Becoming Umwana – a son
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In a house once filled with 15 souls, only three of us remain: my mother, my five-month-old uncle and me.
I set that sentence down as plainly as I can, because plainness is what it deserves. No flourish. No rhetorical preparation. One moment, there were 15 people who had names and histories and habits and faces I knew.
Then, in the particular efficiency of organised slaughter, they were gone. The Interahamwe militia and the Presidential Guard had done their brutal “work” and moved on
I set that sentence down as plainly as I can, because plainness is what it deserves. No flourish. No rhetorical preparation. One moment, there were 15 people who had names and histories and habits and faces I knew.
Then, in the particular efficiency of organised slaughter, they were gone. The Interahamwe militia and the Presidential Guard had done their brutal “work” and moved on
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