Young warrior’s trek from Rwanda to SA
IT FEELS like yesterday when I was a scared 12-year-old boy from Gisenyi in Rwanda.
The town of Gisenyi is flanked by beautiful lakes and hills and is found on the north shore of Lake Kivu in the north-west Rubavu District.
Rwanda is famously known as Pays des mille collines, which loosely translates into the “land of a thousand hills” in French.
I remember being surrounded by beautiful palm trees with leaves that dripped like fallen tears as though they mourned a young warrior leaving his homeland.
Every time I wander down memory lane, I see little Amza in his colourful Rwandan outfit waving goodbye to his siblings – seeing my pain mirrored in their eyes.
I remember looking through the window of the bus and seeing the worry etched on my mom’s face.
I can recall her fragrance to this day…
I don’t know how I survived the month-long bus ride. Stopping in seven different countries – Burundi, Uganda, Kenya, Tanzania, Malawi, Mozambique, Zambia… with South Africa being my last stop.
I travelled this gruelling journey, a young Amza not knowing any of the languages spoken.
I remember finally arriving in Cape Town. I was terrified of everything – the unfamiliar faces, the tall buildings and the traffic jams. People looked right through me with cold, blank eyes. Everything was so vastly different from my life back home. It was sink or swim.
Millions of questions whirled through my mind. The biggest questions of all being: Why was I abandoned by those who loved me so much?
Why would my loved ones send me here knowing I would experience such terrible heartache?
I almost gave up at the age of 17. I had been robbed of all my belongings. I had nothing to my name. I felt hopeless and abandoned. Then, miraculously, I received the love and care that I longed for – from total strangers.
They had absolutely nothing to gain from welcoming me into their homes and hearts. Their kindness rebuilt my trust and renewed my faith in humanity.
Now I realise that I was never abandoned. I believe that someone or something was watching over me; that I was cared for and protected by a divine presence.
I understood that I was never alone. That’s how the man Eli was born. Amza became a brand new person after what felt like a lifelong storm.
I was finally able to see the sun. The heavy stone on my chest was finally lifted and I basked in the warmth of hope.
I realised that there was love in the world after all, to focus on the positive and to be grateful for it all.
My journey is inspired by my life’s purpose. Although I never imagined I would be in fashion, now it makes perfect sense. I always grew up around colourful fabrics and prints and I was quite the fashionista back in the day, but it was in my last year of business management that I fully embraced my personal legend.
To me, fashion is more about a story, rather than being simply clothing. Fashion is emotion and passion, and with every garment I sew, I remember my story. I become that hopeful Amza, that little boy, all over again.
I remember that strength comes from pain, that joy comes from sorrow, and that rivers flow through the highest mountains.
My spirit recalls the exquisite African sunset, the irresistible desert flowers, the wild animals, the deepest jungle, the fathers, mothers, sons and daughters of Africa… And I see the warriors, the Masa Mara.”
I remember strength comes from pain and joy comes from sorrow