I used to be a priest. That was until the genocide started. Though I am still a man of God in title, I am no longer a holy man. I used to have a thriving flock. Then the murderers took them away.
Some people question my moral ethics and me. Paul, of the Hotel de Mille Collines, sticks in my mind especially. He wondered why I let the killers in my church all the time. To tell the truth, it is to save my own skin. I don't want to die. I plan on surviving this genocide. I will not sacrifice my life for other people. When this whole thing started, I let myself believe that the killers weren't killing the Tutsis they took from me. I don't delude myself anymore. People in Rwanda are killing their neighbors for no reason other than prejudice.
I can't lie to myself anymore. I've tried to distance myself from the murder and violence, but I can't disguise it anymore. I brought my mother, a Tutsi 'cockroach', to Paul. No matter how much I feign indifference, I still care greatly. I'm glad Paul understands. He didn't question me, he just accepted. I want to change what I can do, but I've already dug myself into a hole. All I can do is hope that nobody else comes to me for shelter. I have signed myself over to the killers by not resisting. I have resigned myself to indirectly working for the killers, by not stopping them. If I don't bend to their every whim, they will kill me. I can't escape the cycle. All I can do is hope the killings are over soon.