A Hug Between Strangers
A Short Story
“I know we are not related but call me Aunt Uwineza, and give me a sweet hug,” an older woman whispered to Ntare as the two sat side-by-side on a bus. The crowded vehicle bounced and swayed as it made its way along the unpaved road between Gashonga and Rwamagana. Noise from its sputtering engines made it difficult to hear. And the smell of its diesel exhaust wafted through the open windows.
Ntare didn’t recognize the woman, and her request seemed unusual to him, so he gave her an unwelcoming look. “Don’t talk to strangers,” he remembered his mother telling him when he boarded the bus. He glanced around for an empty seat, but finding none, he shifted toward the aisle so as not to touch the stranger.
Ntare was a ten-year-old boy from a small village in the lush rolling hills of Rwanda. His parents, both cattle ranchers, worked hard to provide for their family and instill in Ntare and his sister a strong sense of community and a respect for other people. Although he was uncomfortable by the woman’s request, Ntare tried to smile respectfully. His discomfort eased a bit when he caught a whiff of her perfume, which reminded him of his mom’s.
“I wonder if she is an ‘H’ or ‘T,’” Ntare thought. Were the boy able to examine his family tree, he would have seen an abundance of both Hutus and Tutsis — “H’s” and “T’s” — on it. For years, Hutus and Tutsis hadn’t looked at themselves as distinct ethnic groups. They intermarried and shared a similar culture and language. With that intermarriage, it became difficult to distinguish who was who just by looking at them. But the Belgian colonizers forced a label of “H” vs. “T” on birth documents and travel papers.
Ntare’s parents both identified as Tutsis, so Ntare did as well. But he had plenty of friends as a young boy who were Hutus. Earlier in his childhood, he wasn’t even aware of the labels. That early childhood had been carefree for Ntare. He spent his days going to school, playing games of tag and marbles with friends, and helping his parents tend to their cattle. He was curious and energetic, always eager to explore the world around him. He liked it when his parents would send him into town to buy and sell things. He especially enjoyed riding the bus.
Ntare’s carefree life began to change in the prior year or two. A group of armed men, known as the Interahamwe, began terrorizing the villages in Rwanda — pitting Hutus against Tutsis. His parents told him that these men were Hutu extremists, determined to rid Rwanda of all Tutsi people. Their hostility originated when the Belgians treated the Tutsis like they were better somehow than the Hutus.
Ntare’s parents had not been directly targeted in their village, but they knew they had to be careful, especially as they traveled about. Ntare continued to go to school and help his family on their ranch. And he persuaded his parents, even though they feared for him, to let him ride the bus into the market in Rwamagana. He would be careful.
But on this day, there were armed soldiers wearing Hutu berets who had stopped the bus and were asking to see IDs from the travelers. Ntare could smell the gunpowder on their clothes and could feel heat radiating from their weapons. When they came upon an older man with a “T” on his identification, one of the soldiers seized him and dragged him outside the bus.
A short while later, Ntare heard a desperate gasp of “No! Please!” and then the “RAT-TAT-TAT” of gunfire through the open window, right before seeing the man’s body drop to the ground.
“I know we are not related but call me Aunt Uwineza, and give me a sweet hug,” the older woman whispered to Ntare once again, this time a little more urgently. “And if they ask you for your ID, tell them you forgot it today.”
Uwineza then showed her ID, which identified her as a Hutu, to the soldiers and she apologized to them for the fact that her “nephew” had left his ID at home that day.
“Why do you forget such things, you silly boy?” Uwineza pretended to scold Ntare in a convincing voice.
The soldiers moved on.
Then Ntare, trembling and holding back his tears, gave the woman a sweet hug. “Thank you, Aunt Uwineza.”
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