Kigali, Rwanda - A Spiritual Challenge

Rwanda – Tutsis, Hutus, genocide, death.  Rwanda and its associations are familiar to most of us.  The exact details of how things unfolded here may not be as familiar, but the mentioning of Rwanda certainly doesn’t leave a lovely image in our heads.  At least to me, these are the only things that I could associate with Rwanda before coming here.  The genocide of 1994 which left around a million people dead and the vast majority of the remaining population displaced, injured, and confused, all in a matter of 100 days, has left an ugly stain on human history.  That is Rwanda to most.  I am not going to give a history lesson here but I do recommend you give a little time to research.  What you will find is disturbing.

Why did I come here?  With its sinister past, very recent flare up of violence on the border with DR Congo which left Rwandans dodging stray gun and rocket fire, refugees fleeing the violence creating the possibility for a humanitarian disaster, along with its dismal development statistics, Rwanda doesn’t fit the profile of a holiday destination.  I was asking myself this question as I struggled to get clear information on how to cross into Rwanda from Tanzania.  Looking at the map, the obvious route I was told was too dangerous because of “smugglers”.  The longer route, although safer, had no direct connection to the border and would require several awkward vehicle changes in places I had no information about.  So why go through the trouble of coming here?  First, I had an in.  Peace Corps opened a program here a few years back and I had recently been in touch with some volunteers here.  Rwanda is considered safe and not so off the beaten path, but it is comforting to have someone line you out.  Second, I had heard rumors that Rwanda is beautiful.  Known as the “land of a thousand hills”, tiny Rwanda is packed full of mountains, valleys, lakes, and volcanoes.  Third, my travels are more than just a holiday; I am here to learn as well.  I want to get as complete a picture of Africa as I safely can.  Sadly, crisis is as much a part of Africa as giraffes and lions.

My transit into Rwanda went unexpectedly smooth.  Figuring out the transport connections was straightforward and I only had about 10 awkward minutes standing on the side of the road.  Once across the border it was obvious that I was in a new country.  Besides the usual currency and language change, the steering wheel moved to the other side and the well-maintained bus that I boarded was filled only to capacity, not 20 bodies beyond capacity like Tanzania buses.  Everything seemed very much in order.  As the bus winded its way towards the capital, I couldn’t help but ask myself, “Who is a Tutsi and who is a Hutu?”  As I later learned, these thoughts are forbidden.  Tribal identities have been abolished in Rwanda in an attempt to put the past behind them.  There are no more Tutsis.  No more Hutus.  Only Rwandans.

Upon arriving in the capital city of Kigali, I was highly impressed.  Kigali is possibly one of the prettiest capital cities I have seen yet; spread across several lush ridges and valleys, and hills in the distance as far as the eyes can see.  On top of that, Kigali is clean, streets well-maintained, and traffic orderly with stop light timers and lighted median and center lines.  I also couldn't help but notice the heavily armed military and police presence in the streets.  Kigali is orderly to the max.  A far cry from not even 20 years ago when bodies decayed in the streets and dogs acquired a taste for human flesh.  But I have been warned; there is more than meets the eye in Kigali.

A beautiful welcome to Rwanda 

 Even though Kigali isn't a huge city population-wise, it feels huge thanks to all the ups and downs.  It is absolutely a beautiful city.

The skyline of Kigali city center.

Given Rwanda's dark history, I figured it worth educating myself more about what unfolded here.  To do so, I visited a memorial site and museum in the city.  What I saw and what I learned changed my perspective on the country.  As you progress through the dimly lit rooms you are given a full history of the build-up to the genocide, going all the way back to the early days of colonization.  Then you come to the rooms describing the 100 days of genocide with personal accounts.  My legs became a little weaker.  Further on, you walk through rooms with probably tens of thousands of personal photographs hanging on the walls.  Then there is a room full of skulls and bones; machete cuts clear on the skulls.  Outside the memorial lays the giant mass graves where over 250,000 victims have been laid to rest.  But the hardest room to stomach is the "Children's Room".  Here large photographs of children are displayed; from bouncing babies, to smiling girls, to playful boys.  Under each picture is a placard giving the name, favorite food, favorite hobby, best friend (often "mama") and the like.  It's the last line that brings tears to your eyes; Cause of Death - shot in the head, burned, stabbed in the eyes and head, hacked by machete, beat against the wall.  It's heavy.

One of several rows of mass graves where the remains of over 250,000 victims of the genocide were laid to rest.  This is only a fraction of the total victims.

Leaving the memorial and stepping back into the busy street was a bit of a struggle for me.  My perspective had changed and I was wondering if the signs of genocide were all around me.  Is the woman I passed on the street, clutching a crutch, arm missing at the shoulder, a Tutsi?  Could have that stern looking man once been part of a Hutu death squad?  Is the young man, arm missing at the elbow, begging for money through the bus window, a Tutsi?  Taboo thoughts but hard to keep out of the head.

As if I hadn't had enough, I hopped a mini-bus to the outskirts of Kigali to visit two churches at Nyamata and Ntarama.  During the genocide, churches became a place of refuge for many Tutsis.  But, they also became places of massacres.  Both churches are now memorial sites and for the most part have been untouched since the genocide.  At Nyamata the bodies have been removed but all the bloody clothes and personal belongings remain, heaped on the pews and in piles around the church.  The walls and roof are riddled with bullet holes and signs of forced entry are evident.  At the back of the church lays mass graves.  The security guard for the site took me into the graves, opened caskets, and did her best with no English to describe to me what happened.  She gestured that entire families were packed into single caskets and she also pointed out the stacks of baby caskets.  Skulls and bones in the thousands were neatly placed on racks.  At one point, she gestured at one casket in particular and I think she was trying to explain that her mother and father were inside.  At the next site of Ntarama, things were much the same; left as is.  Ntarama however had a small Sunday school in the back.  Entering the building with little pews I quickly noticed the big dark stain on the wall.  I'll let you put it together.

The clothing of the victims of the massacre at Nyamata; no doubt a disturbing place to walk around. If you look closely you will notice the roof riddled with bullet holes.

Things have not changed in the churches since the sad days of the genocide.  It is eerie walking through the undisturbed rooms imaging the horror that unfolded.

A sobering reminder of what happened in Rwanda.  The world needs to know and always needs to remember.  The UN stepped aside and the rest of the world turned its back; lets at least hope we've learned something.

It was no doubt an emotional day in Kigali.  I found myself holding back tears a number of times.  I have no personal connection to those that were slaughtered, so why is it so emotional?  What happened here was not so much an attack on persons as it was on humanity.  We are all humans.  It does hurt to see these things in person.  At the end of the day, sitting alone in my room at a large church compound, I was able to bring myself a little comfort before falling to sleep.  I was in a church.  The very room that I was sleeping in probably housed frightened Tutsis.  But there was no massacre at this church.