Page 18 - Archangel

African than English when passion turned his hazel eyes to blazing
emeralds. Working in more than 60 countries over 25 years, Skye often
reflected on his Low Country home which bore him, to re-center his soul
and restore peace.
A rogue wave suddenly peeled up over Kivu’s killer sand bars, slammed
into the wooden craft and jarred MacIain and 23 refugees back to the
present. He adjusted course into the hidden channel he followed often
on Kivu’s eastern shore. He sailed away, shrugging off thoughts of a home
to which he may never return. He needed all his focus. His catch tonight
wasn’t shrimp or fish. Hugging the deck of the wooden, flat bottom fishing
boat, or bateau, were 23 refugees clinging to each other for dear life,
refusing to join the +1 million who would perish in the Rwanda genocide.
The Scottish American humanitarian aid worker and his first mate,
Northern Irish physician Dr. Sean Michael Collins, were soaked to the
bone. Smiling and whispering passionately over his shoulder, he quipped,
“Jesus, Skye! You’re going to be the death of me, you are. You, me and
23 in this tub. Now get us the hell out of here.” Along with a handful
of able-bodied Tutsi they were rescuing, Skye and Sean straddled and
paddled quietly and quickly away from the Rwandan shoreline. If they
were discovered, all was lost. Hutu butchers with machetes and machine
guns were prowling most of the Central Africa country of Rwanda to gun
or hack down Tutsis and those moderate Hutus who were helping them
escape murder and massacre.

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