SHABAN Gasarabwe, 28, is a well-off man by urban standards. He is married with children. At this age, he has already built his own house and he has a car. “I think I am destined for great things in life,” Gasarabwe says confidently. Gasarabwe is a city carpenter. A coffin maker to be exact. Located in Gakinjiro, a Kigali suburb, he says his job is profitable. Like any business person, Gasarabwe says the bigger the number of customers, the more he receives in profits. As I enter his coffin workshop, Gasarabwe dashes to me. He mistakes for one of his daily customers. “We have all sizes and the price is negotiable,” Gasarabwe announces as he pats on my shoulders. Wrong. Instead, I hand him a lively smile. The smile throws him off balance. Obviously, something must be wrong. Or else, how would a member of bereaved family laugh heartedly. He expects me to be broken-hearted but here I am, standing and laughing. “What is wrong,” he asks adopting a parental tone. “I am not buying coffins. I am just s journalist here to say well done,” I announce, fearing the worst. He jumps. But his colleagues urge him to speak out. “Well,” he started. “When I wake up every morning, I pray to God to get me as many customers as possible.” He begins, before sitting down for the interview. He says he has no complaint; he has achieved a lot as a coffin maker. “Are you a sadist who enjoy seeing others suffer?” I ask him, stretching my luck. He throws his hands into the air like somebody who has been stung by wasps. Gasarabwe starts with a tinge of bitterness. “There some people out there think making coffins is a despicable thing. They laugh at us.” “Like what Gasarabwe has told you, society undermines our work,” Gasarabwe’s colleague chips in. He declines to be named, saying his girlfriend does not want her to know him as coffin maker. Gasarabwe’s workmate narrates that one day, as he strolled in the neighbourhood, he came across a young girl with a baby on her back. The baby was crying and the girl beat him to shut him up. But the more the baby was slapped the more he cried. Then as Gasarabwe’s workmate passed by, the girl told the baby if he shouted again, she would call a coffin maker to strangle him. “Do you know, the baby cried no more. What do people think we are? Do they think we are the only people fate handed a raw deal? “ “You always pray death does not come your way, but like an evil cancer, it does come untimely,” Gasarabwe says as we inspect different sizes of coffins. I continue doing my job and completely ignore what people say behind my back. I sleep soundly in the knowledge that I have not hurt anybody, Gasarabwe continues. He says sometimes he feels ashamed of his job but adds “this is just a job”. “I have never made a loss,” Gasarabwe reveals. He does not sale on credit either. He sounds like a person who has achieved a lot than he expected. Gasarabwe started as a carpenter providing only beds to Kigalians before he was a drifted to coffin business. He says his work is important because it is part of “our contribution to society.” Then he goes on to state the prices of his coffins. “You cannot fail to get a coffin here,” he assures me. The price rages from Frw5,000 to Frw100,000. The price is largely determined by the quality of the timber. Asked if offered a white-collar job he would abandon making coffins, Gasarabwe turns to his workmates who have been monitoring our interview before he states: “I am not ready to leave my job because it pays me well.” On average, Gasarabwe earns between Frw20,000 and Frw40,000 daily which is equivalent to over Frw600, 000, a salary higher than many of journalists get. Of course, some people think that the misery of many is our joy, he explaines. “We are not like vultures which become happy when others are grieving,” Gasarabwe says. “We also die because we are human beings,” he adds. “Even journalists die. One day, your family will visit me,” he says as I cringe with fear. Ends
