By a coincidence of timing, I ended up in Rwanda during the Week of Remembrance/Mourning for the 1994 genocide. It was a very strange, yet incredibly interesting time to be in Rwanda.
Before I get into the heavy topic of genocide…a bit about Rwanda. Rwanda is one of the most astonishingly beautiful places I have ever visited. I thought the landscapes of Uganda were beautiful, until I discovered Rwanda. They call Rwanda “the land of a thousand hills,” which is quite the understatement. I think the mountains add to its wonder though.
I took an overnight bus from Kampala to Kigali. When I awoke in the morning, the mist was
settling into the mountain valleys of southern Uganda. It seemed like a scene straight from “Gorillas in the Mist.” As the bus crossed the border, it was surprisingly striking how different these two countries are. For example, at the customs check point they confiscate all plastic bags because they are not allowed in the country for environmental reasons. The infrastructure here is much more developed; the roads are lined and smoothly paved, and there are even well established drainage systems. We drove in on the winding mountain roads, around the terraced hills of crops, and past tens of Rwandans hand picking tea leaves on the tea plantations. It was an amazing bus ride! Every inch of available land is used for agriculture, even grades so steep you wouldn’t think it is possible to cultivate them. As I understand, this was not the case pre-genocide.
When I got to Kigali I was shocked at how different it is than Kampala. At times, it doesn’t feel like you are in Africa anymore. It is a very Westernized city with a significant French influence (which offered some delicious bread and other foods). The first jaw dropping moment occurred when our group was waiting to dart across the street at the earliest gap in traffic, yet instead, the entire line of cars paused to let us pass. How astonishing? Cars actually yield to pedestrians here, unlike in Uganda where they will in fact hit you, even at a crosswalk. The second shocker was the fact that motorcycle taxi drivers wear green vests denoting them as taxis, as well as carry a helmet for both themselves and their passenger. What a novelty; the idea of safety precautions? The third surprise came when we attempted to take a taxi bus and discovered that in the Rwandan system you purchase a ticket for a designated time and the taxi actually leaves on time! (As opposed to waiting two hours for the driver to cram as many bodies as he feasibly can into vehicle before departing.) Sarcasm aside, Kigali was a wonderful city filled with friendly people and great food.
Rwanda is such a beautiful country that it is hard to imagine the gruesome tragedy that occurred here just 15 years ago. In some ways the events of the 1994 genocide seem so far removed from the Kigali of 2009, yet in other ways it seems so recent. As you walk down the street, you know that most people you pass were affected by this terrible event in some way.
Visiting the Kigali Memorial Museum was very powerful. It is interesting to see how a culture frames such a defining piece of its own history. It is quite a different perspective than I have received while studying the genocide in the US; they are very straightforward about it. As I processed it though, I don’t know if there is any other way to manage this kind of pervasive event. Even though most Americans grieved September 11th, only a small percentage of us were personally affected by it. Here, though, pretty much the entire country has a very intimate connection to genocide. Maybe the only real option after something like that is to collectively pick yourself up, move forward, and consciously decide not to be solely defined by one horrific tragedy. Obviously, the aftermath of genocide is much more complex than that, and I am seeing the country 15 years later. But it seemed, from my experiences at least, that Rwandans want to remember and honor those who died mercilessly, yet they do not want to dwell on the history. There was very much a perception of a “new Rwanda,” united under great national pride.
I also visited a church where 10,000 people were massacred. I don’t think a public blog is necessarily the best venue to share details of this experience, but I will be happy to discuss more about it when I get home. It is a strange thing that these sites have become somewhat of a tourist attraction. While it was an incredibly intense experience that will probably forever influence my worldview, it is also the site that bears witness to what horrors humankind is capable of.
We asked a man we passed on the street for directions to the church, and he ended up offering to walk us there and give up a tour. As we parted, he told us that all of his family members had been killed in the genocide. At first I thought, “How unique that this man we happened to encounter on the street had such a powerful story.” However, the more time I spent in Rwanda, the more I came to realize that almost everyone has a story. Rwanda was an experience I will never forget.
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