Memorial

I mentioned briefly my visit to Kigali Genocide Memorial and at the time I needed a bit more space to process what I’d seen. Before I set off to Rwanda I’d been earnestly picking up books on the country (see menu on the left) to try and understand its culture and what happened in ’94. I’d also previously watched Hotel Rwanda and Shooting Dogs. That’s all very well – shocking, moving, horrifying etc – but when you’re in situ, it’s a bit different.

It’s obvious that they’ve put a lot of thought into creating this memorial centre. There are numerous symbols which carry meaning and significance, the gardens have been beautifully created to convey something of what Rwanda has gone through – like the cactus garden symbolising the pain experienced by its people – and to reflect the nation’s hope for the future. The rose garden celebrates the diversity of the people of Rwanda and thus remembers the diversity of the genocide’s victims. The central exhibition’s panels are in 3 languages with Kinyarwanda largest, then French, then English and I liked the fact that this centre is somewhere for the Rwandese to come and reflect on their past, it’s not exclusive to tourists.

When I arrived at the memorial centre, a large crowd of people were proceeding into the central exhibition. Many of them were wearing purple scarves round their necks. In the days following this visit I noticed the recurring theme of purple at various memorial sites across the country and I’m guessing this is because in many cultures purple represents death and in some traditions it represents repentance. Initially I thought there was some kind of memorial service happening but later I realised it was simply a large group visit to the memorial. It seemed to be a group of mixed ages and I’m guessing that they were relatives of victims, or perhaps survivors, or orphans. I decided to wander first through the gardens outside the exhibition centre and purchased an audio guide so I could get descriptions for what I was seeing. 250,000 people are buried on this site and it was hard to comprehend the scale of the mass graves. They’ve started work on a wall of names of those buried there, which will take some time to complete.
 

When I had wandered through most of the gardens and was closer to the exhibition centre, I heard a woman keening – the sound of her mournful cries were penetrating and I found myself working hard to keep it together. Then I noticed a man lying down on a mattress with one of the centre’s attendants comforting him. Later when I was inside the exhibition centre I noticed a large pile of these mattresses – it’s obviously a regular occurrence for people to collapse with the weight of their pain and grief. It made me realise that although 17 years have passed since the genocide, the pain and grief is very real, raw and present.

Part of me felt like I was intruding. Here I was, this white foreigner, a citizen of the international community which only stepped in when it was too late to the bloodbath that was Rwanda. I know nothing of what it’s like to have watched your family and community murdered in front of you, the tendons on my ankles were not slashed to prevent me running away, I was not gang raped, I didn’t watch my baby be flung up into the air to fall smashed into the ground…this and worse was the experience of so many and words fail to describe the depth of the horrors of the 100 days of the genocide. And so I felt ashamed to show my emotions as if I was intruding on the pain and grief of others.

But later as I was reflecting more on what I had seen and experienced, I felt that if I believe in one human race, in a common humanity, then it is right for me to share the pain of others. ‘Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn’ – I think it’s right for the whole world to lament for the loss experienced in Rwanda, and in other places – Sri Lanka is an even more current example. People lost their humanity during the genocide and perhaps we need to keep focussing on our common humanity so that things like this never happen again. Nothing should ever become so big a problem that we lose our respect for each other’s humanity. Trite? Maybe. The international community essentially didn’t believe that a ‘small’ African conflict mattered, that the deaths of Africans were worth risking the lives of international peacekeepers – they (and we) lost sight of our common humanity.

I’m glad I went to the Kigali Genocide Memorial. It’s possibly more ‘sanitised’ than some of the other memorials in the country with its displays of skulls or bones in glass cabinets but to be honest its no less disturbing particularly when you notice the obvious signs of blows to the head. I guess the only thing that doesn’t sit overly well with me is the recurring phrase, ‘Never Again’. The reason that skulls, bones, clothes, pictures etc of victims, and in some places preserved bodies, are on display is so that what happened in 1994 is never forgotten and never repeated. But from what I can gather, despite commitment to Rwandan unity and building one nation, there is still a lot of division between Hutus and Tutsis. The phrase, ‘Never Again’, although very important, just seems to be lacking in a positive commitment to building a shared future together by working through the problems of the past. That’s just my take for what it’s worth (which isn’t very much). On a personal note I guess my resolve to do the work I do has been strengthened and that can only be a good thing.

 

Photos

Most of the photos from my trip are now here. Feel free to browse. But I'll post a few here just to give a wee flavour...

And to start things off here's the one you've all been waiting for, yes Debs (or should I say sweaty Betty?) with the hair-braid which lasted less than 24 hours because it kept freaking me out in the middle of the night:

Here's Eric & Mary who were my guides on the day of my visit to the Nyamirambo district of Kigali:

Here's the obligatory tourist photo of 'Hotel Rwanda' - Hotel Des Milles Collines:

And this is the guesthouse I stayed in for the four nights I was in Kigali:

This photo of Lake Kivu was taken at Kibuye:

And this is the church at Kibuye which I mentioned here was the site of over 11,000 deaths during the genocide:

Lake Kivu from Kibuye was just gorgeous. I missed the sunset when I was there but I went to Moriah Hills for my evening meal of deep-fried sambazi and chips (wee small lake-fish which you eat whole - super-tasty!) and watched a lightening storm possibly a hundred-odd or more miles away on the other side of the lake light up the sky.

Bus Worship - Day 5

Well hello there beautiful people, apologies for the lack of update over the weekend - I was nowhere near a computer and more importantly I was doing some serious chilling! I'll update tomorrow maybe about the trip to Gisenye and Day 4 because it was pretty darned good and I was in a stunning location but as I'm meeting up with a couple of expat friends of friends later I'll leave you with the tale of one of my most surreal and hilarious experiences of this trip.

This morning I was booked onto the 11.30am bus from Gisenyi to Kigali. Having reserved and paid for the ticket yesterday I was a wee bit miffed when the driver told me I'd have to pay extra for my bag because it didn't fit into the bus' meagre boot space (well ok, my bag is rather on the large side but then I've been carrying a few gifts for the Compassion project and my sponsor child tomorrow) but he seemed a bit grumpy so I ended up paying even though on the way to Gisenye on Saturday I hadn't had this issue. Getting everyone settled onto the bus was a bit of a bunfight, there were bags and people everywhere (it seats about 25-30 people) and I ended up in one of the 'bucket' seats - a seat in the aisle which folds up when not in use. It's also the seat directly beside the door so I was praying that the door would hold fast!

When we set off it seemed that we had a preacher on board - this guy a couple of rows behind me started giving it everything he had. I'd heard of this before - apparently there are places in Africa where preachers will travel various bus-routes simply to preach the gospel. But then there was a chorus of Amens and Hallelujahs and I realised that this guys wasn't on his own. As I looked around I noticed that many of the women sitting near me had the same red silk shirt on and many of the people on the bus were sporting a yellow and brown scarf (in my book, yellow and brown don't really go with red but then I'm not known for my fashion). Then the singing started so whether these guys were going to some gospel choir convention or what I'd no clue but it seemed like the Pentecostals were in town. If Amen and Hallelujah were said once they were said a thousand times. The next 2 hours was a full-on church service with singing and praying non-stop, along with much hand-raising and arm-waving. The singing was absolutely beautiful - I wish I could have taped it, and they were so joyful, it seemed like it all really meant something to them. There was one stage when the lady beside me got so excited and carried away that she flung her arm around me and we swayed from side to side together. If you'd been a fly on the wall you would have been in absolute stitches at the cut of me, I didn't know where to look, all I could do was grin inanely, but was rather thankful when a hairpin bend forced me to grab the door handle for balance and the lady detached herself from me. Near the start of the journey I had offered her one of my cookies and she'd given thanks for it before eating it.

By the way, this is all happening in the local lingo - Kinyarwanda - of which I only know 2 words although I can now add Jesu Christo to this repertoire, and I also recall hearing Uganda, Kenya, Burundi, Tanzania and Ethiopia getting prayed for but basically I didn't understand anything else. Then came the moment when anyone not in the choir was given the opportunity to introduce themselves, I think there was just 4 of us. Muggins of course had to go first. And then I think each of us got prayed for. After 2 hours of the journey had passed we had a pit-stop and most of the passengers got some lunch. When we got on our way again the bus seemed like more of a WI outing except with men present, everyone was having a good natter. But as we got to the outskirts of Kigali the singing got underway again, and to be honest it felt like the most natural thing in the world by this stage. It was a truly rich experience. Travelling on Belfast's Metro service just is not going to do anything for me from now on.

How do you follow that?!

African tea appreciation - Day 3

Having gotten engrossed in my blogging yesterday I managed not to leave myself enough time to visit Kigali's Genocide Memorial as it closes at 5pm so wandered round the city centre a bit more, got the necessary tourist photo of the entrance of the Hotel des Milles Collines - made famous by the film, Hotel Rwanda (the film wasn't made on location, they filmed in S Africa instead, but it's a famous site in the context of what happened here in '94). I also dipped in and out of a few handcraft shops. I think I'm gradually beginning to switch off and it's superbly blissful to have the time to simply read. Last night I tried out some African tea (as opposed to black tea - same as the stuff we drink at home more or less) which is a bit like a mildly spicy milky chai. It was absolutely delicious, I want to figure out what they put into it.

This morning I went to Kigali's Genocide Memorial and to be honest I don't think I'm ready to write about that yet - I'll leave it for another time. It was moving and awful and beautiful and still and disturbing all at once.

A bit later this afternoon I'm heading by bus to Gisenyi at Lake Kivu in the west and I'm looking forward to some chill-out time by the lake. The route should take me within good view of Volcanoes National Park famous for being home to Rwanda's mountain gorillas. I'll blog from there tomorrow if I get the chance or else when I get back to Kigali on Monday.

This is Africa - Day 2

Since the last post I've managed to fit in personal encounters with motorbikes, goats, and hairdressers, thankfully not all at once. I always get caught out when overseas about how quickly it gets dark. Dusk came around 6pm and just to be on the safe side I decided not to walk back to the guesthouse last night after my day in the city-centre and instead hopped on a moto-taxi (mad or mental?!) - there are hundreds of these wee 125cc motorbike taxis all over the show and the rider provides you with a helmet. I felt safe enough but it was probably a good thing that it was just a short wee ride, itcost me just RFR300 - about 30p.

Then I ate at the guesthouse whose restaurant gets a decent write-up in the guidebook, and decided to be adventurous by trying brochettes de chevre - i.e goat kebabs. This is where I went wrong because I think they gave me the oldest billy goat in Rwanda, it was as tough as leather! It probably wasn't helped by the fact that I kept thinking of the cute wee angora goats one of my cousins used to keep! Am still in possession of all my own teeth, always a plus.

Last night was my first time to sleep under a mosquito net, I've discovered that you have to be organised and once tucked in it's best not to keep hopping in and out of bed. Paranoia ensured that my room was stinking of mosquito repellent, but better that than get malaria. One mosquito had dared earlier to enter my room, but that DEET stuff really does nuke the wee blighters. [Generally I'm a peace-loving kind of person but not where mosquitoes are concerned.]

I slept pretty well so feel a heck of a lot more rested and up for doing stuff today than yesterday. First thing I went to the offices of New Dawn Associates, a local organisation which arranges a variety of community-based tours. I set off with my two guides, Eric & Mary (from what I could gather Eric is training Mary as a guide), on the This is Africa tour to the Nyamirambo district of Kigali. We got possibly the most rickety mini-bus taxi (sets off when full and everyone is squashed in, no room for sensitivity about your personal space!) from the busiest and most hectic street I think I've ever been in where I was the only mzungu. The journey wasn't much more than 5-10 minutes (including stops for pick-ups and drop-offs) and brought us to the Muslim quarter south of the city-centre. The tour started off at Nyamirambo Women's Centre - a self-help group of 18 single mothers in the area. They support local women in empowerment and education initiatives including running 3x 2-hour English classes Mon-Fri. Three of the members took me to a local market where local Muslim women sell various fruit & veg, fabric and clothes and other supplies including cooking pots and charcoal burners. Most of their husbands work outside of Kigali, often in other provinces and can often only come home at the weekends so it's a tough hard-working life.Many of these women are enrolled in the English classes so were able to practice with me and I tried to reciprocate in Kinyarwanda.

Next we went to a tailor, who was unfortunately out but I got to see all the beautifully coloured fabric and dresses which can be made to measure. I think they would find fashion rather dull back at home. A local hairdresser's was our next port of call and she braided a wee tuft of my hair. I doubt she get many customers with the short spiky look. But I'm now sporting a very long braid and I know that when I get home everyone will want to be as cool as me.

Finally I was brought to the home of one of the members of the NWC cooperative for a home-cooked meal of 'Irish' potatoes, green beans and carrots, plantain (tastes v like potato), a meat dish which they called dodo and then a dish made from the flour of maize, don't ask me how you say what it was called. The maize flour stuff was a bit bland but my favourite were the green bean and plantain dishes - really tasty and flavourful. Oh and I managed to make my host's neighbour's child cry, the charm is really working - not!

So a brilliant tour, I recommend it if you get the chance to come here. Right must go - more adventures to seek!

Arrival - Day 1

So I've made it to Kigali where the sun is splitting the trees and it is hot! My 3 flights were fairly uneventful, had a mad dash in Amsterdam Schiphol - only because the screens were saying my gate had closed but when I got there there was still a huge queue going through, so all good. Watched a great wee film on the Amsterdam-Nairobi flight called, Benda Bilili. It was made by a French film crew following the making of an album by a Congolese orchestra of disabled people, Staff Benda Bilili - great stuff, must look out for the album, Tres Tres Fort, when I get home.

The girl sitting next to me on the plane was from Finland and at the start of a 3-month adventure in Africa taking in Zambia, Namibia and S Africa. She'd spent the last 2 months working her butt off to get money together as she'd just come home from time spent travelling in S America. Flip me, some people have the life eh? I felt like a feeble traveller on my tame wee 10-day jaunt, but hey, I'm not complaining, I'm going to make the most of this trip.

I tried to make good use of my time on the long flight by reading the French articles in the Kenya Airways in-flight magazine in a desperate bid to resurrect my extremely dormant French. Rwanda was at one time a Belgian colony and most people speak French, especially outside Kigali. You'd think a degree in European Studies would render me fluent but alas no, I never got to the point of thinking in French. I can read French fairly well even after all these years [of course as I'm 24, I've only left university recently] but speaking it is an entirely different ballgame so I think I'll be using my Irish smile to charm my way through my lack of fluency!

They call Rwanda, 'Land of a Thousand Hills', and for good reason. Rolling hills stretched into the distance all around as our plane circled to land this morning. And although it was only a 10-minute walk from my guesthouse to the city-centre this afternoon, there were two rather steep hills to climb - not so good when you're totally unfit like me and have a geriatric hip...oh and the aforementioned heat! I can barely believe I'm here, it's just a totally different world. Although I've been to Cape Town, this feels more like the real Africa. There's lots of hustle and bustle on the streets, horns tooting, moto-taxis zipping up and down, hawkers selling everything from phone cards to copies of The Economist, the quintessential African red dust coats the roads. It's all go. I've just had a humungous pizza - supposedly tomato, cheese, fish and olives. There were only 5 olives on the 8 slices and I've a feeling they'd run out of tomatoes today as they seemed to over-compensate with masses of cheese and what seemed to be tuna. It'll keep me motoring anyway and I'll just spend the rest of the day getting my bearings and get an early night.

Until tomorrow - mrilrwe (Kinyarwanda for 'goodbye', no idea how to say that one yet!)