Getting to know Rwanda

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.