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