Letter from France #5
My dear Nsenga,
Of all the questions you have asked me, the most interesting one concerns the transfer of power in France and its neighboring countries. You would like to know if there is interethnic violence whenever power is transferred… Here in France, François Mitterrand, the leader of the socialist tribe, currently the most important tribe in France, is serving his second seven-year term, which commenced in 1987, the year that this man from the hills of Bukunzi first set foot on European soil—one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind, you might say! But enough pleasantries. About the bloodless transfer of power in a heavily armed country where tribal divisions are very pronounced. It is precisely this sort of bloodless transfer of power that they call POLITICAL ALTERNATION. It’s a very clever way of passing the torch, and it happens after a popular conflict resolution they call an ELECTION. But it should be noted that it hasn’t always been this way: France’s ethnopolitical history was marked by moments of rupture, revolutions that led to the collapse of successive monarchical institutions, until the birth of political parties, trade unions, and other groups that I call tribes or ethnicities made it possible for France to be governed differently.
Letter from France #6
My dear Nsenga,
This time I really do not know if I’ll have enough time to reply to all of your long letters, even though I always try to make time for everything. Today I’m very busy writing a dissertation on the tourism industry in Bukunzi… I’ve been strongly influenced by the enchanting beauty of the Mediterranean coast. I have come to see tourism as a potential gold mine for my homeland, and an engine of growth. As soon as I return I will do everything I can to promote the tourism industry in the country—the most beautiful in the world, with the highest mountains in Africa. But I’m shocked to hear that you’re planning on leaving the country in fear for your life. You say that the social climate has seriously deteriorated and that you can smell the foul odor of a regime in its final days. You even go so far as to advise me to do everything possible—to enter into a sham marriage, if necessary—to stay in Europe, or to try to go to America, even if they don’t like us over there… We have to keep in touch. Know that your recent correspondence has deeply upset me. As for what will have left an indelible impression on me during my time here, I can already answer that: the fall of the Berlin Wall and the release of Nelson Mandela, which were widely reported on in the French press. When I see you in October, we’ll have the opportunity to talk at length about both events. I’ll go through Moscow again, and once again travel the length of the Nile. Soon I’ll see my country again, my good people…
Letter from France #7
My dear Nsenga,
Today, the first of October nineteen ninety, I turned on my transistor radio at dawn, as usual, to listen to Franceinfo, and I was shocked to hear the distressing news… Rwanda had been attacked from Uganda, Burundi, Tanzania, and Zaire! I asked myself: Who are these suicidal, malevolent people who had invaded the Republic of Rwanda, a peaceful country, a model of democratic progress? In the morning, I browsed the newspapers on the Cours Mirabeau as usual. I’m still in Aix-en-Provence… On the back page of Libération, I found a short article that said the same thing: mysterious armies had encircled Rwanda. Incredible but true, the last raiders of the twentieth century had crossed over from Uganda into Rwanda… I didn’t spend the day in Aix, I took the train to Annemasse, a small French village close to Geneva. In fact, Annemasse and Geneva would be the same city if Europe was a federation. It’s a little like those Zairean villages in Goma and Gisenyi in Rwanda… But back to the situation at hand. In Annemasse, I tried to get in touch with my friends in Switzerland and the Rwandan embassy in Bern to ask how I could be of service. Everyone was confused… Only Alice Uwera joined me in Annemasse, we spent three days and nights there, but not as Epicureans, like two years ago in Aix-les-Bains. We spent sleepless nights, asking unanswerable questions… My dear friend, I finally understood all your fears and worries, which have been evident in your correspondence since nineteen eighty-seven, when I came to Europe. I too had seen warning signs, but I never took the threats to the republic seriously. Despite all the noise from international news agencies, and despite Alice and others’ attempts at dissuading me, I am determined to return to God’s country, to the country of the sun. I will have to pass through Kampala. I will follow the Nile River. We will see each other on October twelfth, nineteen ninety.
Translated by Louis Greenwood Lüthi
