Sorry I am waaay behind on blogging! I blame my
lack of posting on the hilly landscape and the exhaustion that follows walking
anywhere. It took me an hour and a
half (up and down hills) to walk to the city center today. NOT doing that
again.
The first weekend in Kigali was devoted to
experiencing Rwandan culture and learning about its history. Of course, the
genocide plays a large part.
We took a tour with a company called New Dawn
Associates (NDA). Their slogan is something along the lines of “Rwanda, not
just gorillas”. I love it! The tourism industry is quite small here, especially
compared to Tanzania. People come mainly for the (pricey) gorilla tours and
often overlook other exciting aspects of Rwandan culture and landscape: food, music,
dance, art galleries, food, hiking, tea & coffee plantations, lakes, food,
foreign institutes hosting a long list of activities, sports. Did I mention
food? NDA organizes tours that show the “real” Rwanda and a portion of the
proceeds go back to the communities they visit. Henry, our guide, is an
aspiring musician and sang a few of his songs for us along the way.
We spent Saturday exploring the sector of
Mayange, in the eastern province, about 45 minutes outside of Kigali. They
label cities and things a bit differently here. They have five provinces
(Kigali, North, East, South, West) which house districts, which house sectors
(equivalent to cities I believe), which house villages. I’m hoping this is not
totally incorrect and that I am not completely misinforming you. Still haven’t
quite figured it out. What I do know is that each village has a chief that
helps to “govern” the village and is highly respected (I imagine them as über-HOA
presidents who aren’t despised). Francis, our Kinyarwanda teacher, is about 30
and is a very very young chief.
At Mayange, we visited a primary school. They
have something like 1500 students and 17 teachers. Not ideal. We also stopped
by the Mayange Health Center. There are a number of Health Centers around the
country. These facilities do not have doctors, but are more along the lines of
quick care clinics with a maternity ward. Anyone requiring more attention is
referred to a hospital.
Next, we participated in a Rwandan custom called
umuganda. On the last Saturday of every month (from morning until noon)
Rwandans are required to stay in their villages and do community service.
Everyone comes together to work on what the village needs most. This is where a
leader, like a chief, comes in handy. It is illegal to travel during umuganda
and we were stopped at multiple roadblocks on our way to Mayange. The policemen
waved us on once they saw we were just a bus full of mzungus. The village we
visited is a new community of genocide refugees who were forced to leave
Tanzania and return to Rwanda. I cannot imagine how it must feel to be
displaced twice in a lifetime, let alone 20 years. We were only supposed to
observe umuganda, but our wonderful group of EWH participants jumped right in
to help! And when I say “jumped right in”, I mean it literally. They took off
their shoes and started mixing mud with their bare feet and hoes. No toes were
lost. The rest of us started hauling large jugs of water from the water truck
to distant parts of the village, where they were mixing more mud, which would
be thrown against the existing houses as an outer layer of wall/insulation. The
villagers were very amused by our efforts. They smiled, sang, and definitely
laughed at/with us. I tagged along with an 18 year old girl named Cremantina
(sp?). I could barely manage one full water jug, and she carried two like they
were as light as feathers. I also taught the children how to play “Yes, yes no”
(aka duck, duck, goose. Like I would possibly know how to say that in
Kinyarwanda!). Slipping and literally eating dirt is always a promising way to
build good relations with the locals.
We visited a women’s basket weaving cooperative. Let’s just say I do
not have a future in basket making. I’m sure the unfortunate girl that taught
me had to undo all of my work and start over once I left. We ate fresh oranges
and freshly dug cassava at a nearby farm.
The most intense, yet most important, part of the tour was the visit to
the Nyamata Genocide Memorial. It used to be a Catholic church, but is no longer
a church because of what happened there in the early 90’s. Something I greatly
admire about Rwandans is that they do not deny that the genocide happened. In
fact, they work very hard to assure that it is remembered. “Remember, Unite,
Renew”. A description of the memorial follows. I hope it comes across as
brutally honest, yet respectful.
More than 11,000 Tutsi people took refuge in and around this church.
Imagine cramming thousands of people into something the size of a school
cafeteria. They thought the church would be safe because it was a holy place
that had given sanctuary to Tutsis in the past. Unfortunately, this was not the
case in 1994. The bones of 45,000 Tutsis are now housed in the memorial. When
you enter the memorial, they show the original iron door of the church, still
on its hinges. The bars are bent and there is a large divot in the cement below
the door. Evidence of the grenade that was used to break in. The pews are
covered with the clothes of the 11,000 men, women, and children that were
massacred there. They are tattered, dirty, and some are covered in blood. It is
an intense visual representation of the tragedy. In a way, I admire their
honest approach. I have never seen a memorial like it. Clubs, bullets and
machetes used during the massacre are shown, along with skulls that displays
wounds from the various weapons. The children hid and were murdered in a
separate room. There are still stains on the wall. Many women were brutally
raped, mutilated and murdered during the genocide. Sometimes, if they were left
to live, they were intentionally raped by HIV+ men. One woman at the memorial
is buried separately because of her horrific death, something I will not
discuss here. Her burial commemorates all women who died in such similar,
tragic ways.
This was a heavy experience, to say the least. But I feel like it was
very important for us to see. We must understand where Rwanda has been if we
are to help it move forward.
A handful of reconciliation villages were created after the genocide-- one
of the many attempts to reconcile the country. The village we visited was
started by a priest and houses genocide victims, perpetrators, and returned
refugees (Please note, I did not create these categories, they were told to us).
They all live and work together. They even performed traditional dances for us. Each home is neighbored by two houses of
people from the other “categories”. Victim, perpetrator, refugee, victim,
perpetrator, refugee… They have confessed, forgiven, and united. We heard the
testimony of one perpetrator and one victim. I have never felt closer to the
genocide that I did at that moment. I walk around the city and sometimes see
scars and missing limbs and can’t help but wonder. But these reminders of the
past are always accompanied by smiles and laughter of the Rwandan people. The
young adults who are my age are intelligent and driven, yet were only a few
years old when their lives were changed forever. Their faith and forgiveness
amazes me.
This post was a bit longer and heavier than intended, but I hope it has
helped you realize something you did not know before.
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