Mutesi’s hair was soaked with sweat, her eyes were dark and sunken, her face was drained of colour. She looked at the baby in her arms and tears poured from her eyes. “Mon fils. He’s beautiful. Son nom est Léopold,” she breathed, her voice barely discernible. “Thank you, Emma, milles mercis.”
She lay back onto the soaked sheet, breathing raggedly. “Emma?”
“Oui, Mutesi.”
“Si quelque chose m’arrive, veille sur lui. Promets le moi. If anything happens to me, look after him, Promise me.”
“Of course I will. But nothing will happen. Just rest and you’ll feel much better soon.”
Her eyes closed and she fell into an exhausted sleep.
SEVENTEEN
April, 1995
Bumbogo, outside Kigali, Rwanda
Emma ignored the noise and mayhem around them in the makeshift ward and sat by the bed for a while watching Mutesi sleep. Then she gently removed the baby from her grasp, wrapped him in a cotton blanket and laid him in the plastic cot at the side of the bed. As she gently rocked the cot, she thought about Mutesi’s story. The story that the young girl had relived as she lay, exhausted and emotionally drained, waiting to give birth to a baby that had been conceived by a man she didn’t even know.
Mutesi hadn’t been touched by the Interahamwe who had raped and murdered her family and friends in July the previous year. She was grabbed and taken aside by two of the Hutu men as soon as they arrived and tied to a post by her hands and feet. The next few hours of savagery were a nightmare that would scar her mind forever. She tried to ignore the bestiality that took place in front of her, but had to live through the horror of seeing her mother and three sisters raped repeatedly then slaughtered with her father and brothers by the blood-drunk Hutu murderers. By this time she was in a hysterical state, unable to stand, hanging dizzily from the ropes that bound her to the post.
When the Interahamwe had finally slaked their bloodthirsty appetites, the same two men dragged her outside and bundled her into a jeep, her hands and feet still bound. The jeep drove northwest for about sixty kilometres, arriving at the lake of Ruhondo, just outside of Ruhengeri, the stronghold of the Hutu rulers. They pulled into the driveway of a large property situated on a hillside overlooking the lake with large, well-lit gardens running down to the lakefront. Mutesi was taken to the basement of the house and pushed into a small, room with barred windows high up on the wall, containing only a bed, a small table and a tin bucket. The door locked shut and the thirteen year old girl who had just witnessed the deaths of all of her family members from the worst atrocities imaginable was left alone in the total darkness.
Ruhondo, outside Ruhengeri, Rwanda
The next morning, Sunday, Mutesi was lying curled up on the bed in a foetal position, having finally fallen into a troubled sleep, when she was woken by a skinny Hutu woman. She pulled away and pressed against the corner of the wall, shivering in fear, her eyes closed, trying to avoid contact with her. The woman spoke softly and said her name was Irene, the housekeeper, and she was to look after her. Gently but forcefully, she got Mutesi down from the bed, undressed her and took her to a washroom along the corridor. Irene stood her in the bath and washed her body and hair with great care, using a scented soap, then dried her with a soft cotton towel which smelled of lemons.
“Has your monthly bleeding started?” she asked.
Mutesi couldn’t speak, she just nodded. The woman smiled and finished drying the girl’s hair. With her she had a white shift decorated with red and yellow designs and she pulled it over her head. She left the girl in her room then returned with some breakfast, a dish of manioc and beans, fruit and milk. She waited until Irene had gone again then ate the meal ravenously, wondering fearfully what was in store for her.
Irene came back a little later and asked her if she could swim. Mutesi nodded, she had learned a primitive form of swimming in the lake near her village. She took her upstairs and out into the garden. The girl was overcome by the ostentatious opulence that surrounded her. Sculptures, fountains, streams, bridges, there was even a summer house built from white stone blocks and red tiles. It was a paradise on earth. Behind her, she saw the house was as big as a castle, like the ones in the French fairy story book she had seen in the village church. Irene took her to a large swimming pool, water cascading into it from a rocky cliff and running out over a small precipice into a stream that meandered down to the lake.
“Viens.” She said and helped her to take off the shift. “Vas y, la piscine est à toi. In you go, it’s all yours.”
Mutesi walked nervously forward then turned at the poolside, still suspicious of everyone and everything.
“Jump in”, said Irene, encouraging her with a wave of the hand.”
The girl jumped into the warm, clear water, staying under the surface as long as she could, trying to cleanse her naked body, trying to escape from the terrible events she’d suffered. Then she resurfaced and threw herself across the pool like an animal, swimming with a clumsy paddle stroke.
A man was standing at the window of a room on the third floor of the mansion. He was naked. He was looking through binoculars, held in his left hand. He watched Irene pull Mutesi’s shift over her head and reveal her shapely nubile body. His eyes followed her as she walked to the pool. He stared as she came to the surface and swam across the pool. With his other hand, he began to masturbate.
Mutesi had just eaten another light meal, served by Irene. She was curled up once more on the bed, crying and wishing she had perished with her family instead of surviving to be brought to this place. Wondering who had saved her from the horrors that had befallen her family and friends, and why. Frightened and fearful that the nightmare wasn’t yet over.
The door opened and a man entered the room. He wore spectacles but didn’t look very old, a little older than her father. He was tall and slim, with a moustache and he was dressed in a black bath robe. “Bonjour, Mutesi,” he said. “My name is Jean-Bousquet. This is my home; I hope you are comfortable here.” He came to sit on the bed beside her. He smelled of perfume, like a sweet smelling flower.
Mutesi shivered and moved away into the corner of the wall. “Oui, Monsieur.” she stammered.
Jean-Bousquet placed his hand on her leg. “Tell me Mutesi, have you ever been with a man?”
She shook her head and looked away, trembling.
“Bien.” He stood up, placed his spectacles on the table and unloosened the sash of his robe and shook it off. She saw he was aroused, like the Hutu men who had raped her mother and sisters. She turned her head away again and cowered against the wall, shaking with fear, sobbing silently.
He stretched out his hand and pulled her towards him by the arm. “Come Mutesi, I want to be your friend,” he said.
EIGHTEEN
July - December, 1994
Ruhondo, outside Ruhengeri, Rwanda
Irene came to Mutesi’s room the next morning, Monday. There were bloodstains on the bed and she was curled up again in the corner, crying with fear and pain. The woman had brought creams and oils with her and she turned the girl onto her back so she could minister to her.
“The master has gone to Kigali,” she said. “He is only here at weekends, sometimes he doesn’t come for two weeks. I will look after you so you don’t suffer.” She gently applied the cream and massaged the girl’s body with the fragrant oil until Mutesi began to feel a little better. Irene fetched some breakfast and sat at the bedside as she ate it, slowly getting Mutesi to talk about her village, herself and eventually, her family, and what had happened to them. Little by little the girl began to trust her, began to believe that she had a friend in this house.
The woman said she’d worked at the house for seven years and spoke of Jean-Bousquet in reverential tones, telling her, “He is a very important man. A big politician in Rwanda, doing good things for the people. He is head of a radio station. A very well-known man. If you do what he wants you will be safe, but you must not upset him. He can be v
ery cruel if he gets angry. Just do what he wants and I will look after you. After a while you won’t even feel anything at all.”
Jean-Bousquet came back on Friday night and that weekend he came to Mutesi’s room several times, at all hours of the day and night. Irene had shown her how to use a little of the cream to reduce the pain of the visits without arousing his suspicions. He wasn’t cruel or sadistic, speaking kindly to relax her for his own comfort. But she waited for his visits with ever increasing dread. Afterwards, she lay curled up on her bed, shivering with the memories of her mother and sisters being ravished by the Hutu men, wondering whether it would have been better to have died with them rather than to have lived only to be brought to this house and this man.
The following weekend Jean-Bousquet didn’t return from Kigali. Irene now permitted her to walk around the gardens and swim in the pool when he was away. She also met Auguste who was his major domo, valet, butler and bodyguard all rolled into one massive, muscular frame. He was gentle and kind to Mutesi and she would seek him out to talk when Jean-Bousquet was away. There were several other employees working in the house and grounds, but she was too frightened to communicate with them.
The killing in the country came to an end that month, but the girl didn’t know. It was never spoken of by Irene and she was not ready to bring the subject up herself. The Hutu government was removed on July 18th by the Tutsi Rwandan Patriotic Front and a Tutsi regime began under the new President, Pasteur Bizimungu. Paul Kagame, the leader of the RPF, became Vice President; the power behind the throne.
For the next two months, Jean-Bousquet came to the house every other weekend. With Irene’s help Mutesi was able to withstand his frequent visits to her room. By now, he hardly spoke at all, just came in and took her without a word. She sensed he was losing interest in her body and wondered what might happen if he became angry with her. She decided to ask Irene what she had meant by her warning.
“There have been other girls.” Irene was walking in the garden with Mutesi. “After a while, he loses interest and wants to get rid of them. Usually, he gets angry for no reason then hands them over to his Interahamwe comrades.”
“What happens to them?” Mutesi shivered, memories of her family’s ordeal flooding back into her mind.
“I don’t know. They’re taken away and we never see them again. You might be luckier because he has been to the house much less and hasn’t had time to get tired of you.”
By this time Mutesi had lost all interest in her life. She couldn’t decide which fate would be better, to remain in this palace-like prison or be taken away and murdered by Jean-Bousquet’s Interahamwe.
In October, Irene became certain that Mutesi was pregnant. The girl had missed her period in September and then suffered a couple of weeks of morning sickness. Jean-Bousquet was away at the time and when he returned Irene said nothing to him and he didn’t guess the truth. But by November, she knew it couldn’t be hidden any longer. She took Mutesi aside and told her she was to have a baby, but she must not tell Jean-Bousquet. She had grown fond of the young girl and was afraid he would get rid of her like the others.
Mutesi was thrown into total confusion. She had lost both parents and her siblings in the most appalling circumstances and with their deaths, her own desire to live. And now, like a gift from God, she had conceived a baby. That evening, in her dark and lonely little room, she prayed, asking the Lord to help her carry her child safely. Her pregnancy was still too early to show but she held her hands around her stomach, praying that she could bring a new life into the world, to begin her own family to love and cherish. She decided to survive, somehow, whatever it took, for the sake of her unborn baby.
Irene and Auguste tried to devise a plan to help her escape but there was no way of getting her safely away from the house. There were few dwellings in the surrounding countryside and a lone girl in the forest would be vulnerable and easy to spot. And Mutesi had no transport to take her back to her home village. Rukara, in the most eastern part of the country was a hundred kilometres away. She worried over the problem until a few days later it was resolved by outside events.
In mid-November, Jean-Bousquet came back to the house after spending ten days in Kigali. He seemed shaken and panicky when he called Irene and Auguste into his office.
“I have to leave for a while,” he told them. “There’s a few things I need to sort out and I can’t get it done here. I’ll need my bags packed for a few weeks stay abroad. My flight is tomorrow evening. Get everything ready.” He went to his office and didn’t emerge until morning. Auguste came up to help him carry stacks of papers and recording tapes from his files and they burned them in a furnace in the basement. He spent the rest of the day throwing out more papers and making telephone calls. He never visited Mutesi.
“Don’t worry,” he told Irene and Auguste when his car came to take him to the airport. “I’ll be away only a few weeks, so keep everything in good order and I’ll see you soon.” As he was getting into the car, he asked, “Is the girl still here?”
When they both nodded, he just said, “Get rid of her.”
They never saw Jean-Bousquet again.
A month went by and the atmosphere in the house became more relaxed. The two servants had decided to ignore their employer’s orders and wait to see what happened. Mutesi was moved to a room on the ground floor, where she could walk out into the gardens. Irene helped to improve her reading and she assisted in the household duties. She told the girl that the killing was over, but there was still much danger outside. “The Tutsis are settling scores now. It’s not safe for anyone to go out alone, Hutu or not. You’re fine here. We’ll decide what to do when we have news of Jean-Bousquet.”
As she walked in the grounds, Mutesi wondered what would happen to her and her unborn child. She thought of escaping from the property but she knew she wasn’t experienced or clever enough to make it on her own. She had no knowledge of the surrounding area, nor the long journey back to Rukara. But knowing that she was carrying a new life had changed her mind-set completely. Now she was determined to survive at all costs, to keep this baby from harm and bring it into the world, perhaps a world without killing. She followed Irene’s instructions about eating and looking after herself and she waited patiently for something to happen. Her fourteenth birthday came and went without anyone knowing, she didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to herself. Her pregnancy was starting to show, but the two senior servants still insisted she should stay at the house until they were advised of Jean-Bousquet’s return plans. However, they never received any news.
One evening in mid-December, an army jeep came to the house, carrying a Tutsi officer and three soldiers. Mutesi hid down in the basement room with the door locked. Auguste went to meet them at the door.
“We’re here to take possession of this house,” the officer announced, waving some documents in his face. “The property has been expropriated on the orders of the government. I am Major Obasanjo and I will stay here until the new owner is announced. Show me round the house now.”
Auguste was terrified. He knew that one wrong word would be his death warrant. He bowed low to the soldier. “Welcome Major. You must be tired after your trip. Please come in and we’ll prepare supper for you before looking around the property.”
Irene went down to the basement room where Mutesi was hiding. “You have to leave now, tonight. You’re no longer safe. These Tutsi soldiers are filthy murderers. They slit open the bellies of pregnant women and eat the unborn children. We’ll keep them occupied while you get away. I’ll help you pack a few things and give you some food then you can slip out in the dark. You’re in good health and you can make it to a safe place if you take care.”
Mutesi was shaking with fear. She knew Irene had been indoctrinated into believing the Tutsis were capable of any atrocity, but it seemed to her that everybody in her country had been converted into a murderer, Hutu or Tutsi. Whatever the truth, she and her child were in mortal peril. She no
dded her thanks and collected the few belongings she’d been given during her stay.
Just before midnight, the housekeeper took her to the woods at the edge of the property and gave her a bag with food in it. She had also brought a loose smock and a cardigan for her. The smock would help to hide her pregnant state and the cardigan would keep her warm. She helped Mutesi to put them on.
“This is the route to your home,” she said, pointing it out on a small hand drawn map. “You see the main village names on the way? In each village you’ll see signs for the nearby places and you just have to follow the names on the map. If you get lost, wait for a woman to pass and ask the way to the next village, but stay away from the men, any men. If you have to go on the roads, mix in with a group of women and don’t talk about being pregnant. Go along this path until you come to the Kigali Road then follow the directions. Goodbye, Mutesi. God be with you and your child.”
The girl couldn’t speak. She kissed the Hutu woman and walked away. Fourteen years old and four months pregnant, Mutesi walked out into the darkness alone.
NINETEEN
December, 1994
Ruhondo, outside Ruhengeri, Rwanda
Leaving the property, Mutesi followed the path in the dark for a couple of kilometres. The forest was deserted and she encountered no one until she came to the main road, where she stopped in astonishment. The road was overflowing on each side with a massive wave of people trudging slowly up towards her, in the direction of Butaro, away from Kigali. She had never seen so many people in her life, old people, children, cripples, not many men but a lot of women, many with babes in arms. It was a frightening sight. Where are they all going? She asked herself.
It was impossible to walk through them and stay on the tarmac, so she sat at the side of the road, waiting for a gap in the tide of people. A large group of Tutsi women passed near her and she asked one of them what was happening.
The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set Page 70
