And the incomprehensibility begins...

The last couple days have been intense.

We had a get together at our house with a group of organizations and survivors, to talk about their experiences. Unfortunately, I was suffering from a self-diagnosed throat infection and took a nap/drugs while the visited. After I got up we were getting ready to head for supper, when another man came tour door. He introduced himself as Richard, and he was the happiest man I’ve ever met. He lost his family in the genocide, but has found a faith and strength that lets him continue to be smile. In fact, we commented on how young he looked and he said “it’s because I smile so much.” How one could continue to live, let alone smile, after such an event amazes me.

We’ve started the truly difficult days, and are heading into some of the hardest. We visited the Nyarubuye Memorial yesterday, where thousands were killed in a church. This is a common theme of the genocide, as in past violent outbreaks Tutsi who sought sanctuaries were safe as the Hutu didn’t follow. In many cases, the Tutsi thought this would be the same. It was not. In many instances, thousands of people packed into churches and were brutally slaughtered. The sites are visceral, with human remains visible at every site (we’ve seen, anyway). The Nyarubuye site had another interesting feature-- the statue of Mary had her lower arm hacked off with a machete. This was, apparently, because here nose was too narrow and long, like a Tutsi.

Today we visited Nyamata and Ntamara churches—very close to Kigali, but where thousands died. In the latter, mostly women, children and the aged. We also visited the Ibuka office, the kinyarwandan word for Remembrance. This story is relatively known—the Belgian troops who were guarding the Tutsi were recalled, and they left them to their deaths. Within minutes of their departure, the Interwamhe set them on a death march and eventually killed them after they were too tired to continue.

The most inspiring moment for me, thus far, was meeting Silas. Silas is a Hutu, who was in the army fighting the RPF. When he realized what was happening, he started smuggling Tutsi into Burundi. He saved 23 people in 3 days, before he was found out. He was warned that the army was coming after him, so he hid in Burundi until the end of the war. He is the equivalent to a Righteous Amongst the Nations, and risked his life to save others. This is, sadly, not a common story here.

The people Silas saved are now his family, as his own regards him as a traitor. The elderly women are his grandmothers, the children call him father. And he met his wife, amongst the women he saved. He has had children now, though hatred has not ended. Neighbours poisoned his children—one passed away from the attack.

There is more work to be done.

On a happier note, on the way out of Kigali for Ruhengeri (Gorillas!) we stopped at a Gacaca trial. This is the community court passing judgment on genociders. It was particularly interesting because a woman was being sentenced, and none of us had ever really thought of female attackers. Women frequently tortured, in brutal ways I have no desire to recount, and this one was sentenced to 30 years in prison. We also saw a long line, 2 by 2, of about 100 people cleaning roadsides with similar blue outfits on. These are genocideurs—perpetrators of the genocide who have been sentenced. 

We’re leave tonight for Ruhengeri—in the north of Rwanda. Finally—a sadness free day!