Tom Patrick Nzabonimpa

                                                                                                                                                "When a mother tries to abandon life and all she has endorsed for a long time, the world crumbles.” Leila, my friend, mumbled after  taking a ...

I am the book of arts; Full of fables and facts. My life is its review; Long enough to caress infinity. My mind, the pages; Loaded with love and hate themes. Separated into well-thought-out parts; Poems, songs and paintings. My body, a thin brown cover, But sturdy enough to abide readers' punches.   My blood, the emotions, That hook pals and strangers. I am the book of arts, people read but never finish. ©Tompoet

    I saunter in a street; black and well-paved with some white dashed lines in the centre. I recognize nothing new except for two policemen nearing a tandeem of boutiques that is alongside the street. They are dressed in black uniforms and are holding AK 47 guns. As they stride, their glances appear to be pierced. I am staring at them from a distance and it feels a little startling. They may stop me from getting what I want. I hit five steps forward and stand under a yellow umbrella. There are two Mobile Money agents. I tell one to withdraw Rwf 10 thousand from my account. His countenance displays enthusiasm as he nods to my request. We take around two minutes to process the transactions until we are done. He hands me the cash and I proceed my way. It's 4:51 p.m and I am at Gikondo market. Most of the market people are leaving but I want to go in. I draw near the entrance and find a cylindrical-shaped water bowl. Attached to it are some small pipes and two pedals on its lower...