An excellent book about the genocide of Tutsis that took place in 1994, by naturalized Canadian author Benjamin Sehene of Tutsi origin
On the sixth of April 1994, I was preparing to go to bed, when I received a
telephone call from my brother Joseph in Toronto; "President Juvenal
Habyarimana has been killed in a plane crash," he said.
And from that moment, Rwanda, which had hitherto lurked in the background of
my life like a distant memory, became everything and my life would never be
the same again, never!
As the tragic events which followed the president's death begun to unfold, I lost
interest in everything else. My days consisted of hourly radio news bulletins. I
could not stand the indulgences and the small superfluous talk of Parisian society
life. I felt useless and helpless. In the ghastly newspaper photographs, I fancied
seeing mutilated corpses of relatives I had never met. The television imagery
served to aggravate my already troubled sleep. I found myself drifting through
the days in a trance. The attempts at writing fiction which had previously defined
my day to day life now seemed irrelevant. But my ambition of becoming a writer
was now focused. Rwanda was to be my subject matter.
Yet until then, the only tangible link I had had with Rwanda and indeed my
entire past, was an old blurred, and yellowed family photograph, taken sometime
in 1961. In the photograph, my parents are sitting stoically side by side-her on
the left. I am only a few months old, and seem to be struggling out of my
mother's hold, while my brother Joseph looks on with what seems like the envy
of any older brother yearning for more attention.