REFLECTIONS

REFLECTIONS ON 2007

Getting a job in England was getting hard, even the most menial of jobs was impossible to find. It had been 15 years of my life; you can really get accustomed to misery, if you put a man in a pit full of shit he’ll be disgusted for the first hour but soon he’d be used to the smell. After a while he’d enjoy the smell; when I see a pig lying in shit I understand its love of its own shit. Going to England was all I ever wanted as a child; my mother was there, my favourite everything was there. Favourite football team, favourite town, favourite writers, musicians. In many ways it was the culmination of my education, I was taught in the British education system which moulded us into millions of little-Englishmen. We drank tea with our pinky-fingers tilted to the sky, we fought each other because we supported opposing teams, and we knew “God save the Queen” better than our own national anthems.


Neo-colonialism was a thorough process carried out by thousands of well meaning White middle-class expats; I see them now, Mrs. Baird, Mrs. Humphreys, and Mrs. Watson. These ladies spent countless hours drilling into me the importance of loving the mother-country, they drilled into me the importance of etiquette, queuing, never being flustered and off course the stiff upper lip, you can’t forget the stiff upper lip. I am as much a product of Britain, maybe more a product of Britain than Africa. Africa is something I have been trying to get away from most of my life, so 2007 represents a massive step in that I returned to the real mother-country – Rwanda. When I think of the random series of unfortunate events that lead me to come back; I have to acknowledge the hand of God, if not fate in returning me here.


Knowing God is something that has enriched my life no end; I am still wrangling with the details hence I can be found in a nightclub now and then. But I know my redeemer lives. I was for many years a devout atheist but I was miserable; trapped in the existentialist quagmire of “why are we here?” a question I never understood or really wanted answered. I was an angry man; taking whatever short-cuts to avoid my real issues. In many ways my anger is still there and can flare up but I have more control over it than before. I had suffered from depression since I was a child, ups and downs, a chemical feeling of misery that went right down to a cellular level.


Even in happy times I knew that just round the corner was another manic episode. Maybe my depression was genetic, maybe circumstances, maybe just lack of positive thinking but England exacerbated it. The descent into autumn was like impending sorrow; it is the most beautiful time of year. The leaves turn a sacred brown with the dying sun it looks like the deathly hew of rebirth. The leaves crunch underneath your feet as you walk on paths as old as Roman times; my favourite hill has graffiti that is 2,000 years old. You wonder what went through their minds as they wrote “Marcus loves Fidelia” a short crush can last an eternity.


I decided to confront every feeling of inadequacy, self-loathing, self-doubt, and every negative force in my mind. It is the hardest thing I have ever done, three days of pain and I was all alone, just me and a Bible. It was like I held on to that Bible for dear life; I met the devil face to face. He mocked me and insulted me; he stabbed me and injured me. I sweated more than a marathon runner; I had to see everything I had shut out all my life. All the pain I had avoided all my life, all the pain I inflicted on others; because there is a saying misery needs company. I hurt people, people hurt me, it was life.


Moving to Rwanda came next; when I realised that my whole time in England was a waste, it hit me that England was the problem. England had robbed me of my self-esteem, England had rejected me, England was the devil. It is a country where you can be what you want to be; as long as it is a lower class citizen. Most Africans with degrees are stuck in menial jobs; we came up with an expression “Niggering” the act of being a nigger. I was niggering at Royal Mail. I niggered at BMW, I niggered at Carrillion. The Brits are the best at silent loathing; immigrants can only come to do jobs that Brits don’t want.


Settling here was hard; Rwanda is much improved but still lags in mindset. Sights just astound you; the beauty of the hill, the naivety of the people, and the lack of cynicism. It was amazing to see people who look like me on every corner; to hear my language spoken freely. To have a BBQ while looking at lush hills of green; to hear stories of your childhood told from another perspective, to hear family laughter all the time. It also took a lot of patience as I had to lower my expectations, to learn to wait twenty minutes for a drink and say thank you when it arrived either too hot or to cold. Maybe that is where my contentment comes from; lower expectations.


I was lying in bed one evening when the phone rang, it was a cockney accent. “Oy mate, ‘ow ya doing? Right Bruv?” I fell out the bed; it was my friend Evai, we were partners in crime in Oxford. We always hang out together; this summer I watched his face full of joy as his son was born. Now he came to bury his Dad; I never met his Dad, I was always invited over but never found the time to meet him. Anyway his Dad was now dead; his mother had never stressed the severity of his illness and just soldiered on. We buried him with crushing sadness; seeing a great man fade into his grave. Buried with him were centuries of Rwandan history and the hopes of a past generation that was content to die in Rwanda.


Seeing his grieving wife was a mirror to his soul; she was left to carry on half-living but their union was still alive, in the form of their children. I long for a life-partner like they had in each other; 45 years of marriage that took them from Rwanda to Congo and back. Their children scattered to all the corners of the world from Arizona to Coventry to Kigali. I long for a soul-mate, in Kigali the number one sport is weddings and couples pair off without much consideration to compatibility. Within weeks rumours of infidelity abound, estrangement is common place and nobody cares because they are on to the next wedding.


I feel I am bound to be lonely as I expect too much; my grandfather didn’t expect too much from his marriage, mostly sons and a hot dinner in the evening. I on the other hand want the following.

A woman who is Godly; a woman who can be my moral guide, a woman who can never sin against God.

A woman who is modern yet traditional. A woman who know her culture but can fit in the modern world.

A woman who can mother me as well as my kids, I can be immature at times and I need a woman to compliment that with maturity.

A woman with a real stupid sense of humour.

A woman who is educated and can support herself and compliment what I have.

A patient woman

A really hot beautiful woman with brains

A woman sent by God

Also “A lady in the street but a freak in the bed, yeah yeah!”


Not too much to ask eh? What I want is a minor miracle, but for every man God makes a woman, it is finding her that is the problem. When I look at how lucky my parents are although they are married to other people; they were lucky to find the right person in the end. I don’t want to date the wrong people first. When I go to weddings, it is partly sorrow and joy as I wish it was me there, but not just there, but there with the right girl. So my hopes for 2008 are to start my business and meet Ms. Right, that’s all I want.