What two questions do I get asked most:
1) What do you think of my country?
2) Can you be an ambassador for Rwanda?
Of course without hesitation I let them know they live in a beautiful country, with people that are even more beautiful and resilient then the country itself. But I have been surprised by the ambassador question. Granted a lot of people in the States asked me if I had seen Hotel Rwanda before I came, and were worried for my safety. That is not the reality of the country, and although I passed the hotel that served as the basis of the movie, most Rwandan’s agree that it is an exaggerated version of controversial series of events. I am not surprised that people want to change the international perception of Rwanda, but I am taken aback that it is a universally shared concept. Not one person has forgotten to mention that I should become an ambassador. These words were uttered to me the first night with my host father, by the nice woman Sonya who drove me to school, from the survivors of the genocide, from perpetrators we visited in prison, government representatives and those who were courageous enough to rescue Tutsi’s during the genocide. They all want ambassadors to tell the world how Rwanda is charming, majestic, and transformed.
When I first decided to come to Africa I thought it felt so far away, “across the world.” Being here you see the same type of community, of support and of human interactions that you start to feel like you could be just minutes from your hometown. Kigali still appears to be the safest place I have ever been. People take care of strangers kids, are constantly offering you rides when the bus fails to show, or making sure you get on the right bus in the right direction. There is nothing individualistic about the culture, instead people look out for each other, and take care of one another. I can’t believe how quickly time is passing. I know that I need longer in Rwanda to appreciate the entirety of its beauty, and of course to master the new plumbing.
As I wonder the streets I feel so at ease, there is always a new adventure. I went to the market in Kimironko last week, and it was better then I could imagine. A Paraguayan or Nicaraguan market is hard to beat, but this just might of succeeded. The market was organized into sections; women and men wondered the aisles with babies tied on their backs, baskets on their head, or large bags to carry their purchases. There was an incredible level of organization and purpose to the whole operation. Everyone had a place to go, or a thing to do, but they did it without rushing, with a sort of grace. Fruits stacked high, electronics lined displays, used kitchen utensils staked to the ceiling, but the most beautiful were the fabrics, rows and rows of beautiful fabrics. As women and men sat in the pathways with there’re sewing machines, waiting for a new order or something new to make. I resisted the urge to buy all the beautiful fabrics, but know that I will go back before I leave to make some serious investments. So if you need some new fabric, or have any special orders let me know!
This week’s educational lesson will be on the Murambi Memorial and women’s association. In class we have been focusing on memory, reconciliation and justice in the last few weeks. Clearly all the trips and homework has kept me from adequately updating my blog. Regardless Rwanda’s process of reconciliation and justice has been a unique one.
We started in Butare at the Murambi memorial. This memorial was built to be a school. Positioned on the top of a gorgeous hill, surrounded by rolling hills, houses and schools the area is pristine. The building with a main building and several separate buildings all dotting the top of the peak. Unfortunately, before the school could open Genocide broke out. Close to 50,000 Tutsi’s to refuge in the buildings from surrounding districts and areas. Initially they felt protected, but soon Hutu perpetrators cut off their water supply, with the intention of making them weak. Two weeks later the Hutu attack came, and after two days of straight grenades, guns and machetes the 50,000 were murdered and thrown into three mass graves. Few survived, in fact only five known survivors have stepped forward to share their stories. On this hill you can visit the site of the massacre known as the Murambi memorial. After the genocide ended the bodies were dug up and preserved with limestone, where you can still see them today. Classroom after classroom is filled with white, ashen bodies, some still sporting clothes, wedding rings, or a baby cupped in their arms. Their facial expressions represent the most unimaginable looks of fear and pain. Although it is easy to lose your self in the experience, and be overwhelmed by the sadness but the location itself is encouraging. From the top of this hill not only is the view incredible you here the mooing of cows across the valley and the giggles and screams of school children playing. You can’t ignore that life has continued in Rwanda, that people still carry around the trauma in those memories, but it is a country that is doing everything possible to heal.
Following the depressing memorial we went to visit a rural women’s association up around the hills of Butare. These are women who survived the genocide, and now are part of a unique organization:
After the genocide the surviving women lived in classrooms on the crest of the town. They had orphans and small children with them, but along with killing their families their homes were destroyed. They lived completely hopeless and distraught, without clothes, or food. The wives of those perpetrators that had killed their husbands and families lived on the hill across the way. On the way to the prison to visit their spouses or bring them food, they had to pass in front of these schools were the survivors were still living. These survivors harbored so much hate, resentment and chiefly fear that they would throw stones at the women. When a priest showed up he asked the women what they wanted, and they said two things. The first being clothes and food, and all the practical things necessary to survive. The second was to believe in god again, because they had been completely destroyed, and how could he of let that happen. So it began that a nun would preach to these survivors in the community on Thursday. Soon they discovered that the same nun was preaching to the wives of the perpetrators on Sunday. These survivors could not understand why they preached to these different groups of people the same things. They agreed to begin to try to preach together on the same day. First it was full of hostility, they did not talk, and they did not even want to look at each other. Soon they realized that they had things in common, and that they should help each other. The started an organization called Courage of Survivors in which both the perpetrators and the survivors worked together. In the first year it was re-building that trust, then they began doing microfinance projects of cows, chickens, goats and agriculture. Today they have 1701 members, and are some of the most beautiful strong women I have seen. Today they attend each other’s births, weddings and funerals. They take care of each other, and treat the sick in their community. They have begun micro-grant projects that have helped the community become more developed and determined. If you are interested in learning more about these women, or making a contribution yourself here is a link:
I know that these passionate women deserve every penny, and have my full support.
I hope everyone is well and healthy. Miss you all
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