A Father’s Love in War

As the genocide threatens the lives of countless innocent people, a father fights to protect his little daughter and bring her to safety.

Despite the danger and heartache that stands in his way, he will stop at nothing to ensure that his daughter reaches the fortified positions of RPF Inkotanyi at Mount Rebero. But as he navigates the chaos and violence of war and genocide, he is faced with difficult choices and devastating trauma.

Will he be able to fulfill his desire and bring his beloved daughter to Mount Rebero, or will their bond be torn apart by the horrors of the Genocide against the Tutsi?

Thank you for choosing to read “A Father’s Love in War”. We hope that the first chapter below will pique your interest and draw you into the world of Mutara and his daughter Feza.

Sit back, relax, and let this heart-wrenching tale of a father’s love transport you to another time and place.

CHAPTER 1

APRIL 6, 1994 – The evening air was thick with the sound of gunfire in the distance, a familiar and unsettling background noise as Interahamwe militia roamed the streets, terrorizing Tutsi families.

In the dim light of a flickering candle, Mutara sat on the floor of his modest home with his daughter, Feza, surrounded by brightly wrapped presents on her 6th birthday. Power cuts had become a frequent occurrence in Kigali.

Feza’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she tore into the packages, her long fingers deftly unwrapping the paper to reveal a set of dolls that she had been coveting for weeks.

She wore a pink dress that caught the light of the candle, illuminating the delicate lace frills and sparkling sequins that adorned the bodice. The soft, flowing fabric brushed against her legs as she moved, making her feel like a princess on her special day.

As she eagerly unwrapped her gifts, the dress seemed to shimmer.

She threw her arms around her father’s neck, giggling with delight. “Oh, thank you, Daddy!” Feza squealed, hugging her father tightly. Mutara held his daughter close, his heart swelling with love and pride.

Despite the insecurity and dangers of life in Kigali, Mutara was determined to do everything he could to provide for and protect his daughter. Feza’s mother had died while giving birth to her, leaving an indelible scar in Mutara’s heart.

After his wife’s death, Mutara was consumed by grief and loneliness, choosing to devote himself to raising his daughter and being the best father possible.

“I’m so glad you like them, my love,” he said, kissing the top of Feza’s head.

As they sat together, surrounded by the remnants of birthday celebrations, Mutara couldn’t help but feel a sense of sorrow and frustration at the senseless violence and suffering that surrounded them.

As he was tucking his daughter into bed, the sound of shattering glass filled the room. He froze, his heart racing as he realized that someone had thrown something through their window. The banging on the door that followed only added to his sense of alarm.

Being Tutsi, Mutara lived in constant fear of being targeted by the Interahamwe militia and other ruthless extremist groups.

With a sense of mounting dread, Mutara turned to Feza and whispered, “Don’t speak, my sweetheart. Just stay quiet.” Feza nodded, her sweet, cherubic face and big, bright eyes filled with fear as she followed her father’s instructions.

As Mutara reached for the door handle, he grabbed the flashlight lying on the table next to him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he switched it on, casting a beam of light out into the darkness. 

He knew that he was taking a risk by opening the door, but he had no choice.

When he pulled the door open, he was shocked to see the landlord standing on the other side, his eyes blazing with anger and hatred. The man looked like he was possessed, his rage and malice visible on his contorted face.

The landlord sneered at Mutara, his venomous words slicing through the air like a knife. “You Tutsis think you can get away with anything,” he spat out.

Mutara kept quiet, his mind racing with confusion, trying to make sense of the man’s words. Any wrong move could mean danger for him and his daughter, so he stood still, waiting for the landlord to make the next move.

The landlord’s anger flared, and he grabbed the flashlight from Mutara, furiously smashing it onto the ground with a loud crunch. The shattered pieces of plastic and metal scattered across the floor, the light flickering out for good.

“Downing that plane, killing the president. Well, not on my watch. You’re out of here, cockroach. Pack your things and get out of my house—or I will have you killed!”

Flustered and shocked by the landlord’s threats, Mutara gathered warm clothes, preparing for the cold night ahead.

He picked up his daughter and put her on his back as he fled into the darkness.

—

CHAPTER 2

The cold night pierced Mutara’s skin as he fled through the streets with Feza on his back. He could feel the chill seeping into his bones, numbing his fingers and toes.

The sounds of gunfire and screams filled the air, a chorus of terror that seemed to follow them wherever they went. It was clear that something terrible was happening, a sinister force at work that threatened to tear their world apart.

As they stumbled through the darkness, Mutara’s heart was filled with dread and desperation. Every step was a risk, every sound a potential threat.

He knocked on doors, hoping for a good Samaritan to offer them shelter, but each time he was met with rejection and a cold heart. One woman even went so far as to throw boiling water at them, the scalding liquid narrowly missing them…

—

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