Letter from Switzerland #7
My dear friend,
I’ve been in Europe for almost two years now. I’m more or less accustomed to the weather and the mentality of the people here. I think I’ve even adopted some of the local mannerisms—for instance, when people here feel surprised, they raise their hands or cover their mouth. And I already speak French with the regional intonation, which has a certain musicality to it. I often say things are “cool,” “great,” or “brilliant”! When I come back, I’m afraid you’ll think I’m a typical example of “black skin, white mask…” Fortunately, my spirit is still intact, because I have kept one thing with me at all times: my country, my good people…
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Letter from Switzerland #8
My dear friend,
When I got back I found a whole stack of letters you sent, yours as well as some letters from other friends. At the risk of disappointing you, I want to tell you that I have just been on another delightful trip. My help meet came to visit me in Switzerland, and I clove unto her when we went to Sion and Basel, I clove unto her when we went to Mainz, Germany, where we saw our friend Sebazungu, “the father of the Whites.”¹ I clove unto her when we went to Belgium, land of the Belgae. Everywhere we went, we were warmly welcomed, unlike the way I was treated upon arriving at the Cornavin railway station. My Bukunzi beauty was well dressed, in the African style, with her hair in braids. Thanks to her graceful allure, we were invited to some unforgettable soirées, mainly in Switzerland and Germany. In France and Belgium there was plenty of wine and cheese for a couple of Epicureans like us! I’ll never forget my Bukunzi beauty suddenly appearing, like a shooting star, in the land of priests and nuns.
I have read and reread your letters and those of our friends, and you keep asking me questions out of curiosity, but I too am running out of time. I’m preparing to go to France for a year, before returning home, despite your constant warnings about the sociopolitical deterioration of the country.
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Letter from Switzerland #9
My dear friend,
I have to leave Switzerland like all great men do—that is, on tiptoe. I have to leave beautiful Switzerland for two reasons. One: I will complete my degree in economics in France. Two: at a conference organized by the International League of Black Students, I gave a talk on the defense of the African continent. The Westerners were not impressed by my speech. I’ll tell you about it in more detail when I’m in France.
Till soon.
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Letter from Switzerland #10
Dear Nsenga,
Apologies for this flurry of correspondence. I realize I wrote to you only just yesterday. Maybe you’ll receive this letter at the same time as that one, but I have to write to you again. My dear friend, true friendship only reveals itself at the moment of separation.
Yesterday I told you I intended to go to France as soon as possible. Everything was ready, I had my visa. I was going to leave quietly, but my friends forced me to stay for a goodbye party. Eric from the Swiss city of Fribourg, Eva from Poland, Malika from Morocco, Youssuff from Nigeria, Ambe from Ivory Coast, big Maluza wa Mavuna from Zaire, Piedad from Colombia, beautiful Christine from Denmark, Fatima… They took me to Les Glycines, a restaurant owned by a Cape Verdean. If only you were there as well, among this circle of friends… I don’t know how to describe the atmosphere yesterday evening. I was deeply moved by the warmth and kindness that was shown to me by people from all over the world. Beautiful Suttini from Thailand was also there, and Suffrin from Haiti… Like I said, I can’t begin to describe the family ambience that prevailed. I’ll just tell you about some of the presents I received, and share some of the lovely words that were addressed to me. Malika gave me a Koran in French and entrusted me to Allah. Eva gave me a Bible, also in French. Christine gave me a number of cards with words of kindness and farewell from everyone. On hers she wrote, “Pierre, I hope you never want for butter or cheese.” Fatima, on behalf of everyone, hoped to one day hear my poet’s voice again.
I couldn’t hold back the tears. I leave tomorrow at dawn…
Translated by Louis Greenwood Lüthi
1. A literal translation of his name. In Kinyarwanda, se means “father,” and abazungu means “white people.”
