九年级的时候大概是在历史课上学校播放了奥斯卡获奖影片“卢旺达饭店”。女儿看完之后，翻阅了网上一些历史资料，写下这篇故事steps forward，获得2015 Scholastic Art & Writing National Silver Medal。
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一路向前
Neza被一声枪响吵醒了。她躺了一会儿，脑子里迷迷糊糊的。枪声也许是她想象中的。她打了个哈欠，蜷缩着又钻进她的毛毯里。然后，她听到一声尖叫声。那尖叫声是她多年以后挥之不去的仍然令她颤抖的声音。那是一种单纯的，无助的恐惧的声音，是她接下来的几分钟将要面对死亡的尖叫声。
Neza从床上坐了起来。然后紧紧用毯子包裹住自己，下了床，走向门口。
“Neza？” 有人低声地叫她的名字。她扭头一看，发现是自己的弟弟Kwizera，棕色的眼睛惊恐地在黑暗里注视着她。 “是怎么回事？”
“我不知道，”她低声回答。 “回到床上去。”
她转过身向门外走去，但被一个模糊的身影挡住了。她不由自主地向后退了一步，被她的毯子绊倒在地。
“是我，” Ntwali，她的哥哥说。 “不要到外面去。”
“为什么？”Neza的问道。她试图从他高大身躯绕着看过去。
“求你了，” 他说。 “照看好Kwizera， 不要离开这个房间。” 他眼中的紧迫感使打消了她进一步要问的问题。他轻轻地抚摸了一下她的肩膀，就消失在外面的大厅里。
她能听到他轻轻地在对房子里的其他人说话，但无法辨认出他们在说什么。整个房间都凝聚着令人紧张的气氛，仿佛连空气本身都凝滞住了。
她坐在床边，弟弟Kwizera依偎在她旁边，静静的等待着。突然，又一声枪响。紧接着，又是几声。
她跳了起来，跑向窗户。往外面看，她看见一些模糊的人影。她从长长的头发上辨认出了她们的邻居Kampire，正跪倒在地上。另外两个穿着奇怪衣服的人，他们没有赤脚。他们显然不属于这里。甚至透过窗户，Neza依然能听到Kampire的尖叫声。 “求求你，饶了我们吧！ “ 她跪在那些人的脚前，歇斯底里的哭泣求饶。
“你是一只蟑螂，” Neza的听到他们中的一个说。 “没有人可怜蟑螂。” 说着，那个男子举过头顶一个东西。那是一个尖锐的，在月光下面闪闪发光的东西。 Neza看着，吓坏了，但无法动弹，因为那两人拿着那个东西在Kampire的身体来回舞动，一遍又一遍。她看见她的邻居全身扭动大声尖叫，绝望无助的惨叫。然后，Kampire就不动了。
Neza从窗口上退了回来，浑身颤抖。在她身后，弟弟Kwizera低声的哭泣着。
Kampire的死亡只是开始。 “卢旺达变天了，总统Habyarimna已经死了，“ 第二天她的哥哥Ntwali冷冷地告诉她。 “胡图族人相信是图西族人谋杀了总统。现在，他们要消灭所有图西族人。他们不消灭完图西族人就不会停止。“
“那是否意味着我们也会死吗？” Kwizera问道。他那瘦小的身体在发抖。他和Neza一样，忘不了Kampire惊恐的尖叫声。
“不。”Ntwali轻轻一笑，抚摸着弟弟Kampire的脸颊。 “我们是胡图族，我们是安全的。“
Neza希望是如此，她已经糟糕地相信她哥哥的话。但随着几天和几周的推移，情况越来越艰难。
她想起过去的一天，她和她的家人被胡图族士兵从他们的房子里拖了出来。他们用枪指着她的头，他们身上佩戴的弯刀闪闪发光。他们粗暴地把她推到了地上，她的膝盖被地面划伤得痛苦不堪。
“先生，先生，”Ntwali在她身边说。 “请让我们走。我们是胡图族人。我们不是坏人“。
“证明”，一个士兵咆哮着，用枪顶着他的脑袋。 “否则，就让你先下地狱。” Kwizera吓的哭了起来。
“在这里。” 哥哥Ntwali把一张纸送人士兵的手中。 “上面说我们是胡图族人。请放了我的家人吧。“
那名士兵盯着纸很长一段时间，Neza的心都快跳出来了。她的生命就悬挂在那张纸上的四个字母的单词上。
“你可以走了，”士兵最后说。他把纸甩到Ntwali的脸，把他推在一边。Neza透过她分开的长长的头发，看见士兵吐在他哥哥的脸上，顿时一股怒气涌遍全身。“但要记得，我们在看着，如果你们敢和图西人靠近或说一句话，你们就和他们的命运一样。”
Neza全身松一口气的感觉是短暂的。因为就她的旁边，另一名士兵正在吆喝着一个年轻的母亲。那个女人抽泣着，怀里还抱着一个不到两岁的婴儿。 “请不要杀我们，求你了！”
“嗯，” 那个士兵笑了笑，露出发黄的牙齿。 “你想怎么样和你的孩子去死，用砍刀还是枪？”
“不，不，不，”女人大哭起来。 “我会做任何事情！杀了我，但请不要伤害我的孩子。他还没有长大成人，他过着自由的生活。 “ 她的前额倒在士兵的靴子上不断的求饶。
“好吧，” 士兵说。 “如果你不想选择死法，我想我就必须选择适合你的，叛徒。”
“等等！” 女人说。 “我会给你钱。”她很快掏遍了她全身的口袋，拿出几块钱。她猛地从她手指上取下戒指，从她的脖子上取下一个漂亮的银项链。
这名士兵把钱和东西拿在手里, 皱了皱眉。 “但这只能够救一个的命，而不是你们俩个。所以，你现在选择，是你想活下去，还是你的孩子？“
那位年轻母亲吞吐了一下，Neza看到她眼中充满了恐惧和忧伤的挫折。 “我的孩子。” 她颤抖着声音说。
Neza闭上了眼睛，只听见一声响亮而清晰的枪响。
随着时间的推移，Neza看到了比她可能想象的多的更多的死亡。卢旺达不再有她所记得的悠闲舒适的街道了。大火和浓烟迷雾着各个小棚屋的房子，周围的街道上尘土飞扬。尖叫，怒吼和呼喊声在周围大作不断。街上很少看到行人，偶然看见的几个，都低着头赶着时间脚步匆忙的往前走。
恐惧就像空气中的氧气一样，无处不在, 无时不在。 Neza和她的兄弟以及另外一些人已经躲入一个破败的商店。就在她离开她自己的家之前，Neza已经决定要把那个两岁的孤儿带在身边。没有人想照看那个孤儿，但她看见那个宝宝的眼睛，看见他想活下去。她暗暗下定决心她会让他活下去，即使他的母亲没能那样。
Ntwali坚持说和其他像他们一样的胡图人呆在一起更安全，但Neza并不那么肯定。开始他们比较容易获得食物和水，但慢慢地就越来越困难。很多次在夜间，Kwizera从睡梦中哭醒过来，Neza就起来紧紧地抱着她的弟弟。有些晚上，她有同样的经历。她会惊醒过来，不断地喘气，图西族人被暴力杀死的噩梦使她难以承受。然后，Ntwali会进来，紧紧的拥抱她一下，每次感觉到他在她身边强壮的臂膀，她就会冷静一会。但这种感觉，只是让她感到安全很短一会儿。在他们的父母几年前因车祸去世后，她已经学会了越来越依靠哥哥Ntwali。他是她努力想成为的榜样：好人，坚强，和有爱心。
随着Neza看到街上更多的死亡，她做了一个承诺给她自己。如果她要死，她不想死的和图西族人一样。她不会跪在胡图族士兵的脚前又哭又求，把钱送到他们手中。她会把她的头扬得高高的。
每个过去的一天都可能是她最后的一天，Neza就这样生活在生命的边缘好几个星期。她和她的兄弟们以及其他一些想逃难的难民，有图西族和胡图族的，逃进了一个废弃房子里。房间内空间是有限的，她时常对房间内太多的拥挤身体发出的气味感到恶心。每周一次的食物是从一个愿意访街道难民的志愿者那里得到的。其他时间，他们只是蜷缩在肮脏的床上和地面上，在小声的耳语着。他们都说着如何穿越边境到乌干达境内，但声音中没有信心。他们只是在等待死亡。
有一天，尽管Neza不知道到底那一天，她哥哥Ntwali向她招手。他蹲伏在一台收音机前，里面发出微弱的信号。
“联合国...派兵...帮助杀戮.......卢旺达......”
“这是否意味着......”Neza的看着Ntwali，也不敢说出她的想法。希望在她的心里快速上升，她想，也许，只是也许，她会活着离开这里。
“联合国来帮助我们了，”Ntwali说，和Neza可以看到自己的兴奋发射到了他的眼睛。 “他们会帮助我们清除路障。一旦我们出去了，我们就安全了。“
“但是，他们会首先帮助图西族人吗？”她问。
“没关系，”Ntwali回答说：“我们也是有希望的，Neza。我们会活着出去，我们全家都会活着出去。我答应你。”
那天晚上，胡图族士兵袭击了她们的的避难所。 Neza忘记了当时的情景，她只记得极度混乱。士兵们没有给他们机会来解释自己，他们只是举枪向每个人射击。 Neza一手抱着宝宝另一只手抓住了弟弟Kwizera，拉着他朝门外跑，他们踩过已经倒在地面上的尸体，在他们身后，她的哥哥Ntwali拼命敦促他们往前跑。
他们从废弃的小棚屋冲到外面。人们四散奔逃，分不清谁是谁。 Neza顺着哥哥Ntwali的声音向前跑，即使她 心急火燎。突然，他的声音就消失了。她转过身，看见他跪倒在胡图族士兵之前。
“不要杀我！”Ntwali央求。 “我是胡图族！
“不管用了，”士兵笑着说。 “我没有在这里看见过你，蟑螂必须清除掉，是吧？你就像图西人。你该死。“
“不！” Neza尖叫了一声，声音原始又强大。
透过许多把他们分开的身体，Ntwali凝视着她的目光。“快走！” 他呼喊了一声，“活下去”。 Neza看着Kwizera站在她的面前，然后看见怀里宝宝那黑色的绝望的眼神。他们都还小，他们应当活下去，尽管生命艰难。然后她背过Ntwali，往前跑去。她穿过街上所有的马路，眼泪流下她的脸颊。
Neza不知道那晚她是如何逃离出来的。她依稀记得她们到了一个废弃的学校，那里胡图族士兵尚未到达。她带着宝宝和弟弟Kwizera到一个空教室里。在短短的几分钟，宝宝已经深深的睡着了。 Neza以为自己会哭，但她没有流出眼泪。她眼前仿佛看见一幅大街上哥哥Ntwali尸体的画面，但她脑子里觉得一切空空。在她的旁边，弟弟Kwizera非常的安静。
“Kwizera？”她说。她的弟弟向她转过身去，脸上反映出的剧烈的痛苦的表情使她的心都碎了。 “我们还能逃出吗？”
Kwizera看着她很长一段时间。 他的黑色的眼睛又深又闪烁 “我，我想是的。我想我们会逃出去的。"
每次一想起Kwizera的话和联合国军队会帮助他们逃出去的想法就使得Neza有了活下去的勇气。她紧紧抓住这两件事情，知道如果她哪怕是放弃一点点，她会失去她的求生意志。在街头破烂里寻找食品的时候，她看到了载有联合国士兵的汽车。车身侧面烙印醒目的UN字母重燃起她内心的希望，她跑了上去。
“对不起，先生！” 联合国士兵转过身来。 “先生，”她继续说。 “能带我们穿越路障吗？求你了， 我只想带我的弟弟和宝宝到达安全的地方。“
“不，”士兵回答道，他一边继续收拾汽车的后备箱。 “我们要离开了，回到美国和英国。我们帮不了你们。”
“但是 - 但是那是什么意思？” Neza的问道。
“我们不是卢旺达和平的缔造者。我们要回家，我们要逃避这些杀戮。“
“求你了，先生！” Neza一下子抓住了士兵的手臂。 “就让我的家人和你在一起走吧。”
“对不起。”
她看着自己手抓住士兵的手臂很长一段时间。她的黑色的皮肤和士兵绿色的军装形成鲜明的对比。现实已定，他们不想帮她。他们要自己回家，回到他们觉得安全，自由和快乐的家。他们嘴上说对不起，但这种歉意对帮助她没有任何意义。
慢慢地，她的手从士兵的手臂上松开了。转过身，她一言不发的离开了。
她开始自己穿越过路障。凭着自己的娴熟的导航本能，或许是仅仅是运气，她避开了胡图族士兵。她一手抱着宝宝在怀里，一手拉着弟弟Kwizera，终于穿过了卢旺达的边境。她没有回头，没有回头看她出生的祖国，没有回头看已经失去亲人的那个地方。她只是一路往前。
Steps Forward
(The story was created after watched the film "Rwanda Hotel " at school and history study for that tragedy)
Neza was woken by the gunshot. She lay there for a moment, her mind groggy. Maybe she had imagined it. She yawned and snuggled deeper into her blankets. Then, she heard a scream. It was something she would reflect back on many years later, and still shiver about. It was a scream of pure, helpless terror, the scream of a person knowing that in the next few moments, she would face her death.
She sat upright in her bed. Wrapping the blanket firmly around herself, she got up and headed for the door.
“Neza?” a whisper called her name. She turned and saw her younger brother, Kwizera, peering at her through the darkness with frightened brown eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “Go back to bed.”
She turned back towards the door, but was blocked by a shadowy figure. She involuntarily took a step back, tripping over her blanket.
“it’s me,” Ntwali, her older brother, said. “Don’t go outside.”
“Why?” Neza asked. She tried to peer over his tall frame.
“Please,” he said. “Take care of Kwizera and don’t leave this room.” The urgency in his eyes made her questions falter. He touched her briefly on the shoulder before disappearing down the hall.
She could hear him whispering to the other inhabitants of the house, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. A tense atmosphere floated throughout the house, as if even the air itself was hanging on edge.
She sat down on the edge of the bed that she shared with Kwizera, and waited. Suddenly, another gunshot rang through. Then, two more.
Jumping to her feet, she raced to the window. Outside, she could see blurry forms. She could make out the long hair of their neighbor, Kampire, who was on her knees. The other two wore strange clothing, and they were not barefooted. They clearly did not belong here. Even through the window, Neza heard Kampire’s screams. “Please! Please! Have mercy! ” Her sobs wracked through her whole body as she bent down to the shoes of the people before her.
“You are a cockroach,” Neza heard one of them say. “There is no mercy given to cockroaches.” The man raised something over his head. It was sharp, and glinted against the moonlight. Neza watched, horrified, yet unable to move, as the two men brought it down over and over again over Kampire’s body. She saw her neighbor thrash and scream, desperate, helpless screams. Then, Kampire grew quiet.
Neza drew back from the window, shaking. Behind her, Kwizera whimpered.
The death of Kampire was just the beginning. “Rwanda is changing. President Habyarimana is dead,” her brother Ntwali informed her grimly the next day. “The Hutus believe it was the Tutsis that have killed him. Now, they want to destroy all Tutsis that have ever existed. They will not stop until then.”
“Does that mean we’re going to die?” Kwizera asked. His thin body was shivering. He, like Neza, could not forget the terrified screams of Kampire.
“No.” Ntwali had smiled gently as he stroked Kampire’s cheek. “We are Hutu. We are safe.”
Neza had wanted so, so badly to believe him. But as the days and weeks wore on, it grew harder and harder. She remembered the day she and her family were dragged by the Hutu soldiers from their house. They pointed guns at her head, their machetes gleaming by their sides. They pushed her roughly, and her knees scraped painfully against the ground.
“Sir, sir,” Ntwali said beside her. “Please, let us go. We are Hutus. We mean no harm.”
“Proof, “ growled one of the soldiers, shoving the gun deeper into his skull. “Or the little one goes first.” Kwizera whimpered.
“Here.” Ntwali pushed a piece of paper into the soldier’s hands. “It says right here that we are Hutus. Please let my family go.”
The soldier stared at the paper for a long moment, and Neza’s heart thudded wildly against her chest. Her life hung to the four-letter word on that sheet of paper.
“You are free to go,” the soldier finally said. He threw the paper in Ntwali’s face, and pushed him aside. Neza watched through her parted hair, feeling hot anger surge through her body as the soldier spit in her brother’s face.
“But just remember, we are watching. Side with, or even speak to the Tutsis, and you will have the same fate as them.”
The wave of relief Neza felt was short-lived. Beside her, another soldier was yelling to a young mother. The woman was sobbing, a baby no older than two in her arms. “Don’t take us, please don’t take us!”
“Hmm,” the soldier smiled, showing off yellowing teeth. “How do you and your child want to go, by machete or gun?”
“No, no, no,” the woman cried. “I’ll do anything! Kill me, but please don’t harm my child. He did not mean to be Tutsi. He lives a free life. ” She forehead brushed against the soldier’s boot.
“Well,” the soldier said. “If you don’t want to choose, I guess I’ll just have to choose for you, traitor.”
“Wait!” the woman said. “I will pay you.” She dug quickly through her pockets, pulling out wads of cash. She yanked a ring from her finger, as well as a pretty silver necklace from her neck.
The soldier frowned at the amount of money in his hand. “This is enough to save one of you, not both. So choose. Do you want to live, or your child?”
The young mother swallowed, and Neza saw the fear and grim defeat in her eyes. “My child.” Her voice shook.
Neza closed her eyes, but the single gunshot rang out loud and sharp.
As the days wore on, Neza saw more deaths than she could have ever imagined. Rwanda no longer had the sluggish, comforting streets she recalled. Fires and smoke rose through the small hut buildings, dust flying around the streets. Screams, angry shouts, and grunts rang constantly, and the few people she saw were always in a hurry, their heads bent down, feet shuffling beneath them.
Fear was as part of the air as oxygen, and it was always there, always existing. Neza and her brothers had taken refuge in a run-down shop, along with a couple others. Before they had left their home, Neza made sure to take the baby with them. No one had wanted the responsibility of the orphaned child, but she looked into his eyes and saw his will to live. She promised herself that he would, even if his mother had not.
Ntwali had insisted that it was safer to be with others like them, desperate just to survive, but Neza wasn’t so sure. It made getting food and water easier, but getting away so much harder. Many times during the night, Kwizera cried out, waking up sobbing. Neza would get up and hug her little brother tight against her.
Some nights, she had the same experience. She would wake up gasping for breath, the violent dreams of the Tutsis’ deaths too much for her to bear. Then, Ntwali would come in. Just the feeling of his strong arms around her would calm her down, and make her feel, just for the moment, safe. After the automobile accident in which her parents died years ago, she had learned to rely on Ntwali more and more. He was everything that she tried to be: good, strong, and caring.
As Neza saw more deaths on the streets, she made a promise to herself. If she ever had to die, she would not die the same way as the Tutsis. She would not cry and beg at the feet of the Hutu soldiers, trying to shove all she had into their hands. She would keep her head held high.
Every day that passed could be her last, and Neza lived on that edge for many weeks. She and her brothers lived with many other refugees, a mixture of Tutsis and other Hutus wanting to get away, in an abandoned, run down house. Space was limited, and at times she grew nauseous from the feeling of too many cramped bodies. Food was obtained once a week by a volunteer daring enough to visit the streets. Other times, it was just them, huddled on dirty cots on the ground, speaking in hushed whispers. They spoke of getting away, of crossing the border to Uganda, with no conviction in their voice. They were waiting for death.
One day, although Neza didn’t know which one anymore, Ntwali beckoned her forward. He was crouched before a radio, which was sparking out weak signals.
“UN…sending troops… help the killings….Rwanda…”
“Does this mean…” Neza looked at Ntwali, too daunted to voice her thoughts. Hope was rising fast in her heart, and she thought maybe, just maybe, she would get out of here alive.
“The UN is coming to help us,” Ntwali said, and Neza could see her own excitement reflecting in his eyes. “They’ll help us get past the roadblocks. And once we get out, we are safe.”
“But will they help the Tutsis first?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ntwali replied “There is hope for us, Neza. We will get out alive. Our family will make it. I promise you.”
That night, the Hutu soldiers raided their refuge. Neza would reflect on it later, and she only remembered utter chaos. The soldiers did not give them a chance to explain themselves, but raised their guns and shot at everyone. Neza had the baby cradled in her arm, and with her other hand grabbed Kwizera and pulled him towards the door, stumbling over the bodies already on the ground. She did not look at their faces, afraid to see which familiar face would be lying dead beneath her. Behind them, Ntwali urged them forward.
They burst from the abandoned hut into the open air. People were running in all directions, and it was impossible to tell who was who. Neza let the sound of Ntwali’s voice take her forward, even as her lungs burned with fire. And suddenly, he was gone. She spun around, and saw him on his knees before a Hutu soldier.
“Do not kill me!” Ntwali begged. “I’m Hutu!”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” the soldier said, smiling. “I don’t see you out here, getting rid of the cockroaches, do I? You’re just like the Tutsis. You deserve to die.”
“No!” Neza screamed, the sound raw and powerful.
Through the many bodies separating them, Ntwali met her gaze.Go, he mouthed. Live. Neza looked at Kwizera standing before her, then into the baby’s dark, desperate eyes. They were young, and despite all the hardships, full of life. Turning her back to Ntwali, she ran. She ran all the way through the street, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Neza wasn’t sure how she made it through the night. She vaguely remembered stumbling upon an abandoned school, which the Hutu soldiers had not yet reached. She led the baby and Kwizera into an empty classroom. In just a couple minutes, the baby had fallen into a restless sleep. Neza thought she would cry, but she had no tears left in her body. She pictured Ntwali’s dead body on the street, but only felt empty. Beside her, Kwizera was also silent.
“Kwizera?” she said. Her little brother turned to her, the sharp pain reflected in his youthful face shattering her heart to pieces. “Will we still make it?”
Kwizera looked at her for a long moment. His dark eyes were deep and searching. “I- think so. I think we will make it.”
It was Kwizera’s words and the thought that the UN troops would save them that got Neza through. She clung to those two things, knowing if she let go even just a little, she would lose her will to live. On the streets scavenging for the little food there was left, she saw the car of the UN soldiers. The name branded on the side sent renewed hope flashing through her body, and she ran forward.
“Excuse me, sir!” The UN soldier turned around. “Sir,” she continued. “Are you taking us across the road blocks? Please, I just need to get my brother and the baby across, to where we will be safe.”
“No,” the soldier replied. He continued packing the trunk of his car. “We are leaving, back to the US and Great Britain. We cannot help you.”
“But-but what do you mean?” Neza asked.
“We are not the peacemakers of Rwanda. We are going back, to escape these killings.”
“Please, sir!” Neza grabbed the soldier’s arm. “Take my family with you.”
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at her hand on the soldier’s arm for a long moment. Her dark skin contrasted sharply against the green of his uniform. The realization set in. They didn’t want to help her. They were going back home, to the countries where the people were safe and free and happy. They were sorry, but not sorry enough to help.
Slowly, she released her hand from the soldier’s arm. Turning around, she walked away without a word.
She got out from the roadblocks on her own. From skillful navigation, maybe, or simply luck, she avoided the Hutu soldiers. She stepped across the border with the baby in her arms and Kwizera’s hand in hers. She did not look back, to the country where she was born, or to the people she had lost. She kept taking steps forward.
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