A Day With My Father

A Trip With My Father

I was born into a typical African family, where my father had several wives, and as a result, I grew up among many siblings. My mother, as the fourth wife, gave birth to me, making me the youngest among my siblings. In our African tradition, there are no such distinctions as “step-siblings”; we simply consider each other as brothers and sisters. Likewise, the concept of cousins doesn’t exist in our culture; we are all part of one closely-knit community.

This familial arrangement had its ups and downs. On the positive side, I relished being part of a large and supportive family, where my older siblings always had my back and protected me from bullies. However, being one of my father’s youngest children, I didn’t fully enjoy the privileges usually accorded to firstborns. Despite that, I cherished my position as the firstborn within my mother’s lineage.

My father’s job kept him far away from home, and we only got to see him on weekends. Typically, he would return on Friday evenings and stay until Monday morning before traveling back to his work station. Weekends with our father were joyful occasions because he would bring back candies and sweet treats from the cities. However, they were also nerve-wracking times as it was when we had to face the consequences of our misdeeds throughout the week.

Friday nights were spent with our tired father, sharing supper with all his children. On Saturdays, our home would be bustling with clansmen seeking my father’s advice on various matters. Being the only educated person in our large clan, people approached him for guidance on their children’s education, career choices, and family issues. Thus, Saturdays were safe and enjoyable for some of us who were a bit mischievous. However, come Saturday night, all charges against us, the children, for any wrongdoing during the week would be reviewed. My father and our mothers would then discuss and decide on appropriate punishments for each of us, depending on the severity of our misbehavior. As was common in African parenting, our parents didn’t shy away from disciplining us when necessary.

Looking back now, I realize that though we disliked being punished as kids, I am grateful to my parents for their discipline. Thanks to their efforts, I have become the person I am today.

In this photo, you can see underage girls selling sugarcane during school holidays in Rwanda. It reminds me of my own childhood when, during the long summer breaks, some of us children engaged in small businesses to earn money for buying school uniforms and notebooks when the school year resumed. Fortunately, back then, the government covered the cost of books and school fees, so our parents didn’t have to worry about those expenses.

Despite the strict discipline upon his return home for the weekend, we eagerly anticipated spending time with our father. Amidst his numerous responsibilities to the community, he always managed to make time for us, sharing captivating stories of his childhood and journey as the first person from his village to embrace a Western education. In the late 1980s, my father had already fathered 15 children from his four wives. Each September, as the back-to-school season approached, he would take a break and gather all his school-going children to Ruhengeri City’s bustling market. There, he lovingly purchased uniforms and school supplies to prepare us for the upcoming academic year in the Fall. His unwavering commitment to our education and his ability to create cherished memories amidst his busy life left an indelible mark on all of us.

With a considerable number of his children attending primary school, Trafipro was a treasure trove that offered top-notch materials at affordable prices to parents. Being a civil servant, he also enjoyed the added benefit of discounts, thanks to his membership with the business. The convenience of having skilled tailors stationed right on the veranda only added to the allure, enabling him to acquire all our school uniforms in one go and have them tailored to perfection on the spot. This wonderful experience forged enduring connections with some of the gifted tailors at Trafipro Ruhengeri. My father’s impeccable taste and unwavering dedication to our appearance and education were evident as he took immense pride in ensuring that despite us all wearing the same uniform—khaki for boys and blue cotton for girls—each outfit was tailored to his unique design, allowing us to stand out at our primary school.

During the 1980s, the bustling streets of Ruhengeri City were adorned with clothing stores predominantly owned by enterprising Asians who had sought refuge in Rwanda after fleeing Uganda during General Idi Amin’s Africanization policies in the 1970s (Desai, 2012; Mamdani, 2011). These resilient business people, originally from India, had sought sanctuary in neighboring countries like Zaire/DR Congo, Kenya, Rwanda, Tanzania, and Burundi (Aldrich, 2020). However, our Ruhengeri City, with its favorable location and compassionate national policies, emerged as a haven for a substantial number of Asian Indians who continued their ventures, particularly thriving in the clothing industries. Amidst this vibrant marketplace, my father, a civil servant, often chose to purchase clothing from the Rwandan national supermarket chain known as Trafipro, which stood for “Travail, Fidélité, Progrès” (Work, Fidelity, Progress).

During our trip to Trafipro, our father shared captivating tales of his childhood, recounting the remarkable encounter that would shape his life forever. He narrated how he met a European priest while tending to the family’s livestock, who introduced him to Christianity and European education, planting the seed of becoming a Catholic priest with “les pères blancs” or white missionaries. The story began with these missionaries searching the region for indigenous Africans to convert to Christianity, and upon encountering my father, they were impressed by his fearlessness and eloquence as a 10-year-old boy. Determined to persuade him, they invited him to join their cause, to be among the young Africans aspiring to liberate their lands from colonialism and the Tutsi monarchy while embracing Christianity. The enticement of learning to read, write, and fight against the oppressors, who had taken their ancestral lands and livestock, compelled him to make the audacious choice of leaving behind the cattle and following these strangers on a journey to acquire the art of knowledge.

Despite the strict discipline upon his return home for the weekend, we eagerly anticipated spending time with our father. Amidst his numerous responsibilities to the community, he always managed to make time for us, sharing captivating stories of his childhood and journey as the first person from his village to embrace a Western education. In the late 1980s, my father had already fathered 15 children from his four wives. Each September, as the back-to-school season approached, he would take a break and gather all his school-going children to Ruhengeri City's bustling market. There, he lovingly purchased uniforms and school supplies to prepare us for the upcoming academic year in the Fall. His unwavering commitment to our education and his ability to create cherished memories amidst his busy life left an indelible mark on all of us.

Previous slide

Next slide

This is the only photo of my father surviving today, a testament to his extraordinary journey from leaving the convent in Rwanda to joining the colonial regime as an administrator and becoming a passionate youth mobilizer and organizer. His mission was to educate the Rwandan masses about their rights as indigenous Africans, advocating for their land’s protection, and challenging both Belgian colonialism and the oppressive rule of the Tutsi minority monarchy. Inspired by his time with Rwaza European missionaries, he came to believe in the importance of indigenous self-rule through democratic institutions, ultimately leading him to enter politics. This photo captures the essence of his dedication to justice, education, and the empowerment of his fellow Rwandans, leaving behind a lasting legacy of positive change and a shining example of the power of one individual’s determination (Photo: Family Archive)

My grandfather Makware was a stern and no-nonsense man. When he discovered that his youngest son, my father, had forsaken his duties of tending to the cattle and instead chased after a Muzungu (a white man) and his Christian beliefs, he was filled with fury and indignation. Consequently, he had no choice but to excommunicate my father. Upon reaching the Rwaza Catholic Mission, my father decided to become a priest and spent many years without returning to his family due to the painful news of his excommunication. It took years of negotiations and rituals for him to be welcomed back into the fold. However, one of the prerequisites for his return was the abandonment of his ambition to become a priest, and start a family like other African men, which my father eventually did.

Upon completing his education, my father delved passionately into the fervent independence struggles of the 1950s. He allied himself with a group of young educated Hutus, all resolute in their mission to overthrow the Tutsi monarchy and establish Trafipro in 1956. Their vision transcended mere political change; they sought to bridge the socio-economic divide between Hutus and Tutsis, initiating a transformation towards modernization and fostering a sense of belonging among the rural communities. Their cause garnered immense support from fellow young Hutu elites who also fought tirelessly to dismantle the oppressive Tutsi rule, extending their efforts beyond the confines of Gitarama and Ruhengeri regions. As my father shared this awe-inspiring story, I came to comprehend the profound reason behind his unwavering preference for shopping at Trafipro over any other clothing outlets in Ruhengeri. It was more than just a store; it was a symbol of his enduring commitment to the ideals that had ignited his youthful spirit and shaped the course of his life.

A Trip to Trafipro

The trips to Trafipro held a special place in my heart, filled with cherished moments shared with my father and siblings. As the sun kissed the horizon, we would leave our village early in the morning, ensuring we reached Trafipro before its doors swung open at 8 am. These occasions were a delightful ritual we all looked forward to – the joy of having our uniforms tailored, bonding as a family, and relishing scrumptious meals together in the city. My father, the architect of this tradition, would lead us to his favorite restaurant, La Boulangerie Moderne, nestled along the enchanting Kigali-Gisenyi road. The aroma of freshly baked goods enveloped us as we settled in for breakfast. With eager anticipation, we delighted in savoring Swahili Mandazi, delectable queen cakes, and soothing milk tea (chai). It was an annual treat that nourished not just our bodies but also our souls, strengthening the precious bond between us. These moments, etched in my memory, hold the essence of family, love, and a shared appreciation for the simple joys of life.

For lunch, our visits to the restaurant near Ruhengeri Muslim Mosque were nothing short of a heartwarming family affair. We, my father’s clan, a joyful bunch of more than a dozen kids, gathered eagerly around our father, ready to embark on a culinary adventure. The restaurant attendants knew us well, and upon spotting our father’s familiar smile, they would reserve a space large enough to accommodate our lively brood, ensuring we sat together as one big, happy family.

The Ruhengeri regional market stands as a significant focal point serving the Ruhengeri region in northern Rwanda. Across from this vibrant marketplace, two buildings catch one’s attention, and among them is the former site of the TRAFIPRO Supermarket, a notable establishment during the 1980s. The origins of TRAFIPRO, an acronym for Travail, Fidélité, Progrès, can be traced back to December 1956. Remarkably, I later unearthed the fact that my father played a pivotal role in the establishment of TRAFIPRO. This cooperative served as more than just a supermarket; it became a platform where early Rwandan Hutu politicians, including my father, engaged with their fellow citizens, particularly those in rural areas. Through TRAFIPRO, they sought to educate and empower the Hutu population about their rights to self-governance and the imperative of ending the oppressive Tutsi monarchy and Belgian colonialism. For my father, TRAFIPRO held deep significance beyond commerce. It was a place where he not only purchased our school uniforms but also reconnected with his past, his youth, and the vital work he contributed to securing independence for countless Rwandans.

This photo of the vintage Toyota Pickup Model 1960 bears a remarkable resemblance to the one my father owned back in the vibrant 1980s. It was on this very day that my dad used his old Toyota Stout pickup to carry us to the TRAFIPRO supermarket. His iconic vehicle, with its classic design and sturdy build, played a central role in our family’s journey to TRAFIPRO. The pickup was a testament to its time, exuding a vintage charm that required a group effort to push-start its engine. My dad wanted to have our school uniforms tailored to perfection. It marked an enjoyable and eagerly anticipated day, one where we basked in the warmth of our father’s presence.

The feast that awaited us was a delightful array of dishes tailored to suit each of our individual tastes. From tender boiled goat meat to a flavorful goat broth, the meal was a symphony of flavors that pleased our young palates. But the true star of the show was the beloved local delicacy known as Ikizogarika, a delectable whole wheat unleavened bread with a story of its own. Its name itself held a fascinating tale, for legend had it that when consumed with piping hot goat broth, diners would become momentarily lost in its scrumptious embrace, blissfully unaware of the world around them. Such was its enchanting taste that one could indulge in it until their pockets were empty of coins, so engrossing was its allure.

As we savored each delectable bite, laughter and merriment filled the air, weaving fond memories that would linger in our hearts for years to come. Those lunches were more than just meals; they were moments of togetherness, where the love of family and the joy of delicious food intertwined to create an experience sweeter than any delicacy could ever be.

As the radiant sun dipped behind the majestic peak of Mt. Karisimbi, casting a golden glow over the Congo horizon, we found ourselves caught in a bittersweet moment at the heart of Ruhengeri city. The anticipation for our new uniforms was palpable, yet we couldn’t help but yearn for time to slow down, cherishing every precious second with our father. The clock inexorably ticked away, reminding us that our cherished day was drawing to a close, and we had to return to our humble village.

With tailor fees settled and uniforms in hand, we bid farewell to Trafipro, a place that had become a poignant symbol of my father’s unique way of expressing affection towards his children. Moreover, it was a locale where he felt a profound connection to his younger self, reminiscent of the days when he actively participated in the meetings that had established TRAFIPRO. For us, his offspring, TRAFIPRO was more than just a cooperative; it was an opportunity to reconnect with our dad on a deeper level. It also doubled as a fashion shop that made us immensely proud to have a father like him.

As anxiety quietly built up inside our young hearts, the realization that our day with our father was coming to an end weighed on us. We then crammed into the weathered embrace of an ancient Toyota Stout 1960, which had remained steadfastly parked throughout the day. On occasion, this old pickup required the collective strength of willing adults to push-start its aged engine and revive its weary battery—an endeavor that epitomized the spirit of community. Once the sputtering beast roared back to life, our father, ever generous, reached into his pockets to reward those who had assisted in its revival. He then took the wheel, and with laughter echoing in the air, we set off homeward. The road ahead was rugged, potholes jostling us like sacks of potatoes, and the white dust swirled around us, resembling a foggy morning. However, the sheer thrill of the ride filled our young hearts with boundless joy.

As the last vestiges of daylight waned, we reveled in the warmth of family bonds, etching this unforgettable day into our souls. We couldn’t wait to reach home, eager to share our new uniforms with our mothers and youngest siblings and recount the day’s adventures. Spending precious time with our father was a rarity, an annual occurrence we all eagerly anticipated and cherished deeply, a sentiment shared by every child in my father’s clan. Most importantly, we anxiously awaited the night’s passage to dawn, excited to proudly don those new uniforms for school, their unique designs unmistakably identifying us as our father’s children. The girls’ uniforms featured a tiny white lining at the shoulders, which allowed my father to easily spot our sisters whenever he visited our schools, while the boys’ uniforms boasted a distinctive turned-over hem. With the wisdom of age, I now understand the challenges faced by other children in our school, whose parents couldn’t afford new uniforms every year, not because they didn’t love their children but because of the world’s unfairness. As a child, I didn’t realize that wearing these new uniforms made other kids from less privileged families feel inadequate, as they had to rely on the government and Catholic church-sponsored uniform program, which often arrived late and was poorly designed and tailored. Now, I extend my apology to their departed souls, as many of them are no longer with us today due to the wars and conflicts that would follow later.

In this photo, you can spot those two blue houses, with one of them having a special place in my childhood memories as it used to be a bakery. Growing up, my family would often send me on errands to purchase various household items like sugar, cooking oil, Fanta drinks, or soap from the downtown Ruhengeri market, particularly in the mornings. On my way back, I would make a stop at this bakery to indulge in their delicious cookies and piping hot tea, a sweet combination that remains unmatched in my memory.

Dr. William A. Twayigize

DR. WILLIAM