you with words that stayed with me this week, in hopes they can carry you through rough days: “If the sky falls, hold up your hands. You will catch the stars.”— Mizero Cedric - Falling skies (2016)

Until we meet again, if it be the Lord’s will, take care of your self with that same patience. I’ll try to do the same.

Yours,

ZUBA

A sad piece, but a piece nonetheless. I am so happy that I’m back to feeling( …and writing)!

This past weekend I abused the art of self-care. I rotted in bed, ate very unhealthily (as per usual), stepped out of my room about four times in 48 hours — and that was to shower and exchange empty greetings with my floormates (ofc excluding my favorite entrymates, Aavash and William). Someone told me that finding one “thing” that feels familiar in this foreign land would help deal with this fatal mixture of emotions we’ve all decided to downplay as “homesickness.” But, as a typical Rwandan teen who has spent roughly seven years in boarding school, the realization that I am quite shallow when it comes to being passionate and having “a thing of your own,” because of how accustomed I have become to sharing spaces, has hit me like a truck. I don’t think I have a personal activity/passion to keep me grounded. Well, of course, I’ve tried doing things like listening to Sema Sole and Mike in hopes of finding the girl who fell in love with Nzaza the first time she heard it on the 21st of December 2023; I have exhausted all the Spoken Word Rwanda recordings on Spotify to see if I can wake the poetess lying deep within; I have danced to Intore Massamba’s “Rwabihama” in my room after a long day of classes — and many more things that would resonate with Lianess, Vanessa, Murorunkwere, Nyoni, Wameme, Melinda, Kabebe, Kidederi, Nene — all the possible versions of myself I have been, but still nothing.

Don’t get me wrong — these have helped me so much I haven’t cried as much as either me or my mother expected me to, so yeah, I still have bits of who I was and who I’ve been over the years within me, and that makes me a beautiful scrapbook — one filled with collages, cut-outs of phases I’ve gone through, the person I fell in love with, my amazing friends, the walls that housed me, the things I’ve unlearned and relearned, my laughter, my hopes, my dreams, my pain, and my fears. So I have decided that I am not about to go on a quest of exploring and finding what feels “personal” to me. I am not going to seek a passion because passion has failed me. If it hadn’t, I would still be a die-hard Billie Eilish fan, a poetess capable of writing about anything other than a broken heart and bones, or, simply a blind lover. So, as tribute to all the girls mentioned above — the ones I’m sad about losing and those I’m relieved that I’m no longer — I’m gonna do one thing. The common denominator. I may have been lots of different versions of myself, but I know my girls had one thing in common — they had the same. Damn. Fear.

What’s funny is I didn’t always have it or at least know that I had it. It took a good amount of moments where the realization crept up on me and crawled back to where it came from before I could process it; one conversation with Lindah, who always has food for thought (oh, how I miss long conversations with my baby); and, well, you won’t believe it but… ChatGPT. That excuse of a son of man knows my deepest fear — and how scary is that!? (For the record, it happened when I asked it to roast me. Tsk tsk tsk, joke-went-wrong, smh.) All this to say, I am going to face my fear. This little thing in my head — it’s self-made. I sowed that seed and I watered it, and I refuse to reap what I sowed (hehehhehehhe). So, for my first baby step,* cue in a mother’s tears of joy and encouragement* I went ahead and did one thing I’ve always wanted to do (I’m saving the details because digital footprint is real banange); I dismissed doubt, forthcoming shame, and self-pity… all that nonsense. Fingers crossed all goes well, and if it doesn’t we’re going for round two, ’cause it’s about damn time, am I right?