Original subtitles

Ngabo, did you finish packing?

* We love our Rwanda *

* We love our country *

* We love the mountains of Rwagasabo *

* We love the parents *

* The parents of Rwanda. *

Give us a lift, old man.

Give us a lift, old man.

We just started, and you're already sitting?

lt will take us all day to get a lift.

You're gonna start talking to me like that?

You spent all of our bus ticket money.

This is your fault.

But l would hope we'd be in this together.

We deal with it together.

Well, we have no choice now.

We'll keep walking and see what happens.

Maybe this one will stop.

Oh my God, it stopped.

Wait for me.

That's where the money went.

You spent it on this.

How do we answer them if they ask us where we're going?

We'll say we're on a journey to find a job.

How long has it been since you've been home?

Three years.

Three years, really?

l don't know where my mom is now.

Let me see if she's in the valley, digging.

Who is it?

Guess who this is.

Sangwa, it's you, my son. How are you?

lt's really you?

My son, how are you? l missed you.

Oh, praise God.

- Where were you living? - Kigali.

You were gone and it was painful for me.

You were in Kigali?

That's good.

You're looking very healthy.

You think so?

l was always wondering about you.

And what were you up to?

Actually, we're on a journey now.

We just wanted to drop by and say hello.

A journey?

- Where to? - For work.

No no, now l have found you.

l won't let you go again.

l'll give you something to eat.

Mom, you brought me milk?

lt's milk for my son.

lt's been a long time.

Thank you.

Kill your thirst.

lt's good because it's the dry season, l think.

Yeah, it tastes good.

My son, l'm so happy. l missed you.

l missed you too, Mom.

Have a taste too.

l brought something for you, Mom.

- What is it? - Fabric.

Thank you, my son, it's beautiful.

l got you something else too.

Really? And what is it?

This fabric is wonderful.

l bought you soap to wash it.

Thank you so much.

Dad, how are you?

Dad, you have to forgive me.

Tell me,

how can you leave for years?

You were gone for three years

without coming back to us...

to see how we are doing

or to help your younger siblings get an education.

l'm struggling alone with sickness,

and instead of helping,

you left home.

What good did this do for you?

Now without any shame...

you come to me.

What can you say after all this?

Now tell me,

what do you think about this?

What's running through your mind?

You're not ashamed?

For me,

l can't understand it.

You should have been aborted.

Really, you have no shame?

What can l do?

What can l do?

You should be ashamed.

What can l do?

What do you think?

l can see now

where this is going to lead you.

lf you don't cooperate with your father,

then who will you work for?

l'm going back inside.

l don't know

what's in your mind.

Maybe you'll tell me

that you're still young.

l was young, but learned to be a man.

l'm doubtful that you'll do the same.

Do you think you can help yourself?

Don't rely on your height.

lf you don't work for us,

for your parents and family,

at your young age...

Do you think living like that is honorable?

l'm going back inside.

Gwiza, is it you?

How are you, Gwiza?

Yes l am fine.

How is everything?

l hope everything is great.

Things are coming along.

This is a friend who came with me.

His name is Ngabo.

How are you?

- How are things? - Good.

What are you doing now?

l left my gerry can there. l want to draw water.

l want to draw water for my home.

You want to get water?

l think we need water too.

Mom, give me the gerry can. l'll get water with Gwiza.

Let's go together.

You want to?

Yeah, we'll keep each other company.

Ngabo, let's all go together.

So, Sangwa,

why do you both look so unhappy?

We're okay.

You're fine?

Before you came here...

there was a lady named Mukandori.

She had this goat,

and it astonished all the people a few days ago.

How?

lt gave birth to four little goats.

Four goats?

Yes, and one had an udder like a cow.

The second had feet like a cat.

The third had chicken feet.

That's not true.

A journalist came and discovered something else the hard way--

the fourth one had teeth like a dog.

Not true. You're lying.

These are your own stories.

lt really happened?

Yeah, it happened.

These are stories you're inventing.

As you can see,

things haven't been easy these days.

The soil is dry, and there's no grass on the fields,

no avocados in the trees, no bananas.

See that old lady there?

She normally cultivates near her home, but there's nothing there.

And you've been gone for three years.

We missed you here.

Same with me. l missed you too.

Ah, no no.

Three years is too long to be away.

But you know, Sangwa,

your dad has changed these days.

He's changed. No more drinking.

lt's a change-- no smoking.

That's good.

Now he spends his time at home, not at the bar.

Sangwa, son, come here.

What is it, Mom?

Okay, l'm coming.

l'll sit here.

Sit, my son.

Let me give you food.

Eat this.

Thanks, Mom, but l can serve myself.

l have a problem.

You told me you're on a journey.

Where are you going?

Yeah, that's right, we're on a journey.

We're looking for work.

lf you couldn't find work in Kigali,

where else can you find it?

l will try everywhere.

God will help us.

And that friend,

who is he? Where is he from?

Him?

His name is Ngabo.

l met him and he became my friend.

He's my best friend.

And you're traveling with him?

Why don't you just stay?

That's impossible.

l have to look for a job.

l don't understand. l'm wondering about you.

Don't worry.

Ngabo,

l want us to stay one more night.

Did you forget that we're on our way to kill a man?

l know, but let's stay one night.

We can leave tomorrow,

and we'll go after that man.

Sangwa, that's how you dig?

Tell me, that's how you dig?

* The hoe *

* The hoe *

* l make a stick for my hoe *

* And then it digs well *

* The hoe. *

Sangwa,

are you being serious?

Do you call that digging?

Can't you dig like a young man?

Watch,

that's how it's done.

Like this, Dad?

That's right.

That's how a young man should work.

Why aren't you working?

Tired.

You're tired?

Tell me...

where are you from?

Kigali.

No, that's not true. You're not from Kigali.

l'm from the west.

The west?

When l was young,

l was living

near Kibuye.

You were living near Kibuye?

When was the last time you saw your parents?

The genocide.

The genocide...

You know, sometime back, l saw this chicken.

lt was looking for a bride.

You know what it was wearing?

A blue t-shirt, green pants, and boots.

l was really shocked.

And you know what else?

lt had a best man. You know what it was wearing?

lt was going on its way...

wearing very tight trousers.

Where is it from?

The chicken?

From Bwanakeli.

Papa, Sangwa, should we go home? We're tired.

You were working very hard today.

Yeah, it wasn't easy.

You told me your father was bad.

You really think working like this will change anything?

While l'm here, l want to work hard,

make him happy.

What's the point?

We'll be leaving soon.

Sangwa, l wanted to tell you both...

there is no food today.

l don't know what you will do.

That's okay.

Can we go out?

Sure, let's go.

Why are you taking the bag?

We're just going out. We won't be long.

Do you think doing this to a man

is good?

But this is a tree.

lt's different with a man.

Ngabo,

this is where my friends and l used to play.

Ngabo, why are you so quiet?

l want us to leave.

But l wanted us to stay one more night.

Because you are my friend,

we'll stay just one night.

Let's go back home then.

You go ahead without me.

l'll go see Gwiza.

Ngabo,

this cow,

l give it to you. Pick it up tomorrow.

l give you that cow of mine.

Pick it up tomorrow.

Sit here.

Eat, my son.

But you said there wasn't any food.

There is no food, but there is for you.

Eat, my son.

lt's good.

- My son. - Yes, Mom?

Do you live with that boy who came with you?

Mom, Ngabo is my friend.

Your friend?

Mom, l'll save some of this for him.

What?

Eat and finish it.

My hands won't work for you and him.

l can't find food for you and him.

l know this place.

Stand and don't make me tired, or l'll leave you.

Good afternoon.

We were thirsty.

However--

Sangwa.

Did you see Ngabo?

He is so drunk.

He thought our beer wasn't strong,

but now he's drunk.

Have you seen him?

But even me, l'm feeling drunk.

Sangwa.

Yes, Gwiza, l can see that.

lt was serious stuff.

ls Ngabo in bed?

Sangwa.

Yes, Dad?

That boy you are with,

don't you know he's a Tutsi?

Don't you know Tutsis are nasty?

They have put our people in submission now.

Now l'm suffering because of them.

They tried to put me in prison even though l'm old.

And yet you walk with them?

Hutus and Tutsis are enemies. Don't you know?

Dad,

let me think about it. l can't respond to you now.

Okay go. l'll be waiting.

But be quick.

l want to know your thoughts soon.

You hear me?

This porridge is good.

- Yes, it's good. - You put in the right amount of sugar.

lt will help me work.

Good morning.

Sit. l'll give you some porridge.

Take it.

When l woke up,

l saw that the outer wall is falling apart.

lt will affect the entire house.

What can be done?

You'll have to repair it.

This porridge tastes good.

This will warm me for the cold day.

lt will warm your stomach.

Hey, Sangwa.

l'll do the opposite of you.

Why are you angry?

You're just goofing around.

You're lazy, just like when we worked in Kimisagara Market.

You're angry

for no reason.

Do you think this is nothing?

Did my dad build this so it could be destroyed?

Did he build it for nothing?

Might as well be nothing.

Did he build it properly?

Why else are we working on it?

Ngabo,

l want to talk about this journey.

We don't have to kill that man.

We don't have to kill him?

Sure, and while we're at it, let's make him porridge.

What do you think?

lf you don't think he should die...

Mom, there's no water?

Your mom isn't here.

Did you finish the wall?

Hey, Sangwa.

Forgive me.

Forgive you?

For what?

Don't worry about it.

That man

killed my father.

l have to kill him.

This is a duty.

Don't worry,

you don't have to do it.

Just be there with me.

Ngabo, how about l buy land here for you to live?

That's funny, just like Gwiza promising me a cow.

But seriously, l wouldn't live here.

Dad, did l do something wrong?

lt's good my son.

l really appreciate it.

When l saw you looking at it, l thought l did it wrong.

l want us to finish it,

close it here,

and fix this part.

How many days will it take you to finish?

l have to start again from here like this.

And we'll finish it well here.

lt's not difficult.

l'll start again soon.

- Son? - Yes, Dad?

Where is that Tutsi-- Ngabo?

Ngabo? He is with Gwiza.

l'm happy now,

happy with my son.

l'm happy too.

With all of us together at home, your mother is happy too.

l propose that tomorrow

we will celebrate at the festival.

Thank you, Dad.

l'm happy for that.

You've been a good boy.

Let's go inside and talk.

Sounds good. Let's go.

What makes me angry

is that l don't remember my dad's face.

You don't remember his face?

l remember.

l remember that

after my dad was killed,

my mom burned all of his photos.

She burned all of them?

Why?

l don't know.

After a short time, she died too.

l also remember that

my parents died when l was young.

And now,

when l remember what had happened,

it saddens me a lot.

Sometimes l say that

if l could have parents, l'd be like other kids.

What makes me even sadder

in my whole life

is when l remember how my father was killed.

But we don't have to remember.

When l remember, it depresses me.

So,

where were you today?

l was just around, visiting.

Let me tell you something funny.

When l was bringing back the cows,

someone called me to share sorghum beer.

l wanted a lot, but he only gave me a little sip.

He was selfish. He didn't want you to finish.

l have another funny story.

When l was herding the cows,

l was feeling strong

so l tried to jump over a pit and fell in.

And then a sheep jumped onto my shoulders.

That's bad.

l laughed.

lt thought you would carry it.

l don't know.

l have a story too.

When l went to draw water--

do you know that woman from Nyiramababi,

the one called Nyiraneza?

l better sell my cows, sell my cows for your wedding.

When l was at the well...

She said, ''Sangwa, come here.''

When l approached her,

when l looked in her eyes, she was quiet.

l asked her what she wanted.

She said, ''Tickle me.''

l fell down laughing.

l asked her how it was done.

l felt her touching my neck.

What is this?

l got away and ran.

Then l came back home.

So l wanted to ask you,

how do you tickle a woman?

She thinks city people are like that.

No no.

l told her we can meet after l ask you, Dad.

Son, wait until the coffee beans are ripe.

l'll find bricks.

As things get ripe, l'll lay tiles too.

Son, l will build a house for you.

You will be a man, and wise.

And l'll get my advice from you.

That's good, my son.

That's good, my son. Keep asking for advice from us.

- l went to see Gwiza. - How is he?

Not well, but the doctor said

he can improve, perhaps after a few days.

Can he eat porridge?

No, nothing.

Can we go together to see Gwiza? He's my friend.

Can we go together to see Gwiza? He's my friend.

Listen, Ngabo...

come here.

You want to see Gwiza?

See Gwiza?

Ever since you came, there's only trouble,

trouble everywhere. Even my kids are sick.

Because of you, everything is going badly.

Can we go to see him?

Yes we can.

Sangwa.

Yes, Dad?

You brought this to my home.

Look what you brought home.

Why else is this happening?

You have no shame?

You have no shame?

Mom, can we go with you?

For Gwiza?

No, you don't need to go.

The festival is still happening. Go there instead.

We'll go alone, don't worry.

Sangwa-

What's up, Ngabo?

What your dad said upset me.

What do you mean?

l didn't appreciate what he said to me.

l want to tell you l'm not going to go with you.

What?

l'm staying here.

Well,

you're my only friend. Who will l live with in Kigali?

You don't know that life is hard.

You have a family, a mother, and a father.

You know why my life is like this?

Why my life is hard?

lt's because of your relatives.

Because Hutus killed my family.

My life would have been better without them.

Even more,

l bet your father was involved in the killings.

What? My father?

Your father.

Don't involve my dad in that.

The way he looks at me when l enter your home

shows me that he was among them.

My dad didn't do anything.

You know what? l don't want to see you anymore.

Fine, l'm getting my bag, l'm leaving.

l know everything.

Dad, l'm sorry--

Ngabo told me.

He told me your plans to kill.

Ngabo told me everything.

l know everything now.

Ngabo told me.

He told me

about your plans to kill.

Your mother behind you like that--

your mother is behind you. Maybe she is happy about this.

Leave, go.

Leave this place. l don't want you.

Don't worry, l'm going and won't come back.

l'm going and won't come back.

l told you your father is a bad man.

Leave me alone.

Take your shirt.

Why are you following me?

l'm coming with you. You're still my friend.

Leave me alone.

You refused me once. l don't want you anymore.

Listen,

l don't want you with me. You understand?

lt seemed like many days

l saw these parts of the country as though for the first time.

l had not walked so far since my mother and l were fleeing,

before we found the refugee camp.

Back then we saw

a lot of death

and many horrors.

We saw rivers clogged with bodies,

children killing.

There were babies sucking at their mother's dead breasts.

And the blood covered the earth.

Sometimes those days were all l could remember.

l remembered my mother carrying me

Through the marshes below our home.

There were voices all around, crying and screaming.

My mother burned the photo of my father

and l don't know why. l forgot his face.

After my mom died, sometimes l forgot her face too.

l imagined many times the way l would strike him,

the man who killed my father.

l came to my family's land.

l felt that it was still ours,

because my father's blood poured out onto it.

Does this place serve food?

Yes, food.

Was that a machete?

Do you know that tomorrow is

National Liberation Day?

l'm supposed to recite a poem at the official ceremony.

Would you like to be the first to hear it?

My poem is called:

''Liberation is a Journey.''

Listen

Liberation is a journey

Rwandese of Rwanda and Rwandese outside of Rwanda

All who speak Kinyarwanda

We descend from a common culture

Come, we'll sit here in Rwanda

lmmersed by the culture of Rwanda

Let's remember how liberation came

Unleashing heavy burdens in my youth

When l was young and just a child

l played in mud and heard of hate

Rwanda readied children for war

Children chosen and armed against enemies

l heard that Tutsis were roaches and should be stomped

With tails like snakes, they should be killed

We were given bows and spears

And foreign countries gave us guns

Really

Darkness came to Rwanda, machetes in place of peace

l saw people killed

Muslims and Christians worked together

Joined by machetes and their will to kill

And our Rwanda burned

Rivers flowed with bodies and corpses covered fields

Rwanda's youth led the battle, don't you know that this is injustice?

That our Rwanda, its beautiful rivers and pools

lts beautiful fields with roads and no famine

Became a cemetery and a shame

Don't you know that this is injustice?

And the RPF Army l was taught to hate

Decided that it was time to defend Rwanda

Should Rwandese die?

Should there be widows?

Should the dead be shamed?

They said, ''No''

War began in Kinigi, in the heat

Everyone was involved, so understand, my children,

lt wasn't about guns or weapons

lt was about a fight for truth

l will thank them wherever l am

Their heroics will be known worldwide

From Darfur in Sudan

To the Comoro lslands, they will be admired

And l'll see them the way the Pope sees his church

But now that they have conquered, l ask of them

Free us from poverty and illiteracy since liberation is a journey

l'll start with the family, the foundation

l condemn the many men

Who don't allow their wives to have a voice

They hit them and think they're mindless

Who gains from this?

Man of mustache and small mind,

Hairy chested and without pity

You burden your wife to stay in the house

You are killing our vision of being a strong nation

And the children l see, working so hard everywhere

Picking tea and coffee, but they can't even afford soap

What a shameful image of Rwanda

Give the child what he needs and he can become a king

His parents will live in peace and his family will be safe

Young girls miss school and are given a broom

And they dig in the valley

Because education is only for their brothers

A wife works all day and her husband hits her

And who will save her?

Where will liberation be?

And men work hard, sweat pours down

But he makes no money and it's never enough

Don't you see that this is injustice?

Let liberation come, and let liberation be a journey

Away from prostitution

And toward wisdom and to new projects done with fervor

The rich one can prepare a gift

To give to the poorest one

And how poor is he?

A house of wheat and bed of wheat and he eats just wheat

And then he's thrown out like wheat

Really

Our beautiful Rwanda with beautiful rivers

Beautiful pools and fields with roads and no famine

Tell me

Will it remain a cemetery without peace?

Don't you see that this is injustice?

Let me speak further

What happens in the village genocide courts?

Let justice liberate

Let truth replace lies in Rwanda

Sitting together on the grass without division or hate

Without lying to each other

As we live in peace and the guilty seek forgiveness

Our future is already failing

Unless we begin our journey well, helping widows and orphans

And food for the man in ruins with nothing

What is left is to share everything

As we battle against hate

l wish you all the best

And so l close here

l, a poet, will speak again

Peace to you in Rwanda, peace everywhere.

What happened to you?

lt is AlDS.

Give me--

l need water.

Water.

Father, is that really your face?

You're beginning to remember.

Do you know why l gave you the name

Munyurangabo?

Long ago,

in old Rwandan culture,

Munyurangabo

was a mighty warrior.

He would fight

ahead of others.

He would conquer

and clear the path.

And that is why

l gave you the name Munyurangabo.

What is your battle?

That night l dreamt that l was with Sangwa in Kimisagara.