What happens when one-fifth of a country’s population participates in a genocide? In the case of the Rwandan Civil War, the horror was so widespread that those left staggering in its aftermath were struck dumb, either vowing to forget the past or silent victims of post-traumatic amnesia. In Jacaranda, Gaël Faye’s second novel, the Franco-Rwandan author, rapper, and musician tackles a story that remains virtually inexpressible for those who lived through it. Yet, Faye deftly utilizes these very silences and memory lapses to help us understand Rwanda’s unspeakable history.
The Quiet Transmission of Trauma
Told in the first person, Jacaranda portrays the coming-of-age of Milan, the only child of a Rwandan woman and a French man. Their middle-class life in Versailles, France, might resemble that of other French families, but Milan senses that something is amiss. He’s frustrated by his mother’s persistent refusal to share any information about her past. Milan knows nothing about his mother’s family or native country until news snippets covering Rwanda’s distant civil war begin to penetrate his consciousness.
Then, suddenly, in the summer of 1994, a distant relative, a child named Claude, shows up at their house.
À table, Claude n’a pas touché à son assiette. Il était complètement absorbé par la télévision. Après sa dernière bouchée, mon père s’est levé prestement pour l’éteindre puis il est sorti dans la cour fumer une cigarette. Ma mère insistait pour que Claude mange un peu. Lui restait immobile.
J’ai demandé : « Pourquoi a-t-il un pansement sur la tête? » Ma mère a répondu: « Il a une grosse blessure. » Elle faisait comme si elle ne comprenait pas ma question, alors j’ai insisté: « Oui, mais pourquoi ? » Elle s’est redressée, un peu gênée, s’est éclairci la gorge :
At dinner, Claude didn’t touch his plate. He was completely absorbed by the television. After taking his last bite, my father got up quickly to turn it off, then went out to the courtyard to smoke a cigarette. My mother was insisting that Claude eat a little. He remained motionless.
I asked, “Why is his head bandaged?” My mother answered, “He has a serious wound.” She was acting as if she didn’t understand my question, so I persisted, “Yes, but why?” She sat up straight, somewhat flustered, and cleared her throat.
— Claude a été blessé pendant la guerre au Rwanda. Il est venu se faire soigner en France.
— Comment c’est arrivé ?
— On ne sait pas.
— Et ses parents, où sont-ils ?
— On ne sait pas non plus.
— Tu as dit que c’était ton neveu ? Ça veut dire que tu as une sœur, un frère ?
Mon père est revenu à table. Claude était toujours devant son assiette, muet, statique, ses jambes pendouillant sous sa chaise. Ma mère paraissait contrariée par mes questions.
— Neveu, c’est une façon de parler. C’est un enfant de ma famille et comme il est petit je dis que c’est un neveu.
“Claude was injured during the war in Rwanda. He’s come to get medical treatment in France.”
“How did that happen?”
“We don’t know.”
“And his parents, where are they?”
“We don’t know that either.”
“You said he was your nephew? That means that you have a sister, a brother?”
My father returned to the table. Claude was still in front of his plate, mute, immobile, his legs dangling beneath his chair. My mother seemed upset by my questions.
“Nephew; this is a way of speaking. He’s a child in my family and since he is little, I say that he’s a nephew.”
— D’ailleurs, il a quel âge Claude ?
— Le même que toi, douze ans.
J’ai éclaté de rire.
— Je ne te crois pas ! Lui, mon age ? Mais il ressemble à un gosse de CP. En même temps, s’il ne mange jamais rien…
— That’s enough, Milan ! a dit sèchement mon père.
“Anyway, how old is Claude?”
“The same age as you, 12 years old.”
I burst out laughing.
“I don’t believe you! Him, my age? He looks like a first grader. Then again, if he never eats anything…”
“That’s enough, Milan !” my father said harshly.
Driven to Uncover the Truth
Despite the initial shock of having this injured and voiceless boy enter the household, Milan takes to Claude almost immediately. He sees him as a little brother with whom he can share not only his room, but also his neighborhood, the music he loves, his favorite games, and pastimes.
Months pass, and then, as suddenly as he appeared, Claude is gone. The brother Milan had been told would be living with the family permanently has been sent back to Rwanda without warning or explanation. This devastating loss is compounded by his parents’ silence. Milan doesn’t know it yet, but he will travel to Rwanda before he graduates from high school and return repeatedly, drawn in part by the need to uncover his family’s mysterious past.
During his sporadic visits to his mother’s homeland, Milan gradually constructs a second family: Mamie, his taciturn grandmother; Eusébie, his mother’s welcoming best friend; Claude, perpetually distracted and bruised; Sartre, the ringleader of Claude’s partying band of companions; Stella, Eusébie’s daughter, born years after the war’s end who takes refuge from her mother’s silences in the top of a jacaranda tree; and others, all of whom are trying to build a life in a broken yet determined nation.
As Milan endeavors to reveal his mother’s past, he also digs up painful secrets that upset the lives of his newly assembled kin. His discoveries lead to near-disastrous consequences for the younger generation, begging the question of whether recovery is possible after four generations of violent conflict.
Reason for Hope
Yet, Jacaranda is a book of hope. Milan is also witness to a country that, despite its past, is committed to dialogue and reconciliation. The book spans nearly three decades, during which time Rwanda experiences consistent economic growth, coupled with a dramatic reduction in poverty. One evening, Milan finds himself in an upscale nightclub in downtown Kigali.
Plus tard, les potes de Stella et Stacie nous ont rejoints sur la piste de danse. Tous des filles et des fils de bonne famille, trilingues, diplômés des mêmes écoles, enfants modèles d’une société qui se voulait post-ethnique. Ils représentaient la toute petite minorité de Rwandais qui partiraient un jour étudier à l’étranger, exportant les valeurs du pays, devenant ambassadeurs d’une histoire complexe que peu d’entre eux maitrisaient. Dans les cocktails ou les dîners en ville, devant des interlocuteurs ignorants, ils devraient expliquer les raisons du génocide, la différence entre Hutu et Tutsi, les conflits dans le Sud et le Nord-Kivu. Ils ne pourraient jamais être impunément eux-mêmes, le pays serait toujours là pour se rappeler à eux comme un chaperon assidu. Ils en seraient les garants et les protecteurs, porte-parole assignés. La bataille serait rude et rien n’était gagné. Ils le savaient, c’était l’éducation qu’ils avaient reçue. Tout ce dont ils bénéficiaient aujourd’hui était le fruit de sacrifices et de sang versé. La Nation le leur répétait chaque jour. Alors, une autre nuit de fête et d’alcool leur permettait d’oublier quelques instants cette charge, tout comme la génération d’avant buvait pour oublier les années d’exil, les humiliations, l’odeur de la mort et des charniers.
Later, Stella’s friends, Stella and Stacie, joined us on the dance floor. All of them girls and boys from good families, trilingual, graduates of the same schools of privilege, model children of a society that wants to move beyond ethnic distinctions. They represented the tiny minority of Rwandans who would one day leave to study abroad, exporting their country’s values, becoming ambassadors of a complex history that few among them knew well. At cocktail parties or downtown dinners, before ignorant questioners, they would have to explain the reason for the genocide, the difference between Hutu and Tutsi, and the [ongoing conflicts in eastern Congo]. They would never be able to get away with being themselves; the country would always be there to remind them of its past like an assiduous chaperone. The battle would be tremendously difficult, and nothing was won. They knew it; this was the upbringing that they had received. Everything that they benefited from today was the fruit of sacrifices and spilled blood. The nation reminded them of this every day. And so, another night of partying and alcohol would let them momentarily forget this burden, just like the previous generation drank to forget the years of exile, the humiliations, the odor of death and mass graves.
A Gifted Author
While Jacaranda is not a memoir, Gaël Faye knows well of what he writes. Born in Burundi, of a French father and Rwandan mother, he moved to France at the age of 13 to escape the Burundian Civil War. In 2016, he won France’s prestigious Prix Goncourt du Premier Roman for his novel Petit Pays, which is based on his experiences growing up in Burundi. Today, Faye, who is also a highly successful rap musician, spends most of his time at his home in Kigali.
A few of the characters mentioned in Petit Pays reappear in Jacaranda. According to Faye, Jacaranda is not a sequel to his earlier novel. Instead, he views the story as one piece of a puzzle, added to better complete a larger picture. Nor is the book simply a tale of tragedy and its aftermath. Faye delivers a rich assortment of characters whose lives are infused with the trappings of human existence: family, friendship, identity, culture, honor, trepidation, dreams, disappointment, and success. Thus, it’s no surprise that Jacaranda won France’s prestigious Prix Renaudot in 2024.
As its back cover proclaims:
Comme un arbre se dresse entre ténèbres et lumière, Jacaranda célèbre l’humanité, paradoxale, aimante, vivante.
Like a tree rising up between shadows and light, Jacaranda celebrates humanity, paradoxical, loving, alive.
Endnote
An English version of Jacaranda is scheduled for release on June 30, 2026. Pre-orders are currently available from various retailers.
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I read Petit Pays last year and loved it, so I was very much looking forward to Jacaranda. But I had somewhat mixed feelings when I read it.
Faye’s writing is as beautiful as ever. The story of the Rwandan genocide–its precedents and its aftermath–is moving and well-told. At the same time, the book tells two stories at once, one about a family and one about the genocide.
Faye uses the family story to help tell the genocide story, perhaps necessarily, because events so terrible are best personalized rather than told in the abstract. But the family story itself is pretty weak. Some of the characters and their relationships don’t really make sense, there are coincidences that strain credibility, and this diminishes what is otherwise a powerful story.
Having said that, this is an important book that everyone should read.
Thanks for weighing in. You’re right that some of the coincidences are far from realistic. I suppose this makes it easier for the author to construct a story that touches on a number of actual historical events with fewer characters.
I rationalize Faye’s departure from plausibility by reminding myself that many of the greatest novels lean heavily on unlikely coincidences. Two that immediately come to mind are The Count of Monte Cristo and The Kite Runner. But I agree that the book would be even stronger if all aspects of the story were credible.
My father went to Rwanda often when we lived in Kenya in the late 60’s. He was the regional manager for Air France in charge of East and South Africa, from Ethiopia to South Africa, all the coastal countries and the great lakes. He knew the country well.
He was very much shocked when the world heard about the massacres…
Mitterand was president of France then. He basically did nothing…
A sad story that shows that just any people, any culture is capable of the worst…
(You do have some interesting reads…)
I appreciate your comment Brieuc. Given the many fascinating posts you’ve blogged about your family, I can believe that your father knew Africa well. You say he was shocked when the world heard about the massacres. Was he shocked by the massacres or was he shocked that the world hadn’t anticipated as much?
I was under the impression that eventually, French troops helped get the country back under control. Was this under Mitterand? Maybe you can shed more light on France’s involvement.
He was shocked by the massacres. No-one could really anticipate that. Though there had been lots of conflict between the Hutu and the Tutsi in the past.
My understanding is that the French troops were told not to intervene. Until much too late. But, as always, one has to verify, even one’s memory. I”l check in a minute.
After double-checking, Mitterrand basically did nothing, or very little. The massacres lasted form April to mid-july, and as I understand, ended when Kagame entered Kigali with his army. (Kagame is still president of Rwanda.) The French forces and the UN were basically told to remain neutral. A few officers disobeyed and saved a few thousand Tutsis…
A big stain on Mitterrand’s tenure… (Not the only one…)
Good to know. I knew Kagame was pivotal in getting things under control. His government takes a lot of heat for its squelching of political dissent, but maybe in times of violent lawlessness, iron-fisted rulers are needed to return life to normalcy for the majority.
Sadly, yes.
Sounds like a superb book.
Here’s a related movie:
https://m.imdb.com/title/tt0395169/
That is an excellent movie. Thanks for reminding me of it and sharing a link.
Another great film that covers events prior, during, and after the Rwanda genocide is Sometimes in April. Here’s a link to a clip.
Thanks for your great review. Iw as afraid it would be too heavy for me, so I haven’t read it yet.
BUT I read the last novel by Michel Bussi, and it’s on the genocide. This is a remarkable book, I hope it’s going to win some awards: Les Ombres du monde
Thanks for the tip!