Nine movies in 24 hours.

Saturday/Sunday, July 23/24

At the Amboseli airport, waiting for the flight back to Nairobi.

Finally, after 23 unforgettable days in Africa, it was time to return home to the U.S. It would take me 24 hours and 15 minutes, including a 16-hour flight over the North Pole. Actually, if you want to count from the time we left Amboseli, it took 38 hours and 45 minutes - plus the two-hour drive from San Francisco to my home. That's right, we had a 14-hour layover in Nairobi, which we spent at a little cafe at the airport because we really didn't have anywhere to go in the city. I did get to try Pineapple Fanta, however. That was exciting.

 

I have now tried Citron, Fiesta, Apple, Pineapple, Orange

and Strawberry Fanta. It's kind of a game for me now.

Mom was flying straight to Switzerland for work, so we parted ways in Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. I had a semi-quick layover in Dubai, which gave me the following impressions: Shiny! Western. Unbelievably hot. I felt like I was in a kiln the moment I stepped onto the jetway, despite the fact it was 4:50 in the morning. In the airport, I saw a familiar green straw, so I wandered about the terminal for a few minutes and - sure enough! - there was a Starbucks in the airport. I didn't get in line, though, because I didn't know if they would accept my gift card.

Fun with Mom in Kigali.

Sunday, July 17

Today was my first full day with Mom in Rwanda! When she found out I had been accepted to the study abroad program in March, she mentioned wanting to visit Africa and the possibility of meeting up with me somewhere on the continent. It took a while for us to nail down our plans, but we finally decided she would come to Kigali for a few days, then we would fly to Kenya to spend some time at a safari lodge in Amboseli National Park. That way, I could get my meaningful, educational experience in Rwanda, but I could still do the "touristy" things like look at animals!

After breakfast, we went to visit the Kigali Genocide Memorial Center. We also took Kiela (who didn't get to go with us the first Sunday) and Tyler and Lauren, who just wanted to revisit and spend some more time at the memorial. I didn't think I would want to go back inside, so I brought my book (No Future Without Forgiveness by Desmond Tutu that I checked out of the IGSC library) to sit outside and read. But once I got there, I ended up walking through the exhibits again because I wanted to point some things out to my mom (like the chain that Bea's brother had been buried with). I'm glad I went through it again because I noticed some different things this time.

Apparently, the first the time I went through, I missed all the good stories. There was not much good that occurred during the genocide (obviously), but the memorial center did have a room dedicated to honoring those people who had saved lives during the genocide. One of the most memorable stories was about Frodouald Karuhije, a Hutu who thought the RPF was going to kill him. He dug a trench to hide in, but once he realized the genocide was being committed against the Tutsi, not the Hutu, he used it to hide 14 Tutsis from the genocidaires. His daughter and niece also helped by preparing meals and taking them to the Tutsis in their hiding spot. Similarly, Damas Mutezintare Gisimba saved people who had been left alive in the mass graves.

I was so thankful I went back through the center after I read these stories, considering they were the only comforting part of the enter memorial. I also noticed more tragedy this time, however. Did you know the number of foreign troops used in the evacuation of diplomatic staff and foreign workers would have been sufficient to stop the genocide? Neither did I. Or that after the Security Council agreed to established UNAMIR II on May 17 (about seven weeks before the genocide finally ended), the U.S. took over a month to provide the 50 armored personnel carriers it had promised? The French weren’t blameless, either (as we well know). In fact, they were partially responsible for the massacre at Bisesero. Over 50,000 Tutsis were hiding in these hills, until the French troops told them it was safe to come out. The interahamwe were waiting for them, and only 1,000 Tutsis survived.

I lost my mom somewhere in the memorial rooms at the end of the timeline. When I found her outside, she was pretty ready to leave. “I can’t believe you’ve been doing this for two weeks,” she said. I assured her we were not always surrounded by so many gloomy memories. We had been visiting cultural centers, learning about the government and enjoying our new friendships with the Rwandan students. But it’s true; the two weeks were hard, especially after we got to hear the personal stories of our own acquaintances there, including one IGSC student whose parents and six brothers and sisters were murdered during the genocide.

It was time to move on, then, so we went back into the city in the hopes of finding Aroma Café, a small shop we had visited one night for dinner. Tyler remembered its general location, so we had the cab drop us off at a familiar hotel and we walked until we found it. On the way, we passed the open market, which I had promised to show my mother. After lunch (samosas and a milkshake for me – yum!), the other students walked back to the apartments while I took my mom to the market. The kids loved her blonde hair. They followed us constantly, asking us to visit their stalls and holding up vegetables and other goods for us to evaluate. My mom wasn’t as timid as I was when it came to taking pictures, so I finally got some good shots of the market:

We (and by we, I mean Mom) purchased some decorative baskets to hang on the wall at home and a couple wooden bangles for ourselves. (I chose yellow and black, to show my Mizzou spirit during the upcoming fall semester.) By then, the time difference (nine hours from San Francisco) was starting to hit Mom, so we headed back to the hotel for a short nap before the closing ceremony that night.

The closing ceremony had been changed to earlier (originally it was the end of the third week), so Kiela and I got out our fabric to fashion some togas. Unfortunately, my fabric was not two yards. I guess I got swindled at the market! I found a couple wrap styles that could have worked, but then I learned the girls who had gotten traditional clothes made hadn’t received the finished products yet. I went with a sundress instead, as it was easier to wear and I wouldn’t be the only one not in “African” clothing.

Dinner was at a nice outdoor restaurant – wine included. After eating, all the students shared a little bit of their experience in Rwanda. I kept it short and simple: “I am one of those people who’s leaving early, on Tuesday, but had I known the wonderful experiences I would have and all the people I would meet and how much I learn, I would have scheduled to stay a little bit longer. But I am grateful for everything I have learned so far, and thank you all for being a part of that. And I can’t wait to come back some day.”

And we got T-shirts!

Ours loosely say: "How are you?" and "I'm fine."

It is what she said.

Sorry I am so far behind with my writing. But my goal is to catch up before August 1 because:

1) I head back to school on August 5 and then I know I’ll never catch up.

2) My journal (aka this blog) is due to my professor on August 1, so I don’t really have a choice.

3) I just spent an amazing three days in Kenya, and I want to tell you all about that, too!

So, to finish out my last week in Rwanda:

Tuesday, July 12

Today continued more discussions on religion and what specific groups did (or didn’t do) during the genocide. After a pretty statistic-heavy presentation about the Gacaca Court (Rwanda’s local way of dealing with perpetrators after the genocide, excluding organizers and perpetrators of sexual abuse, who are tried in the UN’s International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda), we had a Muslim leader speak to us in the afternoon.

The speaker began by describing the historical relationship of Muslims and Rwandan leaders. Traditionally, relations between the colonial administration and Muslims were tense. Muslims could not be educated in Rwanda unless they adopted Christian names, so many Muslim parents were hesitant to enroll their kids because of fear of conversion. Muslim Rwandans, while not classified as either Hutu or Tutsi, traditionally sided with the Tutsi group because they both felt persecuted after the Hutu government took power in 1959. During the genocide, many Muslims hid Tutsis in their mosques. Whereas those who hid in the churches were usually massacred, Tutsis who hid in mosques were not attacked. Muslim leaders also preached against the genocide, reminding Rwandans not to murder their brothers and sisters.

However, this is not to say that Muslims were blameless in the genocide. While it is true that there were Muslims who hid Tutsis in their homes and saved them, there were also Muslims who participated as genocidaires. (Just as there were also Christians who helped Tutsis hide from their killers.) In fact, one person in the classroom testified that her family was murdered by a Muslim in 1994. The thing that surprised me the most was that the author of the "Hutu Ten Commandments" - a propaganda document from 1990 encouraging the Hutu to recognize their superiority over their Tutsi neighbors and destroy the Tutsi influence in Rwanda - was a Muslim. To be clear, I don't blame Islam as a religion or Muslims as a group for this document; it is the responsibility of the specific people who wrote and published it. However, I am a little disappointed that the general public is always so willing to criticize the Catholic Church and other Christian groups for their condemnable behavior during the genocide, but after months of studying this is the first time someone mentioned the author of the Hutu Ten Commandments - arguably the worst thing released in the media to instigate the genocide - was a Muslim. It makes me wonder why people are so quick to blame the Pope but ignore people of other religions who failed to step in or directly encouraged hatred and murder.

On a lighter note (of course), I wanted to include a picture of my roommates on the trip. For dinner on Tuesday, we went to a new restaurant (adorable, nice outdoor eating area, really yummy tortillas) and took some pictures outside.

The roomies: Lauren, me, Colbey, Kiela.

A lesson in American humor.

And finally, you might be wondering about the title of this post because nothing so far has been relevant. Well, we've been trying to teach our Rwandan friend Emmanuel some American humor, namely "That's what she said" and sarcasm. Unfortunately, we introduced him to both at the same time, which caused some confusion. Now, every time I say something that provokes a laugh, Emmanuel responds with, "It is what she said," even if the joke was not suggestive.

Likewise, any time someone tries to use sarcasm on Emmanuel, he doesn't sense it and gets offended. For example, one day he asked Kiela if he could sit by her at lunch, and she said no.

• Emmanuel: "Oh, I'm sorry, is someone already sitting here?"
• Kiela: "No, I just don't want you to sit here."
• Emmanuel: "Really?"
• Kiela: "I would rather have you sit somewhere else."

At this point, Emmanuel was looking rather distraught, so I jumped in from across the table to tell him: "Emmanuel! Sarcasm." He looked questioningly at Kiela and asked, "Really?" We all began laughing, and she told him that of course he could sit down. He was very relieved, saying, "Good. I was going to say, 'You really offended me.'"

He has gotten better at recognizing sarcasm, but he still confuses it with "That's what she said." Whenever he correctly identifies sarcasm, he follows up with, "It is what she said," which by now is almost as funny as the original intention of the joke anyway.

Echoes of peace.

Monday, July 11

After a busy and emotional weekend, we returned to our normal schedule of morning lectures at IGSC. The religious discussions weren't over, though, as our speakers today included a Catholic priest and a Presbyterian minister. I had really been looking forward to hearing from members of the religious community, especially after how little the churches did for the Tutsi during the genocide, but I was really disappointed by the priest's presentation. First, he was extremely difficult to understand, so I didn't catch most of what he was saying. Second, I felt his points were very convoluted, and he seemed to be trying to dodge blame to the extent he wasn't very helpful in his explanations when students asked questions.

One strange thing that came out of the lecture was the idea that genocide is not a sin in the Catholic Church. Maybe I missed that part of the presentation (like I said, he was difficult to understand, which therefore made it hard for me to concentrate), but I'm pretty sure that is inaccurate. After all, if murder is a sin (and it definitely is), why wouldn't murdering thousands of people of a single ethnicity be a sin? I think he was trying to say that the Catholic Church as an institution did not accept responsibility for the genocide, but it wasn't presented that way. As I already mentioned, I believe in personal responsibility, and I don't think it's the Church's fault that some priests decided to betray their congregations any more than I blame the Church when a priest decides to molest a little boy, but I don't think he presented his argument very well.

While looking for pictures for this post, I stumbled upon this interesting article comparing the Pope's reaction to Irish priests who have molested children to priests who led massacres during the genocide.

The altar at Nyamata Church, which we visited yesterday, surrounded by victims' clothing.

Strawberry Fanta!

And on to less serious and more touristy topics....

After lunch, several of us went to the open market to get fabric for our closing ceremony dresses.  I was able to get two meters of a "traditional"-looking green, yellow and blue print (the colors of the Rwandan flag) for 2,500 francs. I tried to negotiate down, but failed. Oh well, most of the shopkeepers had been starting at at least 3,000, so I still thought I got a good deal. After purchasing our fabric, we went to visit a tailor. At least, I thought we were visiting a tailor. Instead, we picked her up in a very crowded area of Kigali and pulled into a small parking lot so she could fit us on the bus.

Amusing? Yes. Hot? Definitely yes.

Because my roommate Kiela and I are leaving during the third week and still didn't know if the closing ceremonies were being rescheduled for earlier, we opted not get something made and just fashion ourselves a toga if needed. (The toga-making skill is only one of the many benefits of being in a sorority. Ha.) While everyone else was being fitted in the bus, we left with Colbey (another roommate) to walk around this new area of the city.

During all our meals so far in Rwanda, our beverage options have been: Coca Cola, Citron Fanta, Fiesta Fanta (grape), Orange Fanta, Sprite and water. We had heard of the elusive Strawberry Fanta, but hadn't had the opportunity to try it yet. While strolling down the street, we found some! And purchased it, of course. With a chocolate bar. Yum. And drank it. And took pictures of this fabulous experience.

Kiela got a Coke. And now she regrets it. Lame.

Art After the Genocide

Our evening schedule was a little different today in that we had another classroom meeting before dinner. We had two guest speakers/performances visit us. First, we heard from a group that makes documentary films about the genocide. They spoke briefly about the process and then we watched their most recent film, which included interviews with survivors of the genocide.

The second presentation, a Rwandan theater group called Mashirika, was amazing. The woman who led the informational presentation was very well spoken, and the performance itself was unbelievably touching. It was a kind of interpretative storytelling, for lack of a better term, in which one young woman recited a monologue about the genocide as another young woman and two men danced slowly behind her. The story wasn't her own, but she performed it so well I didn't realize that until the end. She spoke of seeing the river full of Tutsi bodies, including an infant caught against a rock. Her voice rose to almost unbearable levels as she asked:

"What kind of man would kill a baby? A man like you?

Or a man like me?"

After the monologue, the female dancer in the background began singing a gorgeous (and surprisingly uplifting) song called "Echoes of Peace." I'm going to try to find it for my iPod; it was that good. It was definitely the best session we had at the CNLG building so far.

I found this poster on Mashirika's website. This particular quote really hit me during the slide show we watched before their performance. Also, the man in this poster was one of the dancers we saw.

And the Pope sent a rosary.

Sunday, July 10

Today continued our weekend of thought-provoking memorial sites and harsh reminders of the reality of the genocide. Today also forced me to really think about the Catholic Church and its role in the genocide, which was disappointing at best and condemnable at worst. As one of the few Catholics on the trip, it was enlightening to hear what my friends (some of whom are atheist) thought of my institution's behavior.

Nyamata Church

Once again, we drove outside Kigali to see the memorial site at Nyamata Church. Pictures were not allowed, but a Google image search brings up plenty of photographs. During the genocide, more Tutsis were killed in churches than in any other place. Over 2,500 people died inside Nyamata Church alone. The gate to the church is still missing bars where the Hutu genocidaires deactivated an explosive to get inside. With only one door, the church trapped everyone who was hiding inside. The genocidaires threw grenades into the packed church and then finished the living off one by one with machetes, as they still had no way to escape.

Today, the pews inside the church are piled high with clothes from the victims, which were removed from the excavated bodies for inclusion in the memorial site. Narrow beams of light from the bullet and shrapnel holes in the ceiling dot the floor. Our tour guide pointed out blood spatters on the back wall, where the Hutus swung infants by their legs to crush their skulls against the brick. Perhaps the most eerie image of all was an intact statue of the Virgin Mary perched midway up the wall, holding her rosary and looking down over the catastrophe.

Speaking of a rosary, the rosary the Pope sent after the genocide is also on display in Nyamata Church. That rosary is the only thing the Pope sent to the people of Rwanda after the genocide. (I'm especially disappointed in this because Pope John Paul II was a pretty cool guy, especially as far as tolerance and progressiveness in the Catholic Church is concerned.)

Photo courtesy of Pinterest.

Outside the church is a grave site for an Italian woman who had regularly helped protect the Tutsi before the genocide. Many people don't know this, but massacres of Tutsis began occurring in Rwanda in 1959 - not 1994. Because churches had previously been safe havens for Tutsis to hide in during earlier conflicts, they thought they would be safe in places of worship again. Unfortunately, the woman was shot on her doorstep by Hutu extremists in 1992, so she was no longer able to provide assistance to the Tutsi of that area during the genocide. As we observed a moment of silence, a church in the distance began singing, quietly but audibly. I was reminded of my experience at Murambi the day before.

Finally, we visited the mass graves behind the church. You can actually walk down into the graves, where the skulls, femurs and other bones are laid out on their own shelves. The skulls had clear gashes and breaks in them where they were crushed with machetes, and the amount of bones laid side by side was sickening. Again, I noticed the purple and white religious clothing hanging at the base of the staircase into the grave, a harsh contrast for a Christian like myself to reconcile with the bodies laid beside them. (More on that at the end of this post.)

Survivors/Genocidaires Co-Op

We had originally planned to visit the nearby Ntarama Church as well, where an estimated 5,000 Tutsi were murdered. However, the group elected to skip the second memorial and instead head to a neighborhood where Tutsi survivors and Hutu genocidaires live as neighbors. This was especially interesting to me because it was the first time I got to hear a genocidaire share his (or her) side of the story.

I first began to seriously wonder about the Hutu perspective and motivations when I watched Beyond the Gates for one of our pre-trip classroom sessions. In the film, there is a young Hutu man who works at a school that later becomes a refuge for Tutsi villagers. When the president's plane is shot down, a British teacher who works at the school asks the man what is going on. He responds that the Tutsi are going to take over the government again and turn all the Hutu into their servants. It made me curious to see what other reasons the Hutu had for attempting a complete extermination of their Tutsi countrymen.

At the co-op, a genocidaire named Matthew gave us three reasons for his participation in the genocide (he killed six members of a local pastor's family, burned some Tutsi homes and stole their livestock):

1. The encouragement of the local leadership. (Remember that the genocide in Rwanda was state-sponsored.)
2. He said he did not hesitate to follow their commands because he had been told all his life that Tutsis were his only enemies. They were wealthy and had lots of cows and property, while the Hutu were poor. He believed if he took the Tutsis' property, he would be relieved from poverty and never have to go hungry again.
3. The government threatened that if a Hutu did not participate, he would be killed himself.

I can't say I find that to be a satisfying justification for what happened - I don't think any reasoning would be adequate - but I also realize I have never been in his position. I'm curious to know, what do you think about his response?

After the genocide, Matthew spent nine years in prison for his crimes. He was then asked to reconcile with the pastor whose family he had murdered, and the church set up this co-op for survivors and genocidaires to live together. Today, they claim their children grow up not caring whether they are Hutu or Tutsi. I hope for the children's sake that their parents are right, and not just using "reconciliation" as a facade for lingering animosity. The kids were pretty cute, though, and they loved getting their picture taken:

Post-Genocide Faith

At the co-op, we were also able to hear from a survivor, Jacqueline, who is mentioned in this recent article from the BBC. (I recommend you read it if post-genocide society is interesting to you at all.) One member of our group asked her how she was able to keep her faith even after her family was murdered in a local church, and how she was able to reconcile with the killers living next door. She answered with two Biblical examples that most Christians are familiar with:

1. The story of Zacchaeus, who waited in a tree to see Jesus until Jesus asked him to come down and be with him. Jacqueline said she needed Jesus to invite her back to Him in order for her to forgive her family's killers.
2. When Jesus was on the cross, He was able to forgive His killers, saying: "Forgive them, for they know not what they do." (Luke 23:34)

Disclaimer: The rest of this post is pretty personal. If you feel uncomfortable discussing religion or have your own very strong religious beliefs, don't feel obligated to continue reading.

It was extremely moving to hear how a woman who had lost so much could still keep her faith. I am fortunate to have never had my faith tested in that way, but I would hope that if I suffered as she did, I would be able to find something in Christianity to hold on to. As Catholics, we believe in free will, and I personally believe in individual responsibility. I know God did not kill those Tutsi; the genocidaires did. Yes, God could have stopped it, but I don't think that's His role in the world. At the risk of sounding too "Bible-pusher"-y, I will say that we are not meant to understand everything that happens in this world. I do wish the Catholic Church as an institution would have done more to prevent or at least speak against the genocide as it was occurring, but there are a lot of things the Church does that I don't necessarily agree with. I believe any church, like any human institution, is fallible just as humans are. It doesn't mean I believe in the existence of God any less or have any less reason to appreciate all the wonderful things He does do for this world. It just means I have to work harder to understand why this happened and what the message is intended to be.

I'm usually not very vocal about my faith; I don't typically discuss religion beyond an educational/informative perspective because I know it's a very sensitive topic, and I believe people should be able to practice whichever faith gives their life purpose (within proper boundaries, of course). But this trip has forced me to think about difficult questions such as: What kind of God would let this happen? Where was Jesus when the Tutsi needed him? And so on and so forth.

The experience I had today was quite a contrast to a conversation I had with a fellow intern in Atlanta just last month. I hadn't mentioned it in my blog yet, but it has really stuck with me, so I'll mention it now. This particular young woman has an extremely strong faith in God, and Jesus really is an integral part of her everyday life. I asked her about it one day because I get the feeling that type of visible faith is more prominent in the Southern culture. She answered me in this way:

When you first get a boyfriend, all you want to do is talk about him. When I think about Jesus and how awesome He is, I can't help but want to talk about Him, too.

When I think about this friend's strong sense of faith, it reminds me how much I admire all the Rwandan people today who can continue to worship - sometimes even in the churches that failed to protect their families and friends - despite all the tragedy they have experienced. I truly hope that everyone who is affected by the genocide (or a similar hardship) has found a way to cope, whether that is through religion or something else, and that they can lead a content, healthy life despite their past.

Sinamenya uko mbivuga.

Saturday, July 9

Sinamenya uko mbivuga. I don't know how to say it.

I learned that phrase today (Wednesday) in lecture, and I think it was very appropriate that I began writing this post shortly after. I think it's safe to say that Saturday was a difficult day for all of us on the trip. We traveled to the southern part of Rwanda to see the Murambi Genocide Memorial Center, which has hundreds of mummified skeletons from the Murambi massacre on display. It was a long day, as Murambi is a six-hour round trip from Kigali, and included some very sensitive experiences. I think this quote sums up my approach with this particular post:

Photo courtesy of Pinterest.

Hopefully I can achieve at least that much.

The day began with another beautiful drive out of the city. Of course, as a girl with an "aggie" background, I was very curious about what was being planted in all the fields. Emmanuel (the "Rwandan friend" who has become closest to me and my roommates on the trip) pointed out the different crops by the road, from sugar cane to pineapple to banana trees. Again, I noticed many beautiful blue doors on the houses and storefronts. Emmanuel said this had no significance, though; it's just personal preference.

Driving out of the city.

I also saw some very adorable goats tied up outside people's homes. As I mentioned yesterday, I have developed quite an appreciation for goat meat since being here. My reaction was something like this (to the amusement of my roommates):

"Aww, what a cute goat! Maybe I should become a vegetarian."

... short pause ...

"Nah, I'd kill it myself."

I took quite a few pictures of this adorable goat.

History Lesson in Nyanza

On our way to Butare for lunch, we stopped in Nyanza (the former capital of Rwanda) to visit the Museum of Rwandan Ancient History and the Nyanza Royal Palace. The "Royal Palace" is a replica of a traditional king's home: a hut made of sticks and bamboo. I wasn't really supposed to be taking pictures (oops), but I got one of the ceiling from inside:

There were also two smaller huts behind the king's hut, one for the milk maid and one for the beer boy. They were both young virgins from the community whose only job was to make the king's milk or beer. They were not allowed to have any contact with the outside world, and the queen mother had sole discretion over how long they remained in the king's service.

They also had some very cool cows behind the huts. One student on the trip asked if these were the kind of cows I had at home. Ha!

The Museum of Rwandan Ancient History was right next to the traditional palace and housed inside the former residence of King Rudahingwa of Rwanda - the last royal palace used by Rwandan royalty. (A more elaborate palace was built on a nearby hill, but King Rudahingwa died a few months before he was scheduled to move in. That palace now houses an art museum.) We weren't allowed to take pictures inside, but we did learn that the king was 7'4" ... and used a normal-sized bathtub. That got some laughs from the group.

Murambi Genocide Memorial Center

After lunch, it was time to drive the rest of the way to the Murambi Genocide Memorial Center. We had been warned the site would be graphic, and our professor encouraged us to not go in if we didn't feel comfortable. Although she was living in the U.S. in 1994, she lost many members of her family in the genocide, so she has not yet visited the site and doesn't know if she ever will. I find this completely understandable, especially after seeing what I did in the memorial site.

Murambi was a technical school that over 65,000 Tutsis used as a hiding place during the early days of the genocide. Local government officials and a bishop (unfortunately - I'll focus more on the religious disappointments of the genocide in Sunday's post) told them they would be safe at the school, but in reality its location in a valley made it the perfect spot for a massacre. On April 21, the French soldiers at the school abandoned the Tutsis, and Hutu genocidaires attacked the school and massacred over 45,000 Tutsis. Most who managed to escape were killed in a nearby church.

Many of the bodies have since been excavated from the mass graves and placed in the outer buildings, where they were actually killed. The limestone in the ground preserved the skeletons so that sometimes I could even make out a face as we walked by door after door of rooms filled with bodies. A few still had rags of clothing on their bones, but most were naked. There were rooms with men, rooms with men and women, rooms with women and children, and a room of just children. The differences in size of skeletons was obvious, and there were even a few toddlers and babies lying side by side.

It was extremely difficult for many members of our group to see, especially those students who are from Rwanda or had relatives here during the genocide. We also saw the site of the four mass graves, which had a sign that basically said, "French soldiers played volleyball here," over the bodies of the people they had abandoned. There was also an open mass grave, without bodies in it, but which showed the size and depth and the graves. Some people - mostly children - were thrown into the graves alive along with the corpses.

After walking the outer grounds, we went inside the memorial center, which was very similar to my experience in the Kigali Genocide Memorial Center. I went through it fairly quickly, partly because I already knew most of the information and partly because I needed to be alone to digest everything I had just seen. I sat on the low wall outside the center to record some of my immediate reactions in my journal. As I sat there, children in the village right outside the gates began singing. I'm not sure if it was a school or church, but it was eerie to hear how happy they sounded, even though they lived next to such an atrocious piece of their history. From another direction, I could hear the squealing and laughing of more children.

As if that juxtaposition wasn't surreal enough, the very location in which I sat provided a harsh contrast between beauty and tragedy. Behind me, I knew there were long buildings filled with bodies and a shed full of dirty and bloodied clothes that had been removed from the victims. But around me was one of the most beautiful views of Rwanda I had seen yet. The sun was setting over the hills, which rose up on every side of me, carpeted with green trees and dotted with small houses filled with presumably happy families. Pictures were not allowed in the memorial (not that I would have taken any, out of respect for the victims), but I did take the opportunity to take a picture of the view. Of course, my camera cannot truly capture the image or do my memory justice, but I will leave you with that picture - a reminder of how quickly beauty can turn into something ugly, or vice versa.

Apparently senators like champagne.

Friday, July 7

I had been looking forward to the Friday lectures because our guest speaker was Margee Ensign, the president of American University in Nigeria. I had read several excerpts from her book for my synopsis (a 5-page preliminary paper about our final project to be submitted before we arrived in Rwanda), so I wanted to see what see had to say in person. She has a pretty unique perspective of Rwanda when it comes to the country's reconstruction after the genocide. Her book, Rwanda: History and Hope, was originally supposed to be published by the Columbia University Press, but they didn't especially like her chapter on the post-genocide political development in Rwanda.

Dr. Ensign said her editor doubted her portrayal of the current government in Rwanda, so she asked him to find one sentence in her book that was not backed up by fact. Her editor responded that facts were not the problem. Instead, she was told: "It's the only voice out there, and we can't take that risk." So she got it published by the University Press of America instead.

After her presentation on the material covered in her book, we were lucky to have Dr. Ensign tell us a few stories of her personal experience with post-genocide Rwanda. One story she related involved the Gacaca Courts, a local level of trials instituted by the state to try the genocidaires in a quick and fair fashion. While teaching in the U.S., Dr. Ensign had a Rwandan student who left to go home, because he told her he thought his family was going to be killed. (This was at the very beginning of the genocide in April 1994). When she was in Rwanda years later, her student's mother's murderer was on trial in the Gacaca, so she went for support. After the genocidaire was sentenced to 20 years in prison, Dr. Ensign asked her former student how he felt. He responded:

"Justice has been done today. I feel free."

It was powerful to hear from such a strong woman, who not only has very close ties to Africa (as the AU president) but also has personal experiences with the aftermath of the genocide. She is truly an inspiration. She ended her presentation with an amusing story about the people in her office at American University, who would always call her "sir." She finally asked why one day, and they told her: "It is because you are doing a man's job." And doing it quite well, might I add.

The river of Tutsi.

For dinner on Friday, Senator Kagabo (who lectured in class on Wednesday) invited us to his home outside Kigali. It was our first trip outside the city, and it was wonderful to see what other parts of Rwanda looked like. We drove through some big fields with banana trees and schoolchildren who would bang on the windows and chase our bus excitedly. I saw lots of smaller, "traditional" homes with blue doors (I don't know what it is about the blue doors here, but I just love them) and women outside with their babies swaddled on their backs (remember this?). Some grown men even chased the bus at a few points, laughing with the young girls and reaching to touch the windows.

 This isn't from that night, but I took a picture of a blue gate by the hospital where we eat lunch, and I wanted to share it with you.

Eventually, we made it out to the senator's home, which was literally at the end of the road. He had a group of tables and chairs set up for us in his backyard, but first he took us to the edge of his property, where there was a beautiful view of the river. He told us about the role of rivers in the genocide, when the Hutu were told to throw the bodies of their Tutsi victims into the river, so they could go back to Ethiopia, where they came from centuries ago. Sometimes his friends will ask him why he, as a Tutsi, chooses to live above this tragic river. He answers it is so that he can keep watch and ensure a Tutsi will never be thrown in again.

After several hours of sitting and talking and playing with our camera settings in the almost pitch-black backyard, we ate kabobs of goat meat and cow intestines. Yum. But seriously - I love goat meat. The cow intestines were a little chewy, but they basically tasted like barbeque, so they were doable. Finally, the senator popped a (huge) bottle of champagne and we danced to Congolese music until it was time to return home for the night. Only negative: It was too dark to admire the scenery on the way back into the city.

"Sister! I make you good price."

Thursday, July 7

Today, we had the opportunity to visit an open market in Kigali. Exciting! There were so many sights and sounds and smells; it was unlike anywhere I have ever been. First, there were the long sheds that housed counters covered with vegetables, fruits, mounds of flour on burlap sacks, piles of beans and other dry goods, etc., etc., etc. There was also an adorable small child playing on a barrel by the street, but I didn't take a picture because I didn't want to offend his mother, wherever she was. Speaking of which, some of the Africans in the market asked another student to pay them to take pictures, so I didn't want to take many pictures for fear the people would think I was trying to get shots of them. I did try to surreptitiously take a picture of the market as we walked by, but I failed miserably:

 

Along the side of the market were small shops and carts loaded down with imported goods, from backpacks to cell phones to "Barbarry" watches. Of course, I wasn't interested in that stuff; I can go to Wal-Mart when I get home. I was very interested in the plethora of fabrics at the market, however. Many of us (mostly the girls) want to get some traditional Rwandan clothes made for our "Closing Ceremonies" at the end of the program. Right now, it is scheduled for the third week, but as some of us are leaving earlier, our professor is trying to change it. I decided to wait on buying any fabric, but here's a sample of some of the gorgeous patterns:

Behind the fabrics and jewelry was the meat area. AKA: Carcasses were hanging everywhere. Yum yum! Overall, I loved being at the market, but I was really uncomfortable with the shopping process. Women were constantly calling to me, "Sister! Sister!" and waving me into their specific areas. It was hard to say no because they all sounded so excited. One woman even started to cut a piece of fabric that I liked, and I had to tell her, "No! No! I don't know yet..." at which point she made a pouty face. I know I just need to get over it, but I think I'll stick to sticker prices for a while.

There was a huge stack of colorful mattresses across the street. I just thought it was funny and worth a picture.
 

Genocide and the Holocaust

To completely switch tactics, our first lecture on Thursday (before the market in the afternoon) was about Holocaust (and genocide) denial. It still blows my mind that people genuinely believe the Holocaust didn't happen. I assumed everyone had to believe the genocide of the Tutsi really occurred because of how much video and other evidence we have from 1994, but there are those who insist it did not exist. And I don't just mean that it wasn't a genocide - I know that's a very loaded word - but that there are people that don't think mass killing occurred at all.

After the lecture, we got into a discussion about the Holocaust compared to the Rwandan genocide. I didn't speak up in class, but I will share my thoughts now. Some people argued the world "cares more" about the Holocaust because the Jews were white, and people identify more with their brothers than their neighbors. Others mentioned that the Holocaust lasted longer and killed more people. I, however, think the Holocaust is mentioned more in history (at least in American curriculum) because it occurred in Western Europe. Africa has historically been perceived as "uncivilized" and "savage" by the rest of the world, so I think many people (especially older historians and educators) "expect" mass killing in Africa, but they don't expect it from somewhere as "civilized" and urban as Western Europe. Sorry to use so many quotation marks in this paragraph, but I want to stress this is obviously not my belief; I know Africa is civilized. But those are the traditional views held by the Western world, which are hopefully changing in today's society.

There's a hole in my mosquito net!

Wednesday, July 6

Now that we had already been to the CLNG building once (where our classes are located), a few members of the group decided to walk to class Wednesday morning. We gave ourselves an hour just to be safe, but our stop at the coffee shop took longer than expected. We're used to Starbucks' counter service, but here in Rwanda they like to make it an experience, meaning you sit and have a waitress, even if you're getting coffee to go. So at 8:35, as we were walking down the street, our bus pulled up by the side of the road. We were late. Oops. The bus drove us the rest of the way, and we had to start class a little late. (Note: We have now timed the walk and it takes about 36 minutes. So we don't stop for coffee, and we haven't been late again.)

Just for your information (if you continue to read my blog), a typical weekday for this program is set up like this:

• 8:30 - 10 a.m.: Guest speakers/lectures, part one.
• 10 - 10:30 a.m.: Coffee/pastry break!
• 11 a.m. - 12 p.m.: Guest speakers/lectures, part two.
• 12 p.m. - 2 p.m.: Lunch and rest.
• 2 - 4:30(ish) p.m.: Visits to organizations/memorial sites/etc. or another guest speaker.
• 4:30(ish) - 7 p.m.: Free time, shopping, cultural experiences, etc.
• 7 p.m.: Dinner.

Our first speaker on Wednesday was Jose Kabago, a former professor and current Rwandan senator, who lectured about the history of the country and genocide in particular. Although he shared a lot of good information, I found the post-lunch session to be much more interesting and helpful to my understanding of Rwandan society as affected by the genocide.

Mr. Ngoga Aristarque from the Association of Rwandan Student Survivors of Genocide was our second speaker of the day. This association (abbreviated GAERG in Kinyarwanda) aims to make Rwanda "a beautiful, shining country proud to be inherited by a healed, confident, motivated, hopeful and successful generation," according to a handout he gave us. The association was created after the genocide for students because many of them had lost their families in the genocide. Through GAERG, the students are able to get new families, composed of a mom, dad and multiple children. One of the IGSC students who has been traveling with us has 26 students through this organization. Although the children can be older than the parents in some cases, they are expected to adopt the traditional roles of their place in the family. For example, the parents are caregivers for the children, who in return respect and obey their parents, and it becomes "a real kinship," as Ngoga said. "We create a relationship to be in the place of those who were killed in the genocide." In fact, Ngoga is going to be in his GAERG sister's wedding this summer, and their father from the organization will give her away.

The main objectives of GAERG is the commemoration and prevention of genocide in Rwanda, so another major thing the organization does is to commemorate those families that were completely wiped out by the genocide. Since 2009, GAERG has sponsored an event to remember those families that have no living relatives to remember them. The organization also conducts a census in different districts to try to get a number of how many such families in exist. For example, in Karongi District alone, almost 3,000 families totaling over 13,000 people perished. The census gathers information from neighbors who might remember their names, which can then be read at the event. When possible, their pictures are projected and their place of death is identified.

In addition to all these statistics, Ngoga's presentation led to a very difficult discussion. He mentioned that he personally would not be able to marry a Hutu woman after what happened, even today. This raised some questions from our IGSC students that are not Tutsi, who wanted to know what type of reconciliation would be necessary for him to be able to interact with a Hutu on that level, at which point our professor asked, "Does the reconciliation need to be coming from the survivor?" This discussion made me realize how recent the genocide really was. Most of the people who survived the genocide are still alive today; they remember the atrocities that were committed; they recognize their family's killers. I can't think of anything analogous to this in America, as the most severe racial tension I can think of - slavery - was so long ago that no one alive today can remember it, nor even their parents or grandparents.

And finally, I have to include a picture (or two) to leave you on a happier note:

We got mosquito nets in our apartments Wednesday night. We had quite a fun photo shoot inside the bridal-looking nets.

And then of course I found a hole. Oh well. That's why I take my doxy daily. Good times in 221B.

Zebras are for tourists.

Tuesday, July 5

Tuesday was the first day of classes at the Interdisciplinary Genocide Studies Center. After our "Opening Ceremonies" at the school, where the faculty members each spoke about his or her focus in genocide studies and plans for the program, we had lunch at a nearby hospital. Yes, we ate at a hospital. We thought it sounded a little strange, but the view at the rooftop buffet turned out to be phenomenal:

After lunch, we visited the "Neighborhood House"/"Rwanda Avenir," a healing place for widows of the genocide. When we arrived, there were several women sitting in the gazebo making traditional Rwandan paintings. I found a zebra that I really liked, but during the discussion I learned they only started painting zebras for the tourists. Of course, the "cultured traveler" inside me didn't want a zebra after that. I decided I wanted a painting that had historical significance in Rwanda, like the one on the second row, far right, in the below picture:

This design is the same design used on the woven mats that shielded the marriage bed from visitors in Rwandan homes. I thought that would be a neat story to tell when I brought my painting home, but of course it got snatched up right away. I decided I wasn't going to buy one at all, but then every other person in my group was making a purchase. #peerpressure. I got the zebra. (Judge me. It's okay.)

 

But the real reason we went to Avenir was to learn about the organization and hear testimony from the widows. Above is a (very bad) photograph of Avenir's guest house. It is a place for people to stay when they need a cheap bed while passing through Kigali. You can rent a room for 12,000 francs per night, which is only $20. Aside from the guest house, Avenir provides monetary and psychological assistance for the widows of the genocide. There is a resting room in the Neighborhood House that is used for the women to sit, converse and reflect on their experiences. Today, Avenir has expanded to a village of 180 houses for widows and orphans to live in. (No one lives in the Neighborhood House itself.)

The traditional paintings I talked about earlier are one way Avenir helps the widows. They create these paintings both as a form of art therapy and a way to earn a small income. (I bought my zebra painting for 7,000 francs, or a little over $10.) 

One of the women who spoke to us at Avenir is a counselor by profession, and she shared one of her most difficult experiences with us. She counseled a man after the genocide who visited her for several sessions. On his fourth session, he finally opened up and confessed about the murders he had committed during the genocide. While describing one act, she realized he was describing the death of her father. As soon as she realized he was her father's killer, she asked him to leave and told him she could not treat him anymore. When the genocidaire (someone who has committed acts of genocide) realized it was her father, he publicly confessed to the community, but she still can't see him. (And I can't really blame her.)

And now, to end on a lighter note:

 

I just thought this swaddled baby was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. I was a little nervous when the mother first tied her baby onto her back, but the baby held on tight until the blanket was snugly around her. And she made funny engine-like noises when her mother walked around.

Celebrating across the globe.

Monday, July 4

Although I missed celebrating Independence Day in America, I still got to celebrate a pretty cool holiday in Rwanda: Liberation Day. Oh yeah, and I got to hear the president speak.

This banner translates to: "17th Liberation Day / Let Us Shape Our Destiny."

This Liberation Day marked the 17th anniversary of the end of the genocide in Rwanda (July 4, 1994). Because of our affiliation with IGSC, we were all able to attend the national celebration in the soccer stadium in Kigali. We also got very official invitations to sit in the "nice" seats by the politicians:

The first few hours of the ceremony were filled with singing, dancing and traditional performances. I took a couple videos (if I can ever load them). For now, photos will have to suffice:

This was the first of many traditional dances performed at the celebration. I loved the long wigs the men wore; I couldn't help but think of Willow Smith as they whipped their hair back and forth.

 

One of the Rwandan students explained the cultural significance of this dance to me. Traditionally, the large red gourds were used to make butter, and the smaller yellow cups were used to store milk before there were refrigerators. Therefore, both of these items are symbols of beauty and prosperity. The cow is also very revered in Rwanda. In this country, it is a compliment to tell a woman she looks like a cow. As one of the Kigali residents jokingly told me, "If I love you, I tell you you are pretty like a cow," and then he proceeded to "walk like a cow."

Video to come (of a martial arts performance).

I'm not sure what the cultural significance of this little performance was, but I found it quite amusing. There was a funnier one (if you can imagine) before this, but I wasn't quite expecting it and so my camera was not prepared. Can you say girl power?

Finally, it was time to hear President Kagame speak! He was preceded by a couple other speakers, including some government officials, a local woman who performed what sounded like a version of Rwandan "slam poetry" about the genocide, and a man who described his path from being an uneducated Tutsi boy before the genocide to being a successful and wealthy man now. Who would have guessed that I would see the Rwandan president speak live before I saw Barack Obama do the same?

 Demonstrating Rwandan pride with Lauren (one of my fabulous roommates) outside the stadium.

Country of a thousand hills.

Sunday, July 3

I thought Sunday would be a free day to get settled in, rest and prepare for the busy program ahead of us. Not so. The bus picked us up at 8 a.m. for a tour of Kigali, which included visits to the Memorial of Belgian Soldiers and the Kigali Genocide Memorial Center. It was a very educational day, but it was also emotional because it was the first real glimpse of how difficult studying the genocide will be.

History of Kigali

According to our tour guide, the capital of Rwanda used to be very close to the Burundi border. However, a governor in the early 20th century thought the capital should be more centralized and far away from other nations. While looking for a new capital location, he fell in love with Kigali because of its beautiful hills. The city of Kigali is actually named after Mount Kigali, and the word means "big" or "wide."

"It is not a country of a thousand hills," our tour guide joked. "It is a country of many hills. Too many to count."

The view of the city from the Kigali Memorial Center.

Genocide Memorial of Belgian Soldiers at Camp Kigali

We actually drove by the Hotel des Mille Collines (featured in Hotel Rwanda) on the way to this site. We also learned about the various inaccuracies presented in the film, but I'll get into that in a later post. The Belgian Memorial commemorates some of the first deaths of the genocide, those of ten United Nations Blue Berets who were executed at Camp Kigali.

One solider was able to escape, but he came back to rescue the others who were bound inside. He was shot down outside the door (hence all the bullet holes in the above picture). The other nine were later killed with two grenades thrown inside the building, indicative of the overkill and torture methods used against the Tutsi during the genocide.

These ten pillars (above) memorialize the ten Belgian soldiers who lost their lives at Camp Kigali. If you look closely, the notches on each pillar represent the age of each solider. The camp now houses educational displays about genocide in Rwanda and around the world.

Kigali Genocide Memorial Center

The Kigali Memorial Center is the largest genocide memorial site in Rwanda. It is the home of 14 mass graves for over 259,000 victims, all from Kigali. Even now, Rwandans can bring the remains of their relatives to the center and have them buried in the graves. Visiting the center was my first powerful realization that some of my experiences in Rwanda would be difficult - very difficult.

Many of the flowers on the mass graves bear the phrase "Never Again."

Inside the memorial center, I was able to walk through a timeline of the genocide from the tensions caused by colonization to the end of the genocide on July 4, 1994. The exhibit included pictures and captions that expressed the immense tragedy of 1994. While reading about the atrocious acts committed during the genocide, words such as these came up quite often: humiliated, sliced, smashed, pulverized, discarded, mutilated, clubbed.

I also read horrendous stories about specific events. For example, a Catholic priest gave the order for his church to be bulldozed ... with over 2,000 members of his own congregation hiding inside. There was also a chain on display that had been used to tie two Tutsi together before they were buried alive. The chain was recovered when the bodies were exhumed.

"If you knew me and you really knew yourself, you would not have killed me." - Felicien Ntagengwa
 

After reaching the end of the timeline, there were small circular rooms containing personal effects of victims, photographs of victims provided by their families, and even a room with over 100 human skulls and various other bones. Perhaps even more difficult than the ground floor of the center was the upstairs level, where there was a hallway devoted to commemorating children of the genocide.

The hallway contained large photographs of many young victims of the genocide. Next to biographical facts like "Favorite Food" and "Best Friend," there were categories such as "Last Words" and "Cause of Death." Some of these heartbreaking details included a child whose last words were, "Mum, where can I run to?" A pair of sisters, aged 6 and 7, were killed by "a grenade thrown in their shower," and a 9-month-old's cause of death was listed as, "machete in his mother's arms."

 

"Education has become our way forward.... We need to learn about the past; we also need to learn from it." - Kigali Memorial Center

Avega Service

After lunch and a short rest, we attended a memorial service at Avega, an organization for widows, widowers and orphans of the genocide. It was all in Kinyarwanda (the Rwandan language), so we had to depend on the IGSC students for translation, but there was one part that could cross any language barrier:

A group of children went on stage and sat talking in little circles. After a minute, another group of children ran up to the stage, yelling and wielding their arms like machetes. The first group of children screamed and scrambled and crawled on the floor trying to escape. Eventually, the boys from the second group picked the children up over their shoulders and ran out of the room. There was only one girl left on stage, and she took the mike and began speaking quickly in Kinyarwanda, like slam poetry. 

Obviously, I knew from watching that the skit was a reenactment of the 1994 genocide, but a Rwandan student from IGSC added that all the children in the skit were orphans of the genocide. 

Conclusion

Overall, Sunday was a profound experience. It really set the pace for the type of things we would be seeing during our two to three weeks here. I am so glad I had the opportunity to visit the Kigali Genocide Memorial Center, but I would probably never go again. I've been to the Holocaust Museum in D.C., but this experience was completely different. I don't know if that's because the Kigali Memorial Center is actually located where the genocide took place, or because the Rwandan tragedy is much more recent, or because I've been able to actually meet and speak with Tutsi survivors since I have arrived in the country, but I definitely felt a stronger reaction to the memorial sites here.