Rwanda

On the 2nd of April a friend and I faced the dilemma of our Ugandan Visa’s quickly approaching the point of expire. I had wanted to use this predicament as an advantage and travel to Rwanda as I had read, heard and was impacted by what I knew of the 1994 Genocide. So we headed off, largely unaware of the history of this nation.

Freshly arrived driving through the city; streets so clean (in comparison to Kampala) the air unspoiled and the landscape of ‘a thousand hills’ was beautiful and refreshing. I was soon to be reminded of the tiredness accompanied to travelling to a new, unknown place can bring with the change of currency, unfamiliar ways and culture and history = emotionally draining.

A friend upon our return decided to see Rwanda for herself and I agree of how she described it as “Hills surround the city on every side, making it feel as though you are protected from anything beyond it, which as we said, is rather ironic.”

The Rwandan Genocide was the 1994 mass killing between the tribes of Hutu and Tutsi, an estimated 800,000 people over the course of approximately 100 days were killed.

Approaching the Rwanda Genocide Museum, we saw hundreds of what I assumed as locals, marked with a dash of purple material walking towards this site. I felt somewhat guilty as a tourist and disliked driving up to the site amidst a crowd of mourners, the car and our skin making us stand out. Being Easter and the genocide presence quite recent, this is a time of remembrance. We tried to stay out of way and split from the crowd to the museum, as the crowd went and mourned, burying remains of loved ones they are continually finding.
I was amazed and hauntingly enlightened at the information we soon after discovered. The scale of innocent killings, other countries involvement and assistance and how so many people of higher power than the locals tried to contact ‘outside’ help. These transcripts of radio calls, letters and other forms of despairing correspondence had clear evidence of what was occurring and were desperate cries for help. I read that if the UN had sent in 5000 troops the degree of the Genocide would not have occurred. Apologies after were of course given.

I can’t help but think and relate this to horrendous, unspoken situations in the world today.

I could not and cannot digest this nor comprehend. I search for a solution in some form or string to understanding so much. The faces worldwide that is everyday being slayed to an undeserved, evil death are not shown. And the mother’s heart that was once beating alongside her son’s is silent.

The two memorial churches we visited I will never forget…
-Ntarama Genocide Memorial
Churches were thought of as a place of safety so the pursued took refuge in churches, thinking the militia would not get in and kill them in a place usually thought of as a sanctuary. At the Ntarama site 5000 people were killed. Upon entrance there are the skulls and bones of these victims. The prints on the skulls clearly show signs of the trauma that killed them. Among the mass of skulls you see fragile small tops of children’s skulls.

The victims clothing hangs from the roof and is draped, covering the walls. The precious few items they were wearing at the time are piled at the front of the church. It’s hard to fathom seeing someone’s glasses, shoes, rosemary beads, wallets, keys, children’s socks, the last remnants of what they clenched or wore when the grenades blew in, the ruthless Rwandan brothers flooded in and the machetes started massacring. Sitting on the pews of those before who sat in fear of what was about to take place, praying desperate prayers which I can only think would feel helpless. My feet aligned were there’s would have shock.

Outside the once mantled room belonging to the priest was still housing a broken chair, table, bibles and paper work.

-The Nyamata Genocide Memorial Site

This church was also a haven for the frightened people who fled hoping to escape death. 10,000 were killed here, there are 12 survivors.
We were greeted by a gentleman by the name of Charles. Charles walked us through the church, telling the story of the massacre that had taken place here, how the blood was still on the wall, splattered on the roof, the gunshots in the door, walls and ceiling. 'I think the killers thought it was like a party' Charles said. The people inside heard the killers coming from afar banging drums and chanting joyously towards the church and then breaking down the door.

He told us of the storyline of the killings, the mockery and stunning cruelty used by the killers, every now and again stopping in pain, as if biting his lip and then bringing himself to continue.

“They took 5 of the highly known intellects and tied them around this post, here they had there ‘wisdom’ bashed out with a hammer. They then mocked the dead bodies to rise up and walk out if they had a brain.”
“Are you bored? Do you want to play football?” One smirked to the crowd “let me go get you a ball” he returned throwing a head of one of the victims towards them. They chopped of arms and waved them in front of the crowd singing ‘were waving goodbye to you cockroaches for good’

Charles went on “there was a Hutu lady brought here and told to kill her husband, a Tutsi. She refused so they took her to the front, laying her on this alter. From here they ‘removed’ the sin from her using a machete, removing her unborn child in the process.”

We followed Charles to the area the children were together. I cannot bring myself to write these stories. We walk the pews, draped with the victims’ clothes and belongings, past the blood stained alter, the skulls underneath the church and then outside walking underground to the masses of skulls, coffins and body parts. The stench hitting you in the face and the thousands of bones nearly touching your own.

I couldn’t cry. Maybe because it is too unfathomable.

I sit outside talking with Charles. I ask the common question of how long he has been in Rwanda. He nervously puts his hands under the table and looks past my face into the distance. In a trembled voice he reply’s “I was one of the twelve that survived the genocide in this church”

I was speechless and recalled the bizarre moments Charles delivered during the ‘tour’. Charles at the age of 8, was victim to not only being there and watching and hearing the screeches of his whole family being killed but now living with terror he witnessed. Charles brother smeared him with his blood before he died. Charles pretended to be dead and for three days he tried not to move as the killers intermittently probed bodies to see if anyone was still alive. He then went to a swamp and stayed for 31 days, waiting by the last words of his brother “I will meet you here” Charles was later found and brought to an orphanage.

Charles spoke of the reconciliation process and despite all, he seems at peace. Which to me seems impossible, yet Charles is a remarkable man whom I will never forget nor take for granted hearing his story.

I sit here now in the airport waiting for my flight back to Uganda, I cannot comprehend all I have seen and heard nor do I think I ever will. Rwanda seems to have come a very long way, the whole nation is rebuilding in every way. There is hope, motivation and some pure miracle of forgiveness.