“The church sent us to Rwanda just at the beginning of the slaughters, we did not know. The world did not know, the church did not know but I guess God knew. Our neighbours were of the Tutsi ethnicity and it was same for the neighbourhood. Rwanda is a beautiful place; at first it was all normal and peaceful until we heard about the killings in the community near the river. While we were still disarrayed over the next move to make and how to get out of the community, we heard the sound of machine guns. My husband had gone to the school to pick of the boys, I was with Eno and Halima at home. I was so terrified, I did not know where to run or what to do?” now tears were flowing again and I couldn’t help myself too… “my husband was not back, the boys were not around, I was left alone with the girls. We hid inside the room, hearing the shooting, the screaming and imagining the horror happening outside. We heard our door smashed down, feet ransacking the house while we prayed not to be seen. They found us, started beating us, cutting us with machete…we were soaked in our own blood, too severely beaten to defend ourselves. I remembered they tying my daughters to the door, they were already unconscious or probably already dead..they dragged me outside and set the house ablaze. I was too bruised and battered to even cry or shout as I watch my daughters burnt alive.” Now I was sobbing without control…I wanted her to stop..I couldn’t take more of this tale, the pain cut deep, for just a moment it seemed hopeless. I wondered “how could such a horrific thing like this happen to a good person like this?”... “ I regained consciousness later on in the night, lying amidst dead bodies. When someone tried to lift me up, the pains knocked me right back to unconsciousness. I later regain full consciousness three weeks later at a refugee camp with the Red Cross in attendance. I never saw my husband and the boys again though I learnt no one made it out alive from the province of the school. I returned to Ghana, to the church a broken woman; broken inside and outside. I could understand why it happened to me, what did I do? I was not even a Rwandan. I came as a missionary for God, why didn’t God protect His own? Now I was on my knees still sobbing like it all happened to me personally. I understood the “Why” questions to God; why did Uju have to go. Why in such a violent accident? Why did God allow Uju die? As the questions flooded my head, I felt the melancholy deepening its grip on my soul, my eyes drabbed again… “I stayed in Ghana for some years, initially in a mental institution, sedated by cocktails of drugs but later release because all they succeeding in doing was numbing my sense but my heart and soul was still restless. I could not be consoled because many things and people reminded me of my family, too many sympathizers. After my release, come to terms with what has happened, I blame myself for it all, gradually drifted away from God, from the church and started hurting myself; cut my skin to feel pain and see blood, drinking alcohol to stupor. I wanted to the memory and the experience to go away but at the same time, I wanted to torture myself to feel pain and shame. Nene could not stand the sight of what I had become, so she brought me down to Nigeria for a fresh start. Got me the job where I retired from. Nene knew that inviting me to church was a waste of time and so she invited Pastor Pedro to dinner. I was not drinking, smoking marijuana nor cutting myself anymore but I was a bitter woman; always angry. I hated and despised every good and happy.” She paused again, the countenance on her face had lightened and she was now smiling. I had stopped crying too but was too sad to see the light glowing now on her face. She asked “how good are you with your bible?”


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