ADALBERT: A number of farmers were not brisk at killing, but they turned out to be conscientious. In any case, the manner came with imitation. Doing it over and over: repetition smoothed out clumsiness. That is true, I believe, for any kind of handiwork.
PANCRACE: Many people did not know how to kill, but that was not a disadvantage, because there were interahamwe to guide them in their first steps. At the beginning the interahamwe came in by bus from the neighboring hills to lend a hand. They were more skilled, more impassive. They were clearly more specialized. They gave advice on what paths to take and which blows to use, which techniques. Passing by, they would shout: “Do like me. If you feel you are making a mess of it, call for help!” They used their spare time to initiate those who seemed uneasy with this work of killing.
That instruction happened just in the first days; later we had to shift for ourselves and polish our crude methods.
ALPHONSE: At first you cut timidly, then time helps you grow into it. Some colleagues learned the exact way to strike—on the side of the neck or the back of the head—to hasten the end. But other colleagues were all thumbs right up to the finish. Their moves were slow, they did not dare—they hit the arm instead of the neck, for example, then ran away yelling, “That’s it, I killed
this one dead!” But everyone knew it wasn’t true. A specialist had to intervene, catch up with the target, and dispatch it.
ÉLIE: The club is more crushing, but the machete is more natural. The Rwandan is accustomed to the machete from childhood. Grab a machete—that is what we do every morning. We cut sorghum, we prune banana trees, we hack out vines, we kill chickens. Even women and little girls borrow the machete for small tasks, like chopping firewood. Whatever the job, the same gesture always comes smoothly to our hands. The blade, when you use it to cut branch, animal, or man, it has nothing to say.
In the end, a man is like an animal: you give him a whack on the head or the neck, and down he goes. In the first days someone who had already slaughtered chickens—and especially goats—had an advantage, understandably. Later, everybody grew accustomed to the new activity, and the laggards caught up.
Only young guys, very sturdy and willing, used clubs. The club has no use in agriculture, but it was better suited to their way of trying to stand out, of strutting in the crowd. Same thing for spears and bows: those who still had them could find it entertaining to lend them or show them off.
PIO: There were some who turned out to be easy killers, and they backed up their comrades in tough spots. But each person was allowed to learn in his own way, according to his character. You killed the way you knew, the way you felt it, each at his own speed. There were no serious instructions on know-how, except to keep it up.
And then we must mention a remarkable thing that encouraged us. Many Tutsis showed a dreadful fear of being killed, even before we started to hit them. They would stop their disturbing
agitation. They would cower or stand stock still. So this terror helped us to strike them. It is more tempting to kill a trembling and bleating goat than a spirited and frisky one, put it that way.
FULGENCE: The fumblers were followed as a precaution, because of possible incompetence. The interahamwe gave them compliments or reprimands. Sometimes, if they wanted to be strict, the penalty was to finish off the wounded person, whatever it took. The culprit had to keep tackling the job to the end. The worst thing was being forced to do this in front of your own colleagues.
We were only a few, at the very start. That didn’t last long, thanks to our familiarity with the machete in the fields. It’s only natural. If you and me are given a ballpoint pen, you will prove more at ease with writing work than me, no jealousy on my part. For us, the machete was what we knew how to use and sharpen. Also, for the authorities, it was less expensive than guns. Therefore we learned to do the job with the basic instrument we had.
JEAN-BAPTISTE: If you proved too green with the machete, you could find yourself deprived of rewards, to nudge you in the right direction. If you got laughed at one day, you did not take long to shape up. If you went home empty-handed, you might even be scolded by your wife or your children.
In any case, everybody killed in his own way. Someone who couldn’t get used to polishing off his victim could just walk on or ask for help. He would find a supportive comrade behind him.
No colleague ever complained of being mistreated for his awkwardness. Mockery and taunts—they could happen, but harsh treatment, never.
LÉOPORD: Me, I took up only the machete: first because I had one at the house, second because I knew how to use it. If you are
skilled with a tool, it is handy to use it for everything—clearing brush or killing in the swamps. Time allowed everyone to improve in his fashion. The only strict rule was to show up with a good cutting machete. They were sharpened at least twice a week. This was not a problem, thanks to our own whetstones.
Whoever struck crooked, or only pretended to strike, we encouraged him, we advised him on improvements. He might also be obliged to take another turn at a Tutsi, in a marsh or in front of a house, and to kill the victim before his colleagues, to make sure he had listened well.
JOSEPH-DÉSIRÉ: Bunglers—there were always some of them around, especially at dispatching the wounded. If you are born timid, this is difficult to change, with the marshes running with blood. So those who felt relaxed helped out the ones who felt uncomfortable. This was not serious so long as it kept going.
IGNACE: Some hunted like grazing goats, others like wild beasts. Some hunted slowly because they were afraid, some because they were lazy. Some struck slowly from wickedness, some struck quickly so as to finish up and go home early to do something else. It was not important, it was each to his own technique and personality.
Me, because I was older, I was excused from trudging around the marshes. My duty was to patrol in stealth through the surrounding fields. I chose the ancestral method, with bow and arrows, to skewer a few Tutsis passing through. As an old-timer, I had known such watchful hunting since my childhood.
JEAN: “It is a Rwandan custom that little boys imitate their fathers and big brothers, by getting behind them to copy. That is how they learn the agriculture of sowing and harvesting from the
earliest age. That is how many began to prowl after the dogs, to sniff out the Tutsis and expose them. That is how a few children began to kill in the surrounding bush. But not in the muck of the swamps. Down there it was too hard for the little ones to move freely. Anyway, it was forbidden by the intimidators.”
CLÉMENTINE: “I saw papas teaching their boys how to cut. They made them imitate the machete blows. They displayed their skill on dead people, or on living people they had captured during the day. The boys usually tried it out on children, because of their similar size. But most people did not want to involve the children directly in these bloody doings, except for watching, of course.”