One of the most fascinating conversations I ever had was with my father when I was young. He was teaching me colours in Kinyarwanda. They were very logical in their names; green was Byatsi – grass, black was Mukara – derived from charcoal, red was itukura.

The problem came when I asked him the colour blue. "Ibururu” he said, I instantly noticed that it was a corrupted version of blue. I asked why we didn’t have a native word for blue, surely when our ancestors looked up at the sky they must have wanted to give that colour a name. "Our ancestors weren’t philosophers or dreamers; they didn’t look up at the sky.”

I wondered if that was true, whether my ancient relatives were not dreamers, surely when you are waiting for the rain to fall or seasons to change, you have nothing else to do but dream. Life must have been so tough that you couldn’t just sit around dreaming, but from those dreams come great achievements.

The ancient world must have been very fatalistic, as in they just believed that anything that happened was fate. Our word for a survivor is "one who breaks the spear.” Meaning that if somebody tried to stab you with a spear and the spear broke then, they would have to leave you alone.

They weren’t allowed to go and get another spear because fate had decided that you wouldn’t die that day.
Then came a new philosophy, one that said that you can determine your own destiny and be the master of fate.

One that says "diligence is the father of good luck” meaning hard work and sharp focus can change your levels of luck. It says that your luck is predetermined by the choices you make, of course there are certain things you cannot overcome in terms of luck but you can change a lot of what is just meant to happen to you.

No longer are you just are a victim of fate, but you change the odds by the decisions you make. Everything happens for a reason, it may take a while for the reason to become apparent but it is there, if you find the reason then you are blessed and you can change it to your advantage.

A friend of mine survived the genocide as a child, only him and his sister survived out of an extended family of 48. Then he joined the army and was ambushed in Ruhengeri, a rebel shot a whole magazine at point blank range and none of the bullets touched him. He then went to Darfur and was ambushed several times, as an APC driver he was constantly in danger.

Every time Rwandan soldiers died I wondered if he had succumbed to fate, then he’d beep me and I’d know he was OK. I don’t know what his purpose in life is, but he has a great sense of destiny on him. He is alive for a reason.

When I ask him why he thinks he is alive, he says "amahirwe” or good fortune but it is more than that. He says life is too short to contemplate such things, we Rwandans are not dreamers.

Ends