Gaël Faye: “Writing helps us heal, find meaning in existence, and understand chaos.”

Gaël Faye (Bujumbura, 1982) has once again triumphed in France with The Jacaranda , his second novel, also inspired by the Rwandan genocide, like Little Country , his literary breakthrough and huge international success. The new book, winner of the 2024 Renaudot Prize, is published this week in Spanish (Salamandra). With his heartbreaking yet poetic account, Faye, whose father is French and whose mother is Rwandan, continues his mission to "break the infernal circle of silence." He feels responsible for ensuring that history is not forgotten or falsified, and for preventing "the crime of crimes"—genocide—from being repeated elsewhere. The two novels are "two pieces of the same puzzle."

Therapeutic function Creating serves as a lifeline to avoid sinking from the overload of pain.”

The author explained to La Vanguardia in a Paris café that a great-grandmother on his father's side, exiled to Lyon due to the Civil War, was from Barcelona, ​​where the writer is flying this Monday to present the work. "I know family members live there, but we've lost contact," he clarifies.

Progress In 1994 it seemed unimaginable that Rwanda could recover so quickly.

You compose music, you're a rapper, and you're a writer. What gives you the most pleasure as a creator?

The most important thing for me is the act of writing.

More than singing?

If there were no writing, I wouldn't compose music. I love music, but not to the point of making it without words.

How much of your two books is autobiographical?

I'd say the first one, Small Country , is truly an emotional autobiography. I didn't experience exactly the same thing as the character, but I did experience everything he suffered emotionally: the amazement of childhood, the feeling of fear when war comes, of incomprehension, of exile, when Gabriel talks about his mixed race. In The Jacaranda, my desire was to imagine the life I could have had if I had been born in France into my family environment. I would have been like Milan. Rwanda wouldn't have been discussed in my family, and I would have tried to understand. But unlike Milan, I grew up in the region, in Burundi, although, like him, my Rwandan family didn't talk about it (about the genocide). Neither did my mother. So we shared that family silence. It's very autobiographical.

Is writing also healing from all that drama?

Yes, I believe one heals by finding meaning in the meaninglessness of existence. Writing also serves that purpose, allowing us to understand the chaos we live in, the misunderstandings. It allows us to find answers. When one comes from a history of enormous violence and silence, of exile, genocide, wars, and where no one in the family speaks, writing allows me to continue to question myself and not to transmit that silence, accompanied by so much pain, to my children. I'm not saying that putting words to the pain heals, but it does help.

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He once said that creating was “a lifebuoy”

Yes, that's it, a buoy. For me, it helps me not sink under the burden of this story, which is too painful. Creating also allowed me to escape my solitude, to share with others who've gone through the same experience as me. That helps you not drown.

You once described Rwanda as a "country of milk and honey." Things are much better now, aren't they, despite the war in neighboring Congo?

Yes, the interior of the country is safe. It's a dynamic, young country with many projects. The leaders offer a vision for the future. Young Rwandans don't need to leave. If they go out to study, they want to come back. It's not the same as Burundi, which has deteriorated compared to when I grew up there. It's poor, with a major economic crisis. Rwanda is a unique case because 30 years ago it was an open-air mass grave, and today it's a society where I raise my children with my wife, leading a normal life. When I first arrived, in 1994, I can tell you that it seemed unimaginable that in such a place a society could rebuild itself so quickly.

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You remember that Rwanda is also a special case of cohabitation between victims and their executioners.

It's true. In general, in the great genocides of the 20th century, such as the Shoah or the Armenian genocide, victims and executioners often didn't know each other. It was armies that destroyed a population. In Rwanda, it was neighbors, friends, sometimes members of the same family. And it's a very small country, smaller than Brittany or Belgium, and densely populated. People always live in close proximity. Society has had to be rebuilt in this close proximity, with people who committed the worst and experienced the worst, facing the questions of forgiveness, reconciliation, and justice.

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An old missionary in Cameroon told me years ago that “the future of Africa is women.” Do you agree?

I would say they are the present. Rwandan society has been rebuilt thanks to women. For example, Eusébie takes evening courses and takes care of the entire family. That's what happened. Men were at the front, in prison, or dead. Today, Rwanda is the country in the world with the highest proportion of women in Parliament. You also see many women in ministries.

Are they also important for reconciliation?

I think so. Women paid the worst price of the genocide. They were killed, like everyone else, and rape was also used as a weapon of destruction. Three years ago, I made a documentary for the Arte network, The Silence of Words , about portraits of women who suffered sexual violence during the genocide.

As a binational person, what do you think about the ongoing debate in France about immigration and how to curb it? Are you sensitive to this issue?

Yes, I'm sensitive to the possibility that political discourse creates a scapegoat because it's the premise of all genocides. So that causes me a problem. I believe that from the moment a community or group of human beings is blamed for all the problems, this society is sick, there's manipulation. That's why I say it's terrible that the same mechanism is reproduced. And the long-term effects of that kind of discourse, of that kind of debate, are well known. They're very well known. It's always the same. So I think, with a knowledge of history, we must continue to combat this discourse that marginalizes others, that also dehumanizes them in some way, and that makes them scapegoats. Politicians usually use this to hide their own incompetence.