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I still have a large scar on my right arm where the crocodile bit me. I guess I am lucky that the crocodile was still juvenile, and that Phillippe knew how to fight it with his machete.
We had been walking along the highway and we were facing the bridge over the Kagera River that constituted the border to Tanzania. On the other side of that bridge, I would find relative safety, out of reach from the genocidal Interahamwe militia. There was, however, one problem. The Interahamwe had set up a roadblock near the border-crossing, and they murdered everyone that couldn’t disprove their Tutsi heritage. They had piled up hundreds of corpses and the stench was unbearable. In retrospect, I have understood that the militias’ lack of organisation was the reason they lost the civil war a few months later. Say what you want about other genocidal regimes, but most of them have enough sense to bury their victims, as bodies left in the open to rot will infect the perpetrators as well as the locals with dangerous diseases.
“Don’t look so afraid. You are giving us away. A proud Hutu woman would rejoice at the sight.” Phillippe whispered and grabbed my arm as I stared in terror at the many dead bodies laid upon each other.
As we walked away from the roadblock, I considered Phillippe’s statement. Was the average Hutu person that heartless, or was it a tiny minority of the Hutus that caused all the terror, and forced the others to comply? Before the war, most of our neighbouring villages had been inhabited by Hutus. While we hadn’t mixed with a lot with them, we had never faced any racial hostilities.
I followed Phillippe a few kilometres downstream, where we were safe from the stench of death and the murderous militiamen. At a stretch where the river was narrower, Phillippe stopped.
“We need to cross the river. This should be a good spot.” Phillippe said.
I recalled the many crocodiles I had seen along the river and protested. “But Phillippe. There are a lot of crocodiles around here.”
“Crocodiles are not as dangerous as Interahamwe militia. Crocodiles kill because they need to eat. Interahamwe on the other hand, kills to feed an insatiable hunger.” Phillippe stated.
I reflected over Phillippe’s statement. He was correct. No other animals were as despicable as humans. No other animal could have caused the carnage that took place in my country.
“Do you know how to swim?” Phillippe asked.
I nodded.
“Then we'll cross the river here. You’ll go first.” Phillippe commanded.
I stared at the river in terror, and I froze in place. Phillippe was right, but my fear of becoming crocodile food had triggered my primal fear response. This fear prevented me from entering the water.
“The militia is coming. Hurry up.” Phillippe exclaimed.
Phillippe’s words got me moving and I ran into the murky water, facing an uncertain future to avoid certain death. As the water reached my chest, I felt a sharp pain from a bite, followed by the shock when my shoulder dislocated, as a crocodile pulled me below the surface.
A crocodile had taken me, and I wanted to fight, but I couldn’t even see it. “Please help me, God!” I tried to exclaim but to no avail as I was underwater, so instead, I swallowed a mouthful of the filthy river water.
A human’s perception of time slows down when you are about to die. As I believed my days to be over, I saw all the happy times I had with my family and I regretted that my last encounter with my father had been a negative one. Why had I lost that fishing net and made my father angry? Why did we have to part on bad terms?
I came to peace with my mortality. I would soon meet with my family again in heaven, where all the small quarrels we had would be forgiven and we could live in an eternal pure bliss.
I came back to my senses as I saw the blue sky and the sun shining above me. Was this heaven? Then I saw Phillippe shouting at me, and I concluded that if I were dead, I had gone to hell. I passed out and everything turned black.
***
*GASP* *BARRF*
I woke up as I vomited up the filthy river water, which I had swallowed moments earlier. My lungs were in pain, as was my right arm. I looked up and I saw Phillippe sitting next to me.
“What happened?” I coughed.
“A small crocodile attacked you. I chopped it with my machete until it let go of you.” Phillippe replied.
“What about the Interahamwe militia?” I asked.
“They were never coming. I just needed you to get in the water.” Phillippe said.
“Why did I need to go first?” I asked.
“Because if I went first, no-one would have saved me if a crocodile attacked. This was the only way.” Phillippe stated.
I didn’t reply. Phillippe had used me as bait to find out if any crocodiles were nearby. While his recklessness had almost cost me my life, there was no point in arguing about it. We were finally in Tanzania, after walking for weeks through a war-torn Rwanda filled with deaths and horrors.
Phillippe grabbed my arm, studied the wound from the crocodile bite, and muttered. “Fucking hell, I need to deliver the girl untainted.”
I looked at him and replied: “What are you talking about?”
Phillippe cleared his throat and replied: “The crocodile bite might be infected from the dirty water. We need to cauterize it.”
“Cauterize?” I asked in confusion.
“Yes. I’ll start a fire and heat my machete. As I put the hot machete on your wound, it will kill the bacteria inside it.” Phillippe explained.
“But what about going to the hospital? We are safe here, right?” I asked.
Phillippe slapped me in an outburst of anger and exclaimed. “Stop questioning me, spoiled girl. The hospital won’t treat a poor Rwandan fugitive. They would send you to the refugee camp and let your wound fester. I am the only reason you’re alive. Do as I say!”
“I am sorry.” I whimpered.
Phillippe muttered some indistinct curses and proceeded to start a fire. I stared in horror at the machete as the fire made the metal shimmer.
“Bite on this,” Phillippe said and handed me a tree branch.
*Arrp* *Grunt* *Fizzz*
I bit the branch so hard to suppress my desire to kick Phillippe when he cauterized my wound with the glowing hot machete. After a while, the pain subsided, and I collapsed from the exhaustion.
Because of Phillippe’s rudimentary way of dealing with my crocodile bite, I’ll always have a large scar on my right arm. Yet, that scar is not the worst scar I bear from my months in Tanzania...