Memoirs and biographies are perhaps the most popular non-fiction literature today. The most read are stories of very important people or celebrities in different fields: politicians and religious leaders, entrepreneurs and entertainers, sports stars, and so on. Indeed, the story of a great individual is the conventional concept of a memoir. Most of us are fascinated by the lives of these important people, and because of this, they have a big impact on our lives. Take celebrities, for example. They set the trend in many areas. People follow their stories, and their every move, and imitate their manner — speech, dress, hairstyle, and general conduct (good or bad). Interest in their stories goes beyond their entertainment role. The stories offer us the opportunity to get close to them, peer into their everyday life, get intimate if you will, and so claim to know them very well. Politicians and other high-level leaders, top military officers, and diplomats are attractive in a different sense. They have been at the centre of epoch-defining events, those that have shaken and shaped the world in very important ways. They are people to whom we have sometimes surrendered our lives and future. Other times they have simply grabbed the right over them. They are supposed to be the embodiment of power and authority, wisdom and virtue. Of course, the reality is sometimes different. Their memoirs take us into their lives, too. We burrow into their brains, so to speak, and try to understand their thinking and decision-making — the options they had, the ones they rejected, their adversaries and partners, and so on. We may even learn about how close to annihilation we were had an alternative decision been taken. We might admire them for their wisdom, courage, and decisiveness at key moments, and their composure and calmness in times of real danger. Or we may gasp in shock and horror at the recklessness and mindlessness at some of the actions of some of them. We might find inspiration or validation, even enlightenment in them. The story is similar in other areas, such as business, the arts and sciences, and technology. We want to look into what made these people so exceptional. If they tell the stories themselves, there are chances of chest thumping and exaggeration of their role, and even claims that the world would be a different place without them, and so we must be beholden to them for our very existence. A few modest ones (a very rare breed) might actually want to diminish that role. In between, we may get an accurate account of events. But for all of them, beyond their stories of success and greatness, their super-human or larger-than-life stature, readers search for what makes them human. Behind the stoicism, coolness, or glamour, do they also get sad and cry, and need comforting? Do they get mad and throw things about and break some, and hurt some people or themselves and need restraining? Do they sometimes forget their elevated positions, get so happy and excited, jump for joy, and have to be reminded about who they are? What is their favourite food, and the one they abhor? We want to know a bit about their love life, too. Are they like us — sometimes cheat and try hard to hide it and when caught lie about it? Unconvincingly, of course. Or perhaps they are so brazen and care little if it is known because they are not bound by ordinary rules of morality? This is the sort of memoir we are used to — stories of the great and stars of differing brightness. We read what they tell us. But we also read between the lines or make inferences to fill the omissions in the tale or to confirm our idea of greatness. Memoirs, however, are not exclusively for the great and mighty and celebrities. They are not the only ones who play definitive roles in the history of humankind. Others, ordinary people, have also made significant contributions, at least collectively. They also have stories to tell and lessons for us, and re increasingly writing them. I have just finished reading a story by one such “ordinary” person. It is a delightful little book written in beautiful, elegant, yet simple prose. We Are the Same Species, by Mr John Muyenzi, is not a memoir in the classical sense. It does not purport to tell his life story. But he uses his life (some aspects of it) to tackle serious issues that affect human society. In this sense, his book is similar to the conventional memoirs of the important players, who, in telling us about their roles, also make profound statements about human nature, its organisation, our fears and excesses, and how to keep them in check. They reveal our propensity for violence and destruction, but also our capacity for love and compassion, and building and keeping things together. Mr Muyenzi raises issues of similar importance, such as war and injustice, xenophobia, and its different manifestations: racism, tribalism, and ethnicity, from his point of view, as he says. He does not rail against them but tells the story in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, but still manages to make us see and feel the ugliness and the injustice, and raise our anger. For this, he adopts the anecdote and disclaimer that what he is telling is only his personal observation. He almost succeeds in deceiving us into thinking that he is telling his personal story only to realise that he is dealing with profound, universal questions. Take the question of racism. In one anecdote, he recounts an encounter as a nine-year-old boy with a racist white boy his age on a village path in the Rutongo mining centre and the ensuing confrontation in which he beat the hell out of the other boy. He also uses this encounter and his father’s reaction to it to take a swipe at the concept of evolue and the attitude of Rwandans who regarded themselves as such. In another, he narrates two other incidents in 1971 in two hotels in Nakuru, Kenya when a group of agriculture students from Makerere University in Uganda confounded white racists with their utter disregard of the latter’s assumed superiority. In both instances, he invites us to laugh at the stupidity of racism, but also the importance of standing one’s ground and standing up to bullies of whatever sort. Mr Muyenzi has first-hand experience of war, having fought in the war to remove Idi Amin from power in Uganda in 1979. However, his memories of that period were soured by his experience of injustice at the hands of fellow fighters because he was Rwandan. The end, for me, is a little disappointing. He departs from telling a story and turns his narrative into a how-to-do book. I suppose it is the NGO, development activist in him taking over and urging him to make recommendations on how to deal with these evils. Still, We Are All the Same Species is a delightful book, the sort you can read in the doctor’s waiting room as you wait for your turn and get so immersed in it, and from time to time chuckle to yourself to the amusement or bewilderment of fellow patients. It could make you forget your pain or discomfort for a moment. It has that power.
