"You are going to see our bad story..."

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.