The dark corner of the room

The dark corner Part 3: Tyla

I was born four years after Rwandan genocide. All places were dark. not the normal black dark, but the abnormal soul dark. My very first memory as a child start in 2002. My cousin's parents died of HIV. The whole society suspected that my cousins my have HIV too, as a consequence no one wanted to adopt them. It was very challenging for the three young kids to loose their parents, their home, and everything they have ever know at the same time. but that's their story to tell. 

I remember the day they came to live at home. I was sitting at the brown mat, probably playing some ball. They looked so scared. I was scared. They came to live with us the day before their mom's funeral (the dad died just the year before). We couldn't afford the burial ceremony. We couldn't afford the burial cross.We couldn't afford to put them in the cemetery either. So we put buried them behind the house. When we said good bye to mom, we all knew, deep down,  that that was the last time we will ever go back to the house again.

My mom was angry, sad, depressed, frustrated, and everything in between. By the time we finnished the burial, it was dark at night. We all went back to my parent's house, which was about an hour and a half bus ride. It was a silent trip. no one was even crying. It was just__silent.

I remember seeing the youngest cousin cry herself to sleep for the next 10 consecutive days. In all that time, I didn't do anything. nothing. I just watched her cry in the dark, and pretended I didn't see it. What was I supposed to do. I was just four years old. Every time I cried, my sisters laughed at me, I had no idea what I was supposed to do when someone cried. I saw my mom crying too much during that week too, I heard her praying to God so many nights asking him what she was supposed to do with all of us, and without a job. I tried to comfort her a few times, but all those times, she looked at me died in the eyes, and told me to get the hell out of her room. I did. I did. I still wonder what I should have done at this point. But every idea sounds just as bad as the last one, so I will put it to rest. 

A few months later, when everything had gone to normal (or should I say that when we established a new normal ?) My two cousins were sent to boarding school, the other one was enrolled in the orphans compassion program. The program dedicated to helping out the orphans. And like that, everyone was taken care of. Well, ___ almost, everyone. My mom, who took care of everyone. Somehow forgot to care of herself. And that, ladies and gentleman, is what made me cry every morning. The thought that I will always have a mother I will never know. The siblings who will never care about her as much as she cared about us. Everyone was selfish, and maybe I was too. I required too much attention, too much time, and too much of everything. Yes, I was and I am a little bit more than nothing in particular.