Life in Runyinya village in the Butare prefecture of Rwanda was returning to normal after the
genocide. But some distrust still persisted between the Hutus and the Tutsis.
The two communities therefore lived separated from each other.
Today, classes began at the local primary
school. The pupils of class six were enjoying break in the valley over which
rolling green mountains stood.
Consolat Kalamira saw Maria Mwajuma
step out of the Hutu girls and strode across the green field toward her Tutsi
group.
Smiling, Maria tended them her food.
The Tutsi girls froze.
Consolat wrinkled her nose and muttered, “We
don’t eat with Hutus. You may poison us.” Then she turned her back on Maria and
crossed her arms over her chest.
Maria’s smile vanished. Her Adam’s apple bobbed up, and then down as
she swallowed hard. Small deep-set eyes narrowed into slits, Maria turned about
and plodded back to her group.
The Hutu girls burst into hilarious laughter,
giving each other high fives.
Pauline Irakaremye turned toward Consolat. “Why
did you say that to her?” she said. “It’s not Christian.”
Pauline’s father was a pastor. Pauline and
Consolat attended the same church.
Consolat’s eyes blazed. “What did you want me
to do?” she blurted and pouted. “I can’t ever forgive the Hutus.”
Pauline pulled a slim book from her pocket.
“Here,” she said, opening the New Testament, “Mark 9:50: says ‘Salt is good,
but if the salt has lost its saltiness, with what will you season it? Have salt
in yourselves and be at peace with one another.”
Consolat threw her arms into the air. “Peace
with people who tried to exterminate us? No way!”
Pauline smiled and rifled through the New
Testament. “The answer to that is in Matthew 5.44 which says ‘But I tell you,
love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you,
and pray for those who mistreat you and persecute you,.’”
The girls’ mouths fell open and they stared at
each other.
Consolat’s thin shoulders sagged. “Hmm,” she
sighed.
Smiling, Pauline said, “I continue from verse
45: ‘that you may be children of your Father who is in heaven.-’”
Consolat and her friends nodded. Consolat
sighed.
Pauline smiled again. “‘For if you love those
who love you, what reward do you have? Don’t the tax collectors do the same?’”
She peered at her friends.
They appeared frozen. Only their eyes rolled.
Pauline raised the New Testament to her face
again: ‘“If you only greet your friends, what more do you do than others? Don’t
even the tax collectors do the same?’”
“Those
tax collectors must be terrible people,” Consolat observed.
“Yes,”
Pauline said. “They had a reputation for being pitiless.”
Consolat thrust out her thick lips. “I don’t
want to be like them,” she said emphatically, shaking her head.
“Me too!” another girl said and the others
mimicked her.
Pauline continued: ‘“Therefore you shall be
perfect, just as your Father in heaven is perfect.’” Pauline snapped her New
Testament shut and grinned.
Nobody talked for sometime.
“Wow!” Consolat suddenly broke the silence.
“That was an eye-opener. How are we to cultivate peace with our Hutu
classmates?”
Pauline smiled. “We’ll draw our inspiration
from Saint Luke 6:27-36-”
The bell-girl beat the truck rim hanging on a
branch before the school. The harsh sound floated into the mountains and
bounced back into the valley. Break was over.
Pauline slipped the New Testament back into her
pocket. “We’ll study those verses if you’d come to my house this evening,” she
said as they shuffled toward their classroom.
That evening the girls met at Pauline’s house.
They sat in a circle under a pear tree.
Pauline handed each girl a Bible. “Let’s look
at St. Luke 6:27: ‘“But I tell you who hear: love your enemies, do good to
those who hate you,-’”
Consolat laid her Bible on her lap and looked
up. “I’ll have to do some good to Maria tomorrow to show her that I don’t hate
her.”
Pauline nodded. “A good idea,” she agreed.
“Then we’ll reconcile the two groups.”
The others grunted in agreement.
“Verse 28,” Pauline said and they picked up their
Bibles again. “‘Bless those who curse you, and pray for those who mistreat
you.’”
“I know what to do!” Consolat babbled, her eyes
sparkling. “We’ll share meals with our Hutu classmates at break tomorrow and
during blessings pray for them.”
Everybody agreed.
“Verse 29: ‘To him who strikes you on the
cheek, offer also the other;-’”
Someone groaned and they giggled.
“By not retaliating it’s like offering the
other cheek,” Pauline explained.
“That’s better than offering the other cheek,”
another girl said and they giggled again.
Pauline ran her finger over the verses and
found the one she wanted. “- and from him who takes away your cloak, don’t
withhold your coat also.’”
The girls exchanged glances and giggled once
again.
“Verse
30: ‘Give to everyone who asks you, and don’t ask him who takes away your goods
to give them back again.’”
Consolat twitched her long, slim fingers. “The
other day Gorrete asked me for a pen and I gave her a mean look,” she said in a
voice full of contrition. “I’d offer her one tomorrow.”
“Yes, she is so poor,” Pauline said and the
others agreed. Those who could, decided to offer her other school supplies.
“As for you Agnes,” Consolat turned toward a
lanky girl sitting second from her right. “You can forget the math book you
borrowed from me for your brother.”
Agnes’ face lit up as her friends clapped for
Consolat who grinned proudly.
“My
brother lost the book, you know,” Agnes explained, “that’s why I couldn’t
return it.” She turned toward Consolat. “Thanks for taking this load off me.”
“I’m sorry for harrassing you for what I
actually didn’t need,” Consolat said.
Pauline
raised the Bible from her lap again. “Now to verse 36: ‘Therefore be merciful,
even as your father also is merciful.’”
A girl pouted. “If the Hutus had been merciful,
I wouldn’t have lost my family,” she said bitterly, then wiped tears from her
eyes with the back of her hand.
“Sisters, let’s put the genocide behind us and
look ahead,” Pauline advised and the girls got up and prayed for the Lord to
help them implement their ideas.
The next day, at break, Consolat sprinted over
to the Hutu group. She sensed them getting tense. She stopped before Maria who
wore a pout and glared at her.
Consolat swallowed hard. “I’ve come to tell you
how sorry I am for what happened yesterday.” She held out her hand to make
peace and Maria took it limply. Consolat energetically waved her group over.
“From now on, we’re going to share meals,” she said.
The Hutu girls exchanged surprised glances.
Then they grinned and hugged the Tutsis.
“Now, let’s give thanks,” Consolat said after
they had bought food and they bowed down their heads. “Lord Jesus Christ, you
gave the example by eating with sinners and forgiving those who crucified you.
Bless this food and help us share with others too, even our
worse
enemies. We feel hurt for the ge …-” She avoided the word “genocide.
“-unfortunate events which took place in our country. That was the devil’s
work. We pray for all to know your ways and live in peace. Amen.”
“Amen!” the others answered and they ate in an
atmosphere of picnic.
Consolat took out two pens and handed them to
Gorrete.
“For me?” she said, her eyes wide.
Consolat nodded.
Mumbling thanks, Gorrete hugged Consolat till
she joked, “You’d suffocate me.” All
laughed. Tears of joy came into Gorrete’s eyes when the others gave her
exercise books, eraser, pencil, and a mathematical set.
The bell sounded. The girls bounded arm in arm
into their classroom. Hands linked in a circle, they sang “We Are the World.”
“What’s the occasion?” Mr. Ladislas Kamanzi,
their teacher, asked.
They told him.
Mr. Kamanzi’s long, sad face broke into a grin.
Since he lost his family in the genocide, Mr. Kamanzi’s smile has vanished.
“Let’s sing once more,” he said and joined the
group. Before long, the whole school was singing together. There were no longer
Hutus to one side and Tutsis to the other but one people.
Consolat now knew: only when harmony triumps
over hostility can there be trust and
consequently
peace between people.
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