Strength in What Remains

In the beginning, the story unfolds in a small Burundian village nestled among steep hills and fertile valleys, where life is intimately tied to the land and the rhythm of nature. Here, the family compound is surrounded by hardened clay walls, sheltering generations under thatched roofs. The cows are more than animals; they are the heart of wealth and identity, each named and cherished like a family member. The young boy grows up barefoot, carrying water from distant streams, learning early the value of hard work and the weight of responsibility. Names are not mere labels but stories and warnings, like 'Good Road' or 'I Won't Be Rich Soon,' reflecting hopes and harsh realities.

Yet beneath this pastoral life, a complex web of ethnic distinctions begins to weave itself subtly into daily existence. Terms like Hutu and Tutsi, initially confusing and fraught with unspoken tensions, start to define social boundaries. The colonial legacy casts long shadows, imprinting divisions that will later erupt into violence. The boy's innocent questions about identity are met with silence or sharp warnings, teaching him early the power—and danger—of words.

This section is a testament to the strength found in roots—how culture, family, and environment shape resilience even before the storms arrive. It invites reflection on how identity is both a gift and a burden, and how the past, though sometimes painful, forms the foundation for what remains.

As we leave the quiet hills of childhood, we prepare to follow the harrowing journey of escape and survival that tests every fiber of this resilience.