A survivors story

            Today my group climbed the steep, arduous hill up to the school to listen to the school principle, Wilton, tell the story of his survival in the genocide. We all sat facing the front of the room and when Wilton walks in, we expect him, like any other principle, to stand in front of us and talk down to us, but he walks in quietly and humbly pulls up a chair beside us. He starts his story from the beginning:

            Years before the genocide, the Belgiums  took over Rwanda and enforced something called “identity cards” which labeled people as Hutu, Tutsi, or Twa. If they had ten or more cows, there were named a Tutsi. Generally, Tutsis were richer, taller, had skinnier noses, and were thought to be “smarter” and “more westernized”. Hutus were generally poorer, shorter and worked in menial, laborious jobs. 90% of the population was Hutu but the Tutsi minority was in power. The Twa population was less than 1% and were the poorest of the country. When the Belgiums left the country, many Hutus felt hostility towards the Tutsis who had ruled for so long and violence began to escalate. During this time, Wilton was only 19 and watched helplessly as his father was beaten to death with a hammer. The danger in Rwanda engendered Wilton to flee to Uganda even though he had 18 brothers and sisters staying in Rwanda. He joined the RPF (the Rwandan Patriotic Front) and when he eventually returned to Rwanda, his house was completely destroyed and he had heard that all 18 of his brothers and sisters were killed. He sat in his house for hours crying and hopeless and decided he had nothing to live for. His exact words were, “By this time, I was tired. Tired of all of it.”He resolved that there was nothing good left in this world and that it was time to kill himself before he was killed brutally by Hutu soldiers. He took his gun in hand, ready to shoot himself, when a black snake slithered by. He angrily pointed his gun to the snake and killed it. Then when he put the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger, nothing happened. Unknowingly, he used his last bullet on the snake. Soldiers nearby heard the gunshot, found him and arrested him.

       While sleeping in prison, he had a dream about his mom. “I could see her and she was talking to me. ‘Wilton’, she said, ‘You have family left you need to take care of. I need you to help them.” When he finally got out of jail (he didn’t say when or how), he found two of his sisters. Talking and hugging his sisters empowered him and encouraged him to live through the struggle and not to give up. He soon remarried a woman that had been barbarically beaten and who now lives with constant head pains. He also has two sons and works at the village as the principle helping children who have lost their parents just like him. He said the hardest part about living here is seeing the genocidaires walking the streets freely. He will never forgive them, he said. “How could I forgive someone who beat my brothers, sisters, and parents to death? By forgiving them, I am turning my back on my family. The perpetrators need to be brought to justice.” Although it’s impossible to bring all of them to justice because millions of people participated, Wilton is convinced that “none of them will die in peace.” The way Wilton picked up his life and continued on shows so much strength and humility; he is truly the most heroic man I’ve ever met. Just like him, thousands of people rebuilt their lives even though a huge part of them have been lost forever. Each person here has such a unique story from the genocide and  when I look into the eyes of an old man or woman, I can't help but wonder what happened to them 16 years ago. Many of their faces look worn down, tired and wrinkled and I know that they’ve been through a struggle and tragedy far worse than we can comprehend.