Imbabazi

Last weekend we went back to Kigali to spend some time with friends who were returning home this week. The time in Kigali was difficult as we spent time at two memorial sites and “Hotel Rwanda”.

On Saturday we drove for an hour into a village 30 km outside of Kigali called Nyamata. Within this village is a church where it is estimated 5,000 people who were seeking God’s shelter were killed in April, 1994. Upon arriving at the church, we were met by a gentle woman whose eyes told of the horror she has witnessed and sorrow she has experienced (genocide memorials generally employ survivors as guides). She spoke no English and very little French, but with the assistance of laminated guide cards in English, body language, and facial expressions she told a story that has deeply touched my soul. I forewarn that this entry contains descriptions that some might find difficult to read, but I don’t believe any part of this story should be censored.

Since being at Nyamata, I have come across some narrated accounts of individuals who had survived this particular assault. These accounts are entwined with my observations at the memorials.

In April 1994, within hours of the President’s plane being shot down, the Hutu powers launched a fastidious crusade against the Tutsi of Rwanda. Upon hearing propaganda calling for their demise, hundreds of thousands of Tutsi sought shelter in God’s homes all over the country hoping that the Hutu would not bring themselves to commit such violent crimes against humanity in the presence of the Lord. This was not the case. One boy’s testimony spoke about arriving at the church in Nyamata to find it packed wall to wall with people. The white priest in Nyamata made feeble attempts to feed the refugees, stating that it was futile to try and meet their physical needs as they would “be dead tomorrow”. The next day, the white priest drove away to catch his flight home; leaving the refugees behind to face their perpetrators, knowing that death was inevitable.

The first evidence at the church was damaged concrete under the steel grate door that had been bombed with grenades to force entry into the church. Immediately inside the church there was a small room where clothes belonging to the deceased were piled to the ceiling. The church had been built with many openings in the brickwork to allow for a breeze to cool the congregation during services. In personal accounts, people described how these openings gave way for bullets to enter and kill many inside the church walls. The tin roof of the church is riddled with bullet holes.

Once the civilian soldiers fought into the church, they moved swiftly through the Tutsi refugees with machetes. The guide showed us blood stains on the walls, making specific reference to places where babies had been intentially slammed against the walls. When at the Kigali Genocide Memorial a few weeks ago we walked through a room dedicated to the children who perished in the genocide. This gallery had photos of some children with a brief biography that included favourite food and drink, pastimes, last words, and how they died. There had been a few pictures which stated they had died by being slammed against a wall in a church. These images haunted me for days after leaving the Kigali memorial; however, flashed back to memory with vengeance when the blood stains were pointed out on the wall of the church in Nyamata. In a book I am now reading, one Hutu who was a member of the interahamwe explains how he taught his army to kill the children because thirty years ago, one small Tutsi child was missed during an attack. (as an aside – the ‘genocide’ started in 1959 when Rwanda gained independence from Belgium – this country has suffered many years of violence) He fled to Uganda and came back to lead the RPF against the Hutu’s, referring to the current President.
This picture was taken inside the church….I think of how many looked up at this Virgin Mary, praying to be salvaged from a brutal death. During the genocide, people would pay large sums of money to their killers to die quickly by bullet, instead of the slow tortuous death many victims suffered.

In the basement of the church is a glass case which houses many skulls. Our guide pointed out the cracked skulls where the machete had come down. Below the glass case is a coffin, occupied by a sole women (many coffins used to lay victims to rest contain more than one body due to the sheer number and dismemberment of bodies) who was pregnant when she suffered her humiliating and painful death.

Outside of the church are three more mass graves. Two had been constructed post-genocide to house bones found throughout the region. Both graves are approximately twelve feet deep and thirty six feet long with shelves that run floor to ceiling. One of the graves held coffins and the second, hundreds of skulls and bones lined perfectly on their wooden shelves in the damp coldness of the underground (picture below). The third grave was made during the assault at Nyamata. The victims had been told to dig a hole in the back of the church which would be used as a toilet. They were then told to get into the hole and were killed, left exposed in their own graves.

We went to a second church in the region which was also the site of thousands of Tutsi deaths. This church was much smaller and the evidence of a genocide was much more subtle (aside from the skulls). As a part of the memorial, they have left all of the belongings brought and worn by the refugees. I think that this was the most difficult part of the visit; seeing the books, toys and clothing of the children – packed with the hope that they would be safe in the church, to return to their lives once this ‘episode’ was over.

On Sunday we went to the infamous “Milles Collines Hotel” aka, Hotel Rwandaas a friend was staying there. The hotel was not as I had pictured; however, it was fascinating to sit in the grounds and imagine the hundreds of refugees who remained on the lawn for days on end, using the swimming pool as their source of water for cooking, washing, and drinking.

Joel has been going to the Gacaca ceremonies on Wednesday morning with local research interns working at the Center of Conflict Management. Yesterday morning there was a doctor ‘on trial’. A nurse gave testimony that the doctor had killed many people in the hospital by putting chemicals in their drips, removing their drips, and basically leaving people in dire need of medical attention to die. There is currently a case against a professor at the University whom I spoke about in a previous entry. Joel was told that because she is an “intellectual” they are taking their time with her case. Apparently those who are considered ‘lower class’ have very fast trials, being sentenced quickly without a lot of deliberation over their guilt or innocence. However, because intellectuals are considered intelligent, it is assumed that they can poke holes in the testimonies of witnesses and therefore, the elected judges take their time to ensure that they build a solid case. Gacaca is founded on the notion of restorative justice; however, as an oustider it seems void of due process or guarantee of a fair trial. Those accused are held at the mercy of the audience and if this individual is not well liked by the community, their fate can be pre-determined.

As an end note, Imbabazi means "have compasssion", a Rwandan name given to me by my Rwandan colleagues which is funny because Carissa is also a Rwandan name...for men it is spelled Kalisa (l's are pronounced as r's). However, I have seen a couple of women with the name spelled Carisa pronounced the same as mine.