One day while Dad was eating dinner, he told me and Mom that the country might be thrown into turmoil at any moment. If that were to happen, he said, we should hurry and flee Rwanda for Zaire.
That night, a bunch of soldiers from who knows where came into our village. I was asleep when they came, so it wasn't until the morning that I found out they had beaten every man in the village to death, including my dad.
On our second day as refugees, the bad men came. Mom told me to run away fast, but she herself didn’t run. I found a big tree to hide behind, but I could still see the bad men as they killed the group of people I had been with. Mom died too, of course—these soldiers left no one alive. It wasn't like the last time, when they only killed the men—this time, no one escaped.
After the soldiers left, I went back to see my mom. When I saw her lying there dead, I started crying hard—it was almost dark, and I didn't know what to do. I'm only eight years old!