Reflections on a Sunday Morning

Another weekend and I feel guilt ridden that we have not left Butare. Our last two Friday nights have left us exhausted and without the energy to move very far the following day. We celebrated with the French film crew on Friday night as they finished their last day of filming. It was interesting to watch the crew, French and Rwandese, balance between the joys of being finished the grueling and emotional work of producing the film and the sadness in saying their goodbyes; both groups realizing that the possibility of seeing each other again is very slim. It was obvious that strong ties had developed over the course of the filming.

There are a couple of stories I would like to share that have touched me deeply over the course of the weekend. As I write this, I am struggling to justify sharing the personal stories of individuals on a public domain. However, these stories are my best illustrations of Rwanda’s catastrophic history and how the human spirit can triumph. One of the stories is about a French soldier posted here during the genocide, who came with the film crew to act as a French soldier. His story was published in the local paper and was explained in further detail by crew members. This soldier was quite young when he came to Rwanda in 1994. The paper described one day ‘in the field’. His crew came upon a roadblock made entirely of human bodies. Because he was the youngest, his commander instructed him to physically move the bodies from the road. The article describes the emotional damage such an experience left him with. Apparently, during filming there were many times he had to leave the set as it was overwhelming. I only hope that this experience helped him in the healing process.

Last night we met our friend Maurice (who I introduced in a previous posting) for dinner at the local “Chinese Restaurant” (where we waited OVER 2 hours for our food!!!!! And that is apparently normal). We learned more about his past during the course of the evening. I can’t even attempt to relate to the experiences this man has endured in his life. When Maurice was four his mother committed suicide, shooting herself while he was in the next room. He is not sure why she did it but spoke about the day openly. Apparently she had returned from being out that day, crying. Maurice mentioned that she was constantly upset that his father, who was British, was continuously traveling around the continent for his business. As the family sat in the living room they heard a shot, ran into her bedroom, and found her dead.

Later in the evening, Maurice spoke about his time with the RPF army. The story was disjointed without clear details; we did not ask many questions for clarification as we did not want to push him to speak about things he was not comfortable with. I will just outline the some of the things Maurice discussed. He spoke about hiding in the bush with the army for extended periods of time. During this period he spent much time with the current President Paul Kagame, who Maurice describes as ‘very serious and strong’. Maurice has a great love for this man; a man he claims his holding Rwanda together by his passion to rebuild a new Rwanda free of ethnic hatred. Maurice claims that as long as Mr. Kagame is President, Rwanda will be violence free; however, fears what will happen once his Presidency is finished (the next election will be in 2010 and most people here believe he will be reinstated). Maurice also described the Rwandese men who had been living abroad, returning to fight with the RPF. Maurice laughed as he described these young boys arriving with large backpacks and thinking that they would have the evenings and weekends free to party. He described the reality of their experience; lying quietly in the bush for days on end waiting for the enemy and then the periods of battle. Maurice, who lost his leg during the war, spoke about how some of these boys were here for only three or four days before being killed and how he doesn’t understand why he made it through the year alive. He concluded his story by simply stating, “I have seen a lot in my life- When I was in the forest hiding, I was an evil man - Now I am a good man”. I am not sure I have ever felt so humbled – and I am not sure that is the right word. His story and the innate goodness of this man’s soul, despite the tragedy he has experienced, left me feeling unworthy and embarrassed at how easy, safe, and privileged my life is. I think about flying into Rwanda, with my North American luxuries, knowing that I will be leaving the people of this country behind in two months to struggle with fear of the unknown as to what will happen in their future – and I feel ashamed. I realize that it isn’t my fault that I was born where I was – but at this point I feel I have nothing to offer these people and I am embarrassed to have thought that I did when I have absolutely no way of relating to the horrors they have witnessed and experienced.

I have read quite a bit about the genocide in Rwanda. The stories that I have read and now the first hand stories I have heard, are carried with me daily. Often, when I walk to work or lie in bed, I see and hear things that terrify me. Early this morning when I was lying in bed, I heard children outside. It didn’t sound like laughter, it sounded like screaming. Immediately I thought about the stories of the thousands of children, specifically those in an orphanage in Rwanda, who were violently slaughtered. Last week I walked by a restaurant that was blaring a local radio station in Kinyarwanda. I thought of those initial 100 days of the genocide when the government used the radio as propaganda, to instruct the Hutu to go out and slay the Tutsis. When I walk to school, I see the local farmers carry machetes too and from work and all I can think about is how this simple tool was used as an instrument to kill over 800 000 people. And I think, if these images and sounds emit such alarming emotions and fear within myself – an outsider who never witnessed any of the genocidal events – how do the people of Rwanda deal day to day? How do they go about their business with such reminders of the violence and hatred and remain peaceful, good, and kind?

This morning has been difficult as I write these words, reflect on the stories I have heard, and go back to my book, “We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families” about the genocide. I am full of anxiety and am fighting off tears. I have moments of wanting to know more – to hear more stories – to make an attempt at understanding; and then follow moments of feeling the need to walk away – of being afraid that the more I realize about this place and it’s history – the more I will change, and am again ashamed. The people here can’t walk away – they are not only physically trapped here by a government that tightly controls granting passport for travel but, they are also trapped by their memories – something they can never walk away from.