The Fingers dipped in Blood – Part 3

Dear God,

Tell me honestly….

How Does a Nation Breathe After Drowning? How does a country wake up the morning after becoming a slaughterhouse? How? Do people greet each other normally again? Does the sun not feel ashamed rising over mass graves? Do birds still sing above places where children were slaughtered? Do you know how much pain weighs? Do you know how strong a heart should be to carry such pain?

That country had to answer impossible questions. Because after the killing stopped, the survivors still had to live. And the murderers also had to live with themselves. And that is the cruelty of tragedy. Life continues demanding breakfast from people who survived, yet their souls are still bleeding. And the killers still had to wake up, eat lunch and look themselves in the mirror. Some killers returned home and discovered that the survivors they tried to murder were now their neighbours again. Chai.

What would they say to each other? “Good morning my neighbour!”

They will cross the street, and their eyes will meet silently. Only heaven truly understands the weight of such silence. That woman in my hotel room said she saw the man who beheaded her father every morning going to fetch water from the same village path. Every morning. Can you imagine that kind of temptation staring at you daily?

A saviour on the wall said the man that killed her husband came to buy stuff from her, and lives on the same street. I cannot lie, Lord, some pain sounds too heavy for human beings to carry without becoming bitter forever. One of my mentors, Captain Ed, said he visited Rwanda 2 months after the genocide. Two months! (I was tempted to ask him if he saw the dead bodies on the streets)

Yet Rwanda tried. Not perfectly. Not magically. But deliberately and intentionally. The country created reconciliation programs. Community courts called Gacaca gathered villagers together beneath open skies to confess crimes, hear testimonies, and pursue justice.

Imagine sitting before the woman whose entire family you wiped out and say: “Yes… I did it, I am sorry.” What language can even carry such conversations?

But Rwandans are very intelligent, they knew the truth would become their healing medicine. That the pain should be the curriculum for future education and the memory should be a national responsibility. I believe they realized something powerful: A nation that refuses to remember eventually rehearses its tragedy again. And so, they built the memorials, preserved the names and the pictures and displayed the bones in remembrance.

Not to glorify death, but to confront denial. And to challenge any attempt to repeat.

One survivor at the memorial quietly said: “If the world remembers properly, maybe somewhere else another people will survive.” Oh God… That line hit me differently. Because memory is not revenge, memory is warning.

Today Rwanda stands remarkably rebuilt in many ways. The streets are clean; the economy is growing. Women are leading in government (the Minister of ICT, a woman spoke to us). Young people building technology businesses where blood once flowed.

And yet… Trauma still lives there quietly like an elderly tenant. You do not witness genocide and completely “move on.” No. Some wounds learn how to sit politely inside the body for decades. A sudden smell. A loud sound. A radio broadcast. And the memories return breathing heavily. Some of them still carry the sadness in their eyes. The generation that saw it life still remembers the horror. Some of us tourists commented that some of the people we met were distant and could not make eye contact. Could be the remanent of tragedy…maybe…maybe not.

I believe that Rwanda’s greatest miracle is not their economic growth. It is their restraint. The decision not to continue endless revenge. That is civilization. Not the skyscrapers. Not fancy speeches. The Restraint. The ability to say: “What happened to me was evil… but I will not become evil because of it.”

At the last door when leaving the centre, there is an inscription that blew my mind, it says: “If you carry nothing else from these walls, carry this: A nation that walked through fire and grief has chosen peace. If Rwanda could rise from such pain to embrace peace, then you too must leave here with peace in your heart.” Chai – The Final Word!

This kind of strength deserves global respect and maybe that is the final lesson Rwanda offers humanity. Hatred is easy. Any fool can destroy. Any angry politician can divide people. Any manipulator can manufacture fear. But healing? Healing is holy work. Healing requires courage greater than war. Because forgiveness does not erase memory, it simply refuses to let memory become another weapon.

My Father, my Lord, please help humanity, because we are dangerously gifted at dehumanizing one another. One tribe against another, one race against another, one religion against another and one political party against another. We keep changing the labels, but the poison remains the same.

And Rwanda and Nigeria stand there quietly like a scar on the conscience of mankind saying: “Do not ever allow hatred to become entertainment.” Because by the time human beings begin cheering cruelty publicly… blood is usually already on its way.

So perhaps the real question is not: “How did Rwanda happen?” No. The real question is: “What are we tolerating today that could become Rwanda tomorrow?”

That question, Dad… should keep every nation awake at night.

Hmmm, Now, I am bringing this home for the last time…….

Fellow Nigerians, E jor, Zukwanuike (Just calm down already)

Perhaps Rwanda’s greatest lesson is not merely about genocide. It is about what happened after. A people looked at ruins, mass graves, trauma, and unbearable memory, and still chose reconciliation over endless revenge.

That is extraordinary maturity.

Because revenge feels powerful temporarily, but eventually it burns everybody holding it. Nigeria still carries unresolved historical pain in Biafra, and the current dispensation is brutal.

The first war remains an emotional wound in many homes. Some families still remember starvation, bombings, disappearances, humiliation, and silence from the rest of the nations. Meanwhile, currently, Nigerians also carry fears, suspicions, insecurity and inherited narratives shaped by decades of mistrust. The killings are getting bolder, and we are pointing fingers on tribes and religion.

But here is the dangerous thing about untreated national pain: It reproduces itself politically. One Rwandan survivor wisely said: “If pain is not healed, it becomes an identity.”

Hmmm. That is a dangerous place for any country to arrive.

Young Nigerians especially must refuse to inherit hatred blindly. Question propaganda.
Question divisive narratives. Question politicians who only appear during elections carrying tribal emotions like campaign posters. Because the future of Nigeria cannot survive permanently on divide and rule.

The real patriot is not the loudest tribal defender. The real patriot is that person willing to protect the humanity of all Nigerians, even those different from them.

Is anyone home? Are we listening? 

If you are a Nigerian, you are intelligent and wise by default. You were born to rule your world, so don’t let anyone use your head to get ahead. Do not let anyone dip your fingers in blood.

If you are African, you are wholesome. Your culture, your tradition, your value is what makes “You”. If you can’t speak through the nose, speak through your mouth, that’s what it is meant for. Admire the West if you must but protect your African vibe jealously.

Now, Lord, I can rest my case. I am done. I have said my piece. And like the walls of Rwanda said: If you take nothing away from this my long epistles, take this: PEACE- Abeg- PEACE. Like my grandma would say: “The boldest flex is choosing Peace when chaos begs for attention.”

This is your daughter Lord, I am proudly Nigerian and I am checking in.