October 12 - Katie, Will, and Alex

Disclaimer: This post is dedicated to Katie, Will, and Alex—all three fantastic individuals that I worked with this past year on a Community Change Initiative which focused on creating an experiential learning program for disadvantaged and marginalized youth in Denver. While facing several challenges, our group defended our project and had to remain open-minded to multiple perspectives on this issue of homelessness in the process of fully engaging with local communities for the sake of change. For the three of you, I hope study abroad is making your heart pump as much as it is mine! I can't wait to catch up once we get back to school during Winter Quarter.

While the journey to Gulu, Uganda was not particularly peaceful or comforting, I find myself in awe of the tranquility and simplicity of this town.

Stocks of green bananas
being sold at the settlement 

Before arriving here on October 8th, I traveled to Mbarara and Kampala, the country's prized locale of commerce and economic activity. In Mbarara, I met with refugees located in the Nakivale settlement (separate from a refugee camp because it's more permanent). Although the conversation started off very quietly, awkward and nondescript, the refugees eventually began to tell a completely different version of the Genocide, several of them insinuating a double genocide occurring in 1994.

Throughout the conversation, I tried to remain calm and keep an open mind to their alternative perspective, including a different perspective on Operation Turquoise, a french-led military operation before the auspices of the United Nations Assistance Mission for Rwanda, which seemingly failed in its attempts protect Tutsi lives. These refugees primarily claimed that there were several atrocities against Hutus which are hardly ever recognized in the media or in print. One of the refugees went as far as saying that there were bodies buried in CARE International facilities in Rwanda, supposing that there was covert yet visible U.S. involvement in hiding Hutu deaths during the Genocide. He claimed that he could show anyone and knows the names of the people buried beneath the toilets in Kigali, Rwanda—the place I now call my second home.

The kids from the Rwandan refugee area

Moreover, other refugees asserted the deplorable realities hidden beneath the façade of Kigali’s development. They said that it was all an illusion which we were experiencing—that all muzungus (white people) had been fooled to believing that Rwanda has actually progressed past its history of unruly violence and ethnic disparities—and on the periphery of the nation exists daily killings, kidnapping, and disappearances. Who orchestrates these masked operations? The merciful President of Rwanda, Paul Kagame. One refugee held that it was a true misfortune as to how many muzungus blindly accept the facts presented to them rather than exploring additional narratives to complete a more holistic analysis. This same refugee went on to accuse the U.S. for supporting the Central African Republic and Rwanda militarily during its dangerous and perpetrating coups. He stated that France and the U.S. were practically biological brothers in their attempts to militarize racial and ethnocentric divides in E. African countries.

With Marie, a refugee, and Hannah

At first, I viewed this narrative with an eye of unaccepting hostility and defensiveness. I did not understand why these refugees felt the need to practically attack their inquisitive audience for innocently coming from America to study and learn more about their thoughts and ideas. Later in the day, I ran into the man who had accused the U.S. of its partnership with France and he cordially showed me to the restroom. He was disconnectedly nice and very respectful. This incongruence in character had my mind spinning. Despite the positive rapport we had just established, I still felt extremely wary about fully trusting him. I felt like I was trying to keep an open mind, be respectful of his cultural environment, and not make blanketing generalizations; however, I did not feel like my efforts were being reciprocated. Instead, they were juxtaposed by the man’s assumptions of my privileged culture and white ignorance when not challenging facts offered by every teacher or book.

(Side note: My roommate, John, can see the visible frustration on my face while writing and just said that he was going leave me to “brood and write”, ha).

My first thought was to criticize the man for being sorely mistaken. The truth is that I certainly question everything I hear or read because I know that every account has an inherent origin, bias, and limitation. Hypocritically, the man had also just asked the group of ignorant muzungus to then follow suit with our “typical behavior” and accept his narrative as fact without question even though he had just criticized this blind acceptance two minutes earlier.

Church at Nakivale

This encounter led to a broader group discussion about truth, truth-telling, and truth acquisition. I philosophically questioned: What is truth? What can I learn from the refugees at the Nakivale settlement that does not negate my personal knowledge of the Genocide? I finally came to the conclusion that it ultimately doesn’t matter who is right or wrong, but that it is the job of an effective historian (or a 21st century student) to be able to hold two opposing views concurrently and dispose of a natural obsession with singular truths and be able to instead focus on multidimensional narratives which lead to a broader encompassing of the conflict in Rwanda.

Quick break from school

Rather than dismissing these narratives as ignorant, getting frustrated by personal attacks, or ignoring words because of their potential cognitive bias or embellished motifs, it is important to include them all in a larger conceptualization of the Genocide as less black and white, less perpetrator versus victim—and hopefully towards a direction more deep, complex, and multiperspectival. In the end, is it truth defined by the majority that really matters? Or is it the recognition that everyone’s story and viewpoint matters in its own dignified regard? Perhaps if everyone understood that there have been crimes committed by both Hutu and Tutsi during or post-genocide, there would not remain such an ingrained depression and absence of support for refugees in Nakivale—those who feel like their side of the story is seldom told. While a double genocide or genocide denial (because a majority of Tutsi were killed during the Genocide) or a accusations concerning Kagame may not be grounded in truth, their story is still important because it’s the story they know to be true and the cause of their current maladaptation and marginalization in refugee settlements.

Congolese refugee says, "Peace, man"

History has always been written by the winners, something my history teacher from sophomore year of high school used to say. And the ability to stand in a privileged place and completely dismiss certain narratives for their potential inaccuracy robs people of their dignity. After all, none of these people (not just defined by their refugee status) have anything to gain from lying to a group of strangers. Their lives remain cloaked under the danger of the single story and their incapacity to leave settlements because of poor repatriation conditions. Life for refugees remains in a perennial limbo state—one between the worlds of abandonment of past lives and one of self-advocacy and subsequent alienation for their stories. I finally understand how crucial it is to obtain several points of view on complex matters like the Genocide; because by not doing it, you further marginalize and dispossess a group already hurting under international and domestic pressure, you blindly accept your own version of the truth, and you allow history to be told by the educated and privileged rather than the marginalized and oppressed.

October 6 - Sadie

Disclaimer: This post is dedicated to Sadie Gettings, a great friend who never ceases to amaze me with her comical talents and ability to dance in the rain no matter the circumstance.

The rain offers a comfortable yet never too simple gesture during the day. As I sit here thinking about what has happened thus far and all the challenges ahead, I am reminded that there’s nothing a good rainfall can’t fix. Today, the rain was particularly aggressive, inciting minor flooding around my homestay. As the rain fell heavily, inundating the patches of flowers outside and the tin roof above felt like it was about to collapse under the hail, I thought about some of the great cleansing and eye-opening things I’ve discovered while being here:

•  While the U.S. may want to impose Western ideals of democracy, there are just certain concepts that just won’t work given the context of the post-genocide era. For example, freedom of speech may be an unabated right within the U.S. Constitution that will not function in Rwandan society given the Genocide Ideology Law, which punishes anyone for labeling or advertising certain divisionism between Hutu and Tutsis. While the Constitution may uphold a tenable First Amendment, Rwanda still has an unforgiving “cast” of fear which maintains stability and security as the two most important objectives of the government. With freedom of speech running rampant, citizens might become scared of a potential second genocide.

• While the Rwandan government has deferred the onset of the Cessation Clause for refugees, there is still a push to solve the repatriation problem.  In order to push refugees back to Rwanda, UNHCR has supported a voluntary movement of refugees, local integration, or relocation/resettlement. Rwandan refugees live all around the world and don’t return based on fear of ethnic or criminal persecution.

• The “Ndi umunyarwanda” (meaning “I am Rwandan”) program promoted by the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission, the main organ of post-genocide restoration in Rwanda, is meant to help Rwandans rediscover their ancestral roots which ultimately got distorted during colonialism and during the genocide which pitted one ethnicity against another. However, with a critical eye, this program could essentially be “cleansing” the Rwandan population of ingrained ethnic lines which greatly matter (i.e. intermarriage is still recognizable and debated). From a completely oppositional voice, the program could help the Ruling Party convince people that they should not question the government, representation, or development—a guise for the fact that the same party has been in hierarchical and centralized power for the last twenty years.

• Traumatic memory may not be the most accurate of memories, and collective apologies only pass the buck to future generations to make up for parental wrongs. In a post-genocide or post-conflict environment, the past needs to evade the present. Transmission, in its most positive sense, is about offering well-being to the next generation rather than relying on familial and ethnic relations to punish and guilt individuals for the transgressions they have not committed. There needs to be a notion of resilient distance when telling a genocide narrative so that one is truly eliminating ethnic ties rather than supporting them for innocents to be culpable or for only one history to be told.

• Since Rwanda is no longer in an emergency situation now, the classic question remains whether its form of democracy will lead to sustainable peace and development. With this economic reconstruction, there is often avoidance and a complete inconsideration of mental health. Upholding posterity, there needs to be a greater cleavage of mental institutions such that mental health is separated from trauma, since the two are not related. Since safety has been restored, there needs to be greater attention offered to mental resources so that society can psychosocially reach its full potential.

Overall, I have learned a ton, but my academic knowledge has in no way superseded the knowledge I have gained outside of the classroom by talking with people at a grassroots level with the little Kinyarwanda that I do know. I am so thankful to be studying abroad to be able to have a first-hand account on many of these foregrounded issues rather than just blindly accepting my textbook iterations. 

October 2 - Kathy

Disclaimer: This post is dedicated to Kathy Inkhamfong, a friend who has continually given me chances and has never given up on our friendship despite the several mistakes I have made along the way. It feels good to know that a friend is willing to accept you back even after you have transgressed and wronged them. Thank you, Kathy, for letting me back in your life and for us to have such a special friendship—in whatever discombobulated, unconventional, and challenging package it may arrive in.

Today, I visited a TIG camp of Rwanda. Known by its French acronym, these camps or plots of land are specifically reserved for community service projects orchestrated by TIGists—individuals convicted of genocide or crimes against humanity. These genocidaires were categorized as members of the second tier of criminals by Gacaca courts (i.e. those who actually murdered one or more individuals during the Genocide). To put it briefly, these community services are used as an alternative sentence for convicted individuals. These TIGists must have confessed to their exclusive involvement in the genocide, entered a plea bargain, and shown legitimate remorse for the crimes committed before entering the courts. Sentences are usually reduced by a half and TIGists perform, while under de facto house arrest, unpaid for work for the greater public interest. Even though there is no gender requirement in place, the population is predominately male.

(Please keep in mind that the following is only an example of one camp, and no generalizations or assumptions should be made from this singular, narrowly-defined experience).

The one camp I visited, Ngororero, in the Western Province, had 109 TIGists with only three staff members from Rwanda Correctional Service to manage the camp. At the camp, TIGists work approximately 48 hours and have 2 additional hours per week dedicated to Civic Education. Daily work typically includes making bricks from concrete, cleaning up the TIG camp area, or engaging in other activities which benefit local communities. On average, each perpetrator produces 100 bricks per day, leading to a total of 3.9 million bricks produced per year. These bricks are often used in local construction projects and state infrastructure development.

The Civic Education program has helped tremendously to teach local government, how to reintegrate back into the community, relevant laws in place, and peacebuilding methods. Classes  are usually taught by local leaders and according to our guide, Pelly (from Rwanda Correctional Service), the camps are making headway on several national objectives: providing a solution to the overcrowding issue in the prisons, allowing genocidaires to confess to crimes, reducing potentially unfair sentences, and ameliorating reintegration and recidivism issues. In addition, members are not chained or handcuffed by any means; instead, they are actually free to roam around the camp and leave the grounds autonomously. In addition, they are allowed ten days per month to take a break, return to their homesteads, and talk with their families. With the camp only incurring a couple of escapes per year, the program is constructive and empowering rather than demeaning and retributive for perpetrators.

TIG is aimed at primarily strengthening Unity and Reconciliation of Rwandans and making great strides towards national development and peace. The community service members are treated with more respect and agaciro (dignity) because of their abilities to admit to past wrongs and move forward with acceptance of appropriate community-uplifting punishment. These perpetrators are even given an opportunity to play games with local residents of areas in which they are working; small children are free to roam around the camp and talk with these workers about their daily tasks. Naturally, many TIG convicts have completed their sentences and have reintegrated back in their communities. The hope is that they are changed by their experience and are ready to participate civilly and productively in society.

At first, coming to the camp with such a biased Western perspective on what justice constitutes, I was an immediate skeptic –unable to remove my distrust and disgust with people who commit genocide or crimes against humanity. However, after actually talking with the TIGists themselves and being convinced of their rooted desire to right past wrongs, earn trust retrospectively lost, and move forward in a realm of forgiveness rather than resentment, I began to shift my stringent paradigm. After all, I have always contended that everyone during genocide is a victim; both the perpetrators and the victims incur great losses through the manipulation, propaganda, and coercive means of the state.

Looking into their solemn eyes and critically analyzing their stances of conviction, I could sense a dark past which was ostensibly being demarcated with a future of self-forgiveness and self-betterment. While I never truly believe that someone can completely move forward after participating in genocide, I do believe that there should be more spaces for restorative justice so that previous criminals are not perennially defined by their crimes but, instead, embrace community, embrace reintegration, and challenge themselves and the world of justice to forge a new path. 

September 10 - Dana

Disclaimer: This post is dedicated to my dear friend, Dana Kiel. Her deep reverence for living an authentic, meaningful life, innovative education, international exposure, and effective leadership is inspiring. Thank you for teaching me that a lasting legacy is not about the bullets on your resume, but the people that you meaningfully touch along the way. I cannot wait to see you in December– what a magical reunion it will be amidst the splendor of Frankfurt.  

With my host brother's mom, Anne Marie
(in Kicukiro)

After an exhausting week of one experiential learning activity after another, I was allotted some free time to journal about my experience in Butare, a city in the Southern Province of Rwanda. Not much different from Kigali, Butare is close to the Burundi border and is the proud home of artisanal craft shops, a pre-colonial museum, and a misplaced yet well-received Chinese restaurant! Although it may sound like such a first-world comfort and another emblem of our group’s American diet, it was the first time several of us were able to taste some food outside of the traditional Rwandan cuisine of beans, potatoes, bananas, rice, and greens. Sweet and sour chicken and fried rice, here I come!

Monday, September 8

On the way to Butare, the group was able to explore another pre-colonial museum at Nyanza. Collectively, we decided that the most interesting facts learned included: the fact that visiting Belgian colonialists were often offered 3000 spears as a gift and sign of Rwandan appreciation and support; food was not consumed until the 1700s, prior to that time, milk and beer were the two things consumed for nutrients; respectively, there were two roles in the monarchical hierarchy reserved for a nepotistic milk maid and the beer tester who worked countless hours to build a healthy stock of the two liquids for the hereditary king and his mother; there were several systems of power control in place before colonial civilization which ensured the dominance of the Tutsi class, which was then racialized by the Belgians;  butter was not eaten but used as a moisturizer; suffocating leg rings were used as a feminine symbol of wealth; coupled with the moisturizing butter, the leg rings were banned in the 1800s as they were deemed a source of leg bacteria and widespread death among the African elite. Overall, the museum was absolutely informative, and I enjoyed the chance to step foot in a replica of a traditional royal palace and learn about the enriched and endowed Rwanda before its colonial downfall.

Walking up the hill to the Murambi Memorial

Later in the day, I visited another memorial: Murambi (Mur-awem-bee) Memorial in Butare. Similar to other memorials, Murambi accurately explicated the history of the genocide with a precise focus on the RPF invasion from the north saving tens of thousands of lives. Near the end of the exhibit, a room was dedicated to viewing pictures of victims. As I stared into their faces in a gloomy, hidden corner of the museum, a bat zoomed past my face and squealed as it ran into the wall ahead of me. The deaths of thousands were accentuated by the unearthly presence of several bats lurking in the dark abyss of the museum. It was terrifying to say the least.

Centre Memorial du Genocide de Murambi

Another component to the museum was the posthumous exhibit near the back which surreptitiously housed 1,000 chemically preserved bodies. With these chemicals, it was possible to see more than the victims’ bones and skulls previously shown at other memorials…you could see their flesh and facial expressions when they died. On some you could even see patches of hair and finger nails on the white preserved bodies. The potent smell of rotten eggs loomed in the air, seamlessly accompanied by proximate wafts of wet paint and sour mold. There were detailed rooms for children and one for women. Robotically shifting from one room to the next, I tried to look at each individual face and try to imagine the pain they went through in not only losing their life but seeing everyone around them lose their life as well.

Tour guide at the Murambi memorial

The tour guide introduced the room for women by pointing out one woman in the forefront, whose legs were spread apart, stating, “This woman was raped as you can obviously see.” It was sad to see that this woman had become “the token rape victim,” stripped of her last ability to assert her lively independence from her sexual assault. Her definition as a human being will forever be associated with her abuse, and the celebration of her as an individual will be impermeably tainted with a disposal of her last glimmers of agency and her rapist’s long-lived infamy. This woman is voiceless when it comes to not letting her rape define her existence, and her preservation seemed to be a perverted, sadistic route to empathy and altruism. I will never forget those 1,000 preserved bodies, and until you see them and experience the rooms for yourself, you won’t understand the immense empathy and grief I feel for Rwanda, for its women, its children. No one ever said life was easy, but no one ever said it could be this gruesome or unjust either.

Tuesday, September 9

Visiting with University of Rwanda students

After a quick breakfast of eggs and avocado, I was off to visit the National University of Rwanda, recently renamed the University of Rwanda at Butare. I met with the group leader of a Post-Genocide Awareness club which promotes peace education in local primary and secondary schools. Felix, the fearless group leader, explained that during the genocide youth were exploited and forced to join the Hutu Interahamwe and execute mass killings across the nation. Felix postulated the further need for youth to become the cornerstone of peace and healing within the nation, asking my opinion as to what prospective programs could be instituted to help in this far-reaching problem. I added my thoughts on “Day Without Hate” in Colorado and the club “Never Again” at DU, which raises awareness and organizes genocide awareness campaigns. Felix took my ideas in stride, and told me that he wanted to meet with me again at mumugi (in town) to discuss my “fabulous” ideas while I was still in Kigali. (Rwandan students have the false perception that “fabulous” is a common word used repeatedly throughout the day…when it’s not).

While there are still remnants of genocide ideology in primary schools (i.e. separation between Hutu and Tutsi), the club uses art and theatre therapy to engage younger students in inclusiveness, social justice, and gender balance dialogues. Additionally, the club reaches out to prisons to talk with ex-offenders and perpetrators when conducting community service. After visiting so many tough memorials, it was refreshing to speak with students who were creatively working towards a prosperous vision of hope, reconciliation, forgiveness, and acceptance.

The women of Karama

In the afternoon, I visited a Women’s Association in the nearby village of Karama. The meeting was held at a primary school in Karama, amongst the comical background of young laughter and shuffling feet. With stern, unbreakable faces of sage knowledge and fragile pasts, the women discussed their post-genocide cooperative which offered membership to both victims, bystanders, and perpetrator wives. It was thought-provoking to hear about the Tutsi-Hutu relations right after the genocide in July 1994, a story of persecution and hate crimes initiated by the Tutsi minority on the Hutu majority. Some Tutsi women would not let Hutu wives bring food to their incarcerated husbands, furthering the colonial division between the two socioeconomic/ political groups. The cooperative started as a lifeline, bringing together purported enemies to an area of safety and forgiveness. One woman stated, “You need to forgive. Not to save the other person, but to free yourself.” This woman also stated that she now can sit beside and confidently hold the hand of a Hutu woman who needed to testify against her husband during Gacaca, the transitional justice program in place after the genocide.

Both widows of victims and the wives of killers…coming together after "no hope" and mourning the losses of children, family members, and spouses. The women often had to come face-to-face with the people having direct links to the murder of their loved ones—the wife of a man who killed one’s son, for instance. Through their association, the women have worked over the years to reconcile. Despite having every reason not to, they decided to take the path of forgiveness, realizing that you have to forgive to feel free. Although it takes enormous courage to live each day as a survivor of one of the bloodiest and most gruesome events in history, it takes even more courage to live without hate and resentment. That is exactly what these women have done, and I don't think I've ever had the privilege of getting to know a group on such a transparent, open level. The day ended with the perfect mixture of laughter and pictures with the women at Karama, each one offering their hands and hugs as a sign of acceptance and love.

Wednesday, September 10

Today I met with rescuers, Amina and Reagan, in Butare. Just like the cultural landscape here in Butare, their stories are rich and indicative of Rwanda's changing appreciation for critical thinking and expressions of disobedience. 

Reagan grew up during a time in which people were killing each other over ethnic disputes and animosity. The 1^st and 2^nd Republics of Rwanda were both characterized with several killings up until 1991 when the RPF invaded with refugee support from the north. Reagan, with a quick ikinyarwanda tongue, stated that in 1990, there were organized meetings in which Hutu were instructed to kill the Tutsi under the Ten Hutu Commandments reinstated in the 1990s. After the UN left the country barren and the genocide was resolved as an ethnic struggle, the country was left with 20% Tutsi minority and an 80% Hutu majority which made it easy to list and target certain individuals.

Reagan, as a Hutu, had the choice to either follow suit with his fellow comrades or to critically think about the unfathomable extermination. As a prominent figure in the community, Reagan made an excellent host, often inviting military officials and Hutu extremists to his home for beer and brochette. Known as a tough man and trusted leader, Reagan tried to convince his fellow Hutu to not hurt the Tutsi and view them like any other sensible human being. A total of 107 Tutsi were sheltered at the onset of multiple Interahamwe attacks. Despite his seemingly effective sensitizations with Hutu leaders, Reagan was immediately targeted and his house was bombed with the intention of killing him, his family, and Reagan’s Tutsi companions. Three days before the arrival of the RPF, there was a planned Interahamwe attack on households across the nation; the insurgence was labeled a suicide mission as Hutu were prepared to die alongside their enemies. Ultimately, Reagan was able to save 100 people and faced communal dissidence for his actions in the post-genocide era as Hutus viewed him as a traitor; Reagan even claims that several extremists dubiously poisoned a cow that was originally gifted to him by the Rwandan government as thanks for his valiant efforts in rescuing innocent victims.

Similar to Reagan, Amina grew up as a “child of genocide.” One day when she went to school she was told that all Hutu were to return home while all Tutsi were to stay at schools—an inhumane systematic measure for cornering and slaughtering all Tutsi children. Amina’s father, a trusted car mechanic in the community, was provided with Hutu intelligence throughout the Interahamwe attacks starting in April 1994. In a nearby forest, Amina would help her father hide Tutsi victims and efficiently tried to conceal every Hutu moderate from Interahamwe aggression. Amina’s specific job was to carry food and clean up after everyone’s bowel excretions. There was one specific instance when Amina hid a frail and troubled Tutsi man who had “lost his mind” after spending three days in the Butare forest without food or water. Amina said that she stayed faithfully by this man’s side as regained strength after eight hours of unconsciousness. Amina and her family saved a total of eight people by the time the RPF came to liberate Hutu moderates and Tutsi from Interahamwe and militia mutiny. Even after rescuing Tutsis, Amina and her family still lived in fear of another attack after the genocide; they fled to safety in Burundi to await any aftershocks of hate-based antagonism from Tutsi rebels.

Erneste on the barren path
(Kicukiro)

Both of these rescuers were not only bare-boned and brave when they decided to choose protection and love over assimilated hate and group-think aggression, but they were authentic and selfless in recounting their stories to a group of naïve strangers. Their stories provided a context of defiant hope and peace which was deeply inspiring and reconstructive to say the very least. After a couple of visits to memorials, it was more than a breath of fresh air…it was living proof that engaged morality and demonstrations of justice are universally rewarded and valued. It was the proof I needed to conclude that compassionate life amid 1000 hills of red clay and inveterate Ubuntu—generosity to all human beings—could be possible and respected.

“The things you do for yourself are gone when you are gone, but the things you do for others remain as your legacy.” - Kalu Ndukwe Kalu

September 3 - Inocent

Disclaimer: This post is dedicated to Inocent for always knowing how to carefully question and provoke the mind.

Today I visited the Gisozi Genocide Memorial, the Nyamata, and the Ntarama Memorial sites. The lighthearted and culturally rich feelings of Rwanda were immediately replaced with an unimaginable fear of confronting the past of 1 million deaths in three different locations.

Outside - Gisozi Memorial

The Gisozi Memorial, a more educationally-focused memorial, was beautifully positioned in a deep crevice in the heart of Kigali. As we drove toward the site on a bus, there was a tangible tension in the air, briefly broken up with small nervous laughter or a quick bus ride selfie—remnants of American privileged culture in an entirely new environment. The early morning smog was particularly intense and the condensed moisture created innumerable droplets of water along the bus windshield. It was as if we were driving through a rain storm, but the storm was a façade and the rain remained as its illusory agent, bringing bad news and uncomfortableness.

View of the city from the memorial

My lungs were stressfully coated with an unsettling amount of diesel exhaust and red dust. Beads of sweat collected on my forehead in the crowded bus, paralleling the external panes of the bus and surely exacerbated by the amount of long, conservative attire I chose to wear. I could sense something ominous in the setting and whether psychologically induced or not, I felt a presence of unimaginable death and collective misery.

Inside, the memorial did a wonderful job of providing the pretext, anatomy, and results of the genocide. Just like any other museum, the memorial highlighted specific factual conditions which led to the genocide, namely the decline in the Rwandan economy, ethnic animosity (between Hutu and Tutsi) propagated by socioeconomic disparity, hate propaganda, military supply distribution, and government opposition. The memorial effectively compared the Rwandan Genocide of 1994 with that of the Holocaust (1933-1945), the Herero and Namaqua genocide (1904-1907), the Cambodian genocide (1975-1979), and the Bosnian genocide (1992-1995).

There were several rooms which hit the heart unabashedly and permanently. One room was dedicated to the lives of children under 5, showcasing their last known picture and listing their hobbies, dreams, favorite TV shows and songs, and the manner in which they were killed. It was an unfair and eerie juxtaposition to see their smiling faces in the photo next to their cruel death. Another room was dedicated to a video of a man who tearfully recounted the last meal he shared with his mother who had gone out to search for passion fruit when their house had been pillaged and left sans food or water—a humanizing story of motherly heroism. The rooms induced a heartfelt suspension between fear, disgust, and unimaginable pain.

Wall of Names at Gisozi

Outside, the memorial contained a sacred burial ground and had a wall for the names of known victims. This portion frustrated me as I thought about all the people whose names were not honored on the wall, which was relatively small and unadorned. This made genocidal deaths seem androgynous, conglomerate, and deindividuated. Saddened by the lack of individual care for each person, I stumbled upon a single rose left on the burial grounds. Memorials are such fascinating insignias of remembrance and respect; it’s a way to say “Never Again” despite the failure of that phrase in its original convention of 1948. This rose became an engrained synecdoche for a reduction in blanketing, generalized statements which treated the 1 million victims as an anonymous bouquet. Equally important is the constant goal to see each victim for their individual story, treating them as a precious rose to preserve their last remaining breaths of dignity and agency.

Single rose on the mass graves at Gisozi

The last two memorial sites (Nyamata and Ntarama) were both churches. What was thought to have been a sacred site of religiosity and communal safety quickly transformed into a bloody massacre with no escape or refuge. At Nyamata, the guide told a story about one specific woman who was raped fifteen times before she was eventually impaled with a spear. This was not a simple massacre or ethnic war; Hutus descended into savagery and systematically killed their purported opponent with the intent of torture and eventual extermination.

Mass graves at Nyamata

As our tour guide explained to us, Tutsis were able to find sanctuary in this church during the upheavals of 1992. In 1994, however, even churches did not offer protection from the killers—5,000 Tutsi men, women and children seeking refuge were eventually murdered in the Ntarama church. Beneath the sanctuary at Nyamata is a room created to display some of the remains of the victim as well as a casket containing the body of a young woman whose torture and murder is considered to be paradigmatic of the abject brutality displayed during the Nyamata massacre.

I left all three memorial sites with a disdain for humankind. When I was a Resident Assistant, my supervisor questioned, “If we are not here to support one another, why else would we be here?” The Hutu extremist answer to that question would confer some sort of power dimension, political dominance, socioeconomic parity, or ethnic purity. I choose the path of support, of unconditional love, of respect and dignity for all human beings and cultures. I left the memorials feeling disconnected from the world, feeling alienated for my commitment to social equality, inclusiveness, and Ubuntu (generosity to all human beings). Everything that I had learned about being a good person was challenged by certain pretexts to genocide: economic decline, ethnic animosity, propaganda, etc. Could people really disengage from morality to commit heinous crimes regardless of pity or empathy?  How is it possible for human compassion and empathy to be compromised for the sake of self-betterment? I was troubled and lost, but these questions would soon be answered as I began to learn more about how it was possible to become a perpetrator from a social psychology standpoint.

At times such as this, the words “Never Again” come to us almost reflexively, but I must confess that given the tragically chronic reality of human rights abuse, these two familiar words ring increasingly hollow for me. I can’t help but think we must dig much deeper—and face more painful truths about ourselves—before uncovering the light that will that will show us the way out of the legacies bequeathed to us by places such as Nyamata and Ntarama.

Urumuri rw' icyizere
"Light of Hope" eternal flame at Ntarama

That night, Inocent, my father’s friend, left me with one final question as we sat around the dining room table. “Is it possible to rationalize genocide?” he pondered. The little man in front of me had succinctly stated what had been bothering me the past 12 hours. Was it possible to rationalize evil? Why did so many people, regular ordinary citizens join the Interahamwe and kill so many innocent people? There had to be a hook and I was faithfully ready to discover what that was and confront evil face-to-face. 

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

September 2 - Danny

Mfite imyaka makumyabiri (I am 20 years old)

Ndashaka kujya ku Kacyiru. Wamfasha? (I want to go to Kacyiru. Can you please help me?)

These were two phrases which I have started to use incessantly. Not only because these phrases are easy to say (relatively speaking), but because they were both survival tools.

With Erneste's family in Kicukiro

The age one was used for me to explain my status. Student. Umunyeshuri. Innocent and foreign yet eager and confident. I began to understand that there was a certain likeableness associated with being a student or a researcher here in Kigali—I was starting to grasp the power of storytelling. Each person has some sort of tale which is just waiting to be uncovered and publicized by a foreigner. It could be a source of empowerment and self-efficacy; genocidal rescuers, survivors, and perpetrators are simply awaiting attentive ears.

The other phrase is used every day before I get on the bus for school.  It helps to know your destination, and people are willing to help if you try to speak in Kinyarwanda. Assimilation comes with the constant challenge of language barriers, but I am starting to become more sensitive to intonation and non-verbal cues. It’s the only way to survive and possibly grasp what others are trying to convey.

Erneste, my host brother, shared some of his traditional Rwandan music with me today. I could understand some of it…especially the lines dedicated to love. The main singer stated that they would never love again after loving one girl and one girl only. Following the tradition of being very affectionate, loyal, and caring people, Rwandans also value monogamy and the concept of “true love.” My brother slowly recounted his tales of being in love and searching for “the one.” His girlfriend’s name is Lillyana, and although they do not get to see each other often because of school and distance constraints, their love is often expressed through pithy text messages and daily phone conversations. Erneste is sensitive to her needs, and Lillyana understands Erneste’s undying commitment to education (attending Tumba University in Rulindo) and his dedication to housing international students on his spare time.

In the evening, Erneste received a phone call from Lillyana. Humming the tune to Shania Twain’s “You’re Still the One,” Erneste pranced around the house like a giddy schoolboy, running into a couple of chairs and newly plastered corners. He finally settled himself at the dining table and sophisticatedly poured himself a glass of lukewarm citrus Fanta. He put his hand to his chin and glowered at my computer for a while before saying, “Do you want to know something about love?”

My brother, Erneste
(At his home in Kicukiro)

I replied with a simple, “Sure.”

He romanticized, “Love is safety. I believe it’s the time when you feel most secure and cherished.”

I interjected, “What about challenge? What about the idea of growing together and being each other’s way to becoming better people?” He looked at me for a while with confused eyes and an unsteady grin.

“I have never thought of it that way. Challenge. Interesting. I think you’re right. It is a constant challenge now that I think about it more…it takes a challenging commitment to be together.”

Erneste and I were beginning to learn from each other. Love, acceptance, gender norms and several other topics would be the main sources of our philosophical conversations…For now, Erneste enjoyed his Fanta and I enjoyed the chance to think about love and the fruitful inzitizi (challenges) ahead.

“There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the endless love in life.” - Federico Fellini

August 30 - Erneste

After talking with my brother and attempting to understand more about Rwandan culture, I wanted to write out a couple of tips for surviving Kigali:

• Breakfast is always around 7:30 or 8:00 am, regardless of the day of the week or sleeping-in habits. Lunch is a big meal served around 1 pm, and dinner follows the pattern with a large meal served around 9 pm to 10:30 pm (yes, the gap is long, aggravating, and different but doable).
• People strongly detest eating or drinking on the streets, on the bus, or merely anywhere in public. It is not socially acceptable, and it’s rather subhuman to have snacks or a sandwich on the go.
• This may be very specific to Rwanda, but it is expected that you take a bucket shower once if not twice daily. Kigali is clean. Its citizens are even cleaner and everyone values a “smart” or sharp look. Thus, every day is dress up day.
• Water is not a very common drink for dinner or lunch. I often receive an abnormal stare accompanied with awkward silence when asking for water; the counter-question follows as to whether I would like to change my order to Fanta, Sprite, or Coke. 
• When asking someone out for a drink or to go out for lunch (not in a formal date sense), Rwandans will expect you to pay for everything including transportation. So be careful when you decide to invite someone out for an evening on the town as you must have your wallet ready every step of the way.
• Not all bananas are created equal. Some taste like salty potatoes, others taste normally sweet, and others are disgustingly starchy and bland. 
• Probiotics are a necessity. There’s no escaping the food and its exotic or unorthodox preparation. The restroom situation has been pleasant since I started taking daily pills—my stomach has adjusted and I’m not missing lecture or a conversation with my brother by spending so much time on the toilet. 
• Umuganda is a monthly community service activity, which has been heavily encouraged by the government in Rwanda. Umuganda occurs on the last Saturday of the month and usually involves some sort of street cleaning followed by a community or village meeting. I participated in Umuganda today with my family, and attended the meeting (couldn’t understand a lick of Kinyarwanda), which mainly hosted the political elite of my umudugudu (village) and oddly a large number of old women. I tried to characterize the pattern of bystanders not participating in the community service, but it appears that every family is different and, since participation is not mandatory, Umuganda becomes more of a person, individual commitment rather than communal as its pretense and context suggests. 
• Get to the bus early and know where you are going. The bus numbers here do not have a set path or schedule or bus driver, and every single day one encounters a new mare getting on or off the uncomfortably crowded bus. Yesterday, a man sat on top of my lap. A full grown man. On my lap. Things got a little interesting. 
• That is all for now, I’m sure I’ll come up with more interesting tid-bits along the way. But I am happy to report good health and laughable experiences so far. 

Tonight my family watched France 24 on TV and had dinner with one of my dad’s friends. I was starting to get the idea that my father was a very popular man that wore several prominent hats in the community. His friend’s name was Inocent, and he had just returned to Kigali after years abroad in Tanzania and Switzerland. After correcting some of my Kinyarwanda and questioning my motives for coming to Africa and specifically Rwanda, Inocent - the 60 year old world traveler - entertained a discussion about Rwandan politics and the guise of democracy.

Scooping up a spoonful of chickpeas and spinach my host brother placed in front of me, Inocent told me his thoughts about America. “Everyone wants to be western. Everyone wants to be American—you’re idolized here and always will be.” This deep idolatry of America and sensationalized view of the U.S. made me feel uncomfortable and stereotyped. I often don’t see America as the best, and I know several people who study abroad to escape its throes.

Inocent continued by letting me know that “No one can blame Rwanda because it is desperately trying to be like the U.S. in every sense, including its government.” At the time, I had not thought about this engrained admiration Inocent had just mentioned as a route to replicating the U.S. Constitution. I needed to think about this more but my discussion with Inocent would no doubt inform my upcoming interactions with Rwandans and Americans alike.