April 20th
10am
Sitting on
wicker furniture
on the patio
of
Bourbon Coffee,
overlooking
the hills
of Rwanda,,,
the cool
breeze
drifting
through
the place...
cars
&
motorbikes
pass below...
the sun
beating
down
from high
above...
sipping on
African
coffee...
a mixture of
espresso,
ginger, &
other potent
spices
fill my taste
buds...
I look out
at the
lush green
hillside,
speckled
with orange
tin
roofs,
set against
the backdrop
of a bright
blue sky,
filled with
thick white
clouds
that hint
of
afternoon
showers
ahead...
palm trees
and other
familiar
trees dot
the hillside...
the smell
of fresh
baked bread
fills
the place...
it feels
like
home...
________________________________________________________
April 20th
6 pm
Today, we visited one of the Rwandan genocide memorials, about 45 minutes outside
of Kigali. We packed into the taxi car like sardines and set out for Ntarama. The ride was
absolutely gorgeous. Deep valleys and tall mountains surrounded us on either side...
Men passed by, transporting large bundles on bicycles... women carried bundles on their
heads and shoulders as children ran ahead of them.
The smell of exhaust wafting in through one window and out the next... dust flying in
our eyes as other vehicles passed by... the breeze whipping my hair around into my face
was all that helped me overcome the warmth of the afternoon and the heat generating from
Jessie and Matthew, sitting on either side of me. "TIA," as they say... This is Africa.
I love it... dirt, heat & all. I don't think of these things when I think of Africa, though. I
think of the strength, and the resilience of the people here.
This month marks the 18th anniversary of the Rwandan Genocide of 1994. All over the
city of Kigali, as well as throughout the outskirts of the city, purple and white banners hang
in commemoration. They read: "Learning from our history to build a brighter future." If
you do not know the history of the genocide, I highly recommend you research it. The
reconciliation efforts since the genocide display grace in such a powerful, powerful way.
As we made our way to the memorial at Ntarama, we spoke with Jean Pierre, our driver,
who spoke some English. "You are going to see our bad story," he commented. We pulled
up to the place, and climbed out of the taxi. A woman met us at the gate to guide us through
the memorial site.
The first structure we came to was a church. She explained to us that in the past, people
had fled to this place for refuge during times of violence and were safe. The Tutsis fled to
this place in 1994, in hopes that they would be safe from the genocide. When we stepped
inside the clay building with a tin roof, to the right of us was a rack. On the top and bottom
racks were piles of the bones of the people who had perished here. On the middle rack, their
skulls were displayed in rows.
Our guide explained to us that those who were born after the genocide are taught about
it in school, then brought here "to know". Further in, the clothes of the people who perished
here lined the walls, laid across the concrete, 6-inch tall "pews", and hung from the
windows and the rafters. There were so many. In the front of the church, to the right and on
the floor, were machetes, axes, and other weapons that had been used here. Next to these,
were supplies that the Tutsis had brought with them to survive until the violence had
subsided... cups, bowls, shoes, bottles books, etc. Where the altar normally would be, hung
another purple and white banner that read:
"If you knew me,
and you knew
yourself,
You would not
kill me."
Tears stung my eyes as I read these words. These people, the Tutsis and the Hutus, were
neighbors, friends, and coworkers... In the next structure, there were school books and Bibles
that the children had brought along so they could keep up with their school work until they
were able to go back to school. The only other thing in this structure was a coffin, covered
in cloth, and a cross placed on top with words that I could not read written on it. It was
sitting underneath the only window in the structure, looking out over a field, where the sun
was beaming down, and a single butterfly fluttered about...
[side note: Everywhere I have traveled, and in every stage of my life, God has always
sent a butterfly to me to remind me that He is with me still, and that He loves me much.
In Haiti, He sent one to me while I walked through a graveyard... so strange the places
He decides to show himself... yet, I do not think it is without purpose.]
As we walked out and around the back of the church building, we could see where
grenades had exploded and left holes in the corners and the sides of the building... the
window panes full of shards of glass...
The next structure we were led to had been the kitchen. This building had been
destroyed by fire. Pots and pans were strewn around the floor... remnants of wooden
cabinets leaned against the remaining walls... one wall was completely destroyed...
After this we were led into the Sunday school room, were the children had studied and
hid. This was by far, the hardest place to face. Inside, the front left corner was stained a
dark brown color. Our guide explained that this was where they had thrown the children up
against the wall and killed them. After this, our guide walked out of the room. We stayed
here for a long time. There were dried up flowers laid everywhere in the front of the room
that people had left. There was a banner that children that had survived the genocide
elsewhere had written...
"Your death
has left
a great gap
in our life
and we will
never forget
you."
Silence filled the place as we sat and processed what we were seeing... the weight of it,
the effects it's had on the country, etc. After a long period of time, we got up to leave. As we
were walking back, we asked what the purple and the white in all the banners stood for...
"The purple," she said, "stands for mourning... the white," she continued, "stands for hope."
These people have endured so much heartache and loss... none have been left unaffected
in one way or another. The stories of reconciliation that I have heard... are absolutely...
incredible, powerful, moving, inspiring...
The fact that they can say to one another, "You killed my mother, father, brother, or
sister," and with the same breath, say, "I forgive you..." is powerful beyond words. They have
a long way to go, but they have come so far, and have so much to teach us.
