The killers of our kin, is their goose as good as cooked?

Me, I smell a big rat a strong-tanged one at that.

We’ve all lately heard stories of some Rwandan dissidents in the jungles of D.R Congo not having a good time of it. Methinks the stories are turning out to be more than reliable. They may be reality playing out.

Looks like the fugitives are at the precipice, soon to be sent hurtling into the abyss of history.

The story of a Rwandan-American based in USA, a self-effacing wordsmith with a biting tongue, who keenly follows the goings-on of these debased fellows makes for reading that’d lend credence to that. According to him, the outlaws’ house has been split into shreds. And in despair, they are turning against one another.

Mr. Willis Shalita, the said biting-tongue, blogs about an infamously nicknamed Redcom griping: “Since 2016, Nyamwasa has recklessly and selfishly steered RNC into adventurous militarism, leading to the loss of Rwandan lives as the current fiasco clearly shows.”

Well, well. So, this mean Redcom beachcomber, who supported this murderous misadventure to the hilt from the beginning, has he finally seen sense?

But, unlike his group, let’s be civil. These desperadoes and others of their ilk may be rotten eggs but they are our ‘eggs’, being of Rwandan stock. So, this kin crew, what ails their house?

Surely, they should all have seen it coming from the word “go”.

Think on it. Throwing to the dogs the trust given unto you, of belonging to the cadre of a liberation struggle that made history with a stunning success against impossible odds? Spitting at the confidence given you, of sitting near the helm to help steer the struggle to higher goals?

For your ego, for your greed; to thus insult these privileges, to mention but two?

They may’ve been given those privileged positions but should never have deceived themselves that they at any one time fooled anybody. They were with true revolutionaries. Having seen it all, revolutionaries can never be fooled. Even as they struggled to deliver the revolution together, the gallants knew who’d turn rogue and who, remain steadfast revolutionary.

The revolutionaries knew, too, at what stage the wolves in sheep-skin would show their true, covetous colours as traitors of the revolution.

It was no surprise, then, when at the end of the armed struggle, this traitor-cabal of our clan took the chance to replace the greed of the vanquished génocidaires with their own.  No surprise that, on seeing claws of the law reaching for them, they cut and ran.

None that, on reaching the comfort of exile, they joined up with the self-same génocidaires who’d sought to eradicate their own. None when the two groups became bedfellows – some literally (dig, holed-up Gahima?)

And so, from outside, the Judas-géncidaire gang of our kindred managed to marginally penetrate this land. They snuffed out precious lives in grenade attacks and in border-area raids, though only few before they were stopped in their tracks.

But, in this land, one life lost is one too many. It’s thus that, recreant coterie of our stock, your time of reckoning is upon thee. Panicky or otherwise, mujya he?

Apostate posse of our tribe, you have nowhere to hide! Nowhere, not in the remotest nook of this globe.

In the whole of Kivu, where a section of them have killed and maimed their hosts at will, their killing spree is coming back to haunt them. Those who were sponsored to mount violent grenade and border incursions into Rwanda, they are being nabbed by the day.

The traitor combo of our tribe who thought they were seating cosy in South Africa, Europe, the Americas, anywhere, are trembling in their worn pants. The French song “Corbillard, j’arrive!” (“I am Hearse, coffin-carrier, and here I come!”) is ringing in their ears!

However, these are compatriots, they need not worry. They only need to swallow their insatiable greed and drop their inconsequential egos, stick their hands in the air and enjoy their day in court. They know their kin will receive them like the prodigal sons-n-daughters they are.

Therefore, my sympathies lie not with them.

My sympathies lie elsewhere: with Giti-mu-jisho across our northern border. Where else will he get a Trojan horse to push to this land? Though, unbeknownst to him, this one was as hollow as they come!

To think the shaming lies he had to unsuccessfully try and force upon his fellow heads of state in conferences. To think the incredulous, bemused stares from them he had to bear.

All the time, energy and material he invested in this bunch of good-for-nothings (sorry!) coming to nought and his dreams going up in smoke? Who, as strong cooperation-seeking neighbour, wouldn’t feel for the old codger?

As for this posse of turncoats of home who’ve been nursing dreams of derailing the revolution of this land, their goose is as good as cooked. As it was bound to be, from the word “go”.

For them, there never was anywhere else to end up except in the “current fiasco”.

butapa@gmail.com

The views expressed in this article are of the author.

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