Land of a Thousand Hills by Rosamond Halsey Carr

Author:Rosamond Halsey Carr
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

I remained at Mugongo throughout those turbulent weeks while the inferno and bloodshed raged all around me. From my front lawn, I could look out over the valley and see the flames of hundreds of fires scattered across the landscape. Almost all of the field hands at Mugongo were Hutu, as were most of the house servants and gardeners. Conversely, all the shepherds in Mutura were Tutsi. Many of my Tutsi neighbors feared for their lives and moved their cherished cattle deep into the forest where they were concealed on the lower slopes of Karisimbi. Their most valued possessions were packed in baskets or wooden crates and hidden in caves. Hutu workers at Mugongo sheltered many Tutsi men, women, and children in the drying house to protect them from the marauders.

Among the Tutsi shepherds who lived near Mugongo was a man named Gahereri, whose cattle herd was estimated to be in excess of five hundred head. Gahereri was six feet, eight inches tall and remarkably slender. He had a long, narrow face, deep-set eyes, and a large, prominent aquiline nose. He dressed in the traditional long white robe, which was usually covered with dust, and wore a long red woolen scarf tied around his neck. To complete the outfit, he sported a well-worn trench coat and an elegant black felt hat, which somehow never seemed out of place with his large, callused bare feet. When I shook his hand, I was always surprised to find that his slender hand was ice-cold to the touch. Gahereri had five grown sons, each as tall as he, and their combined families constituted a formidable clan. One of Gahereri’s granddaughters was named after me. She was called “Madame.”

At fifty years of age, Gahereri was still incredibly strong and was held in high esteem as a great kurwana fighter. Kurwana is a duel between two men, each armed with a four-foot cane of very sturdy wood, traditionally cut from a tree called “umunzemze.” The combatants would thrust and parry with the canes until one of them had broken the arm of his opponent.

For years, I bought one calabash of milk from Gahereri’s family every day. At the end of each month, Gahereri himself would come by to collect payment. The only dispute we ever had was over the number of days in any given month. I maintained that I should pay for thirty calabashes of milk in those months that have only thirty days. Gahereri insisted that all months had thirty-one days, and he bellowed and carried on, saying that the houseboys and I were trying to cheat him. I showed him the days of the month on a large calendar, but he could not read and would not accept my explanation. In frustration, I gave up and paid him for thirty-one calabashes of milk every month—even in February.

After I paid Gahereri, he would invariably make his way to the nearest drinking establishment and spend all of the money on banana beer. Later in the

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