A Vitória é Certa

The death of a nation - 19 graves Without warning my father took the family on a walk from the capital city of Kinshasa to a remote area. He was 6 years old at the time. After miles traveled long hours we entered a rural area where the car traveled unpaved rails and the grass passed the roof. And it was in the middle of this high grass that we were covered by the vision that I saw my father abandon his car and run. Without understanding the reason for so abruptly rushing inside that labyrinth of grass, I followed it with the same haste, leaving my mother behind. Feeling the rough grass cut into my childish skin, I found my father kneeling and crying in front of three mounds of earth. Graves in front of an old house that with its windows and open doors seemed to want to vent what in the smallest division of the house would have happened. We went through all the divisions completely bare of evidence and filled with echoes from a past of 5 years. But with my height as a child I never ...