Sorry about this..

This has a lot of errors...But I have nothing else to put here....

Rwanda; a small geological landform in the middle of Africa, smaller than New Jersey, Rhode Island and Israel to put it into perspective for you. Nothing significant about it, just civilians living under the scrutiny of warlords, organized militias that acted more like gangs and the occasional genocide. Yeah, nothing significant. Or at least that how the Americans put it. The rest of the world. Where was the help now? Sure the West can invade Middle Eastern countries for oil and more important interests but how important is human life? Are Africans expendable nowadays? Or is man, in general, so obsessed with greed that life has lost its worth in a world of corruption, evil, hatred and disregard? No matter the answer, William Cooper was here on the behalf of the Red Cross.

Will rose from his bed and drifted to the window. Brilliant cracks and flashes of light erupted from the darkness, followed by screams, shouting and more. Distant, most of it sounded muffled. Will didn’t want to raise the volume. The Rwandan Genocide had taken its toll on his colleagues. On this country. Many a face had been blue and cold in front of his eyes. Death was so real, so brutal and so uncompromising. In an instant a breathing, healthy child could have all of its dreams, ambitions, promises, goals, thoughts, interests and loves taken away. A bullet could eradicate life in an instant, a spilt second. Such a loss. It was so disturbing to find a pregnant mother in her own pool of blood after an unprovoked attack. William could not wipe the images from his head.

Glancing out the crude window of his Red Cross tent, he did not flinch when explosions glittered the African darkness. He heard not the cries of patients and orphans next to him. He was zoned out; Oblivious to the sheer carnage, the inexplicable brutality that had taken place the last few days. The history of this country was not a good one.

The country will forever be remembered for this tragedy. Rwanda? Oh yeah, wasn’t that the place that had a genocide? That’s how it would be remembered. Not for the bravery of men with families, not for the United Nations soldiers enduring hell without help, not for the stories that were uplifting and actually pierced the shroud of darkness that would mar the country forever.

Rwanda had started simple enough. Three clans, the Tutsi, Twa and Hutu came to the land as early as the 15^th century. Soon after the Tutsi emerged as the dominant force, implementing a harsh system of government that led to minor feuds. Just the tip of the iceberg really. Later on Germans were allowed to rule the country but did nothing to change the economy or address common problems among the civilians of Rwanda.

Years later, Belgium became the ruler and imposed an even harsher rule than the Germans. They did notice some of the problems, addressing them to ensure obedience. Decades later coups followed, presidents rose to power only to fall and political fall-outs were common. Only when Rwanda gained independence they elected their first president who ran until 1972. Afterwards they were given the man many regard as ruthless dictator. But he’s dead now. His Falcon 50 jet was shot down.

From there you get the Genocide. The now. The present. Forget the gloom.

Rwanda has a culture, one that people fail to notice or care to observe. Marketplaces were once vibrant places where colors and rainbows joined. Where beautiful women were natural. All gone now. Roman Catholics were the main religion force here in Rwanda according to a poll stored on William’s laptop.1

Music has always been big in Rwanda all folk music that has survived the coups, wars, oppression and indirect hell of the country. Funny how ideas can never die. They can’t be shot, stabbed, raped, murdered or touched for that matter. Through all of the worst circumstances, the most basic elements of life survived. Even famous musicians enjoyed Rwandan music even going as far as to win awards for their transformation of classic folk music. This country was significant but poor.

The majority of literature here is oral yet a few writers have come from this country. They will write about this day, this genocide and maybe that will be their breakthrough. It’s sad that one has to write about massacres, sexual exploitation and enraged dissidence to be noticed. Those Americans sure love to cry over a good film or a book or song that involves loss of life like this. Writers have to use this….this living Gehenna, Hell, to have their books read. This world is sick. Sick and dying. Rwanda culture will have to live on. Ideas do not die.

Walking from the plastic “window” William headed towards the outdoors, turning his back to the rest of the world and the ongoing war. He stared into the sky, searched for stars, scanned for something other than gunfire. A haven within a nightmare. Away from the machete victims, the burn victims, the orphans. Away from this painful madness.

Staring past Rwanda’s mountains, hills, distant rivers and trees, William cried. A soft cry. He did not want to demoralize his fellow bleeding hearts. The Red Cross members struggling just as he was.

The geography of this place. Rwanda's countryside is covered by grasslands and small farms extending over rolling hills, with areas of rugged mountains that extend southeast from a chain of volcanoes in the northwest. There. Nondescript, nothing spectacular about this place, at least geographically. There was the capital, Kigali, and the Congo and Nile Rivers but nothing else that sparked foreign interest. Not anymore anyway.

The climate is nice though, tropical some would say. The elevation was the reason for that. But thunderstorms and annual rainfall really disrupted the country’s flow. The rain season brought nearly thirty-one inches each season, capped off my intense displays of lighting getting the country to be dubbed “Lighting Capital of the World.” Some big achievement, eh?

“More refugees incoming!” Sarah announced from within the tents. Here we go again.

More orphans without parents, more parents without children, more death without a substantial amount of life. This was torment. None of William’s sins could account for this? How could God allow this, this massacre, this evil, this unexplained killing of brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, uncles, loved ones? Where was he now? Where was Jesus? Don’t do this to me Father.

Minutes later William Cooper announced the death of seven more Africans to a Red Cross worker keeping track. The death total now excelled 143,000. Just in this one small camp that wasn’t even connected to the one within the city. He felt sorry for the others. For himself. For everyone.

William Cooper died later that night from heart failure. He was twenty years old.