Brother Gregory "The Bunker Letters" #19 Wasted on illusions…

Dear Don1001,

One never knows when a drunken remark in a Nairobi bar, will lead to madness. You see today is the 15^th anniversary of the assassination of President Juvenal Habyarimana and the beginning of the Rwandan Genocide. I was having drinks at the Black Diamond bar (the one on Mpaka Road) with the usual suspects. (By “usual suspects”, I mean the gunrunners, mercenaries, diamond smugglers and “black ops” that make Central Africa a living Hell.) When a Hutu gun runner/diamond smuggler asked off handedly, if I thought the U.S. would care if there were a coup in Rwanda. After downing a shot of Kenyan Cane (Rum) and lighting up a joint of Malawi Cob, I exhaled “I don’t think America would give a rat’s ass if the Hutus killed every fucking Tutsi in Rwanda.” And three months later some Hutus said hello to President Juvenal with their little friends (surface to air missiles) and the Rwandan genocide was on, and living the “life” was no longer cool. I got into this business because I was going to change things but ended up loving the “life” because I was no longer “little people” and I was untouchable. But I stayed in the business because of power, perks and beautiful women of color with brains. And until something like a full-fledged massacre happens, you can rationalize your existence pretty fucking easily, especially since you work for the “man”. In fact, out there, you are the “man”. But then one day, the faces of dead Tutsi babies stare you in the face and you start to sob uncontrollably. I had opened up a morning field report while sitting at my kitchen table drinking my Kenyan Estate AA when the photos tumbled out in front of me. And the disconnect was no longer there, the blood of those Tutsi babies were on my hands. Or maybe it wasn’t, but it didn’t matter, because I couldn’t stop crying and when I did stop, I quit. I packed my bags, torched my place and on the way to a clandestine airport, I turned myself in as deceased. When you realize that there isn’t enough decency in the world to waste on illusions, you can no longer be a part of the problem. So I ran hard, fast and deep, telling myself, the genocide would have happened anyway. The biggest lies are not told to others, they are told to oneself.

Friedrich Nietzsche said “Whoever battles with monsters had better see that it does not turn him into a monster.”

Nietzsche didn’t have a fucking clue.

                          Battling monsters daily, Brother Gregory

                               
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