Kigali: In You Was My Hope

He walked to the other end of the street where a mammoth crowd had gathered. He got closer to the crowd. Curiosity got the best part of him. Finally he was close. His eyes caught a lifeless body of a teenager. It was a girl. She was lying in a pool of blood. Some of the women gathered around the body shed tears and others voiced their frustration and anger. He walked away from that scene towards the bakery where he worked as a book keeper. He also did part time teaching at a nearby private school to raise more money. He left his hometown Butare to Kigali the capital of his country Rwanda to seek greener pastures. His name Gahiji meant ‘the hunter” and truly he was in Kigali to hunt.

Kigali awed him the first day he set foot in the city. Neat, orderly and a boisterous people filled with hope and adventure. Like any city Kigali had its own troubles. Robbery and other social vices like prostitution and drugs. He lost his parents during the civil war but for the benevolence of his uncle who took him in and took care of him he would have dropped out of school. His uncle a geography teacher opened his mind to the world. He discussed politics with Gahiji. Listening to him was something Gahiji enjoyed doing.

The “Belgians are pigs” his uncle will say. “Forget about the hypocrisy of America and their failed interventions in Iraq” his uncle will add. Gahiji finished secondary school with flying colors. His uncle and extended family were proud of him. He felt proud of himself. He had aspirations. He saw himself as representing the new breed of Africans and more specifically Rwandans who were part of the continent’s success story. Most of the books he read about Africa a decade ago were stories filled with gloom and despair. These days a lot has changed.

Kigali and its people like many other places on the continent reflected that wind of change he thought and he was happy about it. At school science and mathematics were his favorite subjects. He picked the physics and mathematics prizes every other prize day. He had gained admission to University. His uncles finances could not support him, hence his decision to travel to Kigali to work and raise money for his studies. At the bakery where he worked it was a Monday morning. The sun was overhead, its rays illuminating every corner of the city. He kept records of the daily activities of the bakery. On this particular day the owner of the bakery a Lebanese middle aged man had arrived at the shop early than he did always. He looked tired.

The owner, his name was Hassan Omar. A ruthless Lebanese businessman, Gahiji told his Uncle anytime he called. Omar according to Gahiji treated his workers with disrespect, he told his Uncle. His uncle who was aware of the impunity of foreign business men in a lot of Africa’s cities would encourage him. He read a lot about their disrespect for local people in places like Accra and Lagos. That Monday morning, Hassan looked worried. Gahiji could practically see the worry on his face. Thirty minutes after Hassan’s arrival, three police man in their police uniforms walked into the bakery shop. Gahiji could see them from where he was sitting. He sat at the entrance always and so it was obvious, he will be the first to be questioned. The first question was thrown at him “where is Hassan Omar”. He is in his office Gahiji replied pointing to an office in the corner of the shop.

One of the policemen walked towards the office, he however took out his pistol before entering. Gahiji was anxious and afraid. Just in about fifteen minutes, Hassan Omar was led out of his office handcuffed. A police jeep carried him away and the shop was closed down. Gahiji wept. He later learnt that the girl lying in the pool of blood he had seen earlier was murdered by Hassan Omar. She was a prostitute. Apparently Omar had refused to pay her the agreed amount. There was a quarrel and Omar stabbed her with a knife and dumped her body onto the street. Gahiji called his uncle who encouraged him to return to Butare. Apparently he had raised some money and will be able to support Gahiji’s studies. Gahiji packed his baggage and set off to Butare, where belly button is buried. His uncle had made preparations for his study. In August, he will be heading to the University of Rwanda to read mechanical engineering.