I shielded my eyes from the brightness of the sun's intense rays, as the African plain basked in the warmth of the late afternoon. The ground was cracked and dry beneath my feet; baked hard by the unrelenting equatorial sun. In the distance the truck rolled forward, the tyres ricocheting wildly along the bumpy dirt track; sending up a cloud of billowing red dust into the warm still air.

As the truck rumbled to a sudden halt, the cab door opened, and two of the three occupants jumped out, close to where Vincent was working in the fields. They were too far away for me to hear their conversation, but as they gestured excitedly with their hands I sensed they were in a hurry. The group of men, Hutu tribe locals, pointed in my direction several times. Despite any urgency they talked to Vincent for what seemed a very long time. I could see him slowly nodding his head, as if in some kind of agreement. I wondered what the strangers wanted with us.

Once the discussion had ended, the men climbed back into their truck. One of them emerged briefly a few seconds later, casually tossing a bag at my husband's feet. He smiled at Vincent, his face breaking out in a toothy grin. And then clambering back into the cab, they left - almost as swiftly as they had come. Vincent stood motionless, his head hung low, as if deep in thought, aware that I was watching him. Then reaching towards the ground he picked up the bag and hurried towards the house. As he moved closer, there was something about the look on his face that concerned me; yet I couldn't quite read his mood.

I called to Joseph who was playing a short distance away in the yard.

'Child, come inside at once,' I urged, holding out my arms, beckoning him to come closer. Joseph giggled, then throwing the small stones he had been playing with into the air he toddled towards my arms. Picking the small boy up, I smiled at him, and together we moved towards the mud-walled house.

My mother was bending over the small family table, peeling sweet potatoes for the evening meal. My gaze moved around the room, resting on my father who was sleeping in a chair, a faint smile playing on his lips. Suddenly, the door burst open and Vincent swept into the room, wearing a look I had never seen before. Opening up the bag, he pulled out a machete. Before I had the chance to scream any kind of warning, he was charging across the room at breakneck speed. My father never heard Vincent rushing towards him, or felt the single mortal blow to the side of his head - that ended his life. As a spray of fresh blood splattered across the walls and floor my mother and I screamed in terror.

Turning towards us, Vincent shouted at the top of his voice. 'You are Tutsi, you must die.'

He lunged forward like a wild animal, roughly grabbing my mothers arm, pushing her back against the wall. I watched helplessly as my mother cowered in fear from the heavy blows that rained down mercilessly upon her body. Finally, she dropped to the floor with a hard thud. Vincent was breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring, standing over her body like he was waiting for something more to happen. Unaware of the blood and sweat pouring down the contours of his face, he laughed softly.

His laugh gradually faded, and his eyes grew hard, boring into mine.

'Run Celestine, run. Run for your life,'he whispered, 'or I will be forced to kill you also.'

For a moment I couldn't so much as make a move, my eyes locked on to the horror of the scene before me. I stumbled a few steps backwards, staring wide-eyed at the man I loved, stunned by the events I had just been forced to watch. And then I heard a long deep moan that sounded like a wounded animal. It took me some time to realize the sound I was hearing was my own. Joseph screamed in response to the sudden noise, snapping me back to the present.

Clutching him tightly, I ran, flying through the door, across the yard as fast as my legs would carry me, running for my life, possibly for the life of my son.

Sweet Jesus! Had Vincent lost his mind? I didn't look back to see if he was following. I didn't know where to run for safety, so I headed towards the bush, a silent prayer forming on my lips - Help me God, please help me......

In the distance I thought I heard Vincent shouting my name - but I didn't dare to stop. The sound grew fainter and fainter as I moved further away; until the only thing I could hear was the sound of my own laboured breathing. I ran for what seemed like a very long time, until I thought my legs would buckle beneath me, my lungs screaming out for much needed oxygen. I paused only briefly, enough to catch my breath, and then continued moving until I spotted a small grove of trees. Disoriented and confused, I slumped against a tree, gasping painfully for breath, my heart racing from fear and exertion.

The muscles in my arms felt like led weights under the strain of holding Joseph. He was crying softly in my arms, yet clinging so tightly; I was afraid to stand him down, even for a moment. I caressed his hair, and gently kissed him on the forehead. 'Hush child,' I whispered. 'Mamma is here, nobody is going to hurt you.'

I peered intently into the brush, watching and listening for any signs of danger. After a few moments, I decided nothing threatening was lurking there, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We were safe, at least for now. I realized the light was beginning to fade. It would soon be dark. I wasn't sure what to do for the best. I couldn't go home, yet I was afraid to go on, alone with my son in the bush at night. Dropping to the ground, I cradled Joseph in my arms and allowed myself to weep.

My attention was caught by the sudden movement of a snake as it slithered through the undergrowth, silently, seeking its victims. It brought to mind Vincent, the man I had lain with, laughed with, cried with, the man I had once trusted with my life. What had happened? I wondered what madness had caused him to commit such a brutal act. Why? Why? Why? I couldn't understand it, but I knew I would never forget the sound of his laughter as he stood over my dying mother. I was from the Tutsi tribe and Vincent was Hutu, but our tribes had lived happily alongside each other for many years. Had the world gone crazy? The grotesque images of my parents being slaughtered filled my mind, and I shuddered. Pushing them away, I knew this was neither the time nor place to grieve for them, but that realization did little to lessen the hurt or anger at what I had witnessed.

I looked down at Joseph. He looked so small and vulnerable, but I was finding it hard to keep awake; I needed to shut my eyes. Trying to protect my son as best I could, I finally fell asleep; afraid of what might lie ahead; yet knowing I couldn't turn back.

I cried out as a hand grabbed my arm, shaking me awake. It took some moments to remember where I was. My heart rate picked up as a shiver of fear crawled up my spine. Vincent! I opened my eyes and found myself staring into a pair of intense brown eyes. Thank god it wasn't Vincent. It was just an old man that stood before me. It was only then that I finally learned the truth. His name was Leonard, and he wept openly when he told his story. He was sixty-seven years old and every member of his Tutsi family had been hacked to death in a nearby village. Leonard had managed to escape and had been hiding in the bush for two days. Mistrust between the two ethnic groups - Hutu and Tutsi had exploded out of control. Death was everywhere. Neighbour killing neighbour, rape, torture, large-scale murder, nowhere was safe, and there were few places to hide. It was as if the whole country had gone wild, butchering each other senselessly.

The only hope of survival was to get out of the country as fast as we could. Leonard has no one, and all I had left in the world was Joseph. So together, we began our long uncertain journey. At times, the pace of the old man slowed us down, but I was grateful for his company, glad not to feel so alone. Sometimes I woke to the occasional pop of gunfire; often it was the acrid smell of burning fires that filled my nostrils, but always, the smell of death permeated the air. Many of the villages were all but deserted, or burnt to the ground. The evidence of lives interrupted was everywhere. Sometimes, when we were lucky, the remaining villagers would take pity on us, offering temporary shelter or food, telling their own stories of horror. Other times, fearful of reprisals, the villagers would send us away empty handed, and we were forced to forage in the forest for food.

We walked for many miles, over many weeks, staying away from the main roads as much as possible, where the chances of being captured and killed were even greater. Sometimes we came across other fugitives, stumbling around in the wilderness, other times it was the remains of rotten corpses. One time I saw what looked like a woman, still clutching on to a small child, ants feeding off their bodies. It didn’t seem dignified to walk away and leave them there like that, but there was little we could do. Hungry and exhausted there were times when I wondered how much more we could all endure.

Finally we reached the border. The huge refugee camp stood before us, an ocean of haunted faces, and empty stares. I stood there, weak and bedraggled, staring into the traumatized crowd. We were alive, we were safe, but the knowledge brought little comfort. I felt sad and defeated, and achingly lonely. I wondered what it would take to soften the images of death and decay, if I would ever see my homeland again, if I would ever understand this madness.

Rwanda Genocide - Author's Note and Related Links

Between April and June 1994, in the space of 100 days, an estimated 800,000 Rwandans were brutally killed. Most of the dead were Tutsis - and most of those who perpetrated the violence were Hutus. Ordinary citizens also participated in much of the violence.

I have based my fictional story on a true event, and the basic facts remain unchanged. The reasons behind the atrocity came to light after eight years of the wife's determination to discover the truth.

In the end, difficult as it may be to accept, the husband undertook his actions simply because he was ordered to by other Hutu tribe members.

• BBC News, Rwanda: How the genocide happened.

• BBC News, Rwanda: Ten years on.

• Official website for the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda.