The Land of a Thousand Hills

Where to begin. Arriving in Kigali was par for the course—no bags, but at least someone did pick me up. A definite bonus. Raffi and Dan, Dan’s friend Yves and his cousin Conso greeted us in Kigali and we headed off to move into our house (I have a bednet!), which is rented for the two weeks we are here and is definitely a much better deal than a hotel—though, not my dream of staying in Milles Collines for a night…which is ok, since we are doing happy hour there instead.

We’ve already done a lot in Kigali, and it’s only day 3. Most of the genocide sites, the really difficult places, are yet to come. When we first got here, we tested out Rwandan mass transit with a “bus”—basically a cargo van that you hop on and off of for .30 cents. We also checked out the local Starbucks—called Bourbon Coffee. We are very lucky to have a Rwandan on our team, who not only speaks Kinyarwandan, but also is related to most people in Kigali and ensures we have lots of homes to visit. Our first was a visit to Conso’s house, where she fed us a fabulous African meal—sort of a casserole dish, made out of beans, eggplant and plantains (a banana-like potato). It was the best African food I’ve tried so far! And, it was free. Definitely a nice touch when everything else is so expensive. For breakfast, we bought some bread and peanut butter, and have been having those and some juice at home before heading out for the day. Peanut

butter is a fortune here, but was definitely worth every cent.

We have met some amazing people here. The National Commission in the Fight Against Genocide was one of the best—the Executive Secretary of the Commission met with us and discussed Rwanda, the genocide, the future, and showed a lot of interest in our programme. We also met with a widow’s organization, which offers counseling and medical services, amongst others, to Rwandan genocide widows and young women. They also have a business side, where Rwandan widows create items—dolls, jewelry, bags, baskets etc—and the organization sells them, providing income to the women. I bought a lovely doll, which I carried around all day, and who will live in my house forever as a reminder of the amazing women we met. Many lost everything—husbands, children, sisters, brothers, parents… one cannot imagine the type of strength it would take to even continue living after that experience.

Camp Kigali was another incredible sight. Anyone who has seen a Rwanda genocide-based movie will know of this story—and those who have read about it will know more accurately. Basically, after President Habyarimana’s plane was shot down, the Prime Minister received de facto control, but was killed with her family before having the chance to address the nation. She was being guarded by 10 Belgian troops, who had no idea that the Hutu

militia who showed up offering to guard the PM actually intended to kill her. They left her with the Hutu militia and returned to camp with other militia members. After they realized what was happening, they tried to fight back and were killed by a grenade blast and gunfire from the Hutu militia. The building itself is littered with bullet holes and signs of the horrors that occurred there. There are also messages written on a blackboard by family members, decrying Dallaire as blind and heartless for having done nothing. This is an interesting juxtaposition to the position in Canada, where he is a hero figure. The memorial itself is 10 pillars, each representing one killed Belgian soldier. The pillars have notches representing the ages of the soldiers-- one has 25 notches, etc.

We have also visited the Library and Info Centre of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda-UNICTR, the Institute for Development and Research for Peace (poorly translated from the lovely French), and AEGIS, a British organization that does amazing work in Rwanda. The best experiences in my view were the Gisozi Memorial Museum and the Memorial service we attended. Gisozi is based off of Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, which I have also visited, and is a beautiful centre of remembrance for not only the Rwandan genocide but others as well-including the Hereoes, Jews, and Armenians. The museum also houses a garden-like grounds area, as well as the burial site for 50,000 people. Interestingly, the museum has been attacked by grenade 3 times in the past few years, most recently killing a police officer at the gate. The hatred isn’t dead—just as it isn’t dead from the Holocaust or any other systematic, cultural form of discrimination. But in Rwanda, peace is the only option. We were told by one of our speakers, “what other choice do we have?” Rwanda is so small and densely populated—peace must be found for the country to function. President Kagame has been instrumental in creating this peace, and people in this country appear to LOVE him. He has brought stability, peace, education, and hope to a people who had lost it.

The other experience, perhaps the best so far, was visiting a Rwandan memorial service. My friend from the March of Remembrance and Hope, and SHOUT, invited us to attend the memorial service for his father, a doctor who was murdered I the genocide. It was a celebratory service, lasting many hours, where people shared stories and music, memories and dreams of a man they all loved and continue to miss. They also expressed pride in my friend and his sister, and talked about how proud their father would be today to see their success. It is a strange thing—to attend a service in a language you don’t understand (kinyarwandan) and yet to somehow understand what is being said. The passion and love this man had for his family was so clear. And in knowing his son, who is one of the kindest, gentlest people I’ve ever met, I know he must have been all of this and more. And, this is only one story. One of a million.

I read today that the Rwandan genocide is not a genocide of a million. And the Jewish Holocaust is not a genocide of 6 million. Instead, it is murder—one after another—millions of times. It is millions of acts of brutality and evil, and we should not lose our conception in a number we cannot envision. It is one life, and then another, and another…

There are dogs howling outside…not sure what’s going on, but it doesn’t sound positive. Time to go to sleep, I think. A bientot.