I was born in the capital of Burundi, Bujumbur Ciboteke. I was five years old and I was scared at the time when the war started. It was a horrible time. My parents couldn’t move out of the country because of financial problems. But the situation didn’t change my love of my native country.
I remember the night it started. It was on a Thursday in October, 1993. The president of our country was killed. It was the saddest moment for the population of Burundi that had been struggling.
When it happened my parents weren’t at home. I remember I was with my elder brother and my elder sister all alone in the big house.
The guns sounded like music in the city. Blood started flowing all over the country. In what seemed like a few moments the population of the country was destroyed. Everyone was traumatised. It happened so fast.
Whenever I think about my home, my heart always beats as loudly as the sound of those shooting gun. That background noise.
We had nowhere to run. We wanted to stay and fight for our rights. I had no possibility of leaving the country because enemies were everywhere, in all the corners.
We decided to remain in the country and try to be brave and have hope because it is where my soul comes from.
Whenever I ask myself why that happened and what is the way forward, the solution is always the confusion of how to solve the problem that happened in my native country. People were just killed for no reason
That night it started I remember the sound of the population it was like an ignorant voice which in Swahili is called,
“Aound Mtungi. Souti Mtungiin.”
Mtungi, is the traditional jar which you can go and fetch water in and keep it cold. The jar is made from clay and the water you keep in it is drinkable.
People were screaming.
It is sad to tell the story of what happened in my country. I really don’t wish it to happen in other peaceful countries which are in our African continent.