Silver Mutindi Turatsinze is well-known throughout Kigali. The beggar is seen at taxi ranks, outside shops and at church doors; anywhere he is likely to attract sympathy and the occasional coin.

His bright red bandana and plastic beads give flare to a dusty shirt and torn trousers. More often than not he’s clutching his iningiiri, gliding his bow across the one string violin.

Sometimes he’s singing for groups of children crowded round; some mock, others listen with delight at the old man’s tunes. He’s also known for his folk tales, long rambling yarns about a better life.

I met Turatsinze in Remera taxi park, Giporoso, the promise of a cold coke lured him to a nearby restaurant where he unveiled his sad tale.

One night during those bloody months of 1994, seven men banged on Turatsinze’s door. They were looking for his son.  His son was not at home; they retreated to return the following morning brandishing sticks and rods.

"They suspected my son of killing a rebel so they attacked and tortured me,” Turatsinze explains holding up his crippled shoulder.

 "My son had reportedly been involved in a fight with the genocidaires.”
Turatsinze, now 65, was beaten with sticks and rods until his left hand was cut in two. They used pangas to slice his right leg. He pulls up his trousers to reveal the scars, evidence of the pain that came before.

"Luckily I got to hospital in time and some white doctors helped to treat me but I was in a bad state,” recalls Turatsinze.

Not a day goes by that Turatsinze is not haunted by painful memories. And yet this is the first time he has ever told his story.

He explained that he is finally speaking out in the hope of preventing further atrocities, not only in Rwanda, but in Darfur and other places where massacres are taking place.
Since 1994, life has been an uphill struggle for Turatsinze. "I used to be a farmer but now I can not even hold a hoe. Life for me now is meaningless; there is no future in begging,” he laments.

Turatsinze explained that even though he did not loose his hand, he is no longer able to do the physical labor that once earned him a living.
Instead he passes his days wandering the streets, arms outstretched, in the hope that people will take pity and drop him a coin.

Originally from Gatunga, Gasabo District, the old man now lives in Gisozi with his second wife with whom he has no children.

"I married Mukandaga Odette at the end of last year and she came along with her five children. I love her because she looks much younger than my first wife,” reveals Turatsinze with sudden laughter.

The seven of them all live together in a tiny mud-walled house, their only income the meager amounts his wife earns from digging and the fruits of Turatsinze begging.
On a good day, Turatsinze makes between Frw1000 and Frw2000.

The money pays for his food alone. He is unable to contribute to the costs of feeding five hungry children.  To my surprise, Turatsinze reveals that he has six children of his own and another wife. Turatsinze has been married to Jacqueline Nyirimpaka for nearly 50 years, since the tender age of sixteen.

She lives with his six children in the Gatunga village in the outskirts of Kigali. With no support from her husband, her only money comes from digging.

Once in a while, funds permitting, Turatsinze will travel to visit his wife and children. But his visits are seldom and short lived.
Unable to carry out manual labor and provide for expectant mouths, Turatsinze ran away to the city centre, no longer able to face his failure to provide. He came, like so many others before and since, in search of money.

Perhaps too Turatsinze was fleeing the painful memories the village holds. Once the father of 12, Turatsinze lost four children to the horrors of 1994. Two others died of natural causes. Understandably the village is a constant reminder of the agony of loss.
While Turatsinze cannot clear his memory, he finds solace in his love of singing and dancing.
"I am lucky that I still can dance and play my local musical instruments from which I can get money,” says Turatsinze with a luminous smile.
"Back in the village I used to teach people, especially young children, how to sing.”
Despite a difficult and painful life, Turatsinze is happy that the Rwandan government is fighting segregation.

"I think things will get better now that segregation no longer exists. Unlike in the past when we had our race written on our identity cards, today it has been removed. And if things continue this way, it will get better.”

These days children are taught as one; taught the same things by the same teacher. If people are united at such an early stage, they will not become separated again.
"The most important thing is that everyone asks for is peace even if you have only a little to eat. I am old, I am sad, but I have peace. I’m in a peaceful country.”
This gives Turatsinze hope for the future.
"I know that one day I will stop begging.”
Ends