It’s early June. I am in two places at once to prepare for my wedding ceremony to be held in eleven days. As I distribute invitations to friends and colleagues, I couldn’t help but think that the day I fantasized and dreamed about for so long is almost here. My colleagues are busy too. They are preparing for a training that will take place in Kigali, Rwanda just a week after my wedding. Being in Kigali will give us a chance to see friends that have been living in exile from Burundi for nearly a year. I should be looking looking forward to this but with my big day so close, it was the furthest thing from my mind.
June 11 arrives. All goes well. There is joy all around. My colleagues from the Yaga bloggers collective come in large numbers to support me. I am happy – nay, overjoyed! My bride is euphoric. Two days before the training is to begin, my wife and I, with some trepidation, agree that it is the right decision for me to go to Kigali. I have missed the faces of my exiled colleagues. I would not miss this opportunity to see them again and at least shake hands.
Two days before the training is to begin, my wife and I, with some trepidation, agree that it is the right decision for me to go to Kigali
On arrival in the hotel where the training is being held, the friendly atmosphere impresses me. Participants converse as if they have known each other forever. Yet for most, this was the first time they were seeing each other. Among the participants, I notice a discreet man who talks to everyone without exception. Because I arrived after the introductions had been done, I don’t know his name.
The next morning I notice the quiet man again. Gray pants . Yellow shirt. Glasses. Dark complexion. He comes in with enthusiasm and rushes to talk with the trainer almost certainly about the lessons of the day . The other participants are rushing to take their coffee.
” The man speaking with the trainer is called Jean Bigirimana. He was a journalist at the Rema FM,” whispered a fellow blogger, perhaps intending to communicate the pedigree of the participants at the training. Every Burundian knows Rema FM. It is a popular and influential radio station. It was one of the stations on fire on May 13, 2015, the day of the failed coup. Without much ado, I make a beeline for Jean. We talk.
Every Burundian knows Rema FM. It is a popular and influential radio station. It was one of the stations on fire on May 13, 2015, the day of the failed coup
A month later, on July 22, news breaks that Jean has disappeared. Witnesses say he was arrested by officers from the intelligence service in Muramvya, a province in central Burundi. Fellow journalists rally together to demand for his release. Bloggers join in as well. But still no news filters in on his fate.
Later, two bodies are found floating down a river near the place where Jean disappeared. The police rush to bury them without any identification. My hopes of see this calm, wise man dwindle. The inaction the security forces have shown only reinforces the theory that something terrible may have happened to jean.
Of course, I always hope that I am wrong.
