It is to you that I write this, my friend, you who I upheld highly and trusted. I look back and remember how we used to spend our days: laughing, talking, and helping each other as we went about with our daily chores.
Do you remember how you were once sick with few friends and no family close by? Do you remember how I looked after you, ensuring your quick recovery? I took care of the children, of whom my family had become fond.
The best days were Saturdays and Sundays: market day and church. I usually passed by to check on you. Our families went to church together, content with the strong family bond. What changed my friend? What went wrong on that day?
We had just talked and promised that despite the rumors we would be faithful and protect what we had. I knew things were bound to change, but not our friendship. How wrong I was to put my trust in a mere human being!
On that day there was tension, but I was not troubled because I knew you would stand by me. I had heard rumors, rumors that sent chills down my spine.
I followed our usual route, knowing it was safe. As I passed, I saw the angry stares that seethed and seemed to be demanding blood. Some talked in hushed tones; others cursed loudly. How I wish I had not ignored my conscience!
We had voted peacefully; it had been our right. We had been told the elections would be fair and just. I had always watched our leaders with admiration as they sold their manifesto with a passionate appeal to the mammoth crowd. Now I regret the day I voted.
Did I deserve this treatment? How unfair and sad this has become. I write to you in pain, my friend, my neighbor. I choose to release my pain in writing.
I will never forget that day in my entire life. I gathered my family to pray. For what else could I do when I knew that worse was yet to come? It did not take long before I heard loud bangs, blood-curdling screams and gunshots. Then I knew we were not safe.
Why I clung to your promise I will never know. I thought you would be there for me and my family. Sweat trickled down my face and I looked for a way to save my family from those who wanted a tribe not their own out of the vicinity.
Surrounded by a gang of more than twenty with no way to escape, I thought of running to you for I knew that a promise was a debt and you would protect us. I ran to you through the backdoor, but what I saw crushed my spirit.
From a distance you raised your hand and pointed at us. You directed the gang to attack us. With nowhere to go my family ran to a nearby ditch, to wherever they felt safe. Having nowhere to hide, I watched as they hacked my husband, daughter, son, uncle, aunt, brother, sister, father, and mother. I too was not spared, and with each stroke I begged for mercy but you turned a deaf ear. I saw the devil in you rise as you grinned with satisfaction.
How I escaped death, only God knows. You, my friend, my neighbor, burnt my family in stone-walled buildings, buildings in which they thought their safety was at least guaranteed, but not even the walls could defend them.
Dear friend, did it have to end this way? Could death quench your anger? I don’t know how you feel knowing you have blood-stained hands. Isn’t life precious? Does blood have to flow?
My heart bleeds. I ask you, did I choose to be born to this tribe or that tribe? Did my family have to pay for our leaders’ sins? I choose not to be angry but pray that God forgives you. I have lost my family, the little treasures and everything I had, but I thank my God for giving me life, I did not choose to be born but was chosen by God to live to witness and learn true forgiveness.
I now live in a place I call home. I sleep exposed to the elements. Food is scarce. Nursing my wounds with salt and water I look at the cramped camp with pathetic living conditions. Here, disease does not spare anybody, weak or strong. Predators venture in, disguised as benefactors bringing aid and support, only to lure away the beautiful naïve hearts.
What help can be found in such a place? Where can I go to find peace? Even if peace were found, would it bring joy and restore all I had lost? I may have found it in my heart to forgive but, my friend, not many share this sentiment. I nurse a deep scar. Though the pain remains, I choose not to revenge but to let you know that I have chosen to forgive.
I hope this will never happen again. I pray that Kenyans and people everywhere will learn to love and protect our beautiful heritage. I pray that our political and religious leaders will learn the true call of integrity. I choose to heal.
« return.