Bravery and Forgiveness

Next year is 2013. This means it will be 19 years since the Rwandan Genocide. Next  year there is two days very significant to me; April 7th and July 15th. The days in between them are the 100 days the Rwandan Genocide lasted. To say that I will be celebrating is wrong, but I will be thankful as it will be the first anniversary I'm spending with my sister. It will be a time where I can remember with her the time we spent in Rwanda and no matter what Joseph says or does, I want to take her back to our home town.
The Rwandan Genocide was too awful to put in to words. Take it from me; literally. I was there, I witnessed it all and the memories, they have never faded and they like to taunt me at 1 o'clock in the morning. The amount of death, the amount of people widowed; it was sickening to watch. And the part that hurts the most is that I could have escaped it all, but Joseph left me behind, probably thinking I was dead, which would've suited him. It would've meant that I couldn't tell anyone about what I saw, about the picture he took. Joseph is a coward, a liar and I want him to know no matter what he says, no matter what he does, I will never forgive him. 
Gandhi once said "The weak can never forgive, Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.", but tell me, after everything I've been through, am I not brave?

 Joseph's Bad Habits 

When I came to Joseph's house, I was quite hungry from the flight and from the traveling, but even though I didn't say to Alex, as I didn't want to be any trouble, I was STARVING! So when Alex was busy doing something outside the kitchen, I went in and looked around for something small to eat. I looked in some cupboards and found little food that appealed to me. So then I went to the fridge. I knew something wasn't right; there was a very distinct smell that I couldn't put my finger on. When I opened it, I didn't know what to think. Every shelf and every draw was full of cheese plus one jar of relish and  a half a dozen bottles of beer. What has this man been feeding my sister?! I prefer pastries, like the one I had on the plain. So I thought, if you can get cheese, you can get pastries, so I looked up a website for luxury pastries. I think Joseph needs to change his subscription.

 

 The Lavender Man 

My sister's name is Alex. I don't have many memories of her as a child, but I have a very happy one; one I will never forget. As a small girl, she had a love for fairy tales, happy endings, unicorns and flowers- and in her case, especially flowers. We were walking back from the market one day, when she saw a man selling flowers at his stall. Roses, lilies, sunflowers, poppies and lavender. She stopped and started at the display in awe and nothing and no one could move her. The stall owner noticed her staring, so he came round with a bunch of lavender and told her every princess deserved a bouquet of flowers. She smiled so wide and hugged the man so tightly. From that day on she treasured that bouquet of flowers. Unfortunately after a certain incident, the flowers turned to ash. 

I don't have many other memories of my sister. I remember her being slim and tall for her age. Her eyes, hair and skin are much like mine, except I remember my mother used to plait her hair. Alex would squirm in the chair and tell her that she was a 'big girl' and she didn't need any help. Family was my life and when we were split up, I felt like my life was over.

  Unfortunately my sister was the last person he sold lavender to.

Muraho (use the translator on my blog)

I've seen a lot. I've experienced things no one should experience. I experienced all of this as a young child in Rwanda. In 1994. If you don't know, Google it.

Apart from that my life has been alright. I have come to England and I have started studying at Islington. Compared to my education as a child in Rwanda, Islington is alien. When I first arrived in England, I didn't know the language well and all of the modern technologies were new to me. I remember seeing a busy road in central London, pondering how the mysterious piles of metal moved around and how they communicated by beeping at each other. I didn't have a car, so public transport was my only option.  For someone like me it was like riding in a tardis, just a little less spacious. However I soon got used to it, a feeling many of you are familiar with I'm sure.

 Sorry about the man. He was helping me operate my camera. He was very enthusiastic.

 First picture I took in London.