VOLUME 1CHAPTER 1

Sun baked and rain beaten by time and tide, yet the plain defiantly stood with an unconquerable passion, which from the beginning of time mocked at the face of the ruthless sun. It was a spell, a spell of drought.Everywhere in the country, the grass turned golden yellow determined to leap beyond the heap of decaying leaves that fought for the little ground to have an eternal rest. The trees were now naked and the branches; a sharpprovocation to the passing wind that attempted to sway the nudity of forests.The open gullies were the toothed lips of dry river beds. At this time, onewas able to realize how ugly the river beds were without water. The channels were sinister serpents threatening to swallow unsuspecting beasts that ever roamed the plains since the beginning of the time. Through the dry valleys, the millet and bean fields were now singed patches on the hardclay and hoes only bounced upon the earth saying

“You ought to have heard“You ought to have heeded

Yet amidst the dryness, the Acacia thorn trees and straw grass spread out their unconquerable limbs to shelter the bony cows as they chewed the Mburara cud.The filthy arms of drought slowly embraced Rwampara and Kashari before advancing beyond to Mpororo, Isingiro and koki. When the spell stopped conquering, news were brought that it had gathered under its wings all the land of Karagwe, Bunyoro up to Mwitanzigye where the world ended.

The pebble hit its mark, the prize bull pulled its nostrils out of the stream, the only stream determined to wash on throughout the drought. The little herdsboy cast a reassuring glance at his bull and it again dipped its mouth. Bihogo was the prize bull in the boy’s kraal often cows. Its long horns that curved in the mid base gave it an appeal of regality that was envy of the whole village. Gasyonga the village chief had wanted to have it in exchange for ten cows. But however hard he had tried to convinceGisa, the herd’s boy had stuck to his bull. Many laughed and jested at his refusal because he had refused a worthy offer yet he had only ten cows to his name.In Bihogo Gisa had his hopes, fears, passion beliefs and most importantly his dreams. Like Ndahura the demi-god, Gisa had woken up one morning and found a bull in his kraal which he called Bihogo like Ndahura’s mysterious bull. That chilly morning, he watched as water followed its ever unchangedpath blending pebble with sand, ridge with ridge, dream and reality, he looked at Bihogo as it gulped up the cold water

“May you drink enough to last you all the way as you lead me home”He knew that deep inside him he believed in the chwezi yet such a belief iswhat he had always tried to put behind him. He knew that if the mystery bull had come to his kraal, then he was to lead his race back to place theycould call home for was it not Ndahura who led the chwezi demi-gods back to

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their mysterious cradle? Was he not the guardian of the mystery bull? Gisa was afraid of what he believed in. For one, Gisa knew he was not capable of leading his race back home.Had tribe not seen brave men like Gasasira in the past who had failed to lead them home? Who was he? Just a timid rebellious boy!At the age of seven, he had built his own kraal and was a jolly and ambitious independent child. The talk all over the plains to send the refugees back home was to him outside the web which he, the king spider rested in the centre of ignorance. He had never gotten exposed to in justice because of his race.

Twigs cracked somewhere in the misty forest behind him, a family of early birds scattered in all direction and soon there was a partnered thudding of hooves coming his way, he was glad a sign of human companionship was coming his way. The horns pierced the mist unveiling their owners, thin bony cows that bore witness to the drought they were!

“Hey there, how is your morning?” The boy cast a menacing glance that summed up Gisa and his ten pairsof horns.

“Ruga aha otahe” The bully barked at Gisa ordering him toleave the stream and go home. For a moment Gisa stood confused, was he being ordered to lead his cows away from the watering point? And if that was so he was ready to do sofor harmony’s sake. Perhaps courtesy or his obedience told him to follow orders. He put a stick to one cow’s behind and started driving his cows away from the riverbank. It was then that the just approached herd’s boy barked at him;

“Iwe munyarwanda we, leka ente z’abahima otaahe”

It was so loud and clear that even as young as he was he sensed a spark of hatred in the other herd’s boy’s voice but he was stubborn enough to keep his stick to his bull. With his face looking down he walked away following in the prints of the hooves in the decayed dead leaves. He did not realize that Kasiita the herd’s boy who had just insulted him was following him with the evil look of a tormentor.There was a whizzing sound and Gisa turned to look. At once Kasiita’s grazing stick was between Gisa’s legs tripping him over, he fell face down hitting his head on the cow just in front of him and jamming his face into its anus on the way. Gisa staggered up and tried to dust his patched Khaki shorts but Kasiita had in flash shoved his head into his groin, held his knees together and sent him sprawling back to the ground. The ground where he was dragged through left a scared bareness in the dead leaves to bear witness to the attack on the innocent young boy, Gisa screamed, birds around flew singing deathly melodies; Kasiita dragged him down the cattle path intending to drown him in the river Kasiita who was pulling Gisa by the feet tripled over something and was down with his back on the river bank.

“Don’t move!” The tall boy now towering over Kasiita had lost his usual gentle calmness, perhaps he had seen an Egyptian murder his country man, a fellow

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Jew. Paulo was a Christian who always took every event with spiritual significance but the morning he succumbed to the desires of the flesh. One idea burnt in him, Revenge! And the birds seemed to tweet it over and over.Revenge; for no sin goes unpunished.

There was an unexplainable wild fire that burnt in his eyes that spoke of many tales, many for a boy his age. With his round headed stick, he beat Kasiita, his face pumped up and deflated with rise and fall of his arm, Kasiita’s screams could be heard echoing across the plain as they bounced from hill to hill mingling with the loud laughing of the early morning gossip women in their miserable shambas, slowly his brown shorts became blackish wet and soon a murky yellow semi liquid flowed to his thighs. It was a lesson Kasiita would not forget in a long time to come. That night in the dark of his hut, Gisa opened the eyes of his soul.What had he done to deserve the treatment Kasiita had showed towards him? He wondered if he had come to Ankole by choice. His tears fell freely in the dark night baptizing his soul. He came to terms with reality, he was a foreigner, he was not wanted and that way it would remain until anyone tookhim and his race back to their own land. He was an alien.

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CHAPTER 2

The fire of the fight had long died out. What remained perhaps to bear witness were the parallel scars on Kasiita’s buttocks. To him it was unfair and actually an invasion. How foreigners would beat him in his own country! He always wondered. The hatred had now taken root, the Bahima from Kasiita’s quarter of the village dared not to allow any Munyarwanda cross any of their grazing lands yet the ones which had been given to the Banyarwanda had been the worst hit by drought. The cows of the Tutsi men thinned progressively with each passing day.

One misty morning, Gisa, Paulo, and all the herds boys from the Banyarwanda quarter woke up and drove their cattle to the Rwizi for watering. The water was still ice cold as it washed over their feet while they organized the cattle along the banks of Rwizi. The cattle gulped the water noisily with their nostrils blowing air loudly over the water.In the thinning dawn darkness Bihogo raised its tail high brandishing it inthe misty air. In Gisa’s eyes, he saw it turn into a raised spear, aimed atthe centre of his soul. He picked a stick and brandished it like a spear following the sways of Bihogo’s tail. His eyes pierced the mist to get the tail movements; his arm followed with calculated precisions. For long he took his lesson from Bihogo as Paulo and the rest looked on in amazement. When Bihogo finally dropped his tail, the rays of the sun had already drunkthe chilly mist away. For the rest of the day, Gisa swayed with sticks and spears, he poked at trees, dead trunks and cracked granary walls. Beads of sweat formed on his fore head and dried in the sun leaving what on his face looked like the spots of a guinea fowl yet his energy was un fluctuating. He did it as a game but deep inside him he knew that Bihogo had secrets embedded in its movements. If its mysterious appearance in his kraal was not enough, then its purpose had just begun. He had started and there was no turning back, the journey was to be along one, the battle was to be tough but he had been chosen not only to fight for them but to lead them inthe fight. Soon he was joined by Paulo the boy who had taken to religion to find solace for all the suffering and largely recited“Blessed are those who suffer on earth for they will be rewarded in heaven” The two boys worked hard at their spear throwing every day when the cows were out sucking the last grain of life from the dry Mburara savannah grass. It was during one of the sessions that Bahima boys would pass by andtorment the two boys. They threw stones at Paulo and Gisa but Paulo had sworn not to lose his control over his emotions again like he had done at the river before and Gisa was still so young with the world that he never realized that the insults were not directed to him but to his tribe as a whole.

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The first time Gisa and Paulo ever got affected by the torments was a day when the Bahima boys passed by singing and throwing dry twigs at them

“The sons of the cowards That play with spears of dry straw Go home and tell your fathers That they are women For they couldn’t fight their war

And fled their own courtyards”

First Paulo who had made out the meaning stopped and looked at the boys; they were all older than him. He clutched his mock spear with an ironhand, veins burst out of his flesh and threatened to split his skin, his fore head sweated and he let his sweat flow to his tightened jaws that he bit in quick rhythm. His small piercing eyes became blood shot and with a roar of a lion he threw himself onto the oldest boy pinning him to the ground. The rest of the Bahima boys formed a human bush on Paulo until they seemed like a swarm of honey bees each beating in place he deemed the best with a tool he deemed worst. The assault had only begun suddenly that to the himas, Gisa was forgotten. And there Gisa stood looking on in horror, his hairs stood, his eyesmade as if to swallow the pupil and then the vision returned, he could see Bihogo’s tail twitch, switch, sway, rise and fall and that’s how his arm was going twitching, switching, swaying, rising and falling on the crowd ofhima boys.

The sun was going down slowly that same evening. Slow strings of bluesmoke from every hut gave the signal of the evening meal being prepared. Gisa was squatting beside his mother at the fire place. His father; an elderly man sat on a three legged stool slowly smoking a clay pipe letting the smell of tobacco smoke pierce the evening wind. Many a time Gisa’s mother complained over the smoke but the old man claimed it made him forgetthe troubles he had witnessed in his long life. Gisa pulled a bamboo stem from the dry grass that formed a mulch carpet of the hut; he lifted it up, shook it clean and placed it on his lips. Perhaps Gisa’s flute was very loud, probably loud enough that it wasimpossible to hear what took place in the hut just across. A band of men approached in the cover of the dark and went straight to Paulo’s home. Theyentered the hut without prior notice, and went over to Paulo’s father. Whatever the leading man whispered to him no one would tell but at once there was a sudden change of expression. He kicked on his sandals, held hiswalking stick and left with the men. He had been gone only for the short time when he returned, summoned Paulo to follow him. The women looked on helplessly as the backs of the twowere slowly swallowed by the dark.

The hut of the village council was filled with elderly men. In the dim candle light Paulo could make out the village chief, the rain maker, the priest who headed the parish and then he saw him, close to the dark

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corner was Kareebi, the boy he had pinned down, he was seated on the foot of a stool on which his father sat.

“Is it well with you all?”“It is well”

The response was slightly louder than a chuckle and it came from thevillage chief, the rest of the members of the council had their faces looking down. The rain maker cleared his throat; he was an old man whose wrinkled face looked like a rumpled rag with thread like unkempt grey hair to top it. He raised a wrinkled digit, scratched the back of his head, his eyes shone and he laughed and he started talking in slow calculated words. He told of how the Banyarwanda had come in a few years back in the late fifties and had been welcomed into Ankole and Uganda as visitors who wouldone day go back and with the lowed tone he talked of how they had become evil and curse to the land.

“It is because of allowing foreigners on our land that the gods have cursed us with drought and jiggers. But that we have stood and endured however the trouble is when you foreigners decide to bring out the savagery inside your beating our children just because they have criss-crossed the lands which we gave to you.”

“Yes” the priest repeated slowly. There was a strong heaviness in his words, a weight that held every one silent. Paulo looked at the man who hadinspired him in faith support such an injustice. And he begun to tell the story.

“A man planted a vine yard and let it out to tenants and went to settle in another village. When the time came, he sent his servants to the tenants but the tenants beat him and sent him away. And he sent a second servant whom they also beat and treated shamefully. He sent a third servantwhom they wounded and cast out. Then the owner of the vine yard said “what shall I do? I will send my beloved son; perhaps they will respect him.” But when the tenants saw him they said to each other. “Here is the heir let us kill him and take over the land”.And they threw him out of the vine yard and killed him. What then will the owner of the vine yard do to them? He will come and destroy the tenants andrepossess his vine yard.” At least none of all the church goers dared point out that the priest had edited the story to accommodate his evil interest; for weren’t this his contribution to the interest of land. It bothered Paulo that a manof God dared be in a company of evil people like the rain maker joining in belief that the gods had cursed the land with drought for helping the needy. Then in his solemnity, Kareebi’s father spoke. When he did it was inhushed but grave tones.

“You must be wondering why we called you here but no one is called to the village council for no reason.”He went on to tell how Paulo had beaten up his herds boy just for trying towater at the river. He further told of how Paulo and Gisa had beaten up hisson for crossing the grass land near them. In all he said he ensured that the blame lay entirely on Paulo and Gisa.

“If you doubt, may I present my evidence. Kasiita, come out!” There was a hushed sound in the dark part of the council hut and for the first time Paulo noticed Kasiita the herds boy he had embarrassed at

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the Rwizi. Kasiita was made to show his buttocks to the council. The rain maker poked with his stick at the faint scars on the black buttocks.

“God have mercy on us!” said the priest clutching harder onto his tatteredbible and looking aside evidently embarrassed at looking at naked buttocks. Paulo was going to speak, but Kareebi’s father waved him into silence.

“I have not finished. That is the first time you did it. And it is a big insult to the natives. Were you not a toddler when you fled your country and came here? We fed you, gave you land and you grew this strong only to use your strength against us. Tell me you the mouth that bites the hand that feeds it. Is this how you show gratitude to the people who have given you and your outcast race refuge? As if it is not enough, this morning you dared beat up my sons for crossing your sight! You ungrateful wretches!”The last three words were slight hisses which he spat out between tight pressed lips.

“Stop, Listen to my part of the story” Paulo shouted “God gracious, you dare shout at the council, what manners do you have? Don’t strangers

have manners?” it was the priest who said while casting glances at Paulo’s father. Paulo’s father stared into the candle as it burnt out and then he cleared his throat. What followed was a string of apologies for Paulo’s sin which the priest called unforgivable. Paulo burnt with anguish, his spirit pushed hisbody to get listened to but he could not be given a chance. He clenched hisfist behind his back and with a burning spirit fixed his gaze at Kareebi. In Kareebi’s mean eye he tried to find answers to his question; what was his position in this society? Was he the nobody everyone thought him to be? A second candle was lit, probably to light the sight that would forever haunt Paulo. The village chief appreciated the apologies from Paulo’s father.

“It shows you take charge for your son’s sins?”“Yes sir.”

A hurried murmur made rounds in the room, Kareebi’s father chuckled,and a malicious smile stretched his wrinkled face into a down ward pattern.

“Then you can as well take his punishment so that our ancestors may be appeased.” Paulo was told to go home and at once he rose up and started staggering towards the exit with no further utterance. The cold air slappedhim in the face as he walked down slope and away from the cursed hut. He had gone many paces away when he got a strange feeling that he was being followed everywhere. He stopped and looked behind but there was nothing buthis shadow that looked dark against the bright moon light. He wanted to go back to the hut to wait for his father probably together the two would facethe haunted walk together.He sat on a large boulder and shivered in the cold wind. When he finally decided to go back to the council hut, he never knew that he had made a decision that would forever drive his life. When he looked behind two shadows were there, the candle light from the hut wrestled with the moon light to have the best of his shadow. Suddenly an arm pulled him away. He tried to fight but all was futile, he had been captured.

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“I dropped by your hut to invite you to play the flute and I was told you have come here.”It didn’t take long for Paulo to narrate to Gisa all that had transpired and was happening in the council hut.

“And what do you think is going to happen to your old man?”“Only the council knows.”

The night grew darker, clouds covered the moon, an owl hooted in a nearby tree.

“I think we should go and peep.”Together the two boys crept up to the lonely hut atop a barren hill. Gisa led the way, crawling on his knees, Paulo followed half willingly partly wishing he would turn back and run away. Away! When he caught the first glimpse of inside the hut, all the blood turned ice- cold in their veins. There, on the ground lay Paulo’s father; stripped of his khaki shorts. Towering disgustingly over him was the priest, holding a cow whip in his hand. He was taking punishment for his son. Gisa made as if to rush in but Paulo knew it would be unwise. For now he wanted it to remain his secret. He wanted to go away, away from the hut in which his father was being humiliated.

“Let us get away from here.” He pulled Gisa away and together the two accosted the path. Paulo walked like a man in a different world.Thoughts shuffled in his brain. Whathad he done to deserve this? If being a refugee was his crime then he demanded an explanation from his father as to why they had left Rwanda. Butnow he was determined to never let his father know that he had witnessed this. Paulo was finally in his hut, he refused to talk to his mother or any of his siblings. To him the round eyes of the ladies were too haunting;he found solace looking into the fire. In a short while the old man had come. What struck Paulo though was the strength he manifested. One who had not been at the council hut could not tell that this was the same man who afew moments before was lying down, being whipped by the priest. He did notmention a word to Paulo about the fights; he entered whistling and asked for food. After eating, he smoked his pipe, telling stories and laughing. Paulo found the laugh empty for he knew all that had transpired. Gall and bile seemed to have mixed in his throat; he looked into theburning red embers, the red of the fire place re- echoed in his eyes. He felt his pair of patched shorts for the match box he always carried for lighting fire for the cattle on cold nights. A twig cracked in the fire, a spider on the wall caught the beam of the yellow straw lamp and its gigantic shadow spread monstrously on the wall, everywhere in and around crickets rubbed their wings until a sleep inducing sound was made. The insects all joined in the sinister song lighted by the remaining luminous flies. The youngest brother to Paulo dozed over his cup and the milk spilt over.

“We should all go to sleep.”

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CHAPTER 3

A straw of the thatch cracked, a spark jumped and ate up the single straw advancing skipping from straw to straw. Lizards run into each other jumping with all their energies out of the grass thatch. Inside the hut, the men were drinking brew and laughing; cerebrating a cowardly victory. A lone figure could be seen in the plains, running on its long but firm legs. The baggy over sized shorts slipped half way down the buttocks; the figure pulled them up and supported them with one hand. The other hand held the half filled match box. He had had his revenge. He would never set eyes on the hut that put his father on embarrassment.Kareebi laughed out loud, pinched at Kasiita’s thigh. The priest, now over powered the power of the holy gin danced around the candle, plucking out pages from the bible he held and scattering them around. The warmth of the candle grew intense. The priest removed his frock, and then his shirt, the black pairs of trousers followed. All the occupants of the hut were too drunk to think the priest indecent. Still the heat grew intense, they all stripped.

“I can see the holy spirit, the light, the light” When they all looked up, there was a stampede; man rolled upon man at the door step. Then the thatch went down with the thud. Sparks flew everywhere. Thesmall windows looked like two dragon nostrils. Outside, the men who had managed to get out watched in silence, the gin had already left their heads. Some nodded, some fought to keep their eyes open. Half a kilometre away, the hut was nothing but a fire ball in the eyes of two alien boys. Suddenly it started drizzling. The drought was over.

News came before the sun; the rain maker had perished in the inferno. It was news to everyone except the men who had stood drunk and naked before the burning hut. A prophet and seer came from another village with the truth every one believed. He claimed the gods had taken the rain maker as sacrifice to end drought. The sun was in mid sky when the rain maker‘s half burnt body was laid to rest. His compound was buzz of sorrowful life. Everyone was welcome. An observer not keen enough could not notice that where as the natives sat in a vinyl plastic sheds, the Banyarwanda sat in the sheds madeof banana fibres and leaves. All the same, the talk soon died down and the matter was long forgotten. Life was slowly going back to normal; the cattle soon started regaining weight. The savannah was green again and the yellowing savannah grass was replaced by yellow flowers. The annual water well fights were no more for every well overflowed with water. The women were able to sing again as their hoes dug deep into the soft ground. On top of a distant hill, Gisa sat admiring his prize bull Bihogo ashe played his flute. Paulo looked away uninterested and cast stones in the

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far plains as his eyes roamed beyond the horizon. He took in the rolling green hills and the flat plain in a long lazy and blank spare. He then sucked in air with a noisy sigh that stopped Gisa in his flute playing. Thetwo boys had gradually become one; their dreams, hopes, fear and aspirations were slowly merging in a way themselves could not realize.

“What do you think home is like?” The question had been so unexpected that Gisa looked at Paulo puzzled, he wondered if Paulo was already hungry. Did he probably intend toask about what had been cooked for breakfast?

“Well, I think your sister is stirring stew” Paulo knew that what Gisa had answered was not what he had asked butstill he went on like a man possessed by a strange spirit.

“Home, shall we ever see a home where we shall be loved dearly, treated fairly and understood best? Tell me, shall we?” Something caught in his throat, tears welled up in his eyes and he let them flow. Gisa looked at him, he swallowed his voice. An insect buzzedby, settling in the mound of cow dung, a few flies with blue and green wings flew off the dung. A dove flew over crying coo coo and again it was silence.

“Shall we?!”When Paulo asked again, it was with so much bitterness that he hit the sideof his palm on the edge of the rock on which he sat. Gisa held Paulo’s bleeding palm, and finding nothing better to say, he blurted out the words

“Yes we shall.”Silence followed immediately soon the time for returning home would be close.

CHAPTER 4

His dream was interrupted; someone shook him out of sleep. He opened his eyes not knowing why on earth he could have been woken up at such an early hour. Outside it was dark, his father dragged him to his hut and switched on an old rusty flash light, the only reminder of times he had a life, a home and dignity. ‘Sit down,” The older man said, and motioned towards a pounding mortar that was near the cold fire place. Gisa blew off the white ash so that he could get a place to put his buttocks. The ash would not be blown and after various futile trials, he gave up and sat on the ashy mortar. Immediately he started rubbing sleep out of his eyes, mosquitoes feasted on his bare legs. He fidgeted. His old man watched him intently; nowords were exchanged for some time. The inconceivable discussion of night crickets was the only audible sound. The old man cleared his throat and slowly started talking

“Where will you graze the cows when the sun rises?’ “The plains of Rutooma.”

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“Have you in your life ever been in Mpororo?” The old man spoke calmly, except for the slight tremor in the voice that betrayed feelings of resignation and submissive acceptance of the bad reality. Gisa started wondering if his father was not the woman he had beencalled before.

“I have never been beyond Nyakayojo!” Gisa answered after a long silence. He was trying to figure out why his father, an old man who was usually confined to himself suddenly asked him such a question.

” Have you ever heard of the confluence?”“Confluence, Not in the world never!”

The old man closed his eyes, for a short spell he spat out incantations. Gisa started growing curious. He pressed his fingers and faked a cough to remind his old man of his presence.

“Let your friend Paulo take care of your cattle for a mean time. We shall be gone a few days.”“Days?”“Yes, days.”

It was very clear though it was in the middle of the night. When Gisa reached Paulo’s compound, a serenading flute ushered him. It was only Pauloand himself who could play the flute that way.

“Surprised you are awake at this hour”“Me too”

Since the day he burned the council hut and the rain maker died in it, sleep had eluded him. Not because of the guilt but the thought of how all the people who had done harm to his race would be brought to their knees. It took few friendly nods and the issue was settled. Paulo was to herd Gisa’s cows. As Gisa turned to leave, Paulo beckoned him to turn.“Have this, perhaps it will help”.Gisa needed not say thanks, words between the two boys were increasingly becoming unnecessary, they thought the same, and they had a pact they had made, sealed with Paulo’s blood. Gisa held the half empty match box, staredin the dark quite sure Paulo’s eyes met his through the dark. A slight bow,and he was gone

Gisa and his father trudged on. The path they followed was un known to Gisa who boasted the knowledge of the whole plain.He was only content in following his father who led the way slashing aside the thorny bushes to make the path in the bush that disappeared immediatelyafter he passed and the thorny bushes fell back in position stinging Gisa’snaked legs. Fortunately, the coldness made Gisa’s legs nearly numb that he only felt the stings as tiny pricks. Near the end of the village, at the side where the Bahima lived, they heard a distant cry. The further they went, the closer the cry came; soon it was a few paces in front of them. It was the town crier announcing a seasonal market due the next day

“Why do you walk so early?”“Oh! We have a long journey ahead of us.”“Okay, but your boy looks tired.”“Ha ha…. he is a man old enough to walk.”

With a friendly pat on the old man’s back, the town crier wished thetwo sojourners a nice journey

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For a long time it was silent. Only the throb of the flooded river as it whistled and bubbled in stone bottle necks and stone beds. occasionally, the old man stopped, pinched on his snuff and with re- ignited strength strode forward at the pace that at times made Gisa run to be able to catch up. Later the old man, realizing that Gisa was slowing himlifted the boy to his shoulders letting the boy’s legs hang from shouldersto his chest each from its side of the his neck. The old man stopped sometimes to show a foot path to his son.

“This path can lead you to Kazo’“That wide road goes to Mbarara and Kampala.”

Other times it would be a word of caution against eating such and such as it would cause a sickness to people as well as cattle.

“Never, and I repeat never eat grass hoppers, because they cause the cows produce little milkand then the children starve.”Gisa now felt the closeness he had never experienced with his father. He felt so light and felt any time he would be blown off his father’s shoulders. He held tight on his father’s fore head, that very store of all wisdom of the plains, the secrets of his race as well as the disappointment. Gisa was being transformed. To him the old man’s wisdom wasbeing emptied into his own head. Their bushy path opened into a dry foot path. Left and right, the plain looked like a dungeon in the night, the twohad been going for about an hour when a silenced growl was heard. The old man put Gisa down, and he squatted, held his spear in the mid shaft.

“What is…?”“Shhh, a leopard”

Gisa lay silent and scared watching as his father smelt the air. The old man was preparing to aim when afat hare jumped out of the bush and ran away, its long ears looking like horns in the dark night. The old man laughed at himself and looked at his son. He could see thin stretches of a curved smile on the little boy’s mouth.

“Why didn’t you kill it?”“My son, hares are tricky little animals.”

The series of the hare stories broke out in the chain with each ending glorifying the hare for its intelligence and undefeatable wit. Gisa’s laughter rang across the plains; the journey became shorter for the one who knew where they were going and stranger for Gisa. But for one sure thing the level of confidence between the two was growing stronger. And fora moment, the journey seemed to end for Gisa but the old man knew it was just a bus stop. The journey was far from over. The sun could be seen from the far cloud. The very last star could be seen floating in the sea of grey-blue sky with determination to shine with the sun. The challenge was soon forgotten for the sun won, it shone much that morning, the old man sweated. The bus post was made of tin sheetswhich in the sun became an oven; the old man stood out of the shelter and took in the whole of Nyamitanga. He could hear the bells of the Catholic Church nearby, just beyond the fenced out compound that formed the only girls’ secondary school Mary hill. Gisa was too excited to be in a tin shelter that he found heat part of the luxury. A few paces away, two drunken men fought over a calabash that seemedto be filled with a liquid which they had already had enough of. No one

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seemed to win over the other; they went down in turns until they both had bleeding noses. A small ring of excited children was starting to form around the two fighters; people wagered coin money on whom of the two wouldwin. The old man came closer and tapped the two drunkards; their legs were interlocked as they had just completed a rolling phase. They looked athim with mean eyes, their bloodied noses made their appearance meaner.

“Gentle men do you realize you are disrespecting your selves?His words rang out so clear that every one stopped to listen.“Please keep you dignities, stop fighting.”

Almost immediately a shower of insults pelted the old man, the people around scolded him for trying to interrupt a good fight. The bettingcontinued. Coins jingled, the men charged at each other, the old man lookedaway to avoid witnessing the sight.

“You pretended to have dignity; disgusting refugee!” The old man went back to the shelter, glad enough that Gisa was not around when he was being insulted. He stayed silent, staring at the road waiting for the bus. A sudden scream forced him to look back towards the fight, and when he did, he found the people aligned on the side rails looking into the river beneath the bridge. It was soon discovered by him that the two men had rolled and rolled until they rolled beneath the rails and dropped into the fast flowing flooded river, now they were nowhere to be seen, they had drowned. An old rickety bus appeared around the bend that headed from Nakivale and Bukanga, the old man and his son hoped on and left the confusion at the drowning scene. The door of the bus slammed on and soon the whole vehicle shook, it coughed and roared back to life. With the yell of the conductor, the drivermade it move making the passengers to jerk backwards, some hitting the backs of their heads on the back rest. The bus swerved into the road and started on its way.Gisa sat at the laps of his father looking out the window and wondering whythey had to go on this journey. He watched the lush greenery as it ran towards where the bus came from. Sometimes a monkey would be seen swaying on the tree tops with its babies clinging desperately on its belly. The oldbus shot across the far road and only the gaping potholes dared deter its way but still it made it for a few minutes before the passengers would jumpagain at hitting the next pothole. Once, Gisa jumped so high that he hit his head on the roof, everyonelaughed, even his father on whose laps he sat. At one stop, all passengers bought edibles, Gisa bought ripe plantains and roast cassava and ate with alot of concentration. The journey was so far a beautiful one until.

Road blocks were not a rare sighting in post colonial Uganda. It wascommon or rather obvious to find a military manned road block on the major highways. However, they were usually undesired and dreaded. It was one likethese that spoilt the good journey. The driver saw the soldiers from a distance and he passed on the communication. Immediately, every one

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fumbled, purses opened, heartbeats stopped yet the make shift road block came nearer.The bus slowly pulled to the side of the road, everyone was silent. The door was torn open with much force and brutality that the conductor almost fell out. He was saved the accident by the soldier who grabbed him and threw him in the road side trench. The soldier then burst into the bus withblood shot eyes. He ordered everyone out escorting who ever exited the bus with a kick on the buttocks and sometimes a slap on the back of the neck. One woman fell on the road head first knocking out two of his front teeth. The passengers were then filed outside and each one presented an identity card. Those who did not have one paid a bribe after a long and thorough beating. Gisa’s father reached the soldier

“Ssebo, endangamuntu”He got his identity card and handed it to the soldier with shaking hands; he knew that it would not be easy as it had been for the rest. The soldierstook enough time to read the old man’s card; he looked at the old man, shook his head and said with a grin

“Shyaka Jean Pierre!”“That’s me sir”“Enter”

The old man gladly made his way towards the bus. The soldier fixed him witha wicked gaze all the way into the bus. It was Gisa’s turn. He fumbled withhis hands trying to figure out what to say

“Your card please”“I have none”

No explanation that Gisa was still too young to get a legal documentcould ease the soldier’s wish to beat him up. And it happened, he was made to lie down belly on the on the ground and was beaten with a horse whip as soldiers mocked, spat and stepped on him. Later, his father paid the bribe.A lot more beatings, tears, bribes and laughter of soldiers and the bus wasagain on its way.The rest of journey was of total silence, people tied pieces of cloth on their bruises. Gisa lay belly first on his father’s lap for he had been beaten the whole back side and buttocks.It was approaching midday when the bus pulled into the park in Ntungamo town. Bicycles scrambled for passengers. It was cheaper to use bicycle taxis but this very batch of passengers preferred to walk to their destinations as few could sit on bicycles. The lucky ones including Gisa’s father who had survived the torture jumped onto bicycle carriers and they were rode to their destination.When the old man’s brother saw him arrive on a bicycle but carrying Gisa onhis laps, he knew something was not right he sent for the village doctor immediately.

Back in Bwizibwera the whole village was burning with it, very few could believe whereas a few others blamed it on the nature of the accused, the fact that they were aliens. Paulo had first got it in the morning. He had taken his and Gisa’s cow to the watering point when he passed by the

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town crier’s toddler son. The little boy innocently stopped him with flush of curious excitement pointed at Gisa’s cow Bihogo:“Is that the night dancer’s prize bull”? Paulo, laughed and gave a friendly tap to the younger boy, he wandered why the boy could have asked such a question when everyone knew Gisa’s Bihogo. He tried to assure the toddler that it was not but there was certain seriousness in the boy’s voice that Paulo got scared. He offered the littleboy a seat beside him on a fallen log near the watering point.“Now tell me, who told you that Gisa is a night dancer”?“Father said he met him at night with his father night dancing”!“Where”?“Near the end of the village”

A pang hit Paulo in the bowels, could it be true? He could not of allthings imagine being an accomplice to a night dancer. At least that was what everyone was seeing him as although he rubbished the information sincehe had prior knowledge of the journey yet it angered him that an outrageousaccusation could be made on his friend, a friend, a brother and perhaps themirror of his own passions and fears and dreams and ambitions; Gisa.

The rest of the morning dragged on lazily. As always the sun rose up in the thin orange streak that coloured the grass land. The fresh mounds ofcow dung steamed in the orange light beside the beetle burrowed dry dung. The insects which circle the ears were at it as always. They made Paulo remember the fable of the insect and the ear.

As a toddler he had been told that the insect was a beautiful spinster living on the human head and one day the ear had travelled from far away land where there was drought. The ear was a handsome prince who was chased by his siblings because of the fight over little resources surviving the drought. That the insect was swayed and mesmerized by the ear’s beauty and offered him her position on the head. Later, the insect felt jealousy because the ear was prospering off her land and even since promised never to give him peace. Paulo was still lost in thought about thefable when another boy from his neighbourhood came running up to him

“Hey there!”He started as if shaken from a bad dream, He saw the boy come in as

first as a buffalo,He stood up with arms around the back of his head for he was counting on itto be bad news

“Any news?”“Yes.”The boy reached where Paulo was, he fell down gasping for breath. His

chest pumped and for some time he could not find his words. Paulo became asanxious as nervous, he looked at the boy, expecting with burning anxiety that he never wished to show. He turned away to hide the anxious look, he whistled and threw a stick at the cow which was wandering away from the rest. The cow slowly turned back, its stomach vibrating with every single hoof step. He looked back at the boy, now tears welled up in the boy’s eyes, the question of nature of the tear was still debatable, Paulo expected the worst

“I am going away.”“Away? Where are you going?”

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“To school, we shall study and liberate our home, shall we?”The question echoed and re-echoed in his head, he saw the lights

roll; suddenly he was in deep round hole with the only hope of light so faraway above almost small as a pin point. This was the same rock on which he asked the same questions many days ago. He looked at the scar on the side of his palm, images of his father; naked before a council of men of his agebeing whipped came back to him, tears flowed freely down his cheeks and with an effort to prove his strength he shouted out on his voice

“We shall!”He then looked at the boy next to him who now sat amused and he

repeated“Augustine we shall!”Away from the graze land, the orange morning sun was greeted with

excitement in the village market ground. Traders bought their merchandise from all corners. Bicycle loads of second hand clothes, cheap plastic utensils and consumer goods arrived in the swarm. Stakes for constructing make shift shelters were brought.

Market days in Bwizibwera were a social occasion that everyone liked and so much enjoyed. A few went to sell, many to buy and all of them to gossip. News spread like a forest fire not forgetting those who, wanting tospice up the news made wanton exaggeration. One such rumour was that of theman who mounted his goat in Rutooma. Laughter rung across the whole market,one trader who by rumour mill was identified as a cousin to the wife of theman’s elder brother’s friend was tormented the whole morning. Other rumourscame and went but the story of the man mounting a goat came back into the discussion and mockery. Men serving local brew and banana juice made roundsserving dry throats. One of these men tired of the mounting of the goat story, or perhaps a little embarrassed decided to change the line of discussion.

“Haven’t you heard of a night dancer?”Suddenly every one remember the story, it was as if the whole market

had been awakened at once. Beyond the arguments over a high price here or aspoilt good there, the general buzz about the night dancer prevailed. The town crier had done his invention justice, spreading it alongside the market announcement in the dead of the night when everyone was silent and every ear caught the slightest sound. Soon it was no longer a market rumour, it was a village headline. When Shyaka’s family heard about it, they all wept and for a full day remained in their court yard fearing for their lives. Only Paulo and Augustine visited them that day. They brought news no better, no good and no different. The village burnt with it, for the full day, every one who passed by the house hold of Shyaka picked grassand threw it in the direction, to wade off which ever curse the night dancers cast upon them.

It was almost sun set when the dark cloud gathered in the horizon, a crack was heard in the sky. Clouds came hurrying with the winds turning sharply here and there tossing up the clothes on sale like a farmer turninghay to dry in the sun. All above the market, the dark cloud formed a sinister blanket that rested its corners on the many conical hills that rose up in distant horizons.

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The eyes of the traders, horrified and round as they bundled up theirmerchandise, met with eyes of buyers too desperate to buy and leave. The last bargains were said above the howling winds, last purchase beating the patience of the clouds. All over, the screams of the delighted children rang as they chased after notes of money flying in the wind from the stallsof the unfortunate traders. For a moment, the social mass of market people was a confusion of solitary files and individual dashes of people marking time against storm to be home. The last trader to park was the blacksmith; he sat unbothered by the approaching storm, sharpening an impatient old man’s spear. And a pelt of rain simmered on his heated sharpening stone, helooked up and as if his eyes had opened the flood gates of heaven, the storm broke upon the land.

A few old men sat in a hut smoking their clay pipes in the darkness waiting for the storm to calm down. They drank brew as was tradition. One of them was a brew seller who served his aborted merchandise. It was general happiness inside the hut for a moment when the storm outside seemedto be forgotten. One of them a toothless old man looked into the smoke coming out of his mouth, spat in the fire and wept silently.

“Oh my millet, it is all gone.”He had failed to carry his sacks of dry millet to a safe place since

his sons were home and the storm was sudden.Another old man sowed a rumour that soon burnt up the whole hut.“Yes! The night dancers evoked the rain to spoil our trade.”Soon it became a slogan over the whole village. In the dark of night,

malice defeated rationality, just before the old men dispersed,“Something has to be done.” They concluded.

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CHAPTER 5

Darkness was closing in, whistles of the herdsmen leading cows home rose above the clatter of the hooves. Slowly by slowly the village huts letblue evening smoke into the sky, a signal for the evening meal being prepared.

Gisa stood by the hedge of the kraal, leaning over between the woodengates and milk cans. The crawlers shook in the first breeze in the evening and the breeze wafted the smell of ghee into his face. He held his nose with his hand. If he pressed so hard, he thought, he would be able to keep the smell of ghee out of his nostrils. Sometimes he thought ill of his uncle’s wife.

It was a night again That is ita dark blanket that was as pitch black as his mother’s

Mushanana suit.He kept practicing with his shoulders, buttocks and back feeling the

slight pain in his wounds. Then it was total pain. Pain not physical. Sincethe incident at the river in the drought and the humiliation of Paulo’s father, Gisa had become very paranoid. It pained him that he had been treated thus by soldiers who ought to have been peace keepers. Now the gheewas boiling from his uncle’s wife’s hut, ready for the night’s operation ofnursing his wounded back and buttocks.

As a custom now, he stood at the kraal every day as night approached looking out and waiting for the herdsmen to drive the cattle home. In this he found solace since his condition could never let him out of grazing.

The beasts soon approached; a blessed dark mass silhouetting the thinning evening light and encircling the wooden gate way. Gisa opened the gate and they scampered in.

The herdsman would come with the last head which lost their way. Theywould come with a bundle of fire wood and the smell of fresh cow dung and smoke from the fire wood mounds in which they roasted a plantain while herding. They would soon show up dripping with sweat but with sentiments

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quite conforming to his with stories he gladdened in listening to. Gisa waited. He watched as light gave way to darkness.

Soon Gisa joined in the daily rhythm of life in Mpororo. There it seemed people never took tribe as anything beyond tribe. Somehow it was a bit different from Bwizibwera. Tribe was made of neighbours regardless origin. Gisa went out to look after cattle and goats, organized forest games and plain athletics racing and also went on hunts alongside the othervillage boys. He joined the bonfire dances on nights when cattle were takentoo far away to graze over night. Some lucky days, a straying fowl was grabbed by the boys who would eat it half roasted after a short exposure tothe vigilant bonfire. Days rolled the same way and the life was the same, always gay, always unchanging. His blank stares though, in the moments he was alone told different tales. He saw the happiness here and thought of the discord back home in Bwizibwera. Some people said that his stare was too resolute and they made that he would be a hunter, a soldier perhaps yetothers thought it was just a lazy man’s stare. His eyes radiated his father’s confidence for they never wondered over abstracts that children ofhis age usually saw, ghosts, spirits, illusive creatures and all.

One evening, weeks after they had first arrived, Gisa decided to stayhome. His father was sitting in the brother’s Kifuuha hut having a light moment with him from where he sat; Gisa could hear laughter taking over thehut. It was then that in his eaves dropping, the first scale fell from his eye. He had heard it

“I tell you Shyaka, if we had not run away from Gitarama we would all be dead. I am indeed grateful to God.”

“Sure brother, old Rwanda has fallen to the dogs and our home is gone forever.”Gisa heard for the first time what seemed like his father was

chocking in his own words. Was he sobbing? Gisa took a path that led to nowhere he knew, he seemed to be possessed, his young veins gushed with rage, anger which he knew not on whom to turn it.

“I have no home; old Rwanda has fallen to the dogs.”The mystery path wound beyond the hyena’s cave into the forest and

beyond into the millet gardens where women who cultivated them had to go with the hunter men to guard them. It was scary inside the forest gardens but still he dragged on his feet trampling down on immature fingers up to his object of interest, an object he was to quench his anger upon suddenly he yelled.

“I am homeless, completely homeless”The birds perching in the nearby forest were startled into the sky

bloating the sun momentarily. Blows rained upon the scare crow. He punched it until his knuckles bled. His face was washed in his own sweat and tears.He was baptized by his own sweat and tears. He was a child no more, he was an initiated patriot.

Shyaka paused for a while as if to gather his breath. His eyes shone as he looked at his son.

“Leave him alone,” he motioned to the hunters.Gisa turned from his adversary and saw his father standing at the end

of the field behind him. His hands had swollen veins. He was motioning the

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hunters to stop. He regained his mind. He looked at him and smiled, he forgot to wipe his tears. He did not even know how he had got where he was.

The stove was put out, the fire place covered with ash. Some boys were dragging a reed mat to their sleeping place. They knocked out their lamp by mistake.

“Tell me, why did hunters follow me?”“You went to the forest of hyenas and lions, the women saw you and raised an alarm.”The boy’s answer was more of dragged speech and his last word ended

in the snore. A mosquito came to the Gisa’s ear; it sung enough songs that he could not go to sleep. Outside, the moon light was obscured by a rain cloud. He sat up in the darkness turning many jumbled thoughts in his head.There was a crunch on the gravel outside. Gisa turned in the bed. He did not want his uncle’s wife to find him awake and remember that she had not applied the night’s medication on his healing bruises. A foot step on the straw door.

“Gisa, are you already asleep?”It was Kanzira his uncle.Gisa woke up opened the door and pretended to rub sleep out his eyes.

“Your father would like to talk to you.”Shyaka was waiting at the cactus plant near the granary, smoking a clay pipe.

“Gisa, tomorrow we are going.”“Back home?”“No, to our destination.”Gisa at once knew that it meant waking up early but what puzzled him

was that all along, he had thought that the object of their journey was to visit uncle Kanzira. Slowly, sleep ate him away.

He dreamt that he was an ancient warrior dressed in a leopard skin, holding a spear adorned with a lion’s mane and singing victory songs. A crack of thunder shook him out of the good dream, the floods gates of heaven opened to wash Mpororo in the rain.

Nothing stirred. Only the footsteps of the two sojourners could be heard. Mud puddles crowded the cattle path that led away from Kanzira’s home stead. Gisa trudged forward completely ignorant of where they were headed to and the objective of the journey. Shyaka could sometimes stop on a forked junction and mumble a thing about having been so long away and debate with himself on the right way to take. Gisa thought his father was blessing his adventure.

Early hunters passed by the two stopping to ask Shyaka why they were leaving too soon.

“Two months is a lot for a man not to be at home.”Shyaka would reply them before receiving their blessings for a safe journey. Gisa thought it had been indeed a long time though it fascinated him that he had never realized the long they had spent visiting. His wounds had long healed and only thin scars running in the parallel formation his whole back side carried the sadmemory.

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The walking seemed to take forever, the darkness was swallowed by mist and sooner light sucked up the mist, feet, bicycle, a taxi and feet again. Gisa started thinking the journey would never end.

A few minutes passed the hour of mid day, the two entered a small secluded village called Kyamate. What was most striking about that village was a small town that seemed to totally feed its self and serve its self. They found a small room that served tea, yellow bananas, mandazis as well as lunch and entered with no hesitation since they were very hungry.

Once inside they came to learn a lot about Kyamate. The proprietor, an athletic middle aged man introduced himself as Mr. Mugarura and asked toserve them whatever they wanted. He watched them as they ate and realized that they had travelled for long and had been too hungry.

“So what brings you here?” he asked.Gisa’s jaw dropped, he did not want his chewing to prevent him from

hearing his father’s answer. He had not wanted to ask his father the same question out of respect. Now it had gladly come from another person. His father swallowed a bolus of millet cake and made as if to answer.

“I lived here for-“Just then a budding teenager rushed in carrying a satchel of exercise

books and ran straight to the counter “How is the going sir?”“Very fine, how was school?”“Usual colonial routine; English numbers etc”“Pass them and make me proud”The boy who was soon to identify himself to Gisa and Shyaka as Joel

sat in a far corner and was served with a mug of cold milk and two mandaziswhich he ate hurriedly and was soon on his way.

Soon Shyaka finished his meal in silence glad enough for the fortunate interruption by Joel. He made for his pocket to pay but Mr. Mugarura declined the pay.

“Mr. Shyaka, the world is round probably some day you will help me too”Stepping out of the tea room brought back the reality of the

environment as the sun shone hot beating at Shyaka’s smooth shaven head. Gisa stood beside his father waiting to be led like a lamb being led to thealtar. Shyaka wasted no time and soon they were on the way.

They took the path besides the butchery, through a banana plantation.Soon it was a series of stopping on families and homesteads, brief introduction by Shyaka, embraces and tears of joy for a long lost friend. Gisa was puzzled.

“These people know you, father?”Shyaka did not answer; he just nodded and smiled at his son, wrapping

his arm around his shoulders. They took a fowl hole through one of the new found friends’ hedge and were soon in a clearing full of tall green weeds, black jacks tagged at their clothes yet on they trudged. Once, Gisa stoppedto pluck black jacks from his ugil shirt but when he looked up, his father was many paces away ahead of him. He abandoned his plucking and ran to catch up with his father

“Black jacks are not the biggest problem”“And what is the biggest?”“Identity.”

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Shyaka looked beyond a distant hill and swallowed a gallon of saliva beforeanswering.

How ever clear the word rung, at present it did not make sense to Gisa. But soon, when they both fell silent, he heard it ring. Identity! He tried to clear it from his mind by trying to think of all the cattle names he could master; Kyasha, Siina, Gaaju, Bihogo, Kiremba ………….he could go on for the whole after noon but his brains soon wafted back to identity and hesuddenly asked

“What am I? What is my identity?”The question caught Shyaka by surprise. He turned immediately meeting

the resolute look on his son’s face.“My son, the world has cast us away, wanderers of no identity. What we could call home is

home no more. What we call home now is not home either. We belong nowhere, No where!”Shyaka turned to continue walking but Gisa remained still, he walked

a few paces and turned back. Gisa stood at one spot letting tears wash downhis face, his father came back and gathered him in a fatherly embrace. Gisafelt the confidence he had never felt before. His face burrowed in his father’s chest, he confidently said.

“Father, i want to go to school.”Shyaka looked up in the heaven grateful for having a confident son.

They seemed to have travelled for eternity by the time they stopped. They came to halt in front of two round mounds of earth.

“Your question will be answered here and now.” Shyaka said while standing behindhis son, his hands rested on the boy’s shoulders. He looked beyond the mounds, across the plains, beyond the hills gazing in the nothingness like a demon possessed man. Gisa did not know what to think. Although before he was never close to his father, he was starting to be over powered by the old man’s words. Some gleamed with hope yet others were submissive, resigned and pessimistic. Yet Shyaka spoke not really to Gisa. He seemed tobe in a fit of soliloquy. His voice rose and fell, his fore head sweated.

“………Here lie your grandparents; in the beginning of things, it was not meant to be like this. When imperialists came, they sowed hatred in Rwanda and trained some of our brothers the catechism of hatred. The new catechists unleashed the wrath of their art on us their fellow brothers. In 1958, we fled Gitarama and other provinces and came here to be treated as out casts.”

Gisa was not sure he was the one being addressed. When he looked up, he saw his father was looking beyond the hills and shaking his head.

“……….and some of us died like homeless dogs and were buried on the way. That year you were born. It is ten years since but no one has saved our home. I am sure today, beyond those hills of Mirama, blood is flowing; machetes are drinking from the blood wells of innocent people. And still no one knows if there is a redeemer.”

The old man shifted his gaze and looked at his son.“You are here, if ever you receive the white man’s knowledge, return and free your country.

What more love can one show for his countrymen than plucking the chicken with much pain and handing the dressed fowl to his countrymen. I tell you Gisa, there is no way better for one to show his love for his race than die at its service.”

“Father!” Gisa was not scared of the talk but it seemed so misplaced coming from a man who always looked like he would go to all extents to avoid violence.

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“I too played my part, we found a guerrilla bandit group and as a result the dogs chased us, killing your grandparents at this spot and scattering the rest of us in Ankole, Uganda. Today is your day, the light of Rwanda in your hands; don’t cover it with a bowl.”

And with that Shyaka fell on his knees weeping. Gisa was amused, he also fell on his knees and watched his father break down. The old man shookwith sobs letting his tears fall on the mounds.

“I bring you your grandson, my heir, the heir to no inheritance. Bless him, protect him, inspire and lead him. May he restore the dignity of us the abused, the homeless, the God forsaken aliens in every land.”

A slight wind washed over the place. Gisa took it that his grandparents were blowing valor into him. He took a deep breath in the passing wind. Shyaka seemed to think so too, he stopped weeping.

Carefully he weeded around the two mounds leaving them clean and barelike two boils on the buttocks. He raised his soiled fingers and pointed tosome distant hills.

“If you ever lead us home, that is the right route.”His fingers looked longer in the rays of the setting sun. Darkness

was looming in the vicinity.Darkness made a quick advancement over the land. Shyaka showed no

alarm, he sat for a long time thinking silently. Gisa with his short spear squatted at a distance cutting a bamboo stem and boring flute holes into it. The evening insects woke up to form their daily choir of irritating music. Mosquitoes stung Shyaka’slegs; he slapped them off and soon called his son.

The path they followed was partially covered with leaves and partially dead leaves. By all means the path was an old abandoned one yet the old man led his son on with unshaken confidence that a shelter lay ahead. The mist of the evening was starting to give way to the darkness, just like the time when the evening milking starts.

Soon the path ended into a bushy patch with old rotten poles stickingout of the bushes like dry bones. Shyaka stopped and put his hand behind his head and whistled in shock. Gisa stopped too and now tried to act shocked though he never knew the cause of shock.

“Where I thought we would spend a night is also gone. Probably long gone that no one knowswhere to.”

Soon the reality sunk in, they had nowhere to spend a night. Gisa squatted and pulled at over grown weeds, his father paced about his hands behind his back trying to figure out what to do. Soon he bore an idea. Withhis spear and knife he pulled out the remaining parts of the rotting poles,dug deep round holes and drove the poles into the ground. Gisa found a halfrotten reed mat which was dripping with ants. He shook it carefully and spread it over the four poles organized in a rectangular formation. Around he put dry thorn bushes and soon the shelter for the night was completed.

Shyaka sat in the middle of his house for the night telling his son stories of ancient warriors who fought justified battles and got remarkablevictory. He was now raising his hand to introduce another warrior when one pole fell. Immediately the shelter crashed in one side trapping them in a triangle of rotten wood, reed and thorn. A flashing light was seen in the forest beyond, soon a strong howling wind was heard. The whole shelter crashed upon their heads.

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By the time the two threw the mat roof off their heads, the first drops of rain were gathering into hard pelts. The old man grabbed his son’shand and manoeuvred him around a thorn pile and tagged him at a great speed.

“Father, where are you heading to?”“A place I know.”Through thorny bushes, the two ran and soon they were running around

a big rock. At one end of the rock was an opening and into it the two entered. The cave was dark and intimidating. Gisa held his father’s hand more tightly. Twice Shyaka tripped on a stone floor or a root quiet imperceptible in the dark almost falling and at last reached the end of thecave. They sat down; the wind blew from outside and finding nothing else toperch on, perched on their bare legs rendering them numb. They remained like that for a long time.

However later, an idea came to Gisa’s head. Paulo had given him a tool greater than any, a tool man had used since creation, fire. He felt his pocket for a match box, opened it carefully and tried to strike. He aimed and struck few centimetres away from the match box, again he aimed and this time broke the match stick. He knew he had to take great care lesthe wastes all of them. The next stick, he put on the side of the match box and slid it down, a yellow flame jumped to life. His father’s eyes grew bigger. The old man stirred and moved, stood up and dashed towards the mouth of the cave and with the thudding of streams of falling water, and hewas lost in the dark.

The light of the match stick soon died down, it grew colder and Gisa’s fears heightened. He sat in the dark bundling his legs in his arms in a squatting manner. He was starting to worry about his father. The thought that danger lurked in the darkness was a thing he dreaded, he triedto keep his thoughts off the probability of danger. Luckily enough he hearda sneeze towards the entrance and knew it was his father. He made a dash for the advancing figure that was thinly distinct from the dark by faint outlines that formed every time lightening flashed outside. Near the centreof a long cave, Gisa reached this figure and threw his arm around it. To his utter horror, the figure let out a shriek of terror.

It took short period of confusion to quell the storm. The two boys one a little older than the other stood paces away from each other in the dark each uncertain of what the other really was. A tired sigh sliced the silence of the cave. In the momentary flash of the lightening, a shadow of an aged man collapsed totally exhausted over a bundle of whatever fire woodhe managed to grab in the wash of the thudding rain. The two people in the cave made a move to his rescue one driven by the heart the other by the blood. They got to him at the same time, rolled him off the fire wood and supported him into the deeper parts of the cave. Still they had not seen each other’s faces.

Soon the fire wood too was towed. Gisa struck a match stick; he brokedown a few twigs, blew fire into them. The whole cave sprung to life. He then raised his face to look at the other boy. Their eyes met. Total disbelief on each side followed, the boys indeed realized the world could be such a small place. Not that they were far from the trading centre but the fact that circumstances could throw both parties in the same cave at a

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dark night. The other boy was Joel whom they had met at Mr. Mugarura’s tea room and restaurant.

“Do I know you?”“Joel!”The conversation took a friendly turn. Joel revealed that he was

looking for a stray cow when the rain found him in the nearby bush and he opted to seek shelter in the cave. The stick cracked in the fire bursting into flame that highlighted Joel’s handsome facial features. Above his upper lip was a dark shadow of skin hairs soon to fully bud into a moustache. He had large round set white eyes that now radiated with happiness at the new found friendship and opened wider every time he spoke.

“So tell me something about Bwizibwera where you come from.”

Joel listened to Gisa with evident concern as he told him of the suffering the Rwandan refugees were exposed to in Bwizibwera.

When Gisa had stopped talking, silence engulfed the whole cave. When Joel did begin talking, it was his voice against the thudding of the rain outside. His eyes opened and closed as he stressed some syllables over others

“Some of our brothers yonder say we don’t have patriotism that we have stuck to defending the aliens. They say we are stupid traitors and that our hybrid culture makes them sick. It’s true we cannot deny that you are foreigners but can one send he who is in trouble away. Listen, my father was born here and so was his father, grandfather and ancestors, I am a true Munyankole. Banyarwanda or Banyankole, I will tell you life is precious to all. When the Banyarwanda came here, we saw their distress and came to their rescue. Later we admired, loved and married each other and swore to stick to our unity. We became one over Kajara, Ruhama, Mpororo and Kyamate, we are one. Now tell me who once ever said a cow’s tail differs from a buffalo’s. Tell me; don’t we leave in peace here?”

Gisa was not sure of what he was thinking, what Joel had told him wasnot satisfactory. Wasn’t it a slight tip that his question would never be answered? If here people refused to identify by tribe wasn’t it a complex identity crisis? Joel had probably read his thoughts

“I think you are thinking we are rootless which is not true. We all call each other brothers though we maintain our roots. Probably one time when the time is ripe, we shall help you find your way home. Someday. one day.”

Shyaka stirred and coughed, he turned on his side and sat up quite surprised on seeing Joel. He spat into the fire holding his chest. He was shivering all over.

“Right now your home is in a crisis, the government is carrying out cowardly attacks on the civilians. The regime is scared of people. The snake is biting its tail.”

“My son, how do you know so much?”Shyaka asked“Here” Joel said pulling out a half wet piece of paper from the pocket

of the jacket he was wearing and passed it to Shyaka“Hah, my son, I have already passed my days and I can’t read a single word.”Joel retracted his hand making a quick inquiry about Gisa’s ability

satisfied that both could not read, he held the paper in his hands. The paper was already dirty and brown with his finger prints though it was onlya few weeks old. He had stolen it from a cover of a library history book and now knew by heart not only the contents but the whole paper.

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He folded the paper carefully and replaced it in his pocket. Outside the thudding thinned, it was now a thin drizzle.

“You shouldn’t spend the night here like animals.” Joel said removing his jacket and wrapping it around Shyaka’s shoulders. Shyaka could not stop blessing Joel and cursing all that would want to harm him.

“May you live to be great my son, may you be the only hope for the suffering. The lord gives and takes away May he give you all that is good and take away from you troubles.”

Joel felt shy and timid, he tried to intercept the old man in his casting of blessing but the old man was indestructible. Soon the raining cleared; only distant lightning remained as a souvenir. Joel beckoned to Gisa to support his father on the right as he himself supported him up at the left side.

That night, the women who waited for one boy to return home received more than the bargain.

Shyaka snored the night away in the comfort of Joel’s hut. Joel’s hutwas the cleanest hut on the compound; he never let in every one especially the children. It was freshly painted with red bisooni sand and inside was his valued books which he had accumulated in the previous few years at Ntare School. Above the books that were piled on top of a wooden trunk hunga small rectangular board with black and white pictures of Dubois, Julius Nyerere, and Marcus Garvey but in the centre of these pictures was a biggerone of a middle aged man in a black coat and bellow it was a calligraphic scribble.

You played your part, one day I will play mine. The true war for independence is still on. Aluita continua….It was a framed picture of Ignatius Kangave Musaazi.

In the middle of the night, two boys sat talking. One was slightly older than the other. The two boys argued over the seasons in high spirit and their raising voices could be heard rising over all the sounds of the

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night. The conversations turned to the times, the younger of the two could be heard telling a disheartening story of his suffering at the road block and the humiliation of his friend’s father. The older also told of tough times on the road, he talked of the neglect of health centres and hospitalsby the regime.

The younger boy asked about the fate that had befallen the house holdwhere his father had anticipated accommodation only to find a desolate ruin.

“The Sengaramas Yes That is one long tragedy. They decided to return to Rwanda a year ago and left.” Joel sobbed and blew his nose

“Oh, the nice young couple and their perfect children were murdered in the forest near Nyagatare town”

“How? And for what?”“Shot for no reason.”Silence fell over the room, the two boys now stretched on the mat

they were going to share and without another word each fell asleep.

The wakeup call came in form of a thudding sound. The poles that run horizontally on the kraal entrances to act as gates were falling. One thud the second and the third was enough for Joel to wake up. He could still feel the heaviness of his eye lids. He stepped on Gisa accidentally as he moved out to go along with the herds boys, Gisa stirred a little and went back to sleep.

Joel walked on like a man in a dream, he opened the straw door, freshmorning air slapping his face and he came back to his senses. He waded to the store and opened the door; a hoe leaning against the door fell over knocking a metallic pail in the process. The milk pail rang an unsolicited bell. Joel picked up the pail and closed the door to the store behind him as he stepped back into the last of the light from the setting moon. He rounded the kitchen and reached behind it where the kraal was. The other herdsmen were already milking some almost filling their pails. He settled below one cows udder and started pulling on the tits happily

The Shwaa Shwaa Of thin jets of milk was too loud that Joel did not hear any one approaching. Warm fingers tapped his shoulder; he turned sharply almost tripping over the milk pail

“Gisa, go back to sleep.”“I just felt I could not sleep any longer, this is the usual time I wake up to milk at home.”The confession was well said, soon Gisa was handed an empty pail and

assigned a cow whose udder was near touching the ground almost exploding with milk. He squatted straight in front of Joel and almost immediately a talk ensued between the legs of the cows.

“So, where do you study from?”“I studied here in Kyamate and excelled and now am at Ntare School”“Is it a big school?”“Yes, so big, houses there are made of baked bricks and the compounds are well kept. We

read big books about the whole world and we have European teachers that speak through their noses”.

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Gisa’s jaws dropped in amazement as his big round eyes blinked through the darkness, he could neither read nor write and he revered Joel’sability.

“Boy I tell you, you should consider going to school and learn of the big names like Napoleon,Hammurabi, Ajjai crowther, Marcus Garvey and the rest.”

Gisa was long lost in the maze of the names but he was quite finding it an impressive gibberish. That moment on, his earlier wish to go school was reborn and refuelled. He wanted to be there and now.

That afternoon, as the lorry engines started and drew the truck away,Gisa saw Joel; a boy, a friend and an inspiration still standing to the spot until where he had escorted them. Soon he grew smaller as the lorry drew away further. The only gift Gisa got from him was a leather strap withblue ink inscriptions. He held it dearly knowing some day he would be able to read it.

CHAPTER 6

It was a small hut in the last part of the village. It was an old part of the old village by the road with the shine of red earth.

From the back of the small hut with a straw door one could see whoever came from the direction of the road. There Kanzira squatted the waiting for his brother and nephew. The sun continued sinking and Kanzira

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knew that soon darkness would fall; he had lost hope in waiting and now wasstarting to contemplate on walking home.

A swarm of cattle birds crossed the sky above headed for their nightly nests of rest. Kanzira drove his spear into the ground and heaved himself up; he adjusted his hat and turned to go. He was just bidding farewell to the owners of the hut when a bicycle bell rung a short distanceaway. A cowboy lashed aside a bull to make way for the cyclist. The cyclistturned to wave at the herd’s boy. In an instant he had lost control and wasalmost throwing down his passengers, Shyaka and his son.

Later in the night, Kanzira was told of the demise of the Sengaramas.Everyone knew that Kigali was to blame and it was better not said. The men soon went to sleep for tomorrow would be a journey for Shyaka and Gisa.

As the lorry dropped them while continuing on its way to Ibanda, Shyaka felt an urge to turn back and go for ever to live in Mpororo or Kyamate. He obviously wanted to go and meet and his wife and the rest of the family but something in the air told him something was wrong, his left eyelid was twitching. The sun was still up and hot. He had with stood the heat while seated on top of a lorry ferrying coffee up to Bwizibwera and now he felt like running home and resting under the tree that stood in his court yard drinking a calabash of cold milk though the wind in the air smelt foul to him.

His walking journey was rather a short one, the usual stop and greet business was surprisingly absent to him instead people who saw him and his son stepped out of the path for him to pass. Gisa did not notice a thing. One thought occupied his head. He only took interest in the surrounding when they passed by the church school. The school stood on the slopes of a hill below the church that was nestled at the peak of the hill. What Gisa had always seen as granite barricade separating Bwizibwera from Rutooma nowappeared to him as the only ladder bridging ignorance and knowledge. His father caught him admiring the mud and wattle walls of the school, Gisa quickly shifted his gaze to look in front. Just as he turned, a weight fellin his chest and locked its appendages behind his back, he fell short of breath with shock, he tripped backwards as if to fall and the weight pulledhim up. His head spun and he could see the blue sky rotating in his eyes. When he finally regained his composure, he could not help weeping with joy as the weight so blurry in his clogged sight materialized into Paulo. The two boys hugged in joy of re union as the old man looked on not knowing what to think.

Paulo knew what Gisa was going to ask first and did not wait for the question. He proceeded to tell him that Bihogo had grown fatter and had just won a bullfight a few days back. He told him about some nights when Bihogo refused to eat and all the cows followed the suite. It was on these nights that Paulo would lay awake thinking something strange was about to happen. Pretty well sometimes something unusual happened like; the cow would break down the kraal poles or it rains or may be a car crosses the land. But Paulo knew that those happenings were no stranger than usual because since it was a rainy season, the kraal poles were bound to rot and be broken by the cows yet deep in his sentiments, he knew that he as Gisa

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had all he lived for in Bihogo. Whatever Bihogo did was a pointer to what was going to happen in their lives. Paulo walked lazily holding Gisa’s hand, the old man walked in front with steady strides leaving the boys manypaces behind. At a cross junction, the old man headed home, his back faced the backs of the boy as they walked lazily towards the grass land.

By the time the boys drove the cows to the communal kraal, Shyaka hadalready received the share of the blow. He sat on the poles that held up the granary looking haggard. His eyes were in a position that was heard to discern if he was looking afar or dreaming. His hands formed a support for his body; Gisa looked at him and stopped in his tracks. It took Paulo only a short time to figure out the whole event; he felt a pang in his heart. Heblamed himself and hated himself for not telling Gisa earlier. How had he been so excited to forget such news?

Shyaka did not seem to notice when the boys came and left Paulo squeezing Gisa’s shoulders.

“I think your home is not safe and neither is mine.”“Why?”“Because they know they can always find you with me if you are not home.”“Who? “Shhh”

First tell me who we are running away from?”He led him around the communal kraal stopping for a moment to request

his father’s herd’s boys to milk even Gisa’s cows as had been the case for the previous weeks. He then turned to Gisa and asked

“What are you looking at?”“Bihogo it is not eating like the others.”The boys looked at each other with the understanding look and smiled

though deep inside them they knew that something terrible was about to happen, for Bihogo was not eating nor chewing the cud. They walked away crunching their feet on the gravel. Gisa stepped in the cow dung and cursedhis breath.

“Who comes to my door cursing?” a voice came from inside a hut that was darkening. Soon its owner followed, his head came out first, then his bare shoulders and the rest of the body. He rubbed his eyes, his mouth opened inamazement.

“You, When did you come back?” he said throwing his whole weight on Gisa. Gisa and Augustine were nearly the same age and size so the effect of the hug was not so much.

Inside Augustine’s hut, fresh earth smelt because the hut had just been constructed. A fire glowed in the centre lighting up the brown walls of mud and wattle. Even for Augustine who was not a good flute player, the passion for the flute music in him could not be hidden. His corner was aligned with various flutes of different types; bamboo, pawpaw, plastic andbrass. The brass flute was the three boys’ prized secret, they had stolen it from an old Chinese engineer who was overseeing the construction of the Mbarara – Ibanda road. Those days there had been talks and rumours that while constructing roads, the builders usually kidnapped children walking alone and sacrificed them hoping that would wade off the ill-luck of motor accidents on the road. However, the three boys had dared creep into the Chinese constructors’ camp at the same time and grab a brass flute from the

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aging engineer. Neither the Chinese mob nor its park of dogs dared chased them beyond the frontiers of the village. Probably the boys had been too fast or the Chinese had feared the villagers because of the events that were happening at the time. A few days before the incident, a group of village youth had marched to the province offices and petitioned to have the Chinese contract terminated because the Chinese were getting employed yet the natives were not.

The youth had left the provincial offices promising to turn their wrath on the Chinese if the government did not act. Contrary to the provincial governor’s promise to consider their plight, two days later a platoon of the national army soldiers had been ferried in to protect the Chinese.

Now when all those memories had flashed through Paulo’s mind, he reached over to the corner and got the flute striking up a tune that soothed the bad memories. He had been seven years old and Gisa and Augustine had been four, now time had rolled and he was fourteen but his mind clearly pictured the faces of the angry youth, angry towards the government that protected the interests of foreigners over its own people. The tune slithered out slicing across the plain into the heart of malice. Kasiita heard Paulo’s flute and knew Gisa had come back; he raised his headfrom under the cow he was milking and with a hand over one of his ears confirmed his suspicion. He grinned maliciously and bore on up to the end of his exercise.

Gisa broke down in tears, what Paulo had told him was more than he could bear. He looked into the red fire burning in the centre of the hut. Augustine watched on not knowing how to comfort Gisa. It was time Paulo paid back, Gisa had stood by him through the times his father was humiliated.

Outside, across the plain Kasiita hung his ropes and handed over the pails of milk to the women. He beckoned Kareebi, his master’s son to the kraal and convinced him to talk his father into leading the campaign. Kareebi pondered over the idea.

“Do it, it is for our revenge. Do it!”Kareebi staggered slowly to his father’s house the only rectangular

structure on the compound. He cleared his throat, knocked and disappeared into the dark emptiness uncertain of his next move.

Two files of machete armed men, women and children left the last quarter of the village, the native’s quarter. At least it was not raining, the town crier tried to comfort himself. Fire glowed low in Shyaka’s hut. There was smell of cow ghee everywhere. In Gisa’s hut there was a gourd of milk, a calabash of roast meat, another of millet meal and another of shabwe. The whole hut showed signs of big feast and a hasty abandonment. The boy and his friend were missing. Bihogo mooed uncontrollably in the communal kraal in the centre of five households.

Shyaka shook his head, chewing thoughtfully on the piece of roast meet in his hand. In spite of its being a tough time, he had the appetite. He had had the story told to him over and over, now he thought what a

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hypocrite the town crier was. He clearly remembered the smiles of the crieras he wished them a safe journey, he saw the smiling teeth turns into bloodied fangs. Outside, the hurrying footsteps of the attackers came closer under the cover of the dark.

A crack was heard outside, the old man turned to face his family. Allthe women looked at him waiting for him to make a move. He did not disappoint, he stood up, walked towards the door and drew the metallic boltwhich struck back with a loud click and slipped into the dark. He bent downto pick up the metallic bolt which was now faintly recognizable in the dark.

He felt a strange heaviness in the atmosphere; he squatted down and held the bolt in his hands before noticing the crowd of people who stood silently in the night watching him. When he did, he pulled himself to his full height. He could not see who it was but he knew as fact that in the dark figures was the priest, the crier and the village chief.

“Preparing for a midnight dance?” asked a voice in a cocky tone. He looked upat the dark figures looming over him in his court yard. Two muscular boys stood out of the crowd.

“Where is your son Gisa?”Shyaka did not give an answer, for what chicken can ever eat its own eggs? He only looked at the hate filled crowd and said nothing. Two men passed him and entered into his hut. In a short time his hut had been searched as well all the huts in his homestead. Gisa was nowhere to be seen.

The village chief ordered a search to be made for Gisa. But however hard they searched they seemed not to find him anywhere. They could not find a trail to follow. A few compounds away sat Gisa totally oblivious about his being sought out.

The file of men, women, and children were starting to race back.“Chief, the flute!” an apparently excited child cried“What?”“The flute, only Gisa can play like that.”Immediately, the chief ordered the youth wing to search for the

source of the flute.

Gisa and Paulo were undoubtedly exhausted; they were now practically spitting air into the flutes. Augustine pulled the pipes off their mouths.

Muzoora led his men through the pumpkin patch behind the granary and right along a mudded path in the plantain grove. They crossed the path and the plantain grove to the over grown cassava bush. They went past the stream and into the acacia ranch. The thorn trees were everywhere. The restwere grass, tall wet grass that came waist high. The cold wind that now sprang up from the north was stinging and the thorn trees whistled with it.The silent procession headed across the cold plains to the hyena’s caves, amile west in the grass land.

Gisa the oblivious fugitive licked his milk bowl clean and put it away. He smiled at his friends with the usual depth of his black eyes. Deepwithin him was a mortal dream he had picked on his trip, a dream to make a

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change. The dream at whose thought he smiled to himself and picked up a brass flute and lifted it up to his mouth.

Once or twice, Muzoora tried to convince his band that the flute sound was imagined. He had no wish to waste his time searching to dead ends. A rumour was born that it had been a work of witchcraft. The band was now convinced that Gisa had escaped from the village when suddenly there was a booming explosion in the village.

The boys played at once making the hut a booming musical explosion. Even the fire in the centre let out tall tongues of flame to join in the happiness. At the other end of the plain, Muzoora and his band could not help bow their heads under the heavy weight of shame. How could men of their youth follow an echo? It is that same shame that metamorphosed into anger that boiled in their veins.

Then from his pocket, Gisa removed a round white stone. The flame wasreflected in the stone and into the eyes of Paulo and Augustine who stoppedplaying to wonder. The clue was gone. Now Muzoora stopped in the cassava bush and looked at his men, they too looked to him for suggestion. He said nothing but only turned and headed to the cluster of huts that made up the village. His men followed.

A search was commissioned. Round the backs of a few huts, fire torches blazed on. Men run about and children cried incessantly. Muscular men went around the communal kraal and knocked on a hut nearby.

He found the bolt and threw the latch back. He was grabbed by a bulkyman and another boy of nearly his age. He was roughed out, his feet dragging in the mud. He was in the coldness before he realized it was cold and he started shivering.

The group of villagers was waiting at the Gomborora office. They collected their walking sticks and spears and pounced on the boy the momenthe was thrown in their midst; they hit him hard like one would hit an enormous python. The screaming of the boy and the brutal beating went on until when a land rover pulled up drenching the place in a bath of yellow light. Two tar – black soldiers stepped out drawing their guns at the mob.

“You are olding an illegal achembly and datch a big crime allo.” The taller of the two said in his strong luo accent An elder stepped forward to talk to the soldiers. A wellington boot reached for his groin and he fell on his knees, next came the butt of the soldier’s Ak47 assault rifle on the elder’s head. The mob went silent. The elder lost consciousness.

“Datch one, only money can chave you.”A murmur swept over the crowd, some did not want to release their

hard earned pennies others fumbled with their purses yet others kept begging for mercy. Still the soldiers looked on indifferently and impatiently. There was a sudden yellow light on the barrel of the gun and aloud explosion. Money changed hands quickly after that and soon the two soldiers were on their way

The yellow tail lights of a land rover disappeared into the distance looking like phantom eyes. Soon darkness swallowed the lights. The mob of the villagers who had watched it leave now turned their attention to

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Kareebi who had just been shot in the leg. Gisa and Shyaka were momentarilyforgotten.

Soon most of the elders went with the bartered elder to offer solidarity. Most of the youth accompanied Kareebi home and the fate of Shyaka and Gisa remained in the hands of three elders and a handful of youths, women and children. Katungi was the first elder to speak.

“Brothers, we do gather here tonight to purge our village of the curse of night dancers. We blame them for all what has happened in this village in the ten and so years they have lived among us. The rinderpest, the not so forgotten drought, the drought end where lightning struck the council hut killing our rain maker and even diseases like malaria that have become common in the rainy season. May the town crier step forward and give his testimony”

The town crier stepped forward slowly looking down, once he was in the centre he looked into the distant nothingness of the dark and talked about the unfortunate incident of the night. Skilfully avoiding give a testimony. Once his glance caught Shyaka’s and he looked away quickly and was soon off podium. Katungi stepped forward again, “So let us kill them here and now and free the land of curse!”

A loud applause rose among the on looking villagers. Muzoora who had refused to go along with the youth escorting Kareebi was quick to usurp therole of the executioner. He held Gisa’s bound hands and raised one spear inhis one hand and thrust it with full force towards Gisa’s throat.

The youth carrying Kareebi in a make shift stretcher walked in silence. Kasiita the mastermind knew that he would certainly lose his job. He was always on the verge of being dismissed but was always helped by Kareebi’s support. Now, he had pulled Kareebi in front him as human shield when the soldiers pulled the trigger and shot the shaky bonds of their friendship, now he was all alone and friendless. He matched through the plains knowing it could most probably be the last time he was matching through that village.

Muzoora’s hand came to an abrupt stop when the remaining elder cried,”stop!”The crowd went silent. Mr. Byanyima was a man who rarely spoke and probablyfor that reason everyone was caught by surprise. He was the man that every one respected for his maturity in argument when he ever did speak at all.

What shall we become after spilling blood, Murderers?” The crowd was now a hub of murmurs. Some questioning his argument some realizing his truth he continued.

“No, we are Banyankole and for heaven’s sake we are Bahima and we shall not spill blood. I think we felt it tonight when the soldiers dared kill one of our own, then how shall we make a family suffer that pain?” He stepped behind. An old herbalist stepped forward. She was very old and she had only a few teeth left in her mouth. Her words came out with a shiver as her eyes flicked on and off from somewhere behind the rag of wrinkles. She put her wrinkled digit in her grey hair and started talking.She told the village that culturally, night dancers were cleansed with bitter herbs, chicken blood and finally be shamed before the whole community. Shyaka looked at the old herbalist with gratitude. When the old

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herbalist finished talking, people who had come anticipating watching the spilling of the alien blood slowly started trickling away. Soon the Gomborora was deserted save for the three elders, the herbalist and Muzoorawho could not help but drop his face with disappointed anticipation.

Deep in the middle of the night, the herbalist passed silently between her two clients who were chained on the two poles that were the pillars of her hut. She carried calabashes of bitter herbs which the clients were made to drink. Shyaka dared not say a word; he thought he would vomit if he tried for the green liquid from the boiled herbs left a bitter yet creamy taste in his mouth. After the drinking, the herbalist made her exit only to return later carrying a bowl and a foxtail pine branch with short needle like leaves that made it resemble a cow’s tail. She first sung a mocking song dancing around the hut before she laughed outlooking up. Then she dipped the tree brush into the bowl and with utmost thoroughness applied the contents of the bowl on the Gisa’s head. Gisa licked the murky liquid flowing to edges of his lips; the liquid was salty and had a foul smell. It was warm chicken blood. The herbalist then turned towards Shyaka. Shyaka looked on with the eyes betraying nothing. He seemedas if he had given up every resistance and argument for his innocence. He felt his blood boil in veins as the showers of the chicken blood fell on him; still he did not utter a word but only clenched his bound fist.

The wax candle was blown out. The night’s work was over and tomorrow would be another day.

As early as six o’clock in morning, people had already started to take their position along the path that crossed the whole length of the village. On such occasions, gossip was always the main reason that women came. The youth always came for the perverted pleasure of looking at other people’s nudity. Whatever the reason was but that day, the whole village apart from the Banyarwanda seemed interested. No Munyarwanda dared go out of his or her family hut. It has been decided by the Banyarwanda elders that all females, children and youth from their quarter would not leave their huts that morning to avoid looking at an elder’s nudity.

At about nine o’clock, throbs of the drum rose from the herbalist’s court yard; she lived near the end of the village. A loud ululation swept the whole village. The last of the cleansing rite was under way. On top of a rock on one hill, two boys sat. One of them with pieces of cloth wrapped around his evidently swollen leg was blaming the other for using him as a human shield an accusation the others denied vehemently. The blast of the drums silenced the two boys.

From the end of the village there came a mass of people carrying bowls of ash and black charcoal powders. They sung humiliating songs while they spread the white and black powder over two naked bodies that were now practically pushed forward. The church choir leader started a chant which the crowd embraced immediately

“Imwe barogo entagira burugoMwarakyekyire bikabura omuhohoKumuba muteegire entwaaza yabantu Obufura buhwire tutyarize emihoro

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Auuuuuuuuu……..uu”

“You wizard with no originThat have cast empty spells over us.But if you don’t learn proper living

Our welcome is over, Our machetes are sharpened

Auuuuuuuuu……….uu”The whole village rang with the chant. It rang in the path, bounced

on the grass thatch roofs and disappeared into the hills in the deserted parts of the grass land. One boy sat alone in the hills, watching the processions in the village and sobbing. His eyes were red with a long time of crying. He had not returned home since the previous night but had lurkedin the shadows of wherever Shyaka and Gisa were taken. Paulo

Gisa raised up his powdered head only to come face to face with his female age mates. He quickly looked down and cried, his father was expressionless; he looked every one straight in the face trying to read theburden of guilt for punishing an innocent man. They had no remorse. On every ones face was a suppressed smile young and old alike.

When the procession finally reached the Banyarwanda quarter, the Banyarwanda elders who were seated under a great umbrella tree ishaazi all stood up at once in horror at the sight of two of their own covered in a mess of dry wood ash and charcoal. The leader of the procession announced that the cleansing was over and the whole mob turned to leave singing songsof mockery.

Shyaka and his son stood in the centre of ishaazi looking like newborns. Paulo’s father unwound a shawl that he had wrapped around his shoulders and wrapped it around Shyaka’s waist. Gisa remained naked. One elder brought a metallic basin full of water in which the two bathed clean.A seat was created for Shyaka who then told his part of the story. The elders were infuriated when they realized the hypocrisy of the town crier but they were aware they had no right to complain. They had no right to take offence.

Cows in the kraal were now mooing incessantly it was way past nine o’clock and they had not been taken out to graze yet. When clothing had been provided for the old man, the elders opened the padlocks to let the women and children out, saved the embarrassment of looking at their elder'snudity.

The cows did not wait for all the poles to drop off the wooden gates.They jumped over the lowest poles and herd’s boys had to step aside or be run over by the hungry cattle. Gisa now wanted to be lost in the fields andnever return.

Paulo’s hut was dark, cold and isolated showing no sign of recent human habitation. His sleeping mat was as Gisa had seen it the day before. When he entered, it struck him the Paulo had not been there the whole night. He went straight to the calabash and devoured the cold roast meat that had been Paulo’s untouched supper. When he was satisfied, he ran home and dressed up, greeted his siblings and picked his grazing stick.

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All the cows crowded on the wooden gate when he started pulling the poles aside. Their long horns hit each other in a not so rhythmic plastic sound pattern. Paulo’s black cow kyozi was the first to jump over him, he pulled out the last pole and all the beasts stumbled out and all the way tothe hilly grass lands. He was beginning to draw the poles back in when it caught his attention. In the furthest corner, like a shadow of a dark bush,Bihogo rested down chewing the cud. It took a few friendly taps and pats toraise the lying beast. It came to full height and turned and trotted majestically out of the kraal. That day, all the Banyarwanda boys stuck together out in the plains. Paulo was the only one from their quarter apartfrom the male elders who had witnessed the humiliation though he and not even Gisa dared talk about it.

It was a few moments before the afternoon watering, the most dreaded time of the day that the herds’ boys from the two tribes usually clashed when something unusual happened. From the natives’ quarter, four men came pushing forward a youth of near adult age, on his head was a cloth package;probably his entire belongings were all tied in there. He held a calabash in his hands and was crying uncontrollably. Behind him the men pushed and pocked his back with sticks calling him a murderer. He had put their youngest brother in the line of gun fire. He cried and pleaded on top of his voice.

“Forgive me; I did not intend to, am not a murderer.” Tears rolled into his lips which were now oozing with streams of sticky saliva that mixed with milky mucus to wet his shirt and bathe his chest. He was quickly led through the Banyarwanda quarter and abandoned at the road that led to Kazo, his home. Paulo looked at the event with indifference and after looked up.

“God has taken my revenge” He said.Kasiita had been chased away for trying to get his master’s son

Kareebi killed. *

“I wish I could help you but I am unable” Augustine replied. He had been Gisa’sonly hope. He was now in second year in Bwizibwera church school and now and then he would teach Gisa and Paulo a few English words. Gisa held the leather strip forward

“Please try again!” He pleaded.However hard Augustine tried, he never went beyond identifying

independent vowels and consonant. He could not come to interpret the syllables to make sense of the writing.

“Hey you are you there!” Paulo came running towards the two boys who were watching over the millet fields. The rubber catapults hanging in the two boy’s necks, the wide bewildered eyes and tattered clothes merged to make them appear like owls. Paulo reached up to the boys and fell down exhausted. He landed beside Augustine’s calabash of cold water which was covered in banana leaves to keep cold and immediately watered his dry throat.Gisa squatted. Augustine sat down.

“Have you heard the news?” Paulo asked with a drop of excitement in his voice.

“What news?”“The town crier!”

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“Is he dead?”Paulo lifted his upper eye lids and put his hands on the mouth in

shock. In a fit of confusion, Augustine jumped and hugged Gisa sending bothsprawling over the immature ears of millet with a strange gladness.

“No” Paulo replied after a short silence. The two boys who had startedgetting excited fell silent.

The two boys eased the lock of the hug, had they heard right?“He is not dead, he has been sent away from the village never to return.”“Why?”Paulo then narrated about the town crier. He had been found with

fetishes and a human skull when his bag fell in the trading centre as he was leaving a bar drunk.

Gisa could not stomach the shock. The same man who had accused him and his father was actual wizard and night-dancer. He closed his fist on the leather strap and fell down on his knees. He cried tears to wash away guilt wrongly carried, punishment wrongly served and the embarrassments he carried. The sky heed to his tears, a flash of blinding lightening sliced the sky; the dark clouds raced from the horizons all around and formed a blanket of a coming storm.

CHAPTER 7

They had spent the whole day working in the public roads, weeding anddigging trenches by the road side as well as breaking of boulders and rocksand they were exhausted. Burungi bwansi (umuganda) was not entirely bad an ideabut it became bad on the occasions where work was not partially allocated. This accounted for why the settlers ‘quarter of the refugees was allocated the hard labour entirely while the natives were entrusted with supervision.

All day, the refugees toiled. Their black backs shone in the blazing sun as a light reflected on their sweating backs. The native elders as wellas government officials strolled behind the bent bodies with their hands behind their backs swinging bunches of keys that honestly had no pad locks they opened. When one got tired and slowed down, it would not be long before the whistle of a cow whip came descending upon ones back and buttocks. One old woman called Iribagiza got stomach ache and left the weeding and sat on an ant hill a few paces away. For some minutes she rested her achingbelly but all of this ended when the soldier saw her.

“Wewe mjinga unafanya kazi gani hapo?!” The soldier barked like a wild dog, the woman started shivering knowing the beginning of her end was here.

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The soldier pounced upon the old lady raining blows on her head. The old woman screamed for mercy but the soldier’s heart was stone cold. He beat the old lady until she lost consciousness. The soldier would have continued had another soldier not pulled him off at a point when the sole of his boot was on the old lady’s belly.

This and other incidents of brutality characterized the day. A personpassing through the road in the evening would appreciate the beauty and theneatness of the road but what was certain was the fact that those who did the work of clearing the road would never be appreciated, at least not in this particular part of Ankole.

Paulo and Gisa had spent the whole day breaking boulders and were tootired; each fell to sleep the moment he reached the hut.

The night was still, dark and no wind blew. The plantain groves were still, no moon came up, howls of the owl rung from the acacia trees bouncing upon the scattered hills until the whole village sounded like one large empty room.

Inside one of the many huts, an old lady shivered and her whole body trembled, she breathed with a lot of effort, her teenage daughter sank a rag in a bowl of cold water and placed it on her fore head. Her temperaturerose yet she wanted more blankets. The daughter’s face was now freely bathed in streams of tears that flowed from the well of her eyes. The old lady put her hand on the daughter’s lap and looked into the melting wax. The candle burnt out and darkness engulfed the hut, the girl left her mother’s side and felt her way in the dark for another candle. When she found it, she struck a match stick, held the candle upright and lit the thread. For a moment dark shadows danced behind all the objects in the house. She dropped the candle and yelled in terror. Iribagiza was dead. Shehad breathed her last in the dying light of the burnt out candle.

Rain clouds formed over the village but it did not rain. Perhaps the sky like everyone was mocking the bereaved. The fire wood was red hot belowthe boiling pots of food no one wished to eat. Men talked in isolated groups with general anguish burning in every vein. Every one clearly remembered how the soldier had mistreated the old lady. Paulo carried a bundle of fire wood from the forest and he placed it at the kitchen yard.

Soon it was time for burying, the priest came riding a bicycle with his tunic flying and flapping behind him like Dracula’s court. He arrived and put his bicycle besides the granary. His stride was that of the confident man but the smile he wore his face was more to mock than comfort.

Augustine only caught the stray words of the ceremony from a distance. Between the gushes of wind brushing against his ear, he could hear,

“Clay to clay, soil to soil.”The burial had taken less time than he had imagined. When he chose to

return, pushing the bicycle carefully the priest was standing at the granary arms akimbo. Beside the granary lay a large bundle of fire wood from the eucalyptus tree. The priest’s eye fell on the bundle and the muscle in his hand contracted. He placed his tattered bible on a stone

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nearby that on good days was used to sharpen spears and other metallic tools. The people watched on silently; the wails, cries and howls of the mourners paused momentarily. It was after his black frock was hanging on the granary pole that the savage in the priest came out.

The priest reached for Augustine and grabbing him with both hands letthe bicycle fall. He pulled out a thick stick which with an unforeseen brutality he applied all over Augustine’s body. The boy cried and twisted and writhed with pain as the nodes from which twigs has fallen stung deep into his flesh. No one dared to intervene for some long time because the whole village had immense respect with which they treated the priest. Many believed he was doing the work of God of teaching the young how to behave.

“No shield is made strong without fire” one elder said and made to turn away.Some thing zoomed past the elder almost making him stumble over his

walking stick. The fire ball shot into the priest’s ribs sending him sprawling on the bare ground. His victim fled away crying tears that floweddown to wash his blood soaked shirt.

The on lookers were horrified; they stood open mouthed as though theywere witnessing a sacrilege. The priest was shocked too, it took him a few moments before he came to grasp with the situation. Now a crowd was alreadygathering around the priest. Paulo who had knocked down the priest stood there still burning with rage, tears welled up in his eyes as he started speaking.

“How many more are you going to kill? Tell me are we going to sit and watch and do nothing as you drink blood from the veins of our brothers and sister.”

The crowd fell silent; Paulo painfully swallowed a lump on his throat. The priest did not dare rise up, he remained down and with an open mouth watched and listened as Paulo continued,-

“To think that you carry a word you call holy yet seek to see blood of our people flood the plain is painful. Do you know how many of our people have suffered at the hands of you and your country men? My father was a respectable gentle man until” He suddenly stopped, he couldnot come to expose his father’s embarrassment in front of the people perhaps many of who did not know. He looked at the scar at the side of his palm and stood speechless for a few seconds. Still the crowd watched silentand astonished. “Did you give us refuge so that you could make us slaves? Or kill us…we are fed up of suffering”At last he turned and elbowing his way through the crowd started walking away.

As he walked away he felt his head transform into the weightless bubble inside which haunting voices rung and echoed. He could hear the Shaky old voice of Iribagiza calling him to carry out the revenge for his people. He tried to push the voice out by looking up to the sky with his teary eyes that now burnt in his cold weightless skull but when he looked up, he only saw a dark cloud from which voices came, voices of people he had not seen, generation that passed before he was born, they called on to him to turn back and face his oppressors in the eye. He knew that the oppressor was not the priest for at least those voices of the innocent souls cried to him that the oppressor was a hatred filled band of his own brothers which held his home in its teeth. He walked and walked and walked and did not even feel the pricks of the thorns along the path that led to the hills.

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*

Weeks had turned into months; a feast was being organized in the refugee quarter. A drum of liquor, gallons of ghee, bunches of plantain andsacks of flour were part of the crowd. Between them men, women and childrencombed carrying this errand or that, carrying this or that. Some where a baby cried and gossiping women laughed and fire wood cracked in the fire place and blood from the cow’s throat sprayed one slaughterer sending the rest in a fit of laughter. It was going to be a happy day, the day to commemorate Iribagiza’s death.

The first activity commenced at around midday when the group of womendescended upon her earthen grave and weeded it clean. Next the boys carriedMable slates and careful covered them over the whole length of the earthen mound. All the boys wore black laces or strips of cloth on their arms. However on one’s arm, a mysterious article hung, a leather strap with mysterious scribbles.

It was surprising that the priest came early that day. He no longer walked with the air of condescension that had always been part of his character. At least he had a smile for everyone, he came riding his bicycleof many memories and from the carrier behind him he unstrapped a leather bag from which he got a packet of hard sweets. He distributed the sweets tothe little children as he tapped their round heads looking deep into their eyes

“God bless you.” He said to each.Among those who would not take the sweets was a trio of three boys;

Gisa, Paulo and Augustine. They were convinced that the hypocrite had poisoned the sweets. Those days’ sweets were a rare possession but the three boys chose rather not to share in the devil’s feast.

The prayers were led with a lot of indulgence and by all standards; the sermon stressed the priest’s empathy with the refugees. The three rebels followed the prayers from the furthest end of the tent; the crowd was so silent that if a coin would drop, it would be heard from a kilometre.

“Even God heard the Israelites and delivered from the Egypt. Likewise he will deliver you home. This is not your home. This is not your home!” the priest bellowed and shortly repeated the last line of his speech.Gisa turned to Paulo and Augustine; they were the only ones whose eyes wereopen in the crowd.

“I promise to you that I empathize with you in your suffering although God always has the last word. Those who died are surely befitting to die and each one’s death is God’s making. Probably Iribagiza deserved to die. Probably God was ridding us of a lazy and incompetent element.”

His words were said with much authority and conviction that no one dared speak. The crowd was moved to tears because of being reminded of Iribagiza. However Gisa could not sit and listen to the priests hurl insults at the soul of the dead woman, a victim of a decayed political and social system.

“Let us get out of here” He said to his friends.

CHAPTER 8

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Many days later, two boys stood outside the office of the church school. The administration block which housed every office was a colonial building, the only cemented blocks and lime building in the compound. It stood half way down the hill facing the mud and wattle class rooms with imposing authority.

Most 59ers looked at the school as the only option since other schoolsrarely allowed foreigners and more specifically Rwandan refugees. Gisa pinched Paulo’s hand as they waited to be called in.

“Paulo, anybody called Paulo?Paulo looked around nervously perhaps looking for signs of any other Paulo.All the boys passing by stopped some of who were from the same quarter as Paulo. Gisa called Paulo and reminded him that he ought to be entering the office.

He made two steps forward, turned and looked back. The fog on his eyecleared, he could now distinctly see that the boy who was advising him was none other than Augustine. He felt a sudden relief, Augustine nodded. He turned and entered the Head teacher’s office.“Your name please?”“Paulo”“How old are you?”“Thirteen”“What have you come to do?”“To learn English”.

That was the interview. Soon Paulo and Gisa were manoeuvred into a class full of children of almost their age, the first years. Twenty minuteslater a teacher entered, she was a slightly aging woman who spoke with tenderness that the nervousness flowed out of the children nerves. The first lesson was for introductions although at least every student quite well knew almost half a class the order of introduction served to show the children they had come to school to learn and put the world to order.“My name is Kamuntu”“My name is Kagabo”“My name is Gisa”“My name is ------------”

The children took turns standing, introducing themselves , receiving their share of hand claps before sinking back to clap for the next speaker.

The whole class was almost done with introducing itself. The last student stood up to introduce himself, his hair was unkempt and the shirt he wore bore tears and patches, witness for many fights he must have had. By all standards, he was a very shabby boy.“My name is ---------”“Faustin!” the teacher quickly completed. Faustin was now repeating the first year for the third time. To him books were always second option. He took school as a platform to show his might though terrorizing young children since he was above the average age for first year. The teacher had nicknamed him Goblin because he was small dangerous and mischievous. The maiden English lesson dragged on with the expected AEIOU song ringing from the P1 class and adding its musicality to the sound of the drums that primary six pupils were sounding in preparation to sing in church on Sunday.

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The arithmetic teacher who entered in next was a short, balding and hot tempered man. He did not greet the class but went ahead to initiate thepupils into the world of counting. That way, the day dragged on as did the rest.

It was near the end of the second academic term and it was the middleof the dry season. Paulo had now distinguished himself as the best pupil inarithmetic. Other notable characters had already distinguished their might in different fields. Gisa had marked his position as the school as well as church flutist. And well, Faustin too was the undisputed vanguard of terrorthat was unleashed upon his classmates. He usually ganged up with third years to beat up first years.

On a clear morning one day, the arithmetic teacher announced an impromptu test; of course this was bad news for the whole class which hatedarithmetic with a unitary stand. Soon the books were taken in front and papers provided with questions to be solved.

To Paulo it was unfortunate that he had to sit in front of Faustin. It was in the middle of the fiery paper when the drama all began from behind him on the reed mat. Paulo felt the nib of a pencil poke his back, he pretended he had not felt it and continued counting with his piece of straw. A loud whisper was the next signal from the life behind him. The teacher turned and looked at the cause of the mayhem.

“Faustin, are you causing trouble?”“No sir”The teacher’s gaze lingered upon the boy and over the whole class.

His gaze rolled from ball to ball that was the children’s black shaven heads. When he was finally satisfied that everything was going on well, he turned back to the landscape and his focus was soon lost in the horizons.

Faustin wasted no time; he grabbed Paulo’s paper and started copying.Paulo just like the other pupils turned and looked at Faustin fascinated byhis bold move.

“What is happening over there?”The last thing Paulo would want was to be implicated in was

malpractices. He gladly put up his hand and told the whole truth. The silence that had been in the room seemed to intensify as everyone held his/her breath. The teacher pounced on Faustin and dragged him by the collar ofhis patched up shirt up to the front to the class.

“What should I do to him?” the teacher asked not really asking anyone in particular.

Similarly no body dared answer. The children knew that once Faustin pointed you out individually, life would be a living hell. The children kept their undying passion to see Faustin beaten battled up inside them. Perhaps the teacher got to know about it when the children did not answer. He made Faustin face the wall with his back to the rest of the class and then he asked.

“Should I whip him?”“Yes!” the whole class cried in simultaneous unison. A malicious smile

illuminated the teacher’s face. He was a man who always walked with a thin bamboo cane sure to find someone on whom it might apply. He strode to the door and got the cane. As expected, Faustin cried and writhed in agony as the bamboo strung his buttocks. Faustin was not an easy one to cry but even

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so, the sting of the bamboo could not be resisted by any of the children, not even him.

What Paulo never knew was that would be his last day at the church school. He was trusted at wrestling and was not scared of Faustin but that gave him no chance as Faustin’s gang was made up of stronger p.3 pupils. At the end of the day, the students started filing home each carrying a plastic container and a few others Khaki satchels. Paulo and Gisa were preparing to run home by empting what was left of their lunch from their containers. A darker shadow spread across the front of the class blotting out the orange evening sun light. The boy at the door stood silently watching the two eat oblivious of his presence.

“Ahem!” the bully cleared his throat; the two raised their faces to see him. He entered and went straight to the boys and grabbed Paulo’s food which he ate without any word. When he had finished eating he looked at Paulo.

“So, you wanted me to fail?”Paulo did not want any trouble, he requested Faustin to leave them in

peace a thing that Faustin mistook for pleading. When grabbing food did notwork for him he tried another of his evil tricks. He pulled Gisa’s cheeks until a blotch formed on each check. He knew that he would provoke Paulo into fighting him by disturbing Gisa. Paulo did not disappoint either, he rose up and bore his head in Faustin’s belly. Faustin lost balance and swayed from side to side. Paulo put his foot behind Faustin’s heel trippinghim over, he fell face up with his back on the dirty floor. Gisa without any delay fetched a cane from behind the door where the math teacher usually kept it at the close of the day. He gave it to Paulo who generouslysupplied the bully with a taste of the wrath of the oppressed. All the timeFaustin was crying and beseeching for mercy, wiggling and twisting and writhing as the cane descended upon him with measurable amount of energy that a bull would gladly not withstand.

The beating never seemed to stop and yet every blow came with added brutality than the previous. Faustin could not stand the pain any longer, he slid out of Paulo’s grip and rolled upon the mats that children sat on during lessons and jumped up crying and scratching his buttocks with both his hands.

The two boys listened on as the wails of the bully faded in the distance. Gisa looked at Paulo with delight and his smiles re-echoed on Paulo’s face. The boys covered their food containers and rose up to go home. School was already deserted; no sign of life was on the compound. Onecould hardly say this was the place buzzing with life at break time. The leaves that had fallen off trees lay on the ground patiently waiting to beswept the next day by late comers. The two boys eased their way into the path that cut across the school from the church on top of the hill to the main road below and across into the village. The slapping of their naked feet on the bare road formed a slapping sound that was the only audible sound apart from the cooing of the evening doves.

Part of the grassland was burning and could be seen as one descended the path. The smoke rose into the sky and wafted towards the school and up the clouds. The path was momentarily covered by thick white smoke. Gisa andhis walking companion struggled had to get the least vision through the

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thick smoke. It was Gisa who saw it first; a figure loomed in the thick smoke. He pulled Paulo down to dodge an object that the figure swung but itwas too late. The pestle was heard in the mortar, stone crushed into Paulo’s jaw. His teeth dug deep into his gum and he started bleeding. He pushed his khaki satchel into Gisa’s hands and chased after his unseen adversary. An evening wind blew by carrying off the smoke away momentarily and when it did, it exposed a shabby boy running as fast as his limbs couldcarry him into the eucalyptus forest nearby.

“Faustin!” Gisa cried out.Paulo was already too far off to hear, he pursued his attacker with

undeterred effort. Soon he was on close range with him. He threw a fire baked mud brick he had picked on the way at the boy and he hit the boy’s ankle. The boy screamed and fell down wailing for help. The wails rose above every others sound in the plain. The two boys quickly hurried. It was almost time for milking and of coursereading a sign from Bihogo the sacred.

The next morning, as Paulo prepared to go to school, a herd’s boy came to his hut to announce that his father wanted to see him. Paulo new atonce that it had something to do with events of the previous evening. He started making up arguments in his head but none seemed satisfactory. He was still thinking when his father’s own voice shouted out his name.

“Am coming” He yelled and without delay left for his father’s hut uncertain of what argument he was going to put up. He reached at the entrance of the hut and stopped momentarily to gain composure. He looked in; it was still dark and cold.

“Yes, are you dressing to go to school?”“Yes father!”“As if you have forgotten”Paulo felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through all his muscles, bones

and nerves. He did not know what his father would do for he was a man of few words bur when he ever spoke it would be laughter or tears.

“What has come over you?”“I am sorry….I….er….er…” he stammered not really sure of what he was going

to say. He made a resolve not to deny a thing since his father was not an easy one to lie to.

“Here, have these and follow the herd’s boy and never again forget a de-worming day”.He left the hut holding bottles of de-worming solutions for the

cattle. His relief blanketed him against the coldness. He had completely forgotten that the end of the month was a period to de-worm cattle. In mostfamilies, the children would go late that day. He made his way into the communal kraal where he found his father’s herd’s boy waiting. He took little time to notice the boys at the opposite end of the kraal fighting with a bull. The stubborn beast refused to swallow the solution and kicked the herd’s boys over. Until when a small boy came up did it stop kicking. The boy stroked its graceful back and tapped its nose continuously. The beast folded its elbows and rested on the ground chewing the cud of what remained of its overnight meal. The boy then lifted the glass bottle full of the milky solution and with no resistance from the beast emptied the contents of the bottle into its throat. The beast mooed loudly either in

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delight or disgruntlement but it had been conquered. The tamer of the beastthen rose to his feet and faced the whole kraal.

“I knew it, Bihogo could not take anything but from Gisa” a herd’s boy said in a matter of fact tone.

As if Bihogo held a mysterious power over the rest of the cows. Each broke its elbows and gladly waited for its turn to drink from the bottle ofgood health.

Gisa came up to Paulo and held his hand. The two boys greeted before returning to the work at hand. The activity was almost complete when Gisa and Paulo decided to go and prepare for school. Before leaving, they stopped to give orders to the herd’s boy and each boy took to his hut to prepare for school.

When Paulo had finished dressing up, he went to the kitchen to get his lunch that his mother was now packing in his container. He first ate the food that had remained in the pot, licked his lips and tapped his belly. He then thanked his mother and got his container in his hands preparing to leave. The sun was already up.

That would have worried him but considering that, that day the late comer would be many, he knew that the load would be shared and lighter. He wished his mother a nice day, his mother smiled with a warm affectionate look in her eyes, she looked at her son. Paulo had gotten used to his mother’s tendency to keep most of her words unsaid. With a last smile to his mother, he turned and stepped into the yard.

A couple of chicken fled into the safety of under the granary to giveway to him. His feet grated on the gravels in the compound. He stepped on small round gravels and slid to almost falling down. He put his hands on the ground first dragging them on the stony yard. He got bruises that spun the whole length of his palm. He yelled loud summoning his mother and sister who came running and also bargaining the treacherous path to avoid falling. They came closer and offered to help him. His sister unslung the satchel from his shoulder and his mother wrapped her hand around his waist he threw her hand over her mother’s shoulder and slowly the three trotted back to the hut.

The idea of going to school that day was beginning to fade to Paulo. He now sat on a high stool looking through the small kitchen window. A soot-black kettle sat on the three fire stone displaying its round bottom to the tormenting flames with defiant pride. The half dried eucalyptus treebranches that burnt in the fire place gave birth to a cloud of white smoke that not only stung the throat but made eyes to cry. Paulo pushed his face through the small window to escape the torment of the dense smoke. Outside he could the sun rise steadily from the behind the hills and slowly ascend to conquer the sky.

He did not notice it when the water in the kettle boiled. The whistleof the stream of steam gushing out of the spout of the kettle sent the smoke into circles circling the room haphazardly. The old woman crawled outof his corner dropping the torn blanket with which she was covering her feet. On her way she reached to a small extension on the kitchen where the pans and gourds were kept and got the metallic tin in which salt was kept, Staggered towards the fire place and opened the tin. She then poured a few lumps of salt into a gourd whose neck has been skilfully sliced off.

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Whether she did not burn or she pretended not to have been burnt no one could tell but she carried the hot kettle with her bare hands and poured some the hot water into the gourd. Carefully she swilled the gourd to make sure the salt dissolved in the water. She had swilled for a quite a long time when Paulo’s sister reminded her that the solution would grow cold. She stopped and took a swig on the liquid, it burnt her mouth and she spat it out with much force that it drenched her cat that was slumbering in the nearby corner. The cat jumped up quickly with aloud meowing and aimed for the window brushing by Paulo’s cheek and landing with a soft thud behind the kitchen. Paulo was fascinated and startled at the same time that he fell back on his stool luckily landing in the heap of couch grass that lay in the kitchen waiting to be used to repair the leaking roof thatch in preparation for the wet season early the following year.

Paulo lay face up wards trying to place the pattern that was now playing in his sight. He saw strings locking and coiling into each other. He was beginning to make out the soot covered kitchen roof when he saw two faces hovering above.

“Mother!”“Yes son.”He sighed in relief. The two people held his arm carefully not to

touch his bruises and cause him more pain and hoisted him a sitting position.

“You’re alright?”“Yes mama.”“Then it’s time to clean your bruises”Paulo put his left hands forward not really sure he was ready for it.

His mother dipped a swab into the hot salty water and then lifted it out with her bare hands. Steam rose from the swab and ascended up. Paulo gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He waited for the swab to descend upon his arm. This would be his moment to prove he was a man as he always insisted on being called. He had resolved to stand and act unaffected by the pain. But when the salty water touched his bruised hand, he uttered outa scream, his body grew still and tears started to flow from the corner of his eyes. He jerked his palm from his mother’s grip swearing not to presentit again for disinfection.

The scream not only startled the two women but also cut across the yard to another homestead summoning another boy who was dressing up. The boy quickly pulled his second leg into the pair of shorts and made as if torun. He fell down almost face down. In the rush of the moment, he had put both legs into one side of the pair of shorts. He rolled once and faced up.With shaking hands, he removed the pair of shorts and now put them on properly. He then stood up and shot out of his hut. He had not gone beyond his father’s hut when the pair of shorts dropped to his knees tripping him over and prompting him to fall again. This time he had no time to make corrections. He simply stood up, pulled his pair of shorts up and held themby the side forgetting the convenience buttoning up would have served. Gisa’s appearance at the door gave relief to the two women. Gisa peered into the white smoke with his left palm on his forehead. He choked on the smoke and coughed.

“Is anything the problem?”

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“Yes my son you came at the right time”When the matter had been explained to Gisa, he did not waste any

time. He rushed for Paulo other arm and held it tightly as the women held one and elaborately disinfected it. All the while Paulo kicked in the air shouting in pain and hurling threats at his sister and Gisa.

“Gisa, I swear I will strangle you! Let me go.”Gisa was not moved or intimidated, he knew for all that all were

empty threats and he held Paulo tighter. When one hand had been finished, Gisa shifted to the other and grabbed it for the women to disinfect. If wasafter a long period of wailing struggling and fighting that the exercise was completed. Paulo sat in the corner bundled into himself howling.

“Better pull yourself together and we go to graze” Gisa said as he exited the hut.He was already an hour late and he could no longer go to school, he trottedhome and removed his school shorts which were already dirty with two falls and changed into his patched pair of khaki shorts and his soot stained shirt. He picked his grazing stick and started walking back to Paulo’s compound.

Paulo had already come over the pain in the short time that Gisa had taken away from him. He stood waiting by the communal kraal holding his open palms by his sides. Gisa looked at him and suppressed a chuckle.

“Laugh out loud if you want, will you? Paulo said loudly.The chuckle exploded and the laughter resounded in the area. The boy laughed until tears ran down his face. He held his aching ribs and threw down his stick. He laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. The other boy found it very fascinating and he soon broke into laughter too. Finally the boys could laugh no more. They stood side by side facing the path to the grassland.

“You always wanted me to call you a man?” “Sure!”“Ayiiiiii, ayiiiiii!”Gisa imitated the screams that Paulo had let out when he

was being disinfected. Paulo could not use his hands, he shoved Gisa with his shoulder, and

Gisa returned the shove. Paulo shoved him again. Gisa now shoved Paulo withall his might and started running way laughing at the top of his voice.

“You come back here!” Paulo called out to him also evidently in a playfulmood before racing after him. The cat chased the mouse along the path and the two disappeared into the tall elephant grass.

It worried Gisa the whole day that Bihogo refused to nibble at the grass or even drink any water. Paulo tried to convince him that all was fine although both the boys could not count on anything being fine. That night, as the whole village was in deep slumber the bull mooed all night. Now, Paulo’s father was one of those light sleepers who could be startled by the sound of a mosquito next to his ear.

He woke up and lit a kakyenkye straw candle; slowly he opened his door without much as a crack. He walked through the dark towards his son’s hut. He hesitated for a moment considering letting his son sleep and check on the cows himself. After a considerable time of thinking, he reconsidered sending Paulo. He raised his hands to knock but before his knuckle could hit the door,

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“Who is there? His son resounded.”“It’s me”“Father!”He sent the door swinging on its hinges. The old man’s figure loomed

in the yellow light. His lips parted letting out a string of orders that were all centred on checking the kraal and identifying the cow that was mooing and why. Paulo carefully took the straw candle from his father careful not to hurt himself. His father than turned back and headed to his hut.

The coldness hit into his bones and made him shiver. He held the straw candle lightly though strong enough not to let it fall. The wind blewthe flames towards his face, he pushed his face backwards. His feet grated on the gravel tickling him. He changed tactics and now tiptoed on the path.He was tiptoeing when his foot dug into fresh cow dung. He jumped up considerably disgusted and stepped into the grass along the sides of the path and with the grass; he cleaned his foot and reached the pole gate to the communal kraal clean enough for another series of stepping in fresh dung. He did not need to enter the kraal to know that the only cow that layin the corner from which the mooing came was Bihogo. From the wooden trough, he stuffed some banana peelings and chopped elephant grass into a sack and dragged it to the corner.

He was most certain that since the bull had refused to graze the whole day, hunger made it moo. He emptied the contents of the sack below the nose of the bull. The bull rose up uninterestedly and turned and lookedthe other side. It raised its tail up high and urinated in the food before it let explosive mooing that rung in the night slicing across the deep slumber of its owner.

Gisa came running towards the communal kraal. From a short distance, he saw a burning torch in the corner, what came first into his head was that a thief had attacked the kraal. He halted and watched the figure pace around his prize bull and fully took in the image. He turned and started racing back to his hut to get his spear. When he had got it he chose to ignore the path and opted to pass through the sugarcane garden that grew onthe other side of the kraal to get the thief by surprise. He came creeping through the shadows of the sugarcane. He cut his knees on the thorns that were meant for sugarcane thieves and he yelled. The yell terrified Paulo who jumped over the kraal’s wooden pole fence and raced home to awaken somemen to catch the sugarcane thief.

Gisa too, seeing the cattle thief jump over the fence, decided to runback home and gather some men to mount a search all over the quarter for the thief.

In the middle of the night, the quarter was in total confusions, groups of men scaled the valleys plains and hills searching for the sugarcane and cattle thieves. One group entered eucalyptus forest in its search. A youthful boy thought he saw the man hiding up in the tree. Everyone looked up and true to his word a ‘person’ sat atop the highest branch snoring and his snores were audible from the ground below. However, none of the flame torches’ beam could go that far up. The villagers resorted to noise to intimidate the thief. A loud cry of “cut the tree! Cut the tree! Cut the tree!” was picked by every of the people around. The noise awakened

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or perhaps startled the suspected thief who turned on his side and missed his grasp narrowly and came tumbling down while hitting himself from one branch to another as the crowd cheered. He reached down and fell on the head of the youth who had first identified him. The cheers of the crowd froze on their lips in the dim light of the torches; they could now clearlysee that it was not a thief. It was only a pregnant monkey. The monkey looked around definitely confused and clutching on the head and shoulders of the horrified youth, gave out a loud howl and shot back up the tree.

As the search team returned to the village, to announce their fruitless search, laughter could be heard ringing across the whole area. Some momentarily sat down to hold their ribs and laugh before joining the rest of the group. The youth who had identified the thief up in the tree walked in front of the group and disappeared to his hut as soon as they reached the village.

The other group searching for the cattle thief was also returning from their fruitless searching. All people were soon gathered at the ‘ishaazi’ of the elders waiting for the aged one to give them some advice over the issue of the thieves. A bonfire was quickly lit at that time therewas no organized way that showed who was to bring fire wood and how it was going to come. But within a short time a large pile of fire wood was already there.

A grey haired elder stood up with one arm in the air and signalled for silence. Making a crowd of agitated people silent was not an easy task though soon the crowd was silent. The old man cleared his throat and with one sweeping glance that took in the anxious faces, he started speaking in Kinyarwanda. He started by thanking the whole refugee quarter for the solidarity it had shown. He seemed to talk for ages addressing all issues that were or were not associated with events of the night. The crowds became anxious and started shouting to him to attack the theme issue of thenight.“Brothers and sister” he replied, “don’t think I am blinding myself to the event of tonight, but as someone who has listened to the accounts of those who saw the thieves, I think this meeting should be abandoned.”

“This is ridiculous” a youth shouted from the back of the crowd. The whole crowd was now a sea of buzzes and murmurs some of the members of the crowd were beginning to pass a rumour that the old man had something todo with the thieves. It was about to explode into a physical confrontation of the old man when the leader of the elder council rose up and raised his palm in the air. Silence took over the area.

“Before you discrete the land by attacking one fit to be your father or grandfather, may you please listen to the two accounts and pass your own judgment?”

“True, true” the crowd roared.Paulo was shoved forward he looked timid amidst the sea of men, women

and children. He locked his palms into each other then scratches the middleof his head.

“Talk!” the crowd roared again.“I …., I …., I ….was sleeping in my hut. Father came and woke me up to see which cow was

mooing and establish the reason as to why.”

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He stopped and pocketed. He could no longer go on as he was too afraid of the open eyes. He turned to go away but as he was turning Augustine stepped into the circle and held him by the shoulder.

“Paulo, this is your moment if you run away from the crowd you will have shown weakness and forever you will never be respected. Never!” Augustine whispered to him.

Of all things Paulo could never stand was any one challenging his ego. He looked at Augustine for a few moments the urge to prove himself grew stronger. He turned and faced the crowd again. Everybody could not help notice the sudden composure; he looked directly into the crowd and continued where he had stopped.

“When I reached the communal kraal, that my father’s home stead shares with Shyaka’s, I noticed that it was Gisa’s bull. I gave food to it but it could not eat a thing, instead it continued mooing except this time it did louder. I was still pacing about wondering what to do when I heard someone crawl in the sugarcanes nearby. I thought it was mongoose and remained calm. However I heard a human yell rise from the canes and without any pre-thought, I jumped over the kraal’s wooden enclosure and came to call men from my compound immediately.”

When he had finished speaking, the crowd remained silent perhaps waiting for more though it was all. Another elder stood up with a few words, he thanked Paulo for trying to respond in time by calling men immediately. After a few courtesy remarks, Gisa was called from the crowd behind the elder stools.

He came trotting unsure of himself, his thumb in his mouth. He passedby the elders and then stood facing the crowd he removed the thumb from hismouth and with pure childhood innocence he started.

“I have seen a thief”“Ooh!” the crowd cried in unison with genuine concern and fear that

perhaps Gisa might be speaking the truth.“I had the distinct sound of my bull as I slept. I thought I was dreaming and I never minded it

however later when I woke up to go the latrine I heard it moo louder. I went closer to look, but from adistance I saw a thief admiring my bull. I went back home and brought my spear and decided to catch the thief by surprise and spear him. I passed through the sugarcane garden I was nearly withinthe range of spearing him when thorns pricked my knees and I yelled. I think I startled the thief, I saw him jumping over the kraal enclosure and disappear into the night” I rushed back to my compound and gathered men to come and chase after the thief.

Before Gisa could complete his story many among the crowd had realized what a big misunderstanding the whole event was. As he retreated back to his former post behind the elders, he could hear loud laughter surrounding him. He did not realize the reason why everyone was laughing. Every one found the whole incident funny apart from the two boys. The only ones who had not yet realized how wrong they had all been.

It took Augustine much effort and time to dot the lines for the two boys. When they did understand they burst out in laughter. The last laughter in the night as the whole quarter of the village had laughed its way back to sleep already. The three boys sat on the wooden enclosure not certain that they could go back to sleep. Still Bihogo the bull mooed on.

“I am staring to have a bad feeling about Bihogo mooing like this” Augustine said. Both boys turned and looked at him in the dark. Was it the effect of the dark or Augustine had also been sucked into the cult of Bihogo? It went unsaid though each of the boys sat brooding over the thought that somethingterrible was forth coming.

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They sat silently waiting for the break of the dawn.

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CHAPTER 9

The incessant mooing let into the dawn song as the first ray of the sun litup the sky. The orange and grey morning clouds came steadily shining in warm rays. The milking had already been done and all preparation s for school complete.

The three boys who has sat up all night till day break now determinednot to be late were making their way towards the hill of the school. They braced the dew and mist with a common aim of getting to school first. They were crossing the highway that led to Ibanda when they had a loud mooing; they stopped and looked at each other. It went unsaid.

School was still isolated; the classrooms were dark and intimidating.Droplets of water streaked from the grass thatch roofs of the classrooms and dropped down creating small impact holes that formed straight lines along the edges of the roofs. The only permanent structure on the compound was the only open building. Inside the teacher on duty sat sipping hot coffee from a plastic cup. The blue thermos flask in front of him was the only other thing apart from a thin pile of papers and a bamboo cane that were on the other wise bare table in the bare office.

The boys only needed to make up for missing the previous day so they devised a means. Gisa and Paulo who had missed were to go up to the office and request to clean the class voluntarily. Of course it meant that Gisa was to clean alone as Paulo’s hands were still unfit for the friction with papyrus broom’s prickly handle. But the boys still decided it would be the best option.

When the boys appeared at the door of the teacher on duty’s office, the teacher jumped up as if startled by a terrible sight. He released the mug he was sipping from and it dropped to the ground pouring its contents and spinning on the ground.

“Paulo!” he cried affectionately.Paulo seemed the only person that that particular teacher was close

to in the whole school. A part from giving his arithmetic lessons he never talked to pupils and only met them when they were brought into the staff room for punishment. On many occasions however, he would call Paulo and they would talk about the irrelevant subjects like weather, the cattle and the cultures. Such meetings usually ended with the teacher praising Paulo’sprowess at numbers and words of encouragement. That morning, as the teacherlooked at the boys, Paulo could see that something was different in his eyes. He carried a look of terror and horror. He opened his mouth and with much effort he spat out.

“Paulo, is it really you?” Paulo smiled, he thought it completely puzzling that Mr. Rugambwa was

scared of him. He stood uncertain of what was happening and he was satisfied that the teacher was not in the mood talk; he made a slight bow and turned to get out. He had gone as far as the notice board hanging on the wall at the end of the block when someone called his name. He turned.

“Paulo, you have to get out of here.”“What!”

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Mr. Rugambwa said nothing more. Paulo was puzzled. He stood and looked at the teacher standing across the block then at Gisa who stood beside him equally puzzled. He thought he had heard enough and he had to put an end to the puzzle. He pushed hid satchel into Gisa’s hands and then trod across towards the teacher.

“Now teacher, would you please tell me what this is all about.”“Sshh” Mr. Rugambwa said lifting his index finger to his lips. He then

held Paulo by the arm and pulled him into his office. When they were inside, he pulled the door closed and he turned the key in the lock before busting into a quick story that he told between gasps of breath.

“The boy from your quarter- that stubborn boy- Faustin- he came with his older friend-road bandits- they will kill you.”

Paulo felt pangs of fear all over his body. He felt vulnerable as fear drenched him in a morning sweat. He now knew that Faustin would stop at nothing to revenge for his broken leg.

Mr. Rugambwa threw his arms around Paulo. Paulo could no longer feel safe anywhere. Not even in the village since Faustin lived in the same quarter.

Paulo as per the teacher’s advice was to remain home for a time beingto let Faustin’s vengeance die down. Soon he was on his way home; Gisa had escorted him as far as the foot of the hill and then returned to school to claim his position as the first to arrive. Paulo was now alone walking back home quite not sure of how he was going to break the news to his father. He got an idea that hewould claim to be tired of schooling but he knew that would not work either. He could now imagine a conversation with his father in which all reason for dropping out were satisfactorily challenged.

He did not realize when he entered the quarter from another path thatcrossed the compound of Faustin’s. There was an unproven rumour that Faustin’s father was convincing the native leaders to make him chief over his fellow refugees so as to collect more taxes from them all over the village gossip mill. So he was trying to impress the natives by building many huts a maze through which Paulo walked lost in thought. He was still lost in thought when from a distance he had a loud noise.

“Catch him! Catch him!”As he walked on not minding the noise, he saw men and boys dripping

with savagely emerge from the surrounding huts and start to ring up around him. He stopped with intention to ask them what they wanted of him but one backward glance gave him all the answers. When he looked behind he saw Faustin sitting in front of a lowly roofed hut with one of his legs in wooden splinters shouting, “Catch him! Catch him!”

He identified the mouse hole in the ring of men that was now coming closer and closing in on him. He made for the loop and shot through; two men on each side threw their arms to catch him but he was too fast. One of them held his shirt ripping all the buttons off, Paulo left it in his handsand without looking back he ran straight home with no shirt on. The pursuers came as far as six homesteads from Paulo’s homestead. They could not pursue into Paulo’s strong hold. The homes belonged to the refugees from the clan of warriors.

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Everyone was busy doing this or that. The women were grinding millet and their grinding stones could be heard grinding against each other. No one saw Paulo return half naked. Paulo ran to his hut and sat open eyed. Helooked into the cold grey ashes in the fire place in the centre of his hut that he always lit to keep the hut warm. With his hand on his chin he thought of all he dreamed about; to be educated and important, to have the power to influence people and organize his brother and sisters and to liberate Rwanda. He saw the entirety of his dreams fly into the air like white ash in the wind. His clouds became grey and to him it rained on him; he shivered and wrapped his arms around himself and his teeth kept on knocking each other. It is when the herd’s boy passing by called him and helooked up that he realized the sun was still high and hot. There was no grey cloud, no rain, and no cold but true he was bundled into himself and had a convulsion shaking his whole body. He started by wiping the cold beads of the sweat that were streaking from the hair near his forehead and then stood up and looked at the herd’s boy straight in the face. The herd’sboy stared back undeterred and unaffected by the stare.

“I am not going back to school.”“You are not what!” the herd’s boy asked with great shock. His jaw

dropped and so did the calabash of warm milk which fell and broke on the ground. A libation to the god’s for the good and bad lucks.

“No one should know as of yet.”The warning was rather useless since the herd’s boy was already too

shocked to believe what he was hearing. Stories of Paulo’s ingenuity in class were not rare among his class mates who practically worshiped his prowess at numbers to the pride of his father. This would be disappointing news to anybody close to Paulo. The herd’s boy left quite confused, he could not bring himself to believe that Paulo who had vigorously advised his father’s herd’s boy to go school had now abandoned it.

At the close of the school day, Mr. Rugambwa told Gisa to stay behindas the rest of the class rushed out. Gisa badly wanted to go home to his friend Paulo and ask him on what he was planning to do. As he stood impatiently waiting for teacher to finish picking all his things, he thought of the worst; perhaps he was the worst in the previous test and Mr.Rugambwa preferred to punish him in private.

“I would like you to lead me to Paulo’s home”Fear engulfed Gisa, he was sure he could not betray Paulo if at all

the person requesting had been another teacher. But it was him the feared Mr. Rugambwa. Mr. Rugambwa read the horror on Gisa’s face; he smiled coyly exposing a set of teeth darkened by cigarette smoke and coffee. He stared at Gisa for a split second and made his way towards him.

“Don’t worry my boy everything will be fine”As they walked out, Gisa turned left leading uphill where he was most

certain that the teacher was going to drop his books in the staff room. However when he saw Mr. Rugambwa was not following him he stopped in his tracks and retraced his steps back where the teacher was standing. Mr. Rugambwa was fascinated by the boy’s ability to notice the routine route hetook to the staff room but he felt he had disappointed the boy’s expectation although he could not help it since he was to go to that staffroom no more.

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Paulo saw from a distance the teacher led by Gisa heading for his father’s hut. He did not know how he would explain himself to his father who at that time of the evening had not yet known that Paulo did not attendschool that day. He noticed Gisa ran into his own homestead after seeing Mr.Rugambwa to his destination. From the woods he came creeping and tip toeing towards Gisa’s home. He was coming around a goat shed when he saw Shyaka. He turned back to run but the old man’s quick eye had already got him.

“Paulo my son”Paulo stopped; he knew he could no longer run as he had already been

seen. He came back smiling shyly and facing downwards. Mzee Shyaka cracked a few jokes about children who fear their fathers which were intended at mocking Paulo. Paulo was quick to realize his mistake and after a satisfactory apology made for Gisa’s hut.

Gisa sat near the cold fire place in the centre of his hut where the light from the outside hit at him through the thin inlet which looked like a ridiculous undersized window. He held a safety pin in one of his hands and in the other he held his foot facing sideways. He was in the middle of this operation of removing jiggers from the sole of his foot when Paulo surfaced.

Paulo’s figure was now like a ghost to him only surfacing to condemn him for the act of betrayal that he had endeavoured to commit. Bringing Mr.Rugambwa to Paulo’s father, Paulo needed not say anything; Gisa has alreadystarted apologizing without salutation. Gisa had now been apologizing for enough minutes when he noticed that Paulo as just smiling sheepishly he stopped and his apologies froze on his lips Paulo reached to him and pressed his shoulder.

“I know you can never betray me and I also know that no one does give in terror of Mr. Rugambwa’s whip”

Gisa was over whelmed by Paulo’s trust in him but he could not help throwing his arms around Paulo’s shoulders. He completely forgot that he was holding a safety pin which as he hugged Paulo took a generous bite intoPaulo’s flesh.

“AyiiiiiiAyiiiiii” Paulo screamed.His screams were immediately responded to by a female voice

from near the entrance of Gisa’s hut.“Paulo! Paulo! Baraguhamagara.” It was his sister announcing that

Paulo was being called by his father.Paulo looked at Gisa, Gisa looked back at him and with nothing

beyond an understanding exchange of glances Paulo slipped his hand into his sister’s and the two siblings headed home with only a few words passingbetween them.

Darkness had already taken refuge into the old man’s hut thoughthick light still hung outside. The songs of evening birds could be heard in the nearby forest. Whips cracked on the cow’s hides and resounded to themaidens who were busy shaking with vigour and working gracefully upon theirchurning bottles. The two siblings tore through a file of toddlers singing with their hands in the air for the Inyange cattle birds to give them blessings which they could see in form of white spots in their finger nailsand teeth.

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As soon Paulo’s mother caught sight of the two, he beckoned to the girl to hurry up and join his fellow ladies in the kitchen for the ongoing churning. The girl looked at her brother and uttered out a silent prayer for him and released his hand. Paulo watched his sister disappear into the kitchen and knew it was about time he embraced his fears. He slowly walked on until he reached the stepped entrance to his father’s hut.From outside, he could hear his teacher praising his academic abilities. Hestopped to make sure it was a mistake that he heard his father laugh. In a short time of hesitation, he could not help noticing Gisa creeping around the side of the hut.

Some many homes away, a boy hit down his wooden clutch.“That Paulo should pay for this!” he cried.

Around him, a group of dirty youth sat drinking local potent gin from a clay pot in the middle of the hut with long straws. They were bandits hired by Faustin to revenge on his behalf. This was only to take one night and the youthful men would go back to their lair before Faustin’sfather noticed anything. They promised to do everything possible to hurt Paulo. Faustin lifted the bag in which he kept money from the sales of the milk from his six cows and pushed a few cents into every one of the bandits’ hand.

Paulo was already miles away when the bandits attacked. The grass roof of his hut was torched and two men stood at the door waiting forhim to come out. His sister had already seen them approach in the cover of the dark and alerted all the arrow boys and the herd’s boys who now lurked out in the dark waiting for a chance to pounce on the attackers. After a long wait, the two bandits finally concluded that Paulo was determined to burn in his hut rather than come out to face them and decided to rush in and grab him before he could jump out through the window and with alcohol still possessing his heads, they entered the hut they had set alight.

The fire above them singed their hairs, dense smoke clogged their nostrils and through their lips they sucked in hot air which burnt their lungs. Straws of burning dry grass started raining on them as on one side the roof gave a way creating a gaping hole. They narrowly survived theshower of burning grass yet even the Paulo they thought was not anywhere inside the hut.

One of the bandits realized what was about to happen, he turnedsharply knocking his chin on his partner’s shoulder and biting his tongue off and rushed towards the inlet. He dove outside and landed in what seemedlike creepers. He felt the rush of the cold evening air wash his face and down into his lungs. He was beginning to feel good again and the gin had already left his head. Not that the gin leaving his head was a good idea for when it did, he came to realize that he would never speak again. The pain on the remaining part of his tongue was intolerable and considering that he would answer to the men in whose hands he now rested was not a pretty idea either.

The roof cracked, the sparks of the fire rose in the air as if it was a swarm of red pilgrimage bees. The other bandit turned and looked

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up, the roof was coming down. With a scream of terror he put his hand on the head and as swift as he could and made aim for the tiny window next to him. He was out just in time to survive the crash of the roof that collapsed down the moment he hit the ground.

School the next day was a mixture of joy and sadness. To some who saw Paulo as the only superior to Faustin fore saw the worst of their days at school as Faustin would now harass them untouched. Most of the pupils in the lower class were happy because of the latest news. On the assembly, the head teacher had stood up to announce with a matter of fact tone that Mr. Rugambwa had received a transfer letter posting him to Mbarara junior school. At least the pupils celebrated the fact that they would no longer have to taste the hot stings of Mr. Rugambwa’s cane.

Although Gisa delighted in the fact that Mr. Rugambwa had savedPaulo by offering to go with him to his new work place, he could not help pitying Paulo who was to live with him under the same roof for years. He had listened to the head teacher’s address absent minded as he was lost in a fitful muse, memory. He could remember clearly how he had escorted Paulo and Mr. Rugambwa to the staff quarters where a waiting lorry parked in front of Mr. Rugambwa’s house with whatever belonging could be called his. He replayed the picture of the fading wave of Paulo’s hand.

The last words Paulo said to him now rung clear in his mind, “look after my cows and in all you do remember you do not belong here.”

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CHAPTER 10

Paulo shut the door of his room and bolted it from the inside. He struck a match and lit the candle. The house was a permanent colonial structure made in baked mud bricks. It stood in a row of other houses that were the staff quarters at Mbarara junior school. Apart from the fact that he was preparing for primary leaving examinations, he also was trying to avoid meeting with Mr. Rugambwa’s wife. She has just been married for five months now but was sworn to make life a living hell for Paulo.

Paulo was now an adolescent too good looking that girls at school always made sure to fail their mathematics test so that the teacher would refer them to Paulo for consultation. On such occasions Paulo would arrange for time after class to discuss to the particular person.

A few days after the last term of final year had began, Mr. Rugambwa who was the only person known as the legitimate father to Paulo referred to him a girl who was having problems with algebra. Peninah was byall standards the most beautiful girl in the whole school and for that reason the pupils had wholesomely backed her in her campaign to be the headprefect. It was always rumoured that she had turned down sexual advances from one of the most feared teachers though no one dared claim to have the synthetic information. No one had reliable information; it was gossip like any other.

One day, Peninah who sat at the front desk moved four rows behind her and stopped at Paulo’s desk. She bent over and with a composed self asked Paulo about the arrangement Mr. Rugambwa had suggested. Paulo was never a selfish student and so without any hesitation he told her that he would meet her after the official closing hour of the school in the music room.

Peninah had barely moved a stone thrown when a boy seated next to Paulo burst out. “Shaku Shaaku.” “Shambagira.” A girl from behind accepted to take up the challenge of the riddle.

“Akeinika omukama?” the riddle was passed.“Enyena yaawe.” The girl gave up not knowing the answer to the

riddle. The boy looked around proudly challenging anyone who could answer the riddle. Satisfied that no one could, he solved it himself.

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“Akabaare omunkeito.”Every one burst out laughing finding the symbolism in the

riddle too applicable. Peninah was beautiful, elegant and above all a leader. She was the king ‘omukama’ in the riddle. And yes, she had bent down to Paulo who was considered a nobody, an unwanted element just like a pebble inside a shoe; Akabaare omunkeito.” Paulo was now far much used to the taunts of his fellow classmates due to his race that this particular incident did not affect him much. Although, Peninah was not used to being made an object to laugh about and she turned around sharply making the laughter freeze on the other pupil’s lips. She then gracefully walked to her seat and with the palm of her hand straightened the hem of her skirt and sat down. She then turned slowly and faced Paulo who was looking at herunsurprised by the authority her voice commanded over the class and smiled.

The smile Paulo had last seen in the crowded class was the first thing he saw when he peeked into the music room minutes after the final bell had been rung. He entered without hesitation and before making himself seated on the long wooden bench opened the last topic in his book; Algebra. The discussion went pretty well and Peninah showed ability to learn quickly.It was getting dark when Paulo asked Peninah to pause a finalquestion about anything she had not understood. Peninah hesitated and then asked, “What is P+P?”

Paulo smiled and chuckled on realizing how Peninah was looking at him with an evidently curious face.

“The answer is 2P.”Peninah seemed disappointed although she was smiling. She soon

composed herself and in the dying minutes of the day light she said what she had always wanted to say.

“I mean, what is Paulo + Peninah?”

Paulo had quickly walked away confused about what ever Peninah was suggesting. He did not want to see tears of the girl whose dreams and hopes he had turned down when it was in his power to make her life happy. He however found solace in the cave of his dreams which were beyond bodily desires. He had made up his mind back in the plains of Bwizibwera. He was one of the three cooking stones that held up a kettle of dreams and ambitions that boiled and over flowed attempting to put an end to the fire of rage suffering and misery. He shared in the dream to liberate his nationand not even the most stunning girl would come between himself and his dream, not even Peninah. He left many questions hanging in his brain, questions he was not willing to think about. If she returned Peninah’s affection what would become of him? Was he to rejoice in the rose bed of love and marriage and completely abandon his quest?

He was too lost in thought that he never realized he was at hisdoor step. Inside it was pitch black. He immediately knew that Mr. Rugambwawas not yet home. His then three months wife was usually reminded to light the kerosene lamp or the candle by the husband. He came to the door and called,

“Mugore! There was no response so again he called, Mugore!”

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The woman came from the darkness of the house. She had a thin linen sheet wrapped around her waist and all other parts above were uncovered by any piece of cloth. She stood at the door looking out into thesky above, her naked breasts kissed the air daringly. Paulo thought he was looking at a naked woman but tried to convince himself that they were the vagaries of the eye sight at night.

It was after the woman had lit the candle that Paulo realized that the woman was half naked. She walked around the room pacing menacingly as if unsure of what she was looking for or what she wanted to say. Suddenly she stopped and looked at Paulo.

“My husband has gone away.”That night as they ate super, the woman told Paulo that Mr.

Rugambwa returned from school to find his brother at home. The brother carried bad news that required Mr. Rugambwa to leave without hesitation. His sister had been shot by her soldier husband at their marital home in simba barracks, Makenke. The body had to be transferred that very night since the following day was president’s birthday anniversary and doing any dirty job like transporting a dead body on such a day would mean death by firing squad as not only was it a national holiday but also a holy day. Paulo could not help feeling sorry for Mr. Rugambwa that he could not complete his food and went to bed immediately after his half eaten super.

He lay in his bed with no sleep, events of the day played and played in his mind; he remembered the riddle that a boy had paused to him referring to him as a stone in the shoe. He could re-visualize the disappointed look and the tears on Peninah’s face when he declined her advances. He laughed alone in the dark picturing the situation where the king lay at the mercies of the stone in the shoe. As he was still laughing,the thoughts of Mr. Rugambwa’s dead sister came into his mind putting an end to the laughter. He felt his heart beat rise. He was one who was not scared of abstracts like ghosts but he could not explain why his heart beathad risen.

By the time he realized that it was not his heart beat, it was too late. The footsteps came nearer to his door. He could now see yellow light filling the cracks and gaps in the wooden door to his room before someone pushed the door to let the light fill the room. In the candle lightPaulo saw the shock of his life, Mrs. Rugambwa naked head to toe. He sat upin shock wrapping his sheet around his waist. The woman blew out the candleand sat on the bed. Paulo was shocked beyond words. Mrs. Rugambwa lay straight beside Paulo and wrapped her arms around his waist. Paulo pushed her arms away. She brought them again around him and Paulo yelled out, “No!”

Mrs. Rugambwa was taken by shock at the sudden loud protest, she jumped up and stood in the dark and in hushed tone started speaking.

“Paulo, you are now an old man.”“And so.” Paulo retorted.“You can be my husband in his absence.”“No! No! Never!”The woman left shamefully without another word. Paulo started

wishing that Amin’s soldiers had killed Mrs. Rugambwa rather than Miss Rugambwa.

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That day was to mark the beginning of Paulo’s suffering in Rugambwa’s home. For two months now he did all the chores at home before going to school. So he had to wake up three hours before sunrise whereas Mrs. Rugambwa slept until midday. Two months since that day, Peninah had re-composed herself and apart from Paulo and herself no one got to know of their encounter. Now Paulo was preparing for his final examinations due in two weeks. At least he would complete and go back home, away from Mrs. Rugambwa and the hard work. He knew that back home Gisa was also reading hard preparing for his primary leaving examination.

Now he closed the door and lit candle, he went to a pile of tattered books that lay in the corner of his room and scrutinized the identical covers of the books until he found what he was looking for; a thin but neatly bound book most of whose pages had dropped out.

He carefully opened it not willing to create any more tear on the already old book. Page by page he grew curious and perhaps thought the object of his interest was not there. Somewhere near the end of the book, ayellow paper fell out. He held it and smiled and forgetting the care tossedthe book away.

The paper had been read as many times as Paulo could during the two weeks he had spent since he had received it yet every night as if it were ascared ritual that connected him to his home during the academic term that was his last in primary school he read the letter. He read it aloud that day.

Dear Paulo.

I know you are fine since you are now already prepared to do the primary leaving examinations. I am also prepared and hoping we shall not only pass but excel. I really have to say we are left with little time to write letters therefore it would be prudent if you didn’t reply because the postal service is very slow and inefficient.

I just wanted to tell you that a certain soldier has taken over the land which the Faustin’s usedto occupy before they were banished six years ago after the bandits that had attacked you hut confessed. Do you remember the fear that we used to feel then? If you do then it has happened again.Every night the soldier gets drunk and fires his gun in the air and sometimes to any direction yet nothing has been done. It is one year into this Amin’s regime but I fear things are getting worse. Anyway, that you will see when you come home a few weeks from now.

Otherwise I just wanted to tell you that I received my citizenship document yesterday. I am sorry that you were denied citizenship although you and I know that it was because you were impatient and never stood to be insulted by the migration officers. Me after taking enough insults I was finally granted citizenship. I should be telling to learn to endure insults but I won’t because I admire your pride in who and what you are.

Okay, I have said a lot yet actually I meant to wish you success in the forthcoming exam. I hope you will pass because I won’t disappoint either.

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Yours truly

Gisa.F.R.

When he finished reading the letter, Paulo folded it for perhaps the hundredth time in a fortnight and smiled. He smiled remembering the day in the previous school holiday when Gisa and himself had gone to the immigration offices to acquire Uganda citizenship cards that would allow them to have free secondary school education only to be called “stupid Rwandan opportunists” He had left the office without another word leaving Gisa to plead for his alone. He smiled once more and put his letter in another book and blew out the candle. With the routine waking up early, late night reading had been abandoned. *

In the pulpit he swayed and turned, leant forward, backward, tothe right: to the left. His solemn voice echoed; lowly the congregation followed. One person near the back of the cathedral was not interested in the sermons, his eyes were glued to a page in the old leather bound Bible. His eyes grew round with excitement as he read to himself silently. He had thought he was the only one ever on earth too cursed that his master’s wifedared to tempt him into sex and later mistreat him for his refusal.

Paulo read exodus: 39 with keen interest. It was the first time he felt fully proud of his decision. Before then, he usually got thoughts of self doubts that he had turned down an opportunity but now he was sure to succeed as the last verse of the chapter said that the “lord was with him and whatever he did, the lord made succeed”.

At the end of the dedication service, all the final year pupils stoodoutside smiling and talking excitedly about the examinations they were going to start the following day. Their voices rose up the pillars of the cathedral bringing the whole building to life with the ringing of the bell calling upon people to attend mid day service .

The head teacher came out of the church walking briskly with his bible in his hand. He called together all his finalists and after a short address he led the entire group to the school premises.

Although attending the school organized function was optional, none of the students wanted to miss the function. That would mean missing one of the rare chances to taste the sugar that had been brought the previous day. Those days in Uganda, sugar was as scarce commodity as were all the others like soap and salt. All students knew from stories told fromchild to child that sugar was very sweet.

The party did not leave the minds of the pupils. The first question in their first paper, science was about food nutrients found in sugar. Some pupils wrote glucose others carbohydrates and others glycogen but what was important was that at that time every one answered the question with an idea of what sugar felt and tasted like.

Those were all memories that would linger in Paulo’s mind for ever. The excitement he felt at the end of the last paper that drove him tolock his arms around Peninah in a fare well hug. The two had gradually

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become friends helping each other in the academic work. Strictly academic work. Finally Joseph was free from the iron hand of Potipher’s wife. Paulo closed his old bible and put it into his satchel that otherwise contained an ivory comb, a new book and pen.

Mr. Rugambwa escorted him to the stage at Ruharo and paid his fair. He watched him hop onto the Tata lorry and disappear into the distance towards a place that was home to him.

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CHAPTER 11

It was getting dark and the strings of rising smoke could be seen all over the country side from the bushes two kilometres away, the nowteenage Gisa could see the whole village before his eyes. He kept on imagining that probably the object of his search was lost somewhere in the village but could not stop himself from going on asking house after house not minding how far he had to wander.

He was too taken up by the search that when a lorry pulled up and braked suddenly by his side he was snapped back to reality that he was walking right in the middle of a high way. Those days, the road was over grown as a result of the neglect of the previous and current regimes as well as the imperialists.

Now all the passengers hoped down from the back of the lorry and started hurling insults at him. He stood in the middle of the road confused. His eyes met those of the driver who immediately hit his palm on the steering wheel letting out a blast of the car horn. Gisa found it a waste of time standing and listening to the pelt of insults from the passenger, he turned and took to the bushes beside the road without uttering any sound.

“You son of slut!”“You must be smoking marijuana.”“Go and lie on your mother”All these and other insults he heard as he walked away. Slowly

they were growing silent as the passengers scampered back onto the truck. He heard the engine roar back to life, creaks and dragging sounds followed and in a short while, he could hear the fading roars of a truck. He turned and sighed, the object of his interest suddenly repossessed his whole being. The one thought that had brought him this far resurfaced in his mind.

Behind him, he heard stealth footsteps following in his trail. He stopped and looked back but could not see beyond the green shrubs aroundwhich he had wound his path. He was too old to get scared of the wild beasts of the bush because he knew they only attached on reason. His only fear was fear of humans who attacked you because they were army men or because you were a refugee, an alien, a Munyarwanda. He knew he could run no further into the bush he knew nothing about. He slipped away into a safecover of an over grown shrub. He tried to make himself comfortable but whenhe turned, his back met with the sting of the thorny shrub. He wanted to cry “ouch” but that was a luxury he did not have. The footsteps grew nearerand louder, he looked around for a stone to place in his sling but all he could see were dead leaves and a decaying rat, probably the leftover of a

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wild cat’s super whose smell was not making his hiding place any comfortable.

The foot steps were now around the shrub, the tip of pursuer’s shadow came around the bend. Gisa held his breath; he looked around again and like gem in the mud a dry piece of wood lay half buried by the fallen dead leaves. He grabbed it and sprang out of his hiding place not feeling the pricks of the thorn bush that momentarily held him back remaining with the shreds of the back of his shirt. With a yell of both fear and terror helodged the piece of wood into his pursuer’s chest knocking him down and jumping over him not taking any interest in seeing his face.

He had gone many meters away when it suddenly came to his mind that he had killed a person. The burden of guilt weighed heavy one him, he felt pain run all through his body and he slowed down. He stood in the middle of the path leading nowhere and looked back at the shrub and thoughthe heard some sounds. The person he had assaulted was calling out for help,not any help but he was calling his name. Guilt was replaced by fear; he had heard stories of sprits calling out to people and luring them into secluded places where they sucked blood out of them. Was it a spirit then? He pondered over the thought but was soon to find assurance in the fact that spirits have no physical bodies although the one he had attacked had abody. Some gave some considerable comfort although not entirely trusted. All the same he felt the urge to go back more because of guilt than compassion. The voice was now growing weaker although the same word rung;

“Gisa, my brother.”“Quite a strange re-union.”“Strange indeed.”Augustine was the only person apart from Gisa who was aware the

Paulo had returned. The two boys now talked in hushed tones inside Augustine’ hut where Paulo lay unconscious. Being the last hut in their ring of close families, Gisa had preferred it to avoid being seen carrying Paulo’s unconscious body. In all he could do, he could never own up to causing it.

“If I may ask how did Paulo trace you?”Gisa was not sure or ready to answer Augustine’s question. He

looked at the fire and then at Paulo safely covered in three thin blankets.He shook his head slowly and bit a piece of dry grass from the mulch carpet.

“May be I am wise.” Paulo said rising up and then coughed. His faint smile and eyes full of life sent a shock wave in the whole hut that tossed the other occupants around with excitements and happiness. He sat uplabouredly leaving half his body covered with the blankets.

“Are you alright?”“You nearly killed me, you will pay for this.” Paulo said jokingly and

laughed out loud pulling Gisa to his chest and shaking his head by his hair. The boys were all happy. Augustine brought out milk in a clay bowl which Paulo drunk in a few gulps. The milk got trapped on his hairy upper lip that was promising to grow into a moustache making him look like one ofthe elders. He found it humorous and he started talking like his old man sending others into a fit of laughter too. He laughed for some time and suddenly his face contracted.

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“What is the matter?”“My chest hurts.” He opened the buttons on his shirt exposing a

small swelling and a few bruises here and there. Luckily enough no rib was broken. Augustine went out to get some herbs; the fire burnt brighter probably to illuminate Gisa’s confused face.

For the first time the long lives of the boys they woke up after cock crow. Augustine rose up only to find ash all over his chest. He stood up and with his palm he rubbed sleep out his face. He was rubbing hiseye when he stepped on Paulo's leg. Paulo jumped up in agony. If he was notwake yet then the pain was enough to wake him. He found the front of his shirt unbuttoned and all over his chest was what seemed like honey, sticky and somewhat dried. He poked his ribs but could feel no pain. Yes the juices from the herbs had worked wonders. Beside him, Gisa snored loudly with saliva oozing from the side of the mouth. Out of exhaustion the boys had dozed off and finally fallen into deep slumber in side Augustine’s hut.

Now Paulo saw his satchel lying idly on the floor the only reminder that the day before he was on journey home. He remembered all the events of the day and thought it was time for questions to be answered. He could wait no longer, he walked to around pot that was in the corner of thehut and put his hand inside. The relaxing coldness of the water gave him relief from the fatigue of long sleep that followed a tiresome day. He washed the sticky liquid from his chest and with a piece of an old hand kerchief from his satchel he dried himself and the buttoned up. When he hadfinished, he scooped some water with his cupped hand and turned back to make his way back to the centre of the room.

He walked with all the care making sure not to spill the water in his hands. Augustine saw him and sensed that he was up to humorous mischief. Paulo came to the only occupant of the hut who was still asleep and after calibrating the most suitable angle he brought the water splashing into Gisa’s face. Gisa rose up with a pig like grunt and sat up with a start. He blinked his eyes rapidly trying to come to grip with what was happening. The first image that he took in consciously that day was that of Paulo and Augustine rocking with laughter with tear-filled eyes. Heimmediately joined in laughter not really aware that he was the centre of the humour.

By the end of the morning when the two boys had led Paulo to his home, Paulo had been told that at the time he met Gisa, Gisa was looking for Bihogo which had now been missing for two days and Gisa as wellhad learnt that Paulo was a board the lorry whose passengers had insulted him except that Gisa had not seen Paulo.

At the agreed time, Paulo and Gisa met near the watering well. The milking had commenced back home although the boys found excuses to absent themselves. They were about to commence their search once again for Bihogo the bull deity. First, they had a small talk about where to start and soon they resolved to start at the abattoir. The idea its self brought pain in Gisa’s bosom. What was to happen if Bihogo was already slaughtered?

A few paces towards the abattoir, the fear for the yet unknown started growing inside the two boys. They could hear Hassan the butcher

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uttering a prayer in Arabic as he prepared to slice the throat of an animal. The boys looked at each other and with no word passed between them they started running towards the circle of the people that were watching the murder of the beast.

They shoved their elbows into the crowd wedging through the seaof people up to the front circle. It was already growing dark and they could not see clearly through what was certain is that the animal that was now fighting to get on its feet clinging desperately to the remaining lightof its life’s dusk was not Bihogo.

As the boy ran back through the crowd, people were momentarily confused and when they came out of the spell the boys were already too far to hear the dirty insults that the crowd pelted at them. The boys were now headed to the last of the places they wished they were searching.

Foul stench wafted into all directions from the large structurewith a metallic door and a tin roof. Trucks were parked near the entrance and head loads of cow hides and skin were being dumped onto the trucks to be ferried away to countries overseas where they would be made into leather, bags, shoes and belts. For a cow that had been lost only two days,its hide would not be dry as yet to be ferried and for that reason the boysheaded to the side of the hide store where fresh hides were spread to dry. At night, the hides would remain there to get them used to strange weathersfor stronger leather. In the first of the evening’s darkness the boys were sure to identify the distinct white patches on Bihogo’s hide.

The boys crawled into the enclosure. A soldier holding a rifle came out of the building forcing the boys to slide under the lifeless truckthat was parked idly near the gate. The soldier thought he had seen someonebut now satisfied that there was not a single soul he got a cigarette box from his over coat and pulled out one. The burning end of the cigarette glowed red in the dark like the eyes of the leopard. After a few puffs and hum, the soldier turned back and disappeared into the giant metal door.

The boys hesitated for a few seconds. Then Gisa crawled out on one side, he stopped behind the front tyre and peeped. At least he heard orsaw no other sign of life around. He whistled to Paulo who then crawled outafter him. The two had no time to dust themselves; they stealthily ran around the building to the back where the fresh hides were.

Two soldiers sat on empty tins of cooking oil playing cards in the light of a kerosene lamp, one of them was Lt. Komakech the owner of the store. From their hiding place behind a mango tree; the boys saw that therewas no way of getting past the men without being noticed. They sat there hidden for about ten minutes not wishing to abandon the search and not brave enough to proceed. That way they remained until Paulo hatched a plan,he felt on the ground for a smooth round pebble and put it in his catapult.

A noise of breaking glass was heard in the front yard. The workers inside the store came rushing out. Lt.Komakech and his companion also abandoned their playing cards and stood up cocking their assault rifles before rapidly racing towards the source of the noise in the processpassing inches away from the boys hiding behind a big mango tree that grew at the corner of the building.

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“You better be sure because if you lie you will be dead!” Lt. Komakech yelled at the worker who was saying that the stone that shuttered the windscreen had comefrom the mango trees that lay direct to the truck. The worker nodded his head. Lt. Komakech looked at him for sometime before ordering a search of the back yard. All workers except the mechanic who was fixing another truckand the driver who was preparing to drive off a fully parked truck joined the search.

The boys were reaching the last row of spread hides when a rush of mummers came around the corner. They dropped the kerosene lamp that they had borrowed from the cards’ table. They took to their heels meanwhile taking in the whole row of the hides in the one sweeping glance. Lt. Komakech boys started firing live bullets at the spot where the lamp was. Mean while the boys ran to the end of the row and finding a wire mash they were forced to run down its whole length. They ran the whole length until they got another corner where the mango trees started together. They were breathing hard. They stopped for an instant to catch their breaths. A freshround of live fire rang out prompting them to start running again. Paulo tripped on a root and fell.

“Hurry; there is no time to fall!” Gisa yelled.The pursuers heard the voice and immediately started shooting into

the mango trees. The boys were only lucky to reach the corner and start running on the veranda with only one bullet that was logged in Gisa’s upperarm. He did not feel that pain at the time though.

When they reached the front yard, they rushed to one of the trucks that were parked and slid under it. It took only a split second to notice that there was a third person under the truck, the mechanic. The mechanic yelled out immediately.

“Over here! The thieves are here!”Paulo tugged on Gisa’s arm, they slithered out from under that truck

and in the cover of the darkness got under another truck. At this time the soldiers, workers and their boss Lt.Komakech were surrounding the mechanic’s truck. Mean while the truck under which boys were hiding roared to life, their hearts skipped a beat. Slowly the truck pulled away leaving them exposed. Gratefully to the dark, they were not noticed quickly. They rose up and started running. By the time the soldiers were to learn from the mechanic that the thieves had fled, the two boys were already too far for the bullets to get them without hitting obstacles or even too far to be seen in the dark of the night.

The nearest well was in the village quarter belonging to the native Banyankole. There the boys ran to wash blood off Gisa’s arm that was now paining like pepper in the eyes. That was the first time the boys experienced the gun battle and they were all scared. The night seemed darker although the boys felt happy that their pursuershad abandoned the chase.

It was at the well that the boys stopped to regret the uselessness oftheir search as no hide similar to Bihogo’s was at the hide store.

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“I think he returned to wherever he came from” Gisa said in resignation. That night the boys slept soundly with exhaustion.

The army pickup truck eased into the parking lot at the hide store early the next morning. Behind, vicious dogs barked ferociously threatening to break the chains that held them on to the back of the truck.A pitch black man came out brandishing a gun in his hand. He shot thrice inthe air to announce his arrival. The gun shots summoned Lt.Komakech who came out running and hugged the man.

“So, my messenger got to you this soon?”“Yes, and by the way there are the last sniffer dogs at simba barracks.”The two men entered the hide store and soon re-emerged each holding a

bottle of Scottish brandy which they drunk from with disgustingly loud gulps.

“Kadogo!” Lt. Komakech shouted. A voice was heard responding to the call from inside the hide store.

“Haraka tunatakakumaliza na kazi hii kabla ya mvua kuonyesha”The man shouted out trying to get Kadogo his escort to hurry up before it rained. He looked up at the gathering cloud of the morning rain and blew his whistle. Nearly half a platoon of soldiers can from in and around the building. The thin tall and dark man let loose his restless carnivores, which he held with long chains that he held in the hands and led the whole group in the search.

The crowd of men in green uniforms followed silently. The two dogs led sniffing the ground. Occasionally the dogs stopped and looked in all directions before picking the scent again. They reached a T-junction and after hesitating for a few moments they took to the quarter of the village that belonged to the Banyankole natives, the place where the two boys had first gone to wash in the well. The band was just reaching the first ring of huts in the quarter when the flood gates of heaven opened and it began raining.

The soldiers rushed into nearby huts to seek shelter. The owners of the hut were either forced to provide shelter and food to the soldiers or even thrown out of their own huts into the rain for the amusement of the soldiers. In the pelting rain, the stench of tobacco smoke chocked the whole quarter as the soldiers smoked semi dump Congolese rolled Cigarettes that were the only available cigarettes in the country following the expulsion of British and American Tobacco companies by the president claiming to do it to protect Uganda’s independence and economic sovereignty.

When the raining finally ceased, the soldiers realized that the dogs could sniff no more as the rain had washed away the scent. However, they already had the clue, now the whole quarter was going to tell the soldiers who the thief was. The activity started with the soldiers rounding up the whole quarter in the nearby playground. Then Lt. Komakech addressed them asking them to give up the thieves who had raided his store the night before. The villagers knew nothing about the whole incident and simply looked at each other.

“Hamtaki Kuongea!”The lieutenant barked. No one replied.

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He ordered his soldiers to give the whole village a thorough beating. Men,women, children all alike received brutal beatings that were punctuated with the kicks from the military boots; insults as well as being spat upon.When the beating was completed, none of the villagers could stand up to protest or say anything.

The villagers watched on helplessly as the soldiers torched their huts. The simmer of the top most grass wetted by the rain rose above the sound of the blazing flames in the dry grass bundles underneath. The soldiers led by the lieutenant then picked ten strong bulls from the village and led them home.

The first villagers to stand up could only manage to stagger on theiralready knocked knees a short distance only to fall again. Had it not been the help of the youthful boys who had only survived the beating because they were out in the bushes grazing at the time, it is uncertain that some of the villagers would not have survived.

Soon the last words the lieutenant had said as he left were the talk of the village.

“Soldiers own this country. So if you don’t tell me who attempted to steal from me I will grab from you and no one will help you.”

This was the first time Gisa saw any one treat the natives that way. Although, he did sympathize with them a thing he found strange. They had always treated his own people, the refugees with brutality and contempt. Heremembered the time he was nearly killed and then humiliated on wrong counts of witchcraft and night dancing. He remembered the beating Paulo’s father received. And now the round hole of the wound in his bicep. He felt he hated the natives, the regime and everyone. After all he had all the reasons to hate everything; his Bihogo was nowhere to be seen. Still, somehow he pitied the natives

CHAPTER 12

Few months later, both had excelled although only Gisa would proceed to join secondary school. Having failed to secure citizenship, Paulo was not entitled to free secondary school education. Gisa was to leave for Mbarara town the following day. He had been offered a vacancy at Mbarara high school, a school that sat proudly on the banks of River Rwizi. The wooded crate that was to serve as his suitcase had already been secured alongside a mattress one inch thick and a gray blanket that was part of the generous aid to the refugees. After selling one of his cows, Gisa escorted by Paulo went to the market to buy supplies that joining secondary would require.

The two withstood the heat of the blazing sun bogged down by the loads they were carrying. Inside their load was a pair of bed sheets, a

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dozen of books, a tooth brush, rubber sandals and pens. Gisa was too excited because some of these things like bed sheets, sandals and tooth brush he never owned before. On every hut they passed, people came out to wish Gisa luck and success in his endeavors. Gisa was usually timid and afraid of looking at and later on talking to people. Paulo would reply for him with a smile and in that way the two boys reached home.Gisa’s father Shyaka had now grown too old that his eyes could no longer see clearly. He saw two silhouettes cross the front of his hut carrying an equally silhouetted load in their middle. He staggered out in his hut outraged and called Gisa. Gisa stopped and turned back.

“Yes Papa”“What do think you are doing going out hunting when tomorrow you have to make a long

journey to school!”Paulo and Gisa looked at each other confused at the old man’s

accusation.“I did not go hunting”“You did not! When you are carrying a dead antelope over there?”It was not only the old man’s wife and daughter who laughed but also

Gisa and Paulo and later himself after he had come closer and managed to notice it was not a dead antelope but a load of shopping bundled in a big piece of cloth. At cock crow the next day, Gisa was already up. He was anxious to go to school although deep inside he was terrified. He had heardstories that children who joined senior one were usually teased, bullied and in extreme conditions killed. Now as he walked in the middle of a bandof boys escorting him to the stage where he was to board a vehicle he felt a hollow inside his stomach increase and deepen with every step he took. Heleaned towards Paulo and whispered to him. Paulo stopped for a split seconds, the other boys looked at him, he smiled and with a light laughter and shouted out intending the rest of the group to share in the whisper.

“No, you cannot be scared after the hard life we have been through.”The pronunciation evoked laughter from the rest of the group aimed at

mocking Gisa into drowning his fears. However, this served to give a platform to Gisa to freely express his fear and nervousness.

“I think school is an absurdity.”His statement caught each of the escorts by surprise; they from the

start had seen Gisa and Paulo as two boys who were set to achieve the highest in the academic voyages. Paulo knew what he could do to show Gisa that school would be the only savior from the troubles of the world. He walked up to him and lifted his arm to Gisa’s shoulder. He looked at Gisa’sface which was equally confused as were all the rest. He put his fingers onGisa healing bullet wound and felt it from above the shirt with his fingers. Gisa’s horrified eyes betrayed the thought that Paulo was going toexpose the secret the two had kept between them for three months now. His thoughts wandered to the wells of imagination of what the natives would do if they were discovered that the refugee had caused all the harm that Lt. Komakech had treated them to. However Paulo did nothing of the sort. He pressed his thumb onto the wound, fresh jets of pain scattered across his body from the upper arm.He shrieked in pain and only caught himself to avoid the rest of the escorts from knowing the interior of the dark chambers of the secrets he shared with Paulo.

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“Now tell me that the school is the worst thing that can happen to a person.”Paulo said.The other boy looked at him for some time reading all the brotherly

support from the eyes. It hurt him that Paulo was not going to join secondary school and tears welled up in his eyes. He felt his legs weaken with emotion and he collapsed in an embrace with Paulo. For some time Gisa rested his head on Paulo’s shoulder until he could fully control his physical and mental avenues. From then until Gisa boarded the only vehicle on the stage an old Leyland lorry no word passed between him and Paulo or any other of his escorts. He watched his friend disappear as the lorry spedaway. He knew that not only had the truck separated him from Paulo forever but had also banished Paulo to a class that would always be below his own. Tears flowed down his cheeks forming two streams that converged at his chinthat was now darkening like the sky above.

The big concrete buildings were now dark masses silhouetted against the already grey sky. The man who had guided Gisa from the road to the school premises put down Gisa’s wooden crate that contained all that could be held as his own and then wished Gisa well. Gisa turned and watched then man walk away the only person he could say he knew at the time and started wandering where the other new comers could be as the compound seemed isolated.

“Inside here” a voice thundered from behind him. He turned coming face to face with a thin dark man who wore a black tailored suit and gold rimmedglasses over his eyes. The man pointed over his shoulders into a wide hall that before had to Gisa looked like a sealed off concrete tomb. He carried his crate and his thin rolled mattress on his head into the hall. Inside, children of about his age crowded some sitting on their crates while othersthronged out or filed to the registration desk.

Of course the first day did not go without some teasing, bullying andsometimes done by the teachers themselves. One student who happened to be the information prefect had proved his expertise at teasing senior one students psychologically and making them cry without using physical violence. The senior ones who had been his victims saw him as a menace while he was a dear to everyone else in school even the senior two studentswho had been his victims the year before. The senior one students had secretly nicknamed him Cobra.It was after the assembly one morning when cobra stood on the plat form and called out for senior ones to remain behind. The young boys were soon the only remaining souls on the assembly grounds. After silencing them for a second he said,

“May Gisa Fred come to my cubicle after classes?”With that he dispersed the gathering. Gisa spent the whole day

unsettled. He visited classmate to classmate trying to learn from the victims of cobra what kind of tasks and what questions he asked.The day came to end when he had not yet gotten a single direct question from any ofhis classmates though they all testified that by the time one finished answering cobra’s question, one would be confused beyond limit. He decided that he was not going to cobra’s cubicle come what may. When the bell was rung officially closing the academic day, he quickly ran to his dormitory and changed into after class clothes and hurried away from the school premises down slopes to the banks of the river Rwizi that trickled below.

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He squatted by the river and watched its brown water flow by his feet. He remembered the first time Paulo had protected him by the same river many miles away and many years back. He now started imagining where Paulo could be at the particular time, probably wasting away in the graze lands only waiting for a matter of time before relapsing back into the routine life of the unstudied herds boys. He could see him playing a bambooflute for the cattle while squatting atop a brown anthill. Only the distantringing of the supper bell snapped him back to reality.

The cafeteria, which always nagged him today, was nothing as he made his way up to the serving table in absent-mindedness. It took a yell from the cook who was serving to get him to put his plate on the table for serving. Even as he ate, he did it mechanically. His brain was filled with horrendous imagination of what cobra was going to do to him. He could twistcobra’s face in his mind to create its picture in rage, fury and agitation.Darkness started falling; the electric bulbs were switched on. It would soon be prep time.

He avoided speaking to anybody in the whole prep. He preferred to keep his tension bottled up in himself. He looked at the round face of the large clock hanging on the wall of the prep room. There were ten minutes tothe end of prep and he was to go straight to his bed and at least leave hisbout with cobra for the next day. Five minutes to time he started boasting to his second conscience that had pressed on his first to go to cobra. He knew he had survived for the day until.

“Are you Fred Gisa?” cobra shouted into his face, he looked up from his book and froze. He had been looking into his book and thinking that he did not notice when cobra entered the room and started looking for him by asking all the students with as much intimidation in his voice as he could master.

“Are you?”“Yes-yes- am sorry – I –I …...”Cobra looked at the terrified boy and smiled seemingly satisfied with

the fear the children bestowed in him. He felt his pockets for some time and drew khaki envelope out which he dropped in the middle of Gisa’s book. Gisa extended behind with a start, cobra turned and left with his long overcoat trailing behind him. Gisa’s attention was drawn back to the envelope before him. On it was

“Fred Gisa Senior one Mbarara high school P.O Box 4 Mbarara

He froze at once, letting the envelope slip from his hands onto the floor. The bell to end prep rung, all the boys closed their books and one by one, they rose up rapidly and exited into the night. When the last boy had left, Gisa bent down and picked his envelope. He held it from a distance, and then closer to his face. He closed one eye and read with the other and then read with both eyes open. In all ways he tried to convince himself that someone had a hand writing similar to Paulo’s. He could not believe it was Paulo’s letter. After a long hesitation he pushed the nib of

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the biro pen into the glued end of the envelope to put an end on his doubts.

Ntare School P.O Box 57

Mbarara March 1972

Dear Gisa,

You have to be shocked about this letter but it is me Paulo. How is chaapa for the start? Ntare is good and I am enjoying every moment. You must be wondering how I came to Ntare; that day when I escorted you to the bus stop, you had just left me when an old man dressed in an Italian suit and black shoes approached me and asked me if I knew a certain man. Guess who the man in question was, my father! Later it turned out that the man was an uncle of mine working in Brussels and after he heard my plighthe offered to finance my secondary education.

Secondly, do you remember the Joel from Ntungamo you told me about many years ago after you and your old man had sojourned to Kyamate? If you do, I just wanted to tell you that Joel is a historical figure here as a former student leader. Mr. William the head teacher likes referring to him when addressing discipline. This and many stories are to betold in person if you may come to Kakyeka playground on Saturday after lunch. I will be waiting till then. Bye.

Paulo .k

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CHAPTER 13

Kakyeka was to be the rendezvous point for the two boys for the years they spent at the two rival schools although what was supposed to be the first rendezvous did not take place. Two years into the regime, blood was flowingall over the country and the sound of the gun shot was not rare. However the gun shots on the supposed day and a few more days that followedwas beyond the usual.

From somewhere beyond Nyamitanga the rattle of submachine guns was punctuated with the explosion of grenades and pounding of mortars. The school programs in both schools froze. Students locked themselves in their dormitories, which in a sense could not be safe enough as bombs ripped through buildings all around town.

Around midday the following Monday, news started trickling in that a courageous band of young revolutionaries had dared attack the heavy guard of Amin although they had been repulsed unfortunately. The news caused a tense feeling all around the town of Mbarara.

It was not a rare sighting of a military jeep speeding though the town firing live rounds into shops. One of those jeeps now sped towards Mbarara high school parked with tools of death. The small gates were knocked off their hinges, the gatekeeper received one of the gates that hithim down and fell on him killing him instantly. The jeep did not stop untilit was in front of Achimota house where all the students were huddled. A volley of shots popped into the air ushering out of the car a bulky pitch black man in military fatigue who held a megaphone in his hand and a walkie-talkie in another.

“Come out before we blow you.” He bellowed into the megaphone.Nobody inside was brave enough to stir, Gisa was even more amused

than scared to see that even the tough cobra was not moving.“I am counting up to zero and you will all be a pile of black ash and shrapnel.”The voice

was no longer commanding but threatening. The dormitory became smaller and smaller.

“Five”

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The word rung, the boys looked at each other each hoping the other could be brave enough to make a step towards the door. There was a slight stir though no one did make a move towards the door.

“Four” There was a sound of cracking cases outside. A soldier barked orders

in fluent Swahili. Few of the students could understand Kiswahili though from the few English words they could tell that their death was close at hand since in English or Kiswahili, R.P.G. had the same purpose.

“Three”One boy close to Gisa collapsed. Another boy closed his fingers

tightly around the plastic beads of a green rosary. Every one breathed for the “last time” seemingly ready to die.

“Two”The two boys looked at each other just to make sure at least one was

willing to open. The lock of metallic crates clinked outside. Gisa was standing at the door holding the bolt with the tips of his index figure andthumb.

“One”The latch fell back and the door swung upon its hinges. The sole of

a boot rested in Gisa’s groin before muscular hands threw him out of the door. He fell on a brick lying by but before he could open his mouth to express his pain another boy was thrown on top of him. He turned his face side ways to breath only to find himself on the foot of the soldier who immediately unzipped and started urinating in his head and face. In the same manner all the other dormitories were emptied as well as staff quarters. The only quarters that were not emptied were the houses that housed teachers from the Kakwa tribe and other cousin tribes. Now the wholecommunity lay on the ground regardless of professional position.

“Is anyone here from Ntungamo?” the bulky man screamed into the megaphone. A few students put up their arms. They were quickly bundled into the

waiting jeep and pushed under the back seat. Soldiers occupied the seats and secured the students with soles of their boots on students’ heads. Before the bulky man could re-join his counter parts, he addressed the bruised and beaten people.

“We are here because your former student, a collaborator of the previous regime attempted to depose the life president, the lion of Zion, H.E. Amin Idris. He was here from some for years before going to Ntale. (In his Kakwa accent he could not say Ntare). He comes from Kyamate Ntungamo and his father is called Amos. If anyone hears anything about him please let us know.”

The soldiers turned to the jeep and put one foot on to the truck. Thelunatic driver hit the ignition and the jeep came to life. The bulky soldier turned back to the students, “your friends are just going to routine questioning, that’s all.” The jeep sped off towards the administration block as the excited soldiers hit at target in the sky. Around ball flew into the head teacher’soffice as the jeep sped by. The office exploded almost immediately. The noise from the explosion was deafening though not enough to drown the yell of one of the soldiers who after the explosion cried out.

“Russian best grenade weeee woooo!”Bitten dogs stand to lick their wounds. The whole school was a bruise here,a scratched skull, a broken rib, a swollen leg and all kinds of injuries. Gisa had a broken rib. This was a second major injury he was suffering at

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the hand of Idris’ army and regime. As he looked into the rising flames of the burning office, he said a silent prayer to God to protect Paulo since it was where the army was headed.

The army had already left the premises on Ntare hill when Paulo got to know from the rumor mill that the Joel they sought had been in the previous regimes intelligence for a short time before fleeing to Tanzania. More so, he was a former student of Ntare School.

Paulo could not help admire the courage that man had in trying to liberate his country from a brutal regime. He felt he could do the same forRwanda though he did not know where to start. Here he was born to dissidentparents who were being hunted down in his home country, an unwanted refugeein Uganda living on the least lively hood and born into the world with nothing to inherit. Although he knew that one thing was certain Gisa his best friend had met and made friends with Joel. The thought elated him and he soared over the tide of the pain in his shoulder, a result of the blow of a gun’s butt.

All the day no studies went on at Ntare School. The students sat behind “pioneer house” whose name had recently been changed from “Stanley house” on presidential decree. From under a jacaranda tree’s shade, the boys could see smoke rise from every spot in Mbarara town. The valley that separated Ntare hill and the hill on which Mbarara town sat was now a restaurant for Marabou stocks and vultures. The boys sat and watched the asthe birds feasted on the flesh of human carcasses until the evening wind blew the rotting stench uphill forcing the boys back to dorm. The valley was from that day named “death valley”

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CHAPTER 14

It was now two years later, the two boys were both in senior three. Paulo sat attentively on his desk listening to every word that fell out of the history teacher’s mouth. He was at the moment unconscious about anything else around him. The pinches of the desk mates were to him like a distant call he did not want to answer to. The topic of the day was in boldwhite chalk upon a pitch black board. It was clear enough that even people in lavatories at the end of the block could have read it if the partitioning walls had been removed yet to him it danced, twisted, jumbled and un jumbled its self though it did not change it still hung and loomed in his face.

“Today we shall look at our second case study of conflict in Africa; the Gitarama Massacre of 1958, Rwanda.”The history teacher said in his resounding baritone. He stoppedand looked around the class and after ascertaining that every of students was attentive he continued, “This is one of the best examples of the efficiency of the divide and rule and it’s unfortunate effects on colonial and post colonial African states.”

Paulo was filled with hatred although he did not know to whom he would direct it. Was it to be directed to Gregory? Was it to France? Was itto the native village mates back home? Or, himself? He chose to direct his anger towards the history teacher after all, he was white. It did not matter that the teacher was Scottish but he was white. The lesson dragged on painfully as each of the negative effects that other students only encountered in the theoretical world of academia was to him a bitter reality or a sad memory.

When the academic day had officially closed, he changed into casual clothes and started as if walking to Kakyeka playground with his friends who were thinking of only football although he walked straight passed a playground towards “Kiyanja” the Omugabe’s (king’s) lake and into the playground of Mbarara high school.

Paulo was passing by Omugabe’s lake when someone called him by name. We stopped and looked by the direction of the lake but all he could see wasa band of milkmen washing their milk cans and their bicycles besides the king’s lake. He thought the sound had been illusive and turned to continue on his own ways. However as he turned, the voice called again from the

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reeds closer to him than the first voice. He stopped and looked carefully into the mashes of the lakeside reeds. Then he saw it, a figure moved slowly creating a path within the reeds with its appendages. The knee-deep mash half buried the figure as it waded with much effort towards the edge of the swamp. Two tufts of reeds at the edge of the swamp parted and a mudcovered face popped out.

“You.”“Me.”“What are doing here?”

He had finished showering and changing into some of Paulo’s clean clothes. He now sat on Paulo’s bed talking over a mug of hot coffee. He told his story with so much laughter that in all its dangerous nature it sounded funny making everyone else who listened laugh. Pioneer room four was an explosion of laughter as everyone listened to Gisa’s story.

Two Kakwa teachers had been fighting over a woman back at his school. They had fought for close to an hour in front of the main administration block. The head teacher had quickly organized a wagering system where each of the workers who was interested staked a penny on the teacher he thought would beat the other. The whole staff formed a ring around the teachers. At this point, Gisa stopped and laughed uncontrollably provoking the rest of the boys to laugh and after it was silent, again he continued;

“So I thought I should advise them to respect themselves in front of their students. I came running from the crowd and wedged myself between them. They stopped and looked at me. I took that chance to rebuke them until they stopped fighting and they walked away hand in hand.

You know it is never over until the fat woman dances. Thirty minutes later, the two returned with an army man and came straight to my class. They did not knock or request the geography teacher for permission they simply entered and pointed at me with one of them shouting that I am the one who abused them. I also did not wait for my death; I jumped out of the window and ran all the way to Kiyanja where by miracle I saw Paulo walking past.”

After he had told his story, the students congratulated Gisa upon hisescape. It seemed Gisa had charmed the boys beyond degree that they even offered to talk to the head teacher so that he could come and study at Ntare School for good. Though it was impossible since he was on government sponsorship at Mbarara high school (chaapa) and secondly because he was already indoctrinated with the mentality that the bull should never bow to a lion. The two emblems of Chaapa and Ntare respectively were a source of pride as students of each of the two schools claimed superiority over the other. It was a hard thing to explain. Inside the den, he leaned on the newfound friendship to say “Chaapa forever!” In response, his hosts growled like lion to suppress his determined mooing. It was such happiness the characterized the whole day up to the nighttime when Gisa deemed it was time he crept back to the school he had fled. It was not surprising that the whole of Paulo’s dorm was offering to escort him back to his school.

In those political times, walking in groups at night was a life threatening risk. Soldiers were free to shoot at the group at will. However, the boys risked their lives to escort Gisa back to his school. They walked through the over grown golf course of Boma as silently as they

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could and took to their right headed for Rwebikoona a small trading center with mud and wattle shops. They could see the flicker of light on the road as military vehicles patrolled.

They were just walking into the road when a military Mamba truck camearound the bend. The boys did not wait to be seen, they dove into the nearest shops. The mamba stopped in front of one shop and a short soldier with blood shot eyes came out. He stood in front of the shop whistling a tune of a common Lingala song “mobali nangae”. The shopkeeper immediately came out.

“You have the money?”“You brought what I asked you for?” The short soldier did not answer but only pointed to the mamba that

now looked like an abandoned structure in the dim light of passing vehicles. He nodded and hollowly laughed. The shopkeeper laughed too.

“I knew you could do it.”“Ho! It was very easy; I shot the Congolese merchants and took their merchandise.”“That’s the way brother, survival for the fittest.”The men then spoke silently in near whispers. The shopkeeper later

led the soldier inside his shop and gave him a sack of paper notes. The money was so worthless that for the loot of hundred pieces of kitenge clotha sack of paper notes had to be paid.

After the mamba had left, Paulo rose from under the shop counter and pretended to want a matchbox and left. He could not believe he had witnessed Kondoism first hand. He had heard the soldier testify robbing from Congolese traders. Outside all the boys started coming from the shop in which they were hiding and soon teamed up together again. However, they could no longer continue towards chaapa since the mamba was headed towards the school. When Gisa saw the mamba, he did not push the other to escort him further. He knew the short man very well; he was a husband to one of the female teachers and usually came once a week and when he did, soldiers he came with would spend the night strolling around the school terrifying anybody they found walking around. The boys decided to go dance the night away at pub Sabena an old dance hall that was near the bend, the only dancing hall in Mbarara.

Some of the boys took to the dance floor and soon were twisting with the women in the house. Gisa and Paulo occupied the table near the dimly lit end of the hall. A young woman came by holding a steel tray in his hands with an apron around her waist and took their orders.

The bottle of ginger ale soda was barely half drank when Gisa noticedthat the old man on the next table was looking at him keenly. From the moment, he sat on the table the old man looked at him with interest. He stopped sipping and took in the old man’s details in stealth glances. The old man wore a wide bowler hut on top of a wild explosion of gray hair he wore a pair of wide and round spectacles over his eyes and was otherwise wearing a black over coat. He would have to everyone passed as an average old man but with Gisa’s critical approach, he was a whole confusing being. Gisa was still looking at the man stealthily when he received the shock of his life. The old man stood up and his over coat flapped for a moment revealing a jacket fully aligned with hand grenades and a row of smith and Wesson’s pistols on his belt. The old man realized his mistakes and quickly

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buttoned up his over coat. Gisa was about to make an alarm but words were drowned in his throat when the old man suddenly started coming towards his table.

When he had reached the table on which Gisa and Paulo sat, he drew a chair for himself and sat. He tossed a book he was holding on the table. Inthe dim of the light blue neon bulbs Paulo read the title of the book, “THEART OF WAR”. He looked at the old man who seemed unconcerned about the suspicion in the boys’ eyes. Paulo looked back to the book. Now what drew his attention was not Tsan zhu the name of the author of the book but the two photographs that had fallen out. The two black and white photographs were so visible that at once the black inscriptions of each were easy to see. On each, there was a black marker pen cross and the word R.I.P. on close scrutiny Paulo could now make out names inscribed below each photograph in a white boundary. On one was “Rwaheru” and on another was “Mwesigwa.B”

When Paulo looked up, the stare of the old man met his eyes. “That is the cost of freedom, sacrifice!” The old man spoke. His voice was unimpressively young. Few words passed over the table and soon the three were huddled in an over flowing lavatory a result of sewerage and water system broken down.

The old man removed his bowler hat and exposed his ash spread hair tothe two boys. He removed his broad spectacles and looked into Gisa’s face.

“Do I know you?”Gisa looked keenly at the masquerade of an old man. His light skin

was not so rare however his eyes had a distant gaze, the eyes that the Bachwezi were believed to have had. He looked at the eyes one more time, they were familiar though he could not remember clearly where he had seen these eyes. The man looked at him without giving him a clue. The eyes bore into Gisa’s mind throwing off layers of blanketed past one after another upto the journey he had made with his father to Ntungamo.

“Joel!” he shouted.“Shhh!” Joel silenced him as he threw his arms around him. Gisa could

feel the grenades press on his chest. He remembered the help Joel had givento him and his father that night in the cave, he remembered the news paper tear out and now wished he could get it and read it himself. He remembered the leather strap and only regretted that he did not know where it was now and he had never read whatever was written on it.

Paulo stood beside and now looked at the legend, the disciplinary yardstick, the freedom fighter, Gisa’s friend Joel. He was lost in awe and did not realize when Joel threw his arms over his shoulders and shouted in his ears.

“Nice to meet you.”The buzzing of the houseflies was now deafening, the stench of

excreta nauseating. Outside the blare of dreadful Congolese, music filled the dancing hall. Gisa and Paulo met a man that was to change their destinyfor good.

Many days later, the two boys met in a crowd of excited students. It

was the annual sport gala. All the schools from the neighborhood were at Kakyeka playgrounds. Athletes were already stretching and hopping about preparing to compete for the glories of their schools. Other boys from

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Ntare and chaapa were already busy trying to convince girls from Mary hill school to be their “God knows what”.

It was in that human cocktail that Paulo saw a face he had last seen years before. He left Gisa standing near the goal post and elbowed his way through the mass of people until he reached Peninah. Peninah also caught sight of Paulo and the two hugged each other with the happiness everyone would have for an old lost friend now found. Peninah had grown to immeasurable levels of beauty and at that time, Paulo was every body’s envy. The two re-united friends now walked around the play grounds watchingas the morning games transpired.

Drama started in the afternoon immediately after the lunch break. Boys stood in their goal posts singing and shouting obscenities at the others in the goal posts across the pitch. The others were generous with insult too. Here a boy would be blowing a whistle or carrying a cow horn orhitting a drum. The other games were momentarily paralyzed by the deafeningnoise from the single section of the grounds, the football field. Ntare andMbarara high school (chaapa) the two mighty rival schools were facing off.

The referee blew the whistle calling the players to appear on the pitch. Old war songs broke out from every corner of the pitch as the supporters egged their teams on. Soon the match started. Mean while Paulo was at the volley ball field where a match between Mary high school and a visiting St. Cecilia girls’ school was going on. Peninah clang happily on his arm determined not to let go of it. Paulo was beginning to feel like hewould never love any girl but Peninah. Lost in the coziness, they did not realize that what had been a football match had been long turned into a battlefield. They only came to realize that when a boy dressed in a chaapa t-shirt came in front of Paulo and slapped him in the face.

Paulo felt anger and rage, how could he be so humiliated. He let go of Peninah’s hand and took after the boy. The boy took to the football pitch and was soon lost in the crowd. Paulo found himself locked in the middle of a big war. It had all started when the referee awarded a disputedpenalty kick to Ntare prompting the Chaapa boys to attack him. This broughtin Ntare boys in defense of the referee and war broke out. Paulo was now trying to figure out how to start fighting and whom to start with when a boy carrying a wooden bar came swinging it towards him. He ducked and the bar whizzed by hitting another fighting pair. Paulo held the other end of the bar and yanked it from the boy’s hand. The boy fell down in the process. Paulo was now towering over him. He swung the bar with great forceand was bringing it down onto the boy when someone held it midway. Paulo turned angrily, it was Gisa.

“We have to go”“Where?”“Home”“Home?”As they made way through the fighting students, Paulo turned the news

Gisa had passed to him around his head that he forgot all about going back to Peninah. The boys left the play grounds and reached the road where an old and rickety Datsun pickup was waiting for them. The driver, a milk trader from their quarter of the village opened one door for them and they

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drove in. The noise of the empty milk cans would have been disturbing if the news the driver carried had not disturbing enough.

CHAPTER 15

When they arrived, a fire was burning in old Shyaka’s yard and a group of elders sat on logs talking in hushed tones. The Datsun truck came to a stop at the communal kraal from where the elders could be seen glowingin the burning fire as the sky above gave way to dark. All the way from theDatsun Gisa ran as first as his legs could carry him desperate to get to his father before he breathed his last. Paulo followed closely behind. Gisacontinued past the group of the elders and entered his father’s hut with Paulo doing the same. Paulo did not even stop to notice or even greet his father who sat on the longer eucalyptus log with three other elders.

The inside of the hut was lit by a “tadoba” tin lamp that cast dazing shadows on the walls. A gourd of maize flour porridge plugged covered by a rolled banana fiber was the other person the two boys found inthe hut apart from the old man. The old man turned on his bed and his eyes met his sons.

“Ah Gisa thought was going to die without seeing you my son.” The old man’s eyes glowed desperately clinging to the last string his

life hung on. Gisa came to where his father lay and knelt down. His father put his already cold hand on Gisa’s head and spoke some blessings over him.Outside the cows were returning home with their herds men. A cow mooed loudly; a wind blew strongly putting off the tin lamp. Immediately darknessengulfed the room. In the darkness old Shyaka started talking rising and dipping his voice.

“My son, I die in strange land because hatred rules where I call home and I die because of government soldiers. My spirit will not go to rest until you, my son right the wrongs. Until when you have returned calm to this land and returned love and peace to Rwanda, my spirit will haunt your soul. My life continues in yours.”The old man’s voice grew faint and breathing shortened. Paulo turned and ran outside and pulled a flaming twig out of bonfire and returned with it to re-light the ‘tadoba.’ When the flames of the twig lit up the hut, they showed a slight convulsion in old Shyaka’s bed. Paulo lit the tin lamp and heisted it upon the sill of the window.

And it was in the plain light. Old Shyaka’s life had gone with the darkness. Now the lifeless shell of what had been Shyaka lay in bed with milk white eyes. Gisa was waiting for more words from his father. When no more word came, he raised his bowed face and looked at his father.

“Papa!” he yelled.His sister who had been sent for from far where she had been married

entered at the moment and hearing Gisa’s yell she broke into a wail that attracted the elders who had been requested by old Shyaka to let him talk

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to his son in private. They all came in rushing. Paulo’s father came straight to the bed and with his palm; he shut old Shyaka’s lifeless eyes. It was the first and only time Paulo ever saw his father shed a tear. Old Shyaka and Paulo’s father had been friends since their childhood days back home, had fled and settled together and now their sons were friends. Now Paulo’s father was to spend his evenings smoking his pipe alone by the communal kraal, which he had painfully constructed with his friend who now lay lifeless before him.

Paulo bent down and holding Gisa by the shoulders he pulled him up. Gisa was sobbing and shaking. He led Gisa out and sat him by the bonfire. Inside the elders carried the body out towards the medicine man’s house forcleaning. Gisa’s sister slapped the elders trying to make them leave her father. She desperately though that she would at least get a word from him.She was held by Augustine whose brother had married her and later she was bound to a pole.

Gisa saw elders pass with his father’s body. He did not make any motion towards it. His mind was full of thoughts of what had been bestowed upon him. If his father said that Gisa was his continuity then he did not have reason to go crying after a lifeless body when its soul was on him. Hewas comforted by his inheritance. He had inherited purpose and was determined to live by that purpose. To end dictatorship in Uganda and liberate Rwanda would be his purpose, his sole inheritance.

The elders had knocked down the lamp as they went out and it caught the mulch carpet as soon as they had reached out. The flame proceeded quickly jumping from one dry straw to another until the whole hut caught fire. Flames blazed on through the whole night.

Early the next morning friends started pouring into the compound carrying food stuffs, fire wood, benches and everything to help in the burial. Gisa paced around his father’s charred hut many times quite uncertain of what to do next. He was walking past a heap of smoldering thatches when an object attracted his attention. It was wound on a half burnt pole. He came closer and touched on the pole. It was not hot but onlysooty. He unwound the object carefully and held it in his hands. As soon ashe held it, all hopes of ever reading what was on it eluded him for he thought it was burnt but when he looked closer he realized it was soot fromthe fire place in the center of his father’s hut. It was his long lost leather strap. He scratched off the soot carefully leaving it a bit cleaner. Now upon darkened strap he saw the inscriptions that had been a mystery to him many years back. The ink was now faint but the message was still legible. Upon the dark back ground it was clear in faint ink.

“Life is worthless without a purpose”He was surprised and tossed the strap away. The message on it re-

echoed with his father’s last words. He was now more than before determinedto follow his new found purpose after All it was his only inheritance. He ran to the banana plantation where a grave was being dug to help the diggers.

As he waited for the real burying to happen he could not help smolderin anger at the thought of his father’s demise. His father had been sleeping when he had the maid servant shouting for help. He had come out ofhis hut and gone straight to their hut. The door was open and the two men

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with flash lights were raping the maids. The old man had entered and hit one in the back with his walking sticks only to receive kicks from the heavy army boots as the butts of rifles on his head cracking his skull before the soldiers urinated on him and walked away whistling and laughing. *

The burial was now long over and Gisa and Paulo had to return to school. The milk trader offered to return them to school. Gisa had some money on him that the people had given to him as condolence and he showed no sign of brooding over his loss. At Rutooma the pickup truck stopped and the trader emptied the two cans of milk into a cooler at the diary and the rest were destined to Mbarara where a collapsing milk packaging industry was grappling to continue in production and hence by presidential decree all milk had to be sold at the plant.

The pickup truck stopped at Rwebikoona and the boys disembarked. The milk trader wished them success in their academics before speeding away along the poor tarmac road that was now full of gapping pot holes.

“I think chaapa is to your right, I should escort you to school”“There will be no need.”“Why not?”“Because I am no longer going to school.”Paulo looked at Gisa’s resolute face and knew there was no way he

could dissuade him from his decision. “I was the only person who shared in your inheritance and I will live to it as you will but I

don’t know where you are going.” Gisa looked at his newly acquired pair of shoes perhaps wondering

where they would lead to before disappearing into a shop nearby. He came back out wearing a pair of black boots withhis Italian made shoes in his hands. He then handed the Italian shoes to Paulo and then something else; apiece of paper he had gotten from Joel. On it was.

“Joel K.MC/O African revolutionary frontDar-as-salaam University Tanzania”“This is where I am going. When you are ready you can follow me”

A lorry headed to Bukanga and Ntantamukyi; came and Gisa boarded. Paulo was left standing beside the road cuddling the piece of paper.

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CHAPTER 16

The ground was soggy under the boots. The two travelers left the beaten tracks and took to the forest path. The older of the two was leading, his Kalashnikov assault rifle slung by a red cord over his left shoulder. The short afro hair rose out of his head like a cob making his head seem smaller. He was no longer the old man Gisa had encountered a few days before. His oversized army boot made squeaking noise with the soggy floor of the semi-mangrove forest.

His traveling companion was a youth of a light skinned complexion with a thin Hamitic nose and very dark hair. In all he was a handsome youngman. He wore a chaapa t-shirt and a pair of grey trouser which were tacked into his new boots. He followed blindly but faithfully the man in front whose paces were now too fast that he had to run to catch up with him.

“Wait”“You will have run faster than that.”Gisa stopped momentarily considering abandoning the struggle and

going back to Uganda to live the relatively settled though unhappy life. He wondered what time it was and twisted his wrist to read from the watch Joel had given him the previous day. Something else was on his wrist besides the watch. He saw it and immediately abandoned ever returning to Uganda to see helplessly the people who had sent his father to an underserved grave. It was the leather strap also a token from the same man he now followed.

Mist hung thick and low in the forest. The howls of the monkeys couldbe heard in the trees above although they could not be seen in the mist. The cold morning wind stung Gisa’s nostrils and the cold air slapped his face as he run forward. He now followed the thud of the falling boots, as Joel did not stop or wait. A bush fowl rose up angrily as Gisa passed by and by mistake slipped upon its nest nearly breaking its eggs. The bird then cursed him all the way in its bird language; he could not understand. Probably it was cursing him never to have his own children. He was a littlestartled and he now ran forward with all his might. He could no longer hearthe thud of Joel’s boots. He thought he had been abandoned in a Tanzanian jungle alone by himself. He now looked into the mist for moments. Realizingnothing beyond pale shadows of tall palm trees and crisscrossed mangrove roots he lurched forward desperately only to held by hands from out of the white darkness of the morning mist.

“Next time don’t let food fall from your hands.”“Food!” Gisa replied quite confused.“That fowl could save us a day of starving”“Lesson learnt.”

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“Sure?”“Sure.”Joel looked at the young man’s white determined eyes and thought he

read truth only.“We don’t have much time.”They had been walking for hours when they finally came to what seemed

like a hunting village. There were wooden crosses on which rectangular ply wood boards with layered circle marks hang, around forty two grass huts as well as some vinyl tarpaulins and a small number of plastic tents. When thetwo entered the village, Joel led Gisa to the first hut. It was the smallest of all as well as the oldest. A rat jumped out of the thatch near the entrance where the two stood.

“Caleb! Caleb!”Joel called out. A slight grunt was heard from the inside of the hut as the person

being beckoned upon woke up. Son a head popped out of the small entrance before the man crawled out and stood in front of Joel and Gisa. His clotheswere near tatters, he was fighting an attack of strange skin disease as well as malaria. However in the suffering he was in, the will to serve his country was undoubtedly all over him. He wore an armband with a Ugandan flag hurried sewn over the Tanzanian court of arms.

“So, this is the boy you had gone to Dar to receive.”“Yes, Gisa Fred. Gisa meet my brother. ”One by one all the dwellers of the village came to meet the new

member. First was a man of slightly dark complexion. He wore a fitting brown kitenge shirt with an African theme print. He came and shook Gisa’s hand and turned to go away. At the back of his shirt there was a word “Selfdesigned by me Elly.” Gisa could not help admire the young man’s art piece and decided to know his name.

“Excuse me sir, your name please?”The man turned and smiled for the moment. He looked at Gisa for a

moment before saying “Tumwine” and disappearing behind the hut.Next came a slightly tall man who introduced himself as Joram and

went away. Soon the batch finished the introduction. Gisa could only remember a few by name Caleb, Elly, Joram, Pecos, Jack, Napoleon and one Hannington.

The hut that Gisa was to share with Joel for the first few days was at the extreme end of the rebel camp that Gisa had perceived as a village at first. It all became clear now that he was an apprentice to rebels, not just rebels but rebels for the just of Uganda, a salvation army of sorts. Joel’s house was lined with small pictures pasted on the mud walls. The only large pieces in the house were a Ugandan flag that hung perpendicular to the wall and two photographs one of a man named Che Guevara and another one of a man in the military fatigue addressing a hall full of black men and women. It was kind of funny because the man was white and yet the blackmen he addressed were seemingly happy. Gisa hastily concluded that it was acolonial picture depicting a colonialist with his band of traitor collaborators. Joel found Gisa still looking at the picture.

“You know him”“No”“Fidel Castrol the Cuban president.”

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“What is Cuba?”“A country in the Americas.”“Why do you keep it?”Two years later Gisa got an answer to his questions when a grant of

money signed in Castro’s hand was received by the group through the Tanzanian army. He had been training so hard now that he was an expert withthe machine guns and sub machine guns. All that long he had not gone back home, not even once. The closest he ever came to Uganda was when he had to escort Joel alongside other patriots to Moshi to hold a meeting with president Julius of Tanzania. Only then had they toured the Bukoba area up to the Karagwe plains just close to Isingiro. A young man around his age called Philip Kalekyezi had carried on his back a bag with pencils, pens and a map of east Africa. At every spot they stopped, he had stopped and put a thin cross on the map. Later that night Gisa had gone to ask Edward what he had been marking only to find him asleep on the table of his hotel room. In front of him were a few white sheets of paper with a retraced map of the Upper Kagyera of Tanzania and the lower Mbarara and Rakai areas of Uganda, at some spots were words such as “camp”, “Entry point”, “lay siege”and many others. Gisa was now face to face with what he thought he had beenwaiting for long enough. He had to revenge on Idris Amin for his father’s death. He would realize his purpose and achieve his fulfillment in life. Hesoftly replaced the papers and started going away. He had gone as far as the door when Philip called.

“Hey, you forgot your revolver on my table.”Gisa turned only to find his revolver on Philip’s table. He was sure

he had not touched his holster all the while he was in the room. He felt his holster only to realize his smiths and Wesson was indeed missing.

“You did that really fast; will you teach me how to do it?”“When you learn to knock.” Philip replied with laughter. The two laughed

together for a while before the gun snatching training commenced. *The clatter of the propellers pounded across the sky. Paulo who had

now spent enough months in the national salvation front with the whole lot came out of the temporally camp. His fear was confirmed, it was most certain another patriot had been fatally wounded. The green and grey Tanzanian Army helicopter started descending down commanding a respect fromthe grasses that bowed as it landed. Shouting and commotion followed, a stretcher was improvised. And Katabarwa’s blood soaked clothes were ripped off him before he was laid bare chest on the stretcher. Small round holes were all over his chest that kept on pumping up and down determined to liveto see a liberated Uganda. Katabarwa was one of the last of the most seniorsoldiers that had been returned to safety since October the previous year when Idris had ordered the Ugandan army to attack Kagera region. Paulo knewthat, that meant that he had to go. He was the apprentice in Katabarwa’s ‘school of heavy weaponry’. That is what the rest of the group called Katabarwa’s extra lessons he gave to young soldiers on the importance of using bigger guns. Paulo now looked at the bullet riddled body of his unconscious friend and stepped back into the tent.

When he came back out, his face was marked in black oil paints the paint that masked his humanity and brought out the savage spirit of a real

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patriot in him. The claws with which he was to tear into Idris’ men’s fleshlay on his back a completely new Bazooka. The best weapon he preferred to use. He passed by the bed on which Katabarwa lay waiting to be air lifted to Dar-as-salaam for treatment. Katabarwa had regained his consciousness.

“Eeh Paulo you are going?”“I am going.”“Take care; you still have enough wars to fight.”“Enough?”“Enough.”Even in his pain Katabarwa’s undying valor could be seen. He with

much effort rose and sat up to show Paulo how properly the Bazooka was supposed to rest on his shoulder. In a few minutes the helicopter tilted from the side to side, ascended slowly and rapidly shot toward Kagera.

*Paulo had now been fighting for the weeks. That night he woke up from

the short sleep and hung the Bazooka on his back. His would be partner for the day a man called Ivan held a spy glass binoculars pair and a Kalashnikov rifle. The two were to find out the plans of the enemy.

Behind enemy lines, the leader of the government offensive a man called Ugly Maliyamungu and his boys were spread all over the parts of Ndiinzi, Bukanga, Kashumba and Mutukula in southern Uganda on the lookout for rebels. They were guarding a truck that had just brought in ammunitions. It was stationed at the border part of Mutukula waiting for the sun to rise and it spreads death to the innocent people of Karagwe. Mr.Maliyamungu heard a cough from his walkie-talkie and he immediately lifted it to his mouth.

“Eagle eye do you copy-over.”There was nothing but the rushing sound from the group that had gone watch enemies’ approach from the hills.

“Is everything fine-over.” no reply came except the rushing sound again. Mr. Maliyamungu looked at his watch. It was still five o’clock in the morning. He blew his whistle and all his men woke up.“There is trouble in the hills.”

The black figures with guns on their shoulders started running towards the plain. Then all of a sudden one stopped and uttered a cry of terror. There was an unexplainable halt before the cry was taken up by eachone of them. A small fire ball came their way. They all ducked and it passed. They were momentarily happy and glad that it had passed until what they least had expected happened. A bigger explosion behind them lit up thewhole place as particles of explosion in form of flaming grenades shot out to cause independent explosions. The whole truck of ammunitions was no morethat copper, steel iron, ash and smoke. Paulo kissed the hot gigantic barrel of his bazooka and together with Ivan started running back to their camp to tell their fellow rebel army of nation salvation that the enemy nowhad limited arms. Later on after Gisa had listened to Paulo’s story he said.

“You have crippled the enemy you crook.”

Five days later the dictator Idris Amin fled to Saudi Arabia with hisfamily. Joel and his men had won. Gisa and Paulo realized that they were on

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the road to fulfilling the last wish of dying Shyaka. At least that is whatthey thought. Little did they know it was far from over. But for now Joel was made the defense minister due to the trust his fellow patriots had in him. Paulo decided to go on and complete school though Gisa decided to remain and support his childhood friend Joel is the real restoration of peace in the country.

Paulo and Gisa visited old Shyaka’s grave to announce their revenge on Idris Amin’s soldier and the liberation of Uganda. But that was before the two parted ways.

CHAPTER 17

They were to meet again three years later. Gisa who had remained in the service under the integrated army of Uganda Nation Liberation Front (UNLF) waited for Paulo at gate of his university. The sun of February heated up the metallic jeep he was driving. He folded his hands on a paper he held. Paulo was the last person to be picked up on the list of forty people Joel had chosen personally. The other soldier that had gone to pick Paulo from his room seemed to have gone for eternity and Gisa soon started dosing off on the steering wheel of his jeep. He was just staring to fall into deep slumber when he heard someone tap his shoulder. Paulo made himself comfortable beside him in the uncomfortable military jeep.

“Whatever this is about?” Paulo said more to himself.

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The jeep sped away without Gisa saying anything. The jeep sped past the many road brocks that were manned by policemen and army men. The army men saluted the passing jeep not aware that they were dining with the enemy.

*The three years he was away studying had not affected Paulo’s

performance. He still held the bazooka by his right hand and rested it on his right shoulder. Being a plain, he was sure his performance that day would be excellent. From a colonial hill almost half a kilometer away Paulotook in the whole Mubende military installation. He located the armory, thefood store and the lookout posts. Joel meanwhile sat doing nothing but thinking and soon he came up with a plan.

Paulo was sent to hill about two kilometers from the military installation and there he was told to detonate a bomb and then flee immediately in the jeep. He first thought he could not do it. He looked at Gisa expecting a look of assurance which he indeed found. The same way Paulo always encouraged Gisa in their childhood, Gisa encouraged Paulo in adulthood. The two were complementary and perfected each other. Joel handed Paulo the keys to the jeep.

“Do it for Uganda, your country and your purpose.”Paulo looked at Gisa and listened to his words. All the ambitions he

had as a child all came back to him. He was to liberate Rwanda. Now he realized that the fate of Rwanda lay in the liberation of Uganda. He lookedat Joel; a patriot who dared abandon his two ministerial posts to go back to the jungles whose harshness he had already tasted. He felt too proud to associate with such a statesman. He forgot all his fears and turned towardsthe jeep. He rested his bazooka on the co-driver’s seat and climbed in. he drove away noisily with the unsealed crates of c-4 bombs banging their lidsup and down.

“That’s our boy there.” Gisa said smilingly as Joel watched the jeep disappear in the distance through the dry savannahs. He silently prayed forhis plans to work out.

*Darkness was approaching. The soldiers were all gathered in the

center of the installation all singing and dancing around a bonfire.“Oh… Moto nawaka MamaOh… Moto nawaka”The song rose beyond the smoke of the burning fire encouraging the

soldiers to keep the fire burning, the fire to protect a cowardly regime. The assigned cooks watched their singing colleagues from behind simmering pots of meat from the cows they had grabbed from the cattle keeping populace of Mubende. Little did they know that they would not enjoy the meat.

At around eight o’clock in the evening an explosion rocked the hill almost one and a half kilometers away. It was shortly followed by a bazookashot onto their armory. Confusion rocked the installation as the soldiers ran from spot to spot picking up what remained of the ammunition. A heap ofunloaded Kalashnikovs and sub machine guns were what remained. The leader

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of the installation barked out orders amidst confusion. The soldiers started running towards the explosion.

“My orders are to bomb, the bazooka is a jaribu, idiots!”Paulo shouted excitedly while hoping into the jeep. The tail lights of the jeep were seen speeding away from the scene of the explosion.

“You are surrounded don’t run” Joel’s voice rose out of the mega phone and reverberated all around in the plain and in the hills yonder. The soldiers knew they couldn’t trust no doubt the speaker but they had no option than to lay down their weapons. In the cover of darkness they could not in any way know that out in the dark were only forty extremely ill armed men with only twenty six guns each with not more than one magazine.

“Lay down your weapons now.”The soldiers responded positively. They were certain they would dare

not obey an enemy but this enemy was unseen and assumedly too strong. One by one they bent their knees placing their rifles on the ground and puttingtheir arms in air.

“Now sit down a distance from your weapons.”They matched out of the bed of artillery and sat a short distance

away. They were not more than four hundred men. Joel then personally left his post and started walking towards the camp in the dark. He reached the camp and started picking the guns up one by one and depositing them in the hands of other men lurking somewhere in the darkness behind him. His plan had worked very well or he so thought for a time being.

He was picking the final batch of the guns when the commander sprang suddenly and held his throat from behind with his well built arm. He lockedJoel in a grip that Joel could not slide out of.

“Surrender or your man dies!” The commander shouted He then pulled a flash light which he shone into Joel’s face.“You!” The commander uttered in shock. He could not believe that a

former minister in the previous regime as well as a former intelligence official in the first reign of Dr. Apollo would dare over throw Dr. Apollo’s second reign. All in all he knew he held someone so important in which ever group he belonged to.

“Surrender or he dies!” the commander yelled now holding a bayonet againstJoel’s throat.

“No man is bigger than the revolution. You may spill his blood but it will be shed for the goodof his country. We can leave him with you because he is nothing but a mere soldier who knows none of our secrets. One man falls but the revolutionary wheel rolls on” A voice Joel readily recognized as his own brother’s bellowed into the mega phone.

The commander was not a man to be convinced by words. He still insisted on holding onto Joel. It took a long time of the silence, tension and suspense until something shocking happened. From the bush nearby a person approached aiming a rifle at Joel and the commander.

“I love you brother but I will not let you betray the revolution.” He yelled before empting a full magazine into Joel’s chest. Joel fell down immediately prompting the commander to surrender. His hard heart had learnt that he wasdealing not with insurgents but revolutionaries.

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“We won’t kill you because we would like to send a message to your gangster president. Uganda denounces despotism and Uganda now turns against him.”Caleb said into the megaphone.

It was no surprise that by midnight a group of soldiers had decided to join the revolutionary movement. Most of the defectors were those of foreign origin. Most notably Gisa could not fail to make out Faustin’s face.

“Next time I lend you my bullet proof vest, don’t be very stubborn.”Caleb said jokinglyslapping Joel’s back. The front of the vest was marked with the scorches ofthe bullets that Gisa had carefully directed to the chest. The members of the newly expanded force struck up a song to cheer themselves up. It had never been happy since the 1978-1979 war like this time. The defectors werethe happiest having been saved the burden of carrying the blame for executing brutal orders from above that they otherwise had no power to change. They were the first to be liberated from the gallows of Dr. Apollo’s second reign.

It was approaching dawn and the fires were still burning bright. Every person was busy knowing the other or singing or playing cards apart from one defector who sat alone on a log away from any of the bonfire boys chewing nuts by himself; Faustin.

The early morning tabloid of the only existing news paper which was also government owned had its version of Mubende attack. Dr. Apollo’s firm control over the press was undisputed and this tool he used to blind fold the country from realizing that a revolution had been born. The nasty lie that was the head line shone on the pages beside the dusty streets of Kampala.

“RWANDAN BANDITS ATTEMPT TO ASSAULT THE PEOPLE’S ARMY.”Tumwine who was still in the integrated army passed by the news paper

stands in a mamba truck and scoffed at the public lie. He was one of the former combatants of the National Salvation Front that had out sat president Idris Amin. He had seen little change with the return of Dr. Apollo. He knew that neither were the attackers of foreign origin nor was the integrated army a people’s army.

He led a battalion of men handpicked by himself on the loyalty grounds because he knew that he was to join the revolution he was being sent to crush.

*The truck swerved off the Mityana high way and pushed its head into the dusty jungle roads of Luwero. Behind, a chain of other trucks followed. Among their commanders were Pecos, jack, Napoleon and Hannington as well asa few others inside the secret circle from the Tanzanian days.

A dark morning cloud gathered way ahead, it became darker and darker.The drivers switched on the head lights to light their way through the thick banana forests of Luwero. It started raining making the unsealed dirtroads almost impassable. Still the trucks dragged on into the deep parts ofeucalyptus forest. Suddenly the truck in front came to a halt. Tumwine cameout wearing an army green military poncho with a hood over his head. Rain drops thumped at his shoulders. His jungle boots rose and fell in and out of the pools of mud puddles that were between him and an object he was walking to.

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When he finally got the scare crow that had on a green T-shirt he sliced the left sleeve off and with a razor blade he slit it open at the point it was joined making it almost a rectangular sheet of cloth. He held it in his palm and with difficulty started to read. Although the rain had drenched the marks, his estimates were just as good. He turned and climbed back into his truck and gave a few directions to the driver. It would not be long before they got to their camping site.

*Darkness was approaching when Gisa came running towards the camp with

his hands over his head. It was now a week since the Tumwine led faction deserted the regime and joined forces with the revolutionaries. Pecos was with Joel in a shed that over looked the villages beyond. The many trucks that had belonged to the integrated army were parked lifeless around the camp. Gisa bashed his head into the body of a mamba and stopped for a moment before resuming his mad dash. Napoleon who was seated drinking from a green bottle stood up quickly and cocked his rifle. Instantly the whole batch of army men followed suit and stood up quickly and cocked their riffles. Paulo maintained his cool from where he sat. He was comfortably nibbling on bubble gum while seated on top of the truck with a bazooka on his lap.

Gisa stepped into a basin of colored paint in front of Tumwine’s hut and went on to the hut he shared with Wamala and Philip. He threw away Edward’s sketches and wamala’s map as he looked for the extra magazines he kept in the hut.

Outside, a chocolate skinned man called Kahinda paced around the forests nearing the camp. He crawled through mounds of wild animal excreta,pulled a thorny branch of wild berries from the flesh on his arm and read from a small sketch he had been given by Wamala. He mapped his way around the camp up to the village around two kilometers away to the east and a small hill in the middle of the forest up to the river banks and the end ofnatural forests.

“uhuru base do you copy?”He shouted into his walkie-talkie.“Come in spy eagle, what is the situation. Over!”“This is spy eagle, result negative. Over!”“Negative? Over”“Negative. Over!”Gisa came out of his hut in time to hear Kahinda say negative from

outside the camp. Pecos put away his walkie-talkie and the whole mass of men looked at Gisa for answers to the questions unasked. They were almost three battalions of men.

“Where do you think you are going?” a thin man that Gisa knew very well asked him.

“I will kill him myself let me go!” Gisa shouted and tried to shoot past the thin man. The thin man grabbed him and wrestled him down to the ground.

“Tashobya leave me alone before I shoot you.”The threat was nothing to Tashobya a son of Mr. Mugarura. He always

claimed that embracing fear was one of his greatest strengths. The Munduli cadets usually joked that he was too much of a devoted Muslim that he had got an Arabian heart. Now he quickly grabbed the gun from Gisa’s hands as

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well as stripped him off the jacket he wore. The rest watched the scuffle with great interest and fascination.

It took the whole night’s sleep in bound arms and legs to calm Gisa’snerves down and bring him back to sanity. The following morning the whole camp listened in horror as Gisa narrated how he had got word from the town nearby that Dr. Apollo had decreed that all Rwandan refugees be deported back to Rwanda or face execution if found in Uganda after five days from the decree pronouncement. Immediately after Gisa had spoken, Paulo stood up. It was the only time the silent Paulo ever spoke with so much rage and desperation.

“Fellow Ugandans we are here as brothers who have seen the brutality and failures of this regime that is waging a vendetta against its own people. Unfortunately many of us are yet to see our own families perish at the hands of yet another Mafia president. Today I speak for liberation of Uganda because a mouth can never bite the hands that feed it. Though, one who forgets his roots becomes rootless. When Uganda is finally free, those who will join me and Gisa shall free Rwanda. The fate of Kigali lies in the success of the march from Luwero to Kampala.”

When Paulo had finished speaking the army was filled with determination. He had betrayed neither Uganda nor Rwanda but had made the burden on the rebel army bigger. Now two capitals lay on the shoulders of the resistance Army of the Nation (R.A.N).

“Fellow patriots we now realize we have no time to waste. We shall put an end to the prologueof this book of liberation. To swim is to plunge into the lake and not preparing to stand by the bank looking.”

CHAPTER 18

It was now four years into the struggle. Afande Victor and Tashobya who led the assault in the east were making steady progress in Mbale, Busiaand Budadiri areas. Meanwhile the regime had now found pleasure in slaughtering civilians in Luwero, Nakaseke and Mubende accusing them of protecting and providing food supplies for the Resistance Army of the Nation.

Gisa and Paulo who headed the operations in Isingiro, Mbarara and south western region had scored highly in the field of recruitment. Their force consisted mostly of the indigenous Banyankole and Banyarwanda. The Banyarwanda had joined rebels after failing to get where to go when Dr. Apollo’s men were leading an onslaught upon them.

Paulo stood in front of the mass of people. Gisa and Faustin stood behind him as he addressed the force.

“News from east and central is that the regime is running away, Government officials are flying out day in day out leaving the offices bare. It is the true reward of our sweat, our blood, our dream, our purpose, our effort, our revolution.”

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The force remained silent, keenly following Paulo’s speech as he toldthem that the war was almost over and the victory imminent. When Paulo had finished speaking to the force, each combatant started preparing for battle. The weapons were oiled and the boots polished. Refueling of the trucks was underway meanwhile. Darkness soon fell over the secret location as the last of the preparation took place.

*A few minutes past mid night, the wave hit. Explosions rocked Simba

barracks in Mbarara as did in all barracks around the country. Simba barracks had the largest armory in the country and was the hope of the regime. There was confusion all around the barracks with soldiers running towards the source of explosions. Amidst the confusion Paulo led an infantry force into the barracks by the main gate to try persuading soldiers willing to change loyalty to join the revolution.

Paulo had just entered the lower gate of simba barracks when a man with blood shot eyes stepped in front of him fully laminated by the truck’shead lamps filtering through the squared patterns of the gate shutters.

“Simama hapo bwana!” The man shouted.Paulo stopped and put down his rifle that had been hanging by an over

sized bazooka strap on his lean flame. He tried to convince the man to jointhe revolution though his efforts seemed wasted. The man kept looking at him with a sheepish grin of disgust.

Paulo talked and talked and talked until he seemed to convince the man. The man smiled and came closer to Paulo. Behind each of the two a group of armed men stood ready with their rifles waiting for any slight provocation.

“I can see, now come and give me a hug?” The man said opening his arms towards Paulo. Paulo came close with slight caution and slowly embraced themuch shorter man. It took only a slight flash for a man to draw a knife from his boot and thrust it into Paulo’s side shouting.

“Traitor!”The glint of the knife in the head light reflected a command to the

R.A.N combatants who opened fire just as Paulo fell to the ground. The government forces could not aim clearly as the head lights of the truck outside the gate behind the R.A.N could not let them see clearly. A few deaths and casualties to the R.A.N and the whole battalion of the government forces razed down. From all corners where explosions had occurred fierce exchange of gun fire could be heard. The lights of the trucks all around went off. A few desperate shots of freezing government forces were the last signs of the battle.

It was almost 5: o’clock in the morning when the phone rang in one ofthe offices inside Simba barracks. The R.A.N which had now taken full control of the barracks was patrolling all over. Gisa watched over the roomin which Paulo was being given first aid treatment. The phone rung on and on in a locked office nearby but Gisa ignored it. It had now rung for the seventh time when one soldier; Kahinda shot the lock of the door and kickedit in. with a flash light he came to the table where a telephone set sat ringing desperately. He picked up the receiver.

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“Hello Simba Barracks, we are under attack here at Mbale we need re-enforcement now!” ahurried voice of a man shouted into his ear. He held his breathe thinking of a suitable answer.

“Hello, lot of shelling and bombings, the R.A.N is here we need re-enforcement!”With no more further thought Kahinda spoke coolly into the phone.“Simba now belongs to Ugandans not to Dr. Apollo.”He waited to hear the response of the regime loyal soldiers at the

end of line but nothing came for about twenty-seconds. He heard the sound of a smashing door and the single gunshot at the end of line.

“You should have left him alive.”“To rot in jail? No! May he go to Janna Insha Allah.”Kahinda heard the distinct slow voice of Tashobya and the husky

baritone of Victor’s voice at the end of the line and happily placed down the receiver he turned to get out of the office only to find Gisa standing at the door.

“How is the in going?”“Our boys Mbale are doing great!”“Sure?”“Sure.”“For God and my country.”

The glow in the liberators lasted for a short time. In the crumbling military system of the country, army chiefs made their own militias with total loyalty to particular chiefs. The biggest of the militias was one ledby a major General called Titus Okello. Okello had the power to move and influence the soldiers although he had no will to right the wrongs of Dr. Apollo.

From the reason Joel and his guerilla R.A.N decided not to give up the struggle even when Titus Okello had eased their burden by toppling Dr. Apollo.

Although, R.A.N maintained firm control in Mbarara and Hoima as well as Mbale, Titus was ruling Uganda not beyond the outskirts of Kampala wherethe jeeps and mambas efficiently patrolled. No suspicious person entered orleft the city. However since papers never killed, no soldier ever considered checking the many envelopes that travelled from the city in the unreliable postal service. Postal carrier cars drove in and out of the city. Some carried papers, some carried weapons much dangerous than guns; plans, good plans.

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CHAPTER 19

When he had finished reading the letter, Joel put it down and threw apebble into the bonfire. The other R.A.N fighters could not help noticing the happiness Joel was concealing inside him. He stood up and paced around the camp trying to find words in which to break the news. Gisa picked up the letter from where Joel had left it and started reading. He only read for a few seconds and folded the paper.

“Philip! Wamala! Come.” He called. *The secret routes into Kampala which were not watched by the military

that night were a buzz of roaring beasts and croaking frogs. These were theroutes that the R.A.N soldiers took into the city. It was all laid in the letter they had received from Sam a few days before. Sam a high ranking official in a regime he hated had somehow got the map of the city showing all the military guarded roads and sent it secretly to the R.A.N and now itwas taking effect.

Major Kerim led the first R.A.N offensive from the left side of the city. He led a group of soldiers through a marshy swamp full of hungry crocodiles. A few men were lost, a few crippled but the many who remained standing marched on with determination to reach the harem of the mafia president. They went on through mud and wattle villages. Here and there an

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old man peeped out of his house with a spear but satisfied that the force was only passing and not destroying anything in the village resigned to thecomfort of the surprise that the army of the regime was for once not being brutal. Little did they know that that night would not only be a change of power but a complete transformation of the military.

Mean while Joel’s band attacking from the right were facing major setbacks. Although the plans had been well laid, something had gone amiss. Joel and his brigade came on a head on encounter with the army of the regime. It first appeared as a dark bush which the brigade was sure was notwatched.

The soldiers marched on. They were going past the bush when volleys of shots came from behind the bushes. The soldiers dove into what looked tobe the bushes only to hit themselves on sacks of sands. It was a military cover barrier “andachi”.Joel immediately knew that it was the work of a traitor.

“Boys fight on, we can’t give up!” Joel yelled and started shooting at the blank darkness. That created a diversion for some time as the R.A.N boys crept over the andachi and engaged in fist fights with the regimist forces. When the battle had ended, Joel who had three bullets lodged in his flesh was put on a stretcher and carried to a nearby hut. When they entered they were surprised to find hot food on the table but no one inside. A candle burnt from inside an empty tin of Tiptop Vaseline.

The owner of the hut and his family had been so scared when the shooting started that they had crammed themselves under their beds forgetting to switch off the small plastic Makula radio receiver set. Now as Dr. Warren pulled bullets out of Joel’s body a Congolese tune was playing on radio Uganda. Warren hummed along with the tune of the song.

“You like madilou system?”“Yes.”“Sure?”Joel had not answered back yet when warren pushed his instruments

deeper to yank out a bullet that was deep set in his hip. “Aaarghhh……” Joel yelled.Warren put his palm on Joel’s mouth to shut him up. He wanted to hear

a moderator on radio Uganda who had interrupted the song to pass on an urgent message from the state house.

“Fellow Ugandans today in history president Idris came to power and unveiled the worst suffering upon Ugandans yet as we remember the sad memory some bandits are trying to cause instability. Be vigilante and report any guerilla R.A.N fighter. For God and my country.” The recorded voice of the president was crisp through the stereo speakers.

“Bandits!” Joel exclaimed while grabbing the radio receiver set and smashing it against the wall. The smashing sound startled a little boy who lay hidden with his family under the bed. The boy drew a quick breath that caused a high pitched wine in his throat. Joel turned and faced towards thebed.

“Oh, come out we mean no harm.”There was an evident hesitation for at least a minute before a middle

aged man drew himself from under the bed.“Are you the R.A.N guerilla bandits?”“No.”

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“Government soldiers?”“No”“What are you then?”“R.A.N freedom fighters.”For a moment silence hung over the whole house. The house owner

looked at Joel’s lips for a moment, he then lifted his gaze to the barrel of the rifle he carried and then to the bloodied gaping holes in the Joel’sthigh and bicep. He then looked straight into Joel’s eyes and there his gaze lingered for a time that seemed so long.

“You speak the truth. May God bless your endeavors.”Perhaps the man’s blessing kept Joel strong. He led the R.A.N though

wounded and bloody. Kampala fell that night. President Titus fled and most of his soldiers of the U.N.L.A‘militia’ surrendered. Victory was declared the following day. People all over the country danced in joy and happiness.Away from the city, the two heirs of purpose and vengeance; Gisa and Paulo sat silent at the banks of the Rwizi in Mbarara watching the flowing water.The river flowed through its banks day after day like Shyaka’s vengeance, wrath and purpose flowing in their veins. Part of Shyaka’s last plight had been accomplished. It was not a mere change of guard but a fundamental change, a revenge on Amin and all dictators for Shyaka’s death.

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VOLUME 2

CHAPTER 20

The war of liberation had been won though the battle for peace raged on. Already in the other parts of the country infrastructure was developing; large stone houses, flats and roads were now standing all smelling of freshness in a few months that the peoples Government led by Joel led the country.

Gisa sat in the tent in the center of a camp. All rounds, little children sat on top of cloth loads of house hold items as their mothers ground grain on flat stones for the evening meal. The R.N.A that had now been re-baptized P.D.F (Peoples Defense Force) patrolled around the camp watching out for Yusuf Okony’s men.

Yusuf Okony a former altar boy who had seen the Mafia operation of former governments sought to establish his own enclave in the north of the country only that his timing was wrong. He started his effort too late; a nationalist leading a band of patriots had risen to the leadership of the country. In frustration Yusuf had returned to harassing people in the northof Uganda mutilating, killing and abducting people.

For that Gisa the second in command of the P.D.F had been sent there to lead the defensive against Okony. Through the gruesome marks on the bodies of the people that had been attacked Gisa could see what hatred and greed were capable of doing; turning man into a savage beast. He saw peoplewhose lips had been chopped off, others were stalked on poles, others with cut up appendages. It filled him with grief that he had become a habitual smoker in effort to avoid being depressed.

Same as always he sat in the center of the camp smoking a cigarette as he read a letter. It was from Paulo who had gone to Kansas to learn moreabout the leadership and management of an army. It was a long letter written in black ink. It made Gisa feel close to Paulo no matter the

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distance. Memories which had already faded in Gisa’s mind were rekindled byPaulo’s letter, the mysterious coming and going of Bihogo, the embarrassingand humiliating encounters, the burning of the council hut and all. Most importantly the letter reminded Gisa of the last moment of Shyaka his father and his will, his gift to his son which Paulo happened to share in; purpose. At that point Gisa folded the letter and thrust it into the open breast pocket of his military uniform jacket. He looked into the distance hills wondering if he had fulfilled all of Shyaka’s wishes.

That night as he slept he had a strange dream. In the dream he was a little boy once again seated on his father’s shoulders as the father walkedaround a garden filled with weeds. Some of the corn plants were already dry; others were bound by creeping weeds. As the result the corns were dying. He looked down to look at his father and to his horror he found thatout of his skin leaves of maize plants grew and a corn was in the place of his chin. He was so scared that he put his hands on his head but to his utter horror his hair was no more, green parallel veined leaves like those of maize grew out of his head.

“We are not people, we are maize. We do not belong among the people we live in and serve.”Shyaka spoke suddenly.

“What?”“We used to live peaceful as a good plant family until an enemy planted hatred amidst us and

it turned some of our brothers insane. Now they seek to destroy each other. What have you done to bring back peace son. What? Now that you are doing well in the human kind will you forget the kind of your own? Restore peace to the cradle of your fathers.”

When Shyaka had said that, he turned into a maize plant instantly. Gisa who had been on his shoulders weighed on the maize plant breaking it and fell down with a thud. He took no time before dashing out of the field as fast as his small legs could carry him before creepers could bind his legs. As soon as he stepped out of the field he put his hand on his head only to realize the leaves had gone and in their places was hair again. He was so shocked that he woke up immediately with the hands in the hair.

He looked around but it was total darkness. He was glad it was all a dream. He found it funny that he called his body guard who slept beside himout of his sleep to share the joke. Kasana his body guard was a very jolly young man who always laughed about everything or made everything laughable to those around him. He woke up with a start and soon started letting out peals of laughter after hearing Gisa’s dream.

It lightened Gisa’s heart to have someone to laugh with him out of the self doubt which he had. He felt he had not done enough of his inherited responsibility although laughing made him convinced that everything was fine. But when Kasana suddenly stopped laughing in the middle of what was a matter of serious laughter Gisa was surprised.

“What is it?” He asked between his breaths, a result of heavy laughter.“Gisa”“Yes”“Do you believe the will of dead?”“Why?”“You have a burden you inherited. What if your father was here in your dreams to remind

you?”

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It had not yet crossed Gisa’s mind but when it did he was very scared. Was Shyaka coming out his grave to mock and rebuke him for forgetting about Rwanda? For more than a dozen years now he served Uganda loyally without considering that Shyaka bestowed upon him the duty to return peace to Rwanda. He now felt more of a failure in life even though by the P.D.F and Ugandans he was a great liberator and nationalist. He sat in the darkness without passing another word to Kasana. Outside the tents; displaced families slept in the open air, soldiers on night patrol surveyedthe whole area and more so it was threatening to rain.

Many days later, Gisa and a handful of escorts bundled onto the back of the army green Nissan pickup truck drove through the mud puddles of the mud jungle roads towards Gulu town. Drizzles and muzzles of the previous night’s rain were still on and each soldier at the pickups carrier was covered in his poncho rain coat. The truck scaled the dark bluish forests zooming past various military road blocks manned by P.D.F soldiers in search for Okony’s men. On each road block there was brief stops, elaboratesaluting and a quick removal of the barriers used to block the road. As thetruck tossed and hit potholes and stones Gisa read and re-read the letter.

In the bushes of Uganda

September 6th

1990Paulo,

My father’s words have come back to haunt me. The old man appears to me in dreams to rebuke our abandonment of Rwanda. For that reason I have made up my mind now to fight for the only place we can call home. Already about four thousand men we share out roots within the P.D.F are willing to go with me. I would want you to come quick because there is no time left. The time to act is now and we are putting the final touches on a planed assault. Our force is strong, our cause is resolute. Come soon and join your brothers. Enough blood has flowed that the path from Kibuye to Kibungo is paved with human skulls and the stream from Butare and Rusumo to Nyagatare and Gatuna is red with blood. By the time you come we shall be gone and may be a fewwill be dead but don’t forget that you carry as much burden as I do. Bye.

Gisa Fred.

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The letter was as plain as that. Although Gisa knew that Paulo had gone to study how to manage and lead an army so as to come and lead Rwandanliberation movement that he and Paulo had secretly formed, he thought that the time for Rwandan people’s army (R.P.A) to act was now and he was sure to start and struggle and Paulo would join later.

“Can I help you?” The post office worker asked.“Yes, I need to send a letter to America.”“Let me have it sir.”Gisa handed the letter to the lady who smartly pasted three postage

stamps above the inscriptions.To PAULO.KFort Leavenworth KansasU.S.A

CHAPTER 21

The few days towards the end of September saw a web of secret communications with in the P.D.F. Gisa and few other soldiers who were of Rwandan origin constantly made secret communications showing the first signof a new liberation war. From all the military detachments of the P.D.F soldiers were registered missing. Somewhere in Mirama hills in the south western district of Ntungamo a group of about 4000 soldiers in Ugandan military uniforms appeared marching southwards.

They marched through the lands in which their countrymen, brothers and sisters had bled and died at the hands of Dr. Apollo’s army. A brown young man with a well rounded face and a wild explosion of thick and dark hair led on. He was not sure of the way but memories of his father many years ago standing at a place probably not far from where he was now stuck sharp in his brain. He could hear the words of old Shyaka ringing out as hepointed into the horizons, “if you ever lead us home, that is the right route.”

The route they chose to the right led them to a detachment just inside the borders of Rwanda, the Kagitumba military detachment. Its first sign was about a dozen or so volleys of shots into the air and a loud scream. The P.D.F deserters took cover in the bushes in the Ugandan side ofthe boarder. From the cover they watched as the soldiers in the Rwandan army uniforms played board games just beside a girl of adolescent age who was tied on a pole naked. The soldier who won took his turn forcing himselfonto the girl and raping her. The most pathetic sight was that of the girl who had fallen unconscious but was still hanging by her arms with her almost lifeless head dropping on her chest. She did not stir, show a sign of breath or life for the many minutes that the P.D.F deserters watched. Gisa whispered orders into walkie-talkie and some of the soldiers started creeping and crawling on their bellies towards the bushes to the left. Others rolled to the valley on the right. In a split second the men had

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already dispersed some already trying to infiltrate the Rwandan frontiers through the bushes meters away from the military manned border post.

One soldier who had evidently won a game of playing cards jumped out shouting and bursting with joy and shot two rounds into the air. He pulled again on the trigger and only a clicking sound came out. He jumped again “click! Click!”

“The gun is empty” He said throwing the riffle down.“You wasted your bullets on those cockroaches today.”“What should I have done?”“You had a machete you fool!”“It is good I have their daughter here for myself.”The small argument between the two play mates ended. The winner said

his last sentence while drawing his penis and urinating on the unconscious girl. After he had urinated on the girl he drew near to her and started having sex with her. The unconscious girl did not stir or show any sign of life as the bulky man had sex with her. The man had only been having sex with her for about fifty seconds when he suddenly stopped.

“Colonel, I think she is dead”That pronouncement called for nothing different from what followed.

The soldier brought a plastic can of petroleum oil and poured some around the pole to which the girl was tied.

“This is it!” Gisa whispered to his men from their hiding place.The soldier corked a plastic bottle, Gisa cocked his gun. The soldier

slid the tray of match box he held; Gisa slid his silencer onto his sniper rifle. The soldiers lay their hands on a match stick; Gisa laid his on the trigger. The soldiers fell back wards with a neat small round hole on his fore head. The flaming match stick picked the petroleum and a huge flame rose all around the unconscious girl. The colonel who had seen his man falland was now being consumed by the flames meant for a cockroach ordered for the fire extinguishers immediately.

The smoke from the petroleum choked the girl back to consciousness. She coughed; the colonel and his boys looked from the smoldering half dead soldier to the girl. None had seen the bullet wound in the scorched skin ofthe man’s head.

“Let men get this done with the first.”The colonel said drawing a dagger and trotting towards the girl. He raised his arm to stab the girl and a bullet rang. The colonel fell down at the girl’s feet. The men turned to see who had shot the colonel. They all suspected one of them had mutinied as they turned but were filled with terror when they found about two hundred men inthe Ugandan army uniform standing behind them all dressed in night vision masks. The soldiers had been caught unaware and unarmed and only had to surrender.

“P.D.F?” one Rwandan soldier gathered the confidence to ask.“We were, but now we are Rwandan People’s Army, R.P.A.” Gisa replied coolly

before continuing “you may join us for the good of Rwandans or remain loyal to a regime we are about to depose. You must join us in the crusade for peace and love or stand behind the curtain and preach hatred and kill your own.”

There was silence for some time. Then stamping boots from all sides as the R.P.A closed on the detachment from all the bearings. The Rwandan soldiers were being led to the collection center before the naked girl with

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their hands at the back of their hands. Gisa looked at the naked girl she was tired, hungry, sick abused and naked above all. He saw all the evils ofthe regime put bare before his eyes. He read something else in the in the girl’s dark eyes though, hope. The girl’s eyes showed a relief that had longer been lost in the eyes of the people of Rwanda.

“Give the girls some food and clothing.” Gisa commanded.That night Kagitumba fell to the R.P.A

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CHAPTER 22

It was a dark night. As dark as any moonless night can be. Dark clouds hang motionless over the hills in northern Rwanda. A cold wind blew from Ntungamo in Uganda adding a layer of tormenting cold upon the half naked bodies of the R.P.A soldiers as they worked tirelessly.

Suddenly two lights flickered far off the south along the road to Kagera. The lights grew larger and less around as the vehicle approached fast, swerved off the bush into the heart of the camp. A candle burned a dim yellow in the planning hut. Gisa behind the cases of ammunition wearinga dirty unkempt beard and extremely long hair looked more savage than human. He was over whelmed by his purpose that he completely forgot all about himself. At the entrance of the rebel base, a dozen or so men paced about making an effort to keep around the vehicle which had just arrived. They hummed and whistled in an effort to kill the remnants of fear inside themselves. Their Kalashnikovs hang carefully on their shoulders with theirbarrels facing the ground. The rest of the rebels were preparing; eating and loading their ammunitions from the vehicle just arrived to smaller jeeps and loading their guns. The two hills that rose on each side of the base too were dark and imposing yet on top of each R.P.A scouts sat watching all directions.

A wind blew on the hill to the right followed by the glow of the match stick. At least it was a sign that all was still well with the watch dogs.

A figure stepped into the light of Gisa’s planning hut.“Welcome.” He said.“Thank you.” Augustine said almost in the whisper.“The roads?”“Terrible all from Isingiro to Karagwe and Kagera.”“So what have you got us?”“Just a bunch of C.4s, R.P.Gs and Hand grenades.”“That will do.”There was a silence.Gisa mumbled something about wishing Paulo came soon and helped him

with some of hard planning. When is he coming?“Are the boys ready?”“Sure brother.” Gisa replied.

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“That is fine.”Another spell of silence, then:“Augustine, tomorrow we make the first offensive on Ruhengyeri barracks. We shall use Joel’s

plan that pulled down Simba. From all direction we shall surround and few men will attract the attention to the main gate as the rest close in from all angles. We shall need a man on the bazooka tohit the armory and cripple them.Keep all the plans in mind because it is you to lead them.”

“Me?”“Yes. I am going back to Uganda to collect a consignment from Joel in Kampala. We have no

more relief drugs and clothing.”“Yes brother.”Augustine placed the keys to the vehicle on top of the piled boxes of

ammunitions and took a slight bow before retiring to a common tent just outside the hut.

A blinding flash of lightening flashed outside followed by a roll of thunder.The men looked up but did not appear to seem to stop their movements to and from vehicle to jeeps and back.

“It’s going to rain.” Faustin said.“It always rains on good days.”One soldier near the vehicle put his crossed arms up to signal that

the vehicle was finally empty. When he put down his arms it was as if he had pulled out heaven’s plug. A drenching pelt of heavy rain came crashing on the ground.

There was a booming explosion of thunder followed by dim lightening in the mist morning light. The heaver thuds of rain became thinner until itwas a drizzle. Men started coming out of the tents and shuts one by one until they were assembled outside the shelter. They with stood the drizzle not covering their bodies but instead using their clothes to cover their guns. They would not let the rain dampen the guns that were to purge Kigali.

Gisa stood in the clearing left at the center of the group. He first led the men into the R.P.A war song. All the song sang and danced with zealjumping and stomping the ground with their naked bodies and unified purposechallenging the harshest of the cold morning weather. They danced until they became warm. The songs were finally over and Gisa cleared his throat.

“Gentle men, gallant sons of Rwanda, R.P.A. today we are taking a huge step in pursuing a dream our fathers died in foreign lands with, a purpose that drives us hence forth, to liberate Kigali from the paws of hatred and restore peace, love and sanity to Rwanda. Our fathers died with nothing and left us nothing except the purpose of freeing Rwanda. Today some of us will die but that will be the sacrifice of freedom. Those who will survive will match with the broken limbs of Rwanda and merge them to put it back to its feet. Today we shall take over Ruhengyeri barracks. One more step onthe ascent to victory.”

The government side mean while was not sitting still.Colonel Francois rocked in the chair of his magnificent office as he

listened to reports from officers who sat in sofas in front of him with faces that were undoubtedly bothered.

“Sir, I am positively sure about the report.”“Then if those fuckin bastard are close by in Kagitumba…………… ” Colonel Francois

burst out as he stood up and stubbed out his cigar on a dirty ash tray. And

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within gritted teeth he uttered the words that were to flag off the worst blood bath in central Africa

“……they must be annihilated like cockroaches together with their brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, in laws and friends.” He sunk back into his chair and silence took over.

A couple of rain drops thudded softly on the concrete veranda shinning bright against the dark rain clouds racing in at the tail of the howling wind. Francois circumnavigated the table thudding his way towards the door. For a moment he stood looking upon the heavens.

“The storm is blowing from the north.” He said.The security meeting was dismissed immediately each officer with a

charge to immediately organize soldiers under his guard for war immediately.

The eastern side of Ruhengyeri was largely a forested area and usually dark all through the days and night though this morning the darkness was sinister. There were no birds singing the usual morning songs or crickets but the vicious growls of wild hounds with dead prey in their teeth. The seasonal stream that always giggled jolly songs by the pebbles now sounded like a widow mourning death of her sole heir. It seemed to havebeen silenced by the sight of men with painted faces and old rusty rifles. Faustin with his belly on the rotting under growth looked through the binoculars into the heart of the barracks.

A tall wire mesh fence surrounded the establishment. Creeping weeds covered most of the mesh making it hard to see through from the outside. Itwas obvious no care had been taken to cut down the weeds. However at one spot or another, the weed curtain was absent creating a pattern like that in the mouth of a child with missing teeth. Through one of the clearings Faustin peered and managed to catch the sight of a big army green armored tank. He was looking at it for a short time when a man came from inside oneof the tin shacks and went straight to the tank and without hesitation lifted the huge door near the top and slid into the monsters machine. Shortly after he witnessed a sight he would have laughed at if it wasn’t for the situation; at each of the places where no weed grew squatted a soldier with his buttocks facing the unwelcomed observer defecating. Otherswere empting their bladders upon the unfortunate mesh. Faustin had seen enough buttocks and penises.He felt a little embarrassed but withstood the sight but when an adult woman probably a wife to one of the soldiers came to ease herself; squatted and opened her legs while facing the fence, Faustin hurriedly removed the pair of binoculars from his eyes and shove them into another soldier called Kayonga’s hands.

“Here, your turn to look.”Kayonga took the binoculars, pivoted his arms on the elbows and his

hands lifted the instrument to his eyes.“Mama Mama Mama!”“What have you seen?”Kayonga dropped the binoculars in the mud. Faustin did not wait for

the words, he picked up the instrument and with his tongue (which was the only available option any way.) licked the mud off the eye piece and liftedit back to his eyes. He thought that now Kayonga must be perverted to wonder at a woman’s private parts when he was an ex-seminarian but one lookinto the spyglass blew the skin off his skull. The soldiers were pilling

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onto trucks in hundreds. The whole barracks was emptied. Just in time a Nissan pickup truck covered with mud that its paint was hardly recognizablepulled up and out of it came the man himself Colonel Francois. He held a mega phone in his hands and as soon as he set foot on the ground he shoutedinto it.

“Patriots! Vanguards of the only legitimate order good for Rwanda! Today you will stand to defend your countrymen from the imperialism of Ugandans. The R.P.A is nothing but a band of Ugandans who wish to take over Rwanda. We shall not let it happen. Today we shall with their blood tar the dusty road from Kagitumba to Mirama, their Mirama. Rwanda is for Rwandans and Rwandans alone!”

The short speech attracted wild cheers from the soldiers standing in the groups of hundreds with in the tens of trucks. What the colonel did notknow was that when a cock that belongs to one household croaks, it is heardby the whole village.

From Augustine’s boys west of the barracks and Faustin’s east of it the message was heard clear. Not only had they been robbed of their home, peace and inheritances but also were now disowned from their blood the onlysure thing that made them Rwandans. This broke their spirits but they chosenot to give up. They chose to mend the broken pieces of their spirit and ride on its back to victory. The attackers watched from the angles as the trucks filled with soldiers passed. The road was a single lane so the trucks had to move in a single file. The trucks had gone about half a kilometer when the tenth or eleventh one suddenly had a flat tyre. It came to a halt blocking seven other trucks behind it, meanwhile the trucks in front of it did not stop since they trusted the occupants to place in the spare tyre and catch up later.

The driver disembarked as well as a few other soldiers they jerked the truck and started to unwind the nuts that held the rim of the tyre. At this time, the trucks in front were about a kilometer away.

Augustine also watched through his binoculars as he silently planned and secretly commanded his commanders to creep closer to the truck but avoid being seen. He had finished ordering the last of his men to their posts when he saw a thing he very much expected yet was not yet prepared for.

Kaboom! One truck was hit along with all its soldiers. Augustine had known better when he let Faustin come with a bazooka brigade. The second shot went and another truck with its men went with it.

“Oh shit! Close in boys, close in.”Faustin barked. The man in the watch tower at the right corner of the barracks had the voice too and there he pointed the barrel of his machine gun. He was busy at it that he did not notice a red dot on the back of his head. Augustine judged that it was the best markand when he pulled the trigger, the man’s brain flew out from one directionand blood from the other.

“Wow Wow, I did not you had an American gun!”Eric said in amazement.“Watch your head!” Augustine shouted dropping the gun and grabbing Eric

by the neck and diving with him. It was just in the time to let the bulletsswarm by. The dead watch man’s machine gun had been left locked into a shooting mode and was shooting in self manning while rotating in all directions.

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Any ways, thanks to Faustin and Augustine’s leadership, Ruhengyeri was overrun with much battle, much bloodshed, much reconciliation, a massive change of loyalty by a lot of government soldiers and a deserved victory when the R.P.A licked their wounds, their blood tasted sweet, sweeter than sugar and honey, sweet as the taste of victory.

*“We won the battle but lost him. He was the patron of our cause; he had the dream to set our

country free, it is too disheartening that he dies before witnessing the total purging of the hills of hatred. Let him be our spiritual mentor because his contribution to the freedom of Rwanda will forever be remembered and honored. Rest in peace Gisa.”Faustin wept as he said the words over Gisa’s body two day after the fall off Ruhengyeri.

Faustin stood over the body and memories of the childhood rivalry came back. He regretted why he had been so hostile to such a noble being. He brightened at the memory of their reconciliation as he a crossed to the R.N.A. the trust as they plotted to form the R.P.A. A dark cloud of regret only came back to haunt him when he thought about their childhood but otherwise Gisa and Faustin had been very good friends.

The events prior started the day when Faustin and Augustine had led the Ruhengyeri assault. Gisa had taken a truck and drove straight into Ntungamo where he received cartons of drugs and bales of uniform, boots andother supplies from Uganda soldier from Simba barracks. He had also received a letter from Joel and another one from Paulo. He had been too excited to hear from Paulo that he could not wait to get to his destination. He was reading his letter while driving when he drove into a barrier. Too big logs lay across the road cutting it off completely. He hadgot out of the truck to find away to drag them off and just in time a jeep had come from the opposite direction and a man with a machine gun had givenhim a generous share of the lead.

The letter had fallen beside him and soon the streams of his own blood soaked it. After all the letter made no sense to Gisa since it was about Paulo’s scheduled return. It was not going to help Gisa in any way. He was already dead.

*By the time Paulo returned, the force had already gone in disarray.

The break up was a bridge not far from the river banks on which the R.P.A stood. Soon they would stand at the bridge, break it and be washed away or drowned in the river. The stone and Mable slab that was Gisa’s home was nowsparkling in the midday sun. Augustine and Eric stood behind Paulo who knelt beside the grave cursing himself for delaying. His tears were like new silver coins, reflecting the rays of the sun.

He had been at crying for so long while promising Gisa to complete the quest when suddenly he stood up and turned around to face Faustin.

“How are the boys?”“R.P.A originals are still loyal, recruits lukewarm and the cross

overs sliding back one by one to Colonel Francois.”“Call all the rest that are left.

That evening, the parade had nothing more than 4000 men. The R.P.A was now more of a weak and fading faith than the strong brotherhood it had been. Paulo knew that it had been united always by Gisa’s strong words.

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That day the gathering was by Gisa’s grave. Paulo used his words to breathelife back into the brotherhood. At the end he cut his palm and let his blood spill on Gisa’s grave as he said.

“This is seal my loyalty to the cause of Rwanda, our unfortunate home which you died trying to save”

Without being asked, the whole army did the same and now the cut in the palm was to seal the new R.P.A. the reborn, Paulo had managed to breathe life back into a force that was beginning to break up. After all hewas now the sole heir of old Shyaka’s purpose, dreams and aspirations, the dreams of all the Rwandans in exile and the dreams of Rwandans suffering athome.

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CHAPTER 22

“Reliable sources say that the cockroach rebels are walking among us. Here in Kigali, in Butare, in Umutara and even in our villages in Cyangugu, Kibuye, Kibungo and everywhere. Watch your neighbors any Tutsi could be a rebel.”The news anchor thus ended the evening news.

For two years now since the R.P.A run over Ruhengyeri, the radios andtelevision stations run that warning at the end of the news cast. The news was usually full of stories of bodies found allover Rwanda bullet riddled. The police investigations of course hurriedly concluded that the rebels were at work. If it wasn’t that all the dead were of one social caste everyrational Rwandan would be hating the R.P.A.

The government was counting on using Mugambagye the R.P.A soldiers ithad captured to get information about the force. He was locked in a secret military base inside Nyungwe forest. Each day he was served a plate of dry bread and water as well as a considerable amount of torture. Every morning he could be woken up to an early session on the electronic chair. His wailscould be heard rising beyond the trees and echoing all around the country as all kinds of torture were unleashed upon the Rwandan people. At lunch time, a syringe full of kerosene could be brought and he could watch it come, and take a dip into his flesh and at the same time administering officer could be asking questions. Mugambagye had made up his mind that forthe good of Rwanda and the glory of God he would never tell on his R.P.A brothers. Some times when he felt he could no long stand the pain he openedhis palm and looked at the dark scar that run across to his wrist. He remembered Gisa and his principles and dreams, now they were dreams every patriotic Rwandan carried. He clearly pictured the time at Gisa’s grave andknew he had shed his fear of pain in the blood.

“God lead me through this pain.” He could mutter to himself.At night he had pepper spray into his eyes but still he could not

talk. He closed his itching eyes and pictured the happy times he could enjoy with his wife once Rwanda was free and that way he found sleep and for a year kept the secrets of patriots.

Meanwhile as Paulo and the R.P.A battled to capture all the military establishments, the government loyal army went on secretly killing Rwandan men, women and children. Through all frontiers many fled into Tanzania and

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Uganda. The R.P.A at some time was not sure that victory was assured, sometimes they felt they were chasing the wind however they continued placing to the center. They knew that soon the center would hold no longer and things would fall apart for the regime, there would not be a victory for hatred. All over the country side they passed through bushes littered with decomposing corpses and at one place they almost fell into an open mass grave.

“Damn!” Paulo said while holding a dirty hand kerchief close to his nostrils.

“We must be getting closer now.” Faustin said.It was a sight none of them could with hold for at least a minute.

They maneuvered the circumference of the pit and plunged into the thick natural forest, the darkness of the forest did not help at all as it brought a feeling that the ghosts of the dead they had seen were hanging around and kept on singing, cursing and mocking at the soldiers crying.

“You are late, far too late” Paulo who led turned to Faustin.“You heard that?”“What?”“The sound”“Which sound?”They all fell silent in their tracks. Eyes on Paulo, the soldiers put

their hands on their riffles. The sound grew closer. There was a movement in the bushes and under growth not far from where they were. The soldiers quickly hid in the bush leaving Paulo and Faustin standing straight in the line of the approaching adversary. Paulo aimed his revolver at the bush in front of him when the adversary stuck his head out a shot rang out.

All of the combatants took positions in the undergrowth; the adversary led out a loud howl and fell back on his back.

“A bloody gorilla!” Paulo cursed silently.The howls of the dying gorilla filled the place with deathly noise;

blood flew from its head and blessed the ground below. The accidental sacrifice was made to the lord of war.

Soon the whole forest was full of the government soldiers all with blood shot eyes brandishing machetes and Kalashnikov rifles. The R.P.A lay hidden above in the tree branches and others in the under growth. They watched as the national army approached and snuff everywhere until finding no one they turned to return to the barracks convinced that it had been perhaps a poacher. The commander backed something about identifying and punishing whoever was using military equipment to hunt game for food beforeturning angrily towards the barracks. All his men turned too and the band started walking back in a single file They had gone many yards when the last man behind in the line turned with aim to ascertain there was no one. Sure as hell he saw someone.

He stood looking at Faustin who now looked haggard and unblessedly dirty a result of covering himself with a rotting wild animal corpse while hiding. The man did not stir because from about fifty meters away Faustin’sbarrel was pointed to his chest. The rest of the soldiers did not even for once look behind and the man was left standing helplessly at the mercies ofthe freedom fighters.

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When the national army had gone, two R.P.A boys came from the under growth and seized the lone soldier and led him into the heart of the jungle. The soldier was visibly shaken that a murky yellow fluid started sifting slowly through the back of his desert brown trousers.

“Please don’t kill me.” He pleaded as the two boys pushed him onto the ground in front of the tall man. The lone soldier shifted his gaze slowly upwards taking in the man’s details one by one first the dirty but visibly new pairs of jungle boots then the pair of army green trousers that led into an oversized jacket of the same colour and pattern. When he got to theface he started dragging himself backwards in the terror. He was sure he was not mistaken because he had seen the face before in every news paper and in every military barracks. The same thin nose and receding hair line, same skin complexion, same description as what lingered above the words “WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE,” on every barracks notice board. Paulo; the R.P.A leader. The soldier turned around and finding he was surrounded he pledged to give out any information the R.P.A needed to know if they promised not to kill him.

“We come to bring peace and not to take it.” Paulo said.Thanks to that soldier who came to be known as Corporal Muganga, the

R.P.A managed to locate the prison and free Mugambagye before finally over running the whole military establishment. Now the armory was under the control of the liberators. It was four years since Gisa’s death now and theforce now controlled the two biggest secret military establishments in the country. It was the only reason that the president Mr. Jovens accepted to hold peace talks with the R.P.A.

The R.P.A requested that the arbitrary arrests as well as murders of civilians stop and also a democratic election be held within two months. These terms president Jovens accepted because he had now lost most of the military hard ware and was desperately buying time to re-arm. The date for signing the peace treaty was set and a venue arranged in Tanzania. Paulo and the R.P.A were happy to have made a step towards achieving peace for the people of Rwanda

*President Jovens dismissed the meeting. He was going to board his

presidential plane in about twenty minutes time. All his trusted men started standing up and after bidding their farewells with a bow stepped out of the high Italian door one by one. Two men were the last to leave thepresidential palace trying to convince the president not to sign the peace accord.

“Cockroaches can’t handle power, they are only invaders.” Colonel Francois was reasoning but only met resistance from the president. It was only after thepresident and his guard had walked out of room when the colonel Francois and General Rutugunda walked out with their arms behind their backs talkingin hushed tones. They reached a consensus that cockroaches were not to be allowed to have a say in the affairs of Rwanda no matter what accord the president was going to sign in Tanzania that day.

“Are you going to turn against your president?” Rutugunda asked.“He has turned against all of us.”“Now what?”“I have a plan.” Francois said grinning maliciously.

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That evening an officer came into Colonel Francois’ office with a troubled look on his face.

“What is wrong?”Francois asked.“Afande two missiles have been stolen from the Kigali armory. Please don’t send me to the

court martial I did not sell them. Please.”The man said while dropping to his knees in tears

“Calm down fore man. If you don’t mention this to anyone you will be promoted and given a 200 percent pay rise. You have to remain silent, Sibyo?”

“Nibyo.” The fore man replied rather unsure that colonel Francois wasnot being sarcastic before timidly walking out backwards waiting for the colonel to order an arrest order anytime. None came and he was soon out of sight

As soon as he was out, the phone on the table rung and the colonel picked, “Yes General – tonight is the night – the cockroaches’ hopes have to stop here.” He placed down the receiver and let out a hollow laughter that reminded one ofthe sounds in the spirit haunted caves.

Darkness had fallen over Kigali that night and the scattered neon bulbs were like the few stars on the dark night. The square blocks of the buildings towards the air port were not lit at all and the only sight of light nearby was from the diesel generator lit Belgian embassy. Colonel Francois was seen once that night parking in front one of the unlit buildings near the airport and coming out hurriedly into one of the buildings and moments later jumping back into his Peugeot and speeding away. The airport itself was no more than the size of five foot ball fieldswith a control and a radar tower looking pathetically stout against the tall antenna.

The young controller on duty picked a signal from the president’s plane. He quickly jumped and rubbed his eyes which had begun going sleepy. He communicated to the man on the landing ground through a short range receiver. The man on the landing ground stood ready with Morse code flags watching the plane approach. Its lights were first two thin dotted circles and grew bigger the nearer the plane got. He raised one of the many flags with reflective material for the pilot to see. He was still looking at the plane which was now nearly above the airport when he witnessed the shock ofhis life. A missile came from around the unlit building and struck the plane.

For a moment he stood motionless watching the flaming explosion whilestill holding the flag above his head. He only got enough time and mind to duck when a flaming object came crashing towards him. It took a few minutesbefore the ground man came into terms with the fact that the president had been shot down.

He ran past the gate with the aim of reaching the nearest police station but fate and ill luck conspired against him just at the unlit building, what he saw became the last sight he was going to see. Two men inthe national army uniforms strapping a missile onto the back of the truck. When he saw them he froze in his track. The president has been killed by his own army. He last thought about one question; why? And it was what he

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ever thought forever as it died on his mind. A single shot rung and his skull exploded.

“We leave no evidence.Motherfucker!” One soldier said as the other eased the truck into the road.

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CHAPTER 23

“Hello General- the cockroach sympathizer is dead you can now tell your boys to be ready. The great purge starts now! Ha ha ha …” Colonel Francois put down the phone receiverand pulled at his pitch black whiskers while humming loudly. He jumped out of his chair excitedly and clapped his hands together. He found a match boxand lit a Havana made Cohiba Cigar. Smoke filled the room making it smell sickly. A Tutsi mail man came at the incident.

“May I come in?”“Yes please.”The middle aged man entered the room, the colonel stiffened a little.“What do you want?” he barked.“Consignments for the ministry of defense have arrived.”“What is it exactly?”“I can’t tell sir, they are wooden crates.”The mail man led the colonel outside where ten trailer trucks lay

parked with mysterious consignment. The drivers brought out the keys to thecontainers and opened the wide doors. Crate upon crate were pilled inside the containers looking deathly in a sinister way. The colonel beckoned to the body guards he had and ordered them to off load one crate and check what was inside. The soldiers staggered forward and after much effort and help from the mail man and the truck drivers they hauled one crate down. With a metallic wench they eased the hinges of the crate and soon the wholelid was thrown backwards.

“Wow” the colonel shouted.Just at the moment General Rutugunda called on the portable Sony

Ericson receiver.“You have seen what I sent?”“Yes sir.”“Now waste no time, let’s kill the cockroaches.”“You are genius brother.”When he hung up, the colonel had a weird grin over his face. He

picked one machete from the crate and held it with its blade facing up admiring it. The mail man came up to him.

“Sir, if you don’t think we made a mistake sign here”“Why?”“To show that you have received your package. Just common protocol.”“Hhmmmm”“If I may ask sir, what will the army use machetes for?”“You want to know what?”“Yes sir.”The colonel turned sharply and instantly sliced off the mail man’s

head. The truck drivers were terrified and horrified.“Wow, very sharp.” He said while laughing and at the same time looking at

the truck drivers before continuing, “You are lucky none of you is a cockroach.”

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By the end of the first week proceeding president Joven’s death, morethan fifteen thousand Rwandans had been killed mainly of the Tutsi caste. Everywhere screams of adults and children could be heard as neighbor turnedagainst neighbor, priest against the brethren and man against in law or even wife. The vigilant youth went about brandishing machetes and wooden stalks. Babies were stalked through the anuses until the pointed end came out through the skulls. The stench of dead and decaying corpses filled everywhere. Meanwhile Colonel Francois took pleasure plundering the national bank and all resources.

In all the bloody days that the Rwandans spent dying in thousands each day like flies, the international community turned a blind eye. A veryre-known political analyst in Americas claimed it was a barbarism that was to be gotten out of only naturally through evolution. Bottom line is, it was taken as a war of some half civilized human race in central Africa and the world needed not intervene.

Meanwhile in the R.P.A camp, the news of a massive effort at Tutsi annihilation created a determination never seen before. The rebels pushed towards Kigali now. Kigali was no longer a city but a close rival to Ezekiel’s valley of death. The streets were oozing blood and rotting human flesh made up much of the manure for the flowers in the city center. The National army now a hangmen vendetta which ran road blocks along each road that led in and out of the city. On such people were slaughtered for sympathizing with the Tutsi’s who were being accused of killing president Jovens.

The fighting had bogged down the R.P.A that they could no longer continue the push to the center. For the first time in the four years they had fought, they registered a sixty percent casualty. Paulo, Augustine, Faustin Mugambagye and Eric went to emergency drawing board and resolved torequest for aid from Joel. Joel did not disappoint either. Only a day afterthe request was made four hundred thousand P.D.F soldiers were poured at Kagitumba to help the R.P.A. Joel was a person who could never let down thepeople who had helped him free Uganda.

*Like all days, this was filled with a silence that was occasionally

interrupted by a scream here, a gunshot there or propaganda news cast on the national radio. Many people flocked or fled to the Red Cross camp in the city centre for protection and food. It was okay behind the Red Cross flag but soon the army finding no one to kill decided to pursue beyond the Red Cross flag. A truck that was ferrying people from Kicukiro nearby fell in a military ambush as it dragged on towards the Red Cross camp. A wooden hurdle was placed in the middle of the road.The truck driver stopped and immediately he was pulled out of the truck and butchered in the full view of his unfortunate passengers.

Then a middle aged lady was pulled off the truck violently that she fell down face up. A black boot descended upon her face making her unconscious. She was unconscious long enough not to feel as one of the soldiers raped her. She only regained her consciousness to curse the soldier and also witness the descent of the machete that chopped off her head.

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“Mama!” A boy of adolescent age who was undoubtedly her son cried loud.

“Sshh! Your turn to die is not yet you stinking son of a bitch. Each one has a time to die.” The soldier shouted. Those were to be his last words as a bullet rung out and sent him sprawling to the ground.

It took five minutes of fierce gun battle for the R.P.A to defeat the band of National Army soldiers at that road block. The same was occurring at all road blocks across the country. By midnight R.P.A had overrun the city and most army leaders in the government force were fleeing to the jungles of Democratic Republic of Congo and other neighboring countries.

The next morning the jails were bursting with the criminals on one charge murder.

As Paulo and the R.P.F announced their takeover of power, private companies were busy cleaning the city and ridding it of the deathly sights of wet skulls and decaying human flesh. The fishermen on Kagera River in Uganda were also covering a mass grave in which the floating bodies that had been dragged out of the river were being buried. Then the western countries were busy sending condolence messages and funds to Rwanda. The swamps were coming to life with people who had hidden in them for so long that their feet were peeling coming out to shout hooray to the heroes of the land. True that day and the few days that preceded it murders were still going on but at least there was a ray of hope; a light at the end of the tunnel.

It was almost midday when Paulo stood on the podium to address the tattered Rwanda. When he was ascending, the light of the midday sun was obscured by his head and the crowd before him saw as if a ring of light wasglowing around his head as on the head of the messiah depicted on the most canvas paintings. His thin weary frame told of great miseries he had gone through in order to liberate the country. He yanked the micro phone from its holder and poured his heart into it.

“Fellow countrymen, I speak for myself as well as our fathers and friends and brothers who went before realizing this. Rwanda is now free! This was a dream of everyone, a purpose of every patriot to some of us the only real thing we inherited.”Tears Started rolling down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away and continued,

“Today we as Rwandans start a journey of reconciliation and forgiveness. May blood never flow here because we have desecrated the land enough already. If only all those who fought to see this day saw it.”He dropped the microphone and raced off the podium into a nearby car where he locked himself. He cried tears of joy, tears that everyRwandan was crying, tears to wash away the hatred and bring back love to Rwanda. He cried tears to baptize him into the religion of state builders and re-constructors. When he came out of the car, he wore a smile, a determined smile. He was determined to accept the mantle of lordship over acountry in crisis. His thin back was ready to carry the load of re-constructing a nation and restoring peace and love which was his sole purpose, His sole inheritance.

End of the quest.

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CHAPTER 24

(18 years after R.P.A takeover of Kigali)

THE RWANDAN TIMESHEADLINE: JOEL ON STATE VISIT TO KIGALIThe Ugandan president Joel K is in Kigali fora state visit …

The article in the week old news papers read and continued to describe the details of Joel’s visit to Rwanda. Joel held the paper in his hands and read on slowly taking in the details line by line. He was impressed by the reporter’s ability to capture each and every event of his visit to Rwanda however when he came to the end of the article a disappointed frown appeared on his face. He was disappointed because of thefact that the reporter never included the visit he had paid to Gisa’s gravein the article. He lay the news paper aside and picked up his big blue diary and started to open it cautiously from the back. He let his fingers linger over a certain page for a moment as he took in what he had scribbledhimself in one swift glance.

Dear diaryToday I paid a visit to Gisa’s grave. It was cracked though

neat. It had been weeded and fresh flowers were placed on top.It seems his patriotism did not follow him to the grave and still inspires the present generation because the mysterious person who brought the flowers left a poem of tribute.

Sign…………..

He flipped the page and now started turning the pages near it over and over again not quite sure whether what he was looking for was in a diary. From across the room the first lady Jane fixed him with an interested look through her spectacles. Joel turned and turned the pages but did not seem to find what he was looking for and after a few last futile searches he resigned and closed the diary. He had a troubled look onhis face now.

“You lost something?” Jane asked.“Not really.”“Are you sure?”“Okay it is just a poem.”“A poem?”“Yes.”Jane giggled as she stood up and gracefully started walking towards

the bookshelf. Joel watched all her steps as she walked up to the shelf andwatched as she drew a thin spring folder file. When she opened it, at leastseven sheets of paper with ink scribbles fell out. She picked them up and

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looked clearly at each one of them at its own turn until she got what she was looking for.

“Over here” she said handling a paper to her husband.“Now did you get that?”“Well, it fell out of your diary that night you came from Rwanda and I thought I could add it

to my collection.”Joel held the paper he had got from Gisa’s grave and read it once

more word by word while admiring the appreciation the mysterious poet had for Gisa.

The poem read;

Rest thee in peaceNow the orange evening sun smiles upon the slab.You lay in concealed a monument of love.Rest thee in peace.

The young ones kicking a fiber ball in the April rainSuck in freedom you purchased with your painRest thee in peace.

You inheritor of nothing but purpose and dreamsBorn in your suffering father’s screamsRest thee in peace.

For when you died for the nation on the battle lineYour blood came back to run in our veinsWe the valiant children of Rwanda

Rest in peace true Rwandan patriotRest thee in peace.

By Uwera Chantal

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CHAPTER 25

The two had spent a full day together touring the plains of Bwizibwera. Paulo still remembered the very space where his childhood homestead had been, he only could not clearly make out old Shyaka’s grave since now the whole place that had been the refugee quarter was a big ranchcovered in a short Mburara grass. During the four days visit, the only memory that had almost brought him to tears was his father’s brutal murder by Idris’ men for condemning old Shyaka’s murder. But being a strong man hekept the tears away and kept silent until they were back to Nyabushozi at Joel’s country home.

Now a steaming mug of hot milk stood beside a bunch of keys on the table in front of him unattended to. He was completely taken up by a comedyshow on National Television of Uganda (NTVU). He remembered to sip his milkafter the evening comedy show was over. Just as his milk was half drunk, he

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placed the mug down with his eyes fixed on the disarmingly beautiful lady on Television. The lady had big white eyes that lit her whole face up and when she spoke, it was a million angelic voices.

“Good evening dear viewers. The news on NTVU read to you by Uwase Yvette. First the headlines; Yesterday the Rwandan president Paulo K and our president Joel K flagged off the construction of the Kampala to Gatuna to Kigali highway. H.E Paulo who is on a state visit to Uganda said this road was to benefit both Uganda and Rwanda in the social and economic integration drive.”

The beautiful news anchor paused and the recorded video clip of the previous days’ event was played. Paulo and Joel watched themselves wearing orange work jackets and plastic helmets. They found it rather funny to the selves watching their own faces on the television.

“You know it feels like the old time in the jungle of Tanzania.” Paulo said.“Though a bit different because them we experienced freedom away but now we experience it

at home with our own brothers and sisters and from our own struggle.”Now what Paulo hated most was watching himself on the television give

a speech or listen to himself and when the part where he had given a speechdrew closer he raised the remote controller and switched the television setoff. Joel could not hold his laughter because Paulo’s act was extremely funny. Paulo timed when he expected the news to be ending and switched on again.

True to his guess, when the television lights came on again Yvette the gorgeous presenter was wishing the best of the evening to her loyal viewers of the news cast. And with one final roll of her prize eyes, the words slipped softly off her tongue.

“That’s all I had for you.”

THE END.

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About the author;Gasasira Arnold Biryomumaisho was born on the first day of January

1994 in Isingiro District, South western Uganda in a cocktail society of various tribes; Banyarwanda,Bakooki,Banyambo,Baziba-Bahaya,and Banyankole all mixed up in an area adjacent to the Refugee resettlement camp for Rwandans of Nakivale and the surrounding areas and this has continuously shaped his ideologies as reflected in all his writings, Currently he is pursuing a Bachelors degree in Legal Laws.

In his own words he says, “One man cannot change the world but he can enlighten the whole world to make a change. What happened to Rwanda in 1994 was a shame to the whole humanity and it should never happen anywhere in the world again. Am playing my part in making sure the world knows how bad hatred is.”

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