During the mid-90s, there was a time when Aggrey and I faced the effects of a strong missile. The missile did not hit us. No way! Instead, the missile hit the eye of a very important VIP. We happened to have been seated in his Jeep where we had got a free lift. We were travelling back from Mutara.

We had attended a wedding ceremony in Mutara and there were several VIPs present. So when it was time to go back to Kigali, Aggrey and I were lucky to get this lift. The VIP was behind the steering wheel. 

Beside the VIP was his girlfriend sipping from a bottle of soda. As we drove along, a mini-bus tried to overtake our jeep. The VIP was not a fast driver and so he let the mini-bus overtake us. But as the mini-bus was cruising past, one of the passengers opened the window of the bus and croaked, coughed and finally spat! It was a heavy missile which Aggrey and I narrowly survived.

Judging by the weight and volume of the saliva "missile” which hit the VIP’s eye, I guess the culprit could have paid five times the current rate in terms of penalties levied for spitting aimlessly.

Anyhow, when the missile struck, it was as if the world had suddenly come to an end. The VIP screeched the Jeep to an abrupt stop and immediately rolled out to take cover under the car. His girlfriend shrieked with panic, as she attempted to follow her hero for cover. Aggrey and I jumped out as well. We crawled and snaked our way into the nearby bushes for safety. What was happening? Had the "adui” trapped us in an ambush? Why had this VIP acted in this manner?

Meanwhile, his loyal escorts were doing the Usain Bolt 100-meter race along the road. It appeared to us that they were chasing after a minibus full of strangers. The driver of this taxi realised that trouble was approaching. That is why he engaged his highest gear and hit the accelerator! At this point, you could have mistaken him for a rally driver. He cruised so fast, leaving the two escorts panting helplessly. 

So we all emerged out of our hiding places and enquired for some explanations. The VIP was too furious to talk. Instead, he barked orders for us to quickly get back into the vehicle, lest he left us behind. It was the escorts who whispered to us about the fiasco.

From behind where we were crouching, we could notice the VIP’s hand nursing his eye. I guess the impact of the speed had taken its toll. What the VIP needed at this juncture was a real optician. Our friend Jean Claude offered to drive the Jeep for the rest of the journey. Reluctantly, the VIP agreed and surrendered the steering wheel.

The rest of the journey was quiet as we wondered how lucky we were to have survived such a lethal missile.