Under the flowers, Above the stars

 

I choose to write a little about it today. Today, as I am writing this, it is my father’s 16^th death anniversary. Even though years could fly, even though you can somehow move on, death is not something you get used to. Losing a parent at a young age is something that creates a lifetime void which cannot be filled, a crack on the heart that cannot be fixed.

My father was a humble man, reserved but sociable. I learned also that he was kind, intelligent, wise and he had a great sense of humor. He loved Francis Cabrel, Adamo Salvatore, and his music taste was great. He knew many languages (by many I mean French, English, Ikinyarwanda, Kirundi and Latin) and he studied translation and interpretation in the former UNR( Universite National du Rwanda) .Few months (if I can remember well) after his graduation, he got a big job offer of translating the Rwandan constitution. That time he left home and went to Kigali, though I do not remember him leaving.

To cut this short, I remember my father coming back from Kigali unannounced (mama haven’t told us that he was coming, we were home and then we saw him coming). He was so weak, shivering and he had fever. I remember putting my tiny hands on his chest so as to stop him from vomiting! Mama took him to health center but since his condition was worsening, he was transferred to CHUB (Centre Hospitalier Universitaire de Butare). Before going to CHUB, he called for me and said” Nova, urabeho” (Nova, Farewell).  I can vividly remember the look he gave me as he told me this, with sorrow in his big eyes.

Mama was the one who told me that father was dead. She came home crying and when I asked her why she was crying, she told me not to cry and that is when she said that papa was no more. As a five years old kid, it didn’t bother me. I only got excited because I knew that papa ‘s name was going to be mentioned on the radio, in those kind of announcements where families spread news of the deceased.

I remember hearing papa’s name on the radio and I remember burying my father since I am the first born. Mama told me that he was so peaceful in his last moments, that he was so calm and happy. He maybe was sure that he was joining heaven, I don’t know.

Nowadays, I hope that papa watches over me. I know that he is so proud of the woman I have grown up to be. He is proud of his wife, a brave and perseverant woman to ever walk on this planet. He is proud of my little sister who knows nothing about him except his pictures.  If I could have him back for few minutes, I could stare at him directly in his eyes. I know that he too, like myself, understands the language of tears and silence. His body now lives under the flowers, his soul above the stars.