I really don’t know where to begin with today. We drove 3 hours to the Murambi Genocide Memorial. At this point I assumed I’d built up some resilience to the genocide talk, but today was by far the worst and then a few hours later became the best. Our day was planned so well that it took me to the most extreme low I’ve ever felt but somehow managed to bring me back up to feel the purest joy. My heart has never been so confused.
Murambi was in one word, horrifying. This was definitely the worst and what I saw here will haunt me forever. This school was way out in the countryside and very isolated. As we drove up, the kids were all getting out of school and they saw us coming. Per usual, they started running as fast as they could to catch up to us. I’ve never been able to bring anyone that much joy, and all I have to do is wave. I almost forgot I was about to step into a school where over 40,000 people were lured, brutally massacred, and then covered up by French soldiers and where 800 corpses remain preserved in the classrooms. Writing that down or hearing about it is disgusting in its own right, and I was surprised by how okay I felt when I heard what we were going to see, and I guess I didn’t emotionally prepare for it enough beforehand. Hearing the crunch of my feet on the rocks paving the walkway, we get to a long outdoor hallway with a line of rooms. The guide explains how the bodies were exhumed from the mass graves and those that were still in tact were preserved and placed back into the classrooms where they were killed. I make it to the hallway and catch a glimpse of a mummy like figure through the doorway. After seeing thousands of bones and skulls, I didn’t expect my body to hesitate the way it did. I couldn’t go in. I lagged behind the group a little and saw as everyone somberly stepped into the room and watched each walk out. I stood with my hand on the doorway, frozen. Telling myself I owe it to these people to honor their memory. If I don’t go in, then they’re ethically questionable lack of burial would be in vain. I step in and am immediately encased in the smell. I can’t even describe it, but it haunts me. I leave the first room after a few seconds. I step back outside and face out admiring the beautiful hills and valleys of the Rwandan countryside. I breathe in the fresh air and take in the beauty to prepare myself for the ugliness awaiting me in the next room. This time I brace myself by putting my hand on the brick wall and take a hesitant step inside. My eyes are on the back wall, trying not to look down, but the smell returns. I remember what Clovis said to me in Kigali, “You have to be strong.” I look around and see piles of bodies, frozen in their misery. With missing fingers and teeth and contorted to the point they look deformed. I scan my eyes across the room, but then I turn around to leave and right by the door is a small body about the length of my arm. Completely flattened. For some reason it reminded me of this little boy in the orphanage. He was the same size and had the cutest chubby little cheeks, and even though the corpse was flat, I knew this child had the same smile. I began to weep, not cry…weep. The kind of weeping that makes you feel like you can’t breathe and my entire face was soaked in tears. Luckily I was close enough to the door that someone passing by was enough to bring me out of there. At this point, I honestly don’t want to see anymore. I’ve had enough, but I keep repeating Clovis’s words in my head. Seeing Tie go in to yet another room after explaining why she wouldn’t last night was enough to give me the courage. So again, I submit myself to this emotional torture. In this room there is a table in the center with a flower and a piece of paper. For the first time, I walk all the way to the back of the room because I needed to read what it said. The top said “Sleep my Child” followed by this poem dedicated to the children who died here.
Sleep my child and dream of days to come when
Pain is conquered in love's sweet embrace.
Why do these lands cry out, stained with our blood and tears
All the hopeful years blossom into grief
Hurt more than words can say, dignity stripped away
Taking my everything, leaving me to mourn.
Someday I'll wake to see, change drifting over me
When truth has told her tale, and her voice is heard
These rains wash over me, scars though they still may be
Forgiveness takes a step leaving me with hope.
I look up and notice that this room is filled entirely with children’s remains. This time I really can’t move. I stand there as my vision gets blurry with my own tears looking around at all the children and all I can think of is how few this is in comparison to those buried in the many mass graves throughout Rwanda. This is the state they were in when they died. Most are flattened like the first I saw. Completely crushed skulls, missing limbs, fingers, whole parts of their faces are missing….and the smell left me standing there for who knows how long. Suddenly I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders. Literally the guide lifted up my backpack and took it from me. I thought she was saying I was taking too long, but she touched my shoulder and led me out of the room. I tried to take my bag back and she said she’d lighten my burden for a little while. I do the same process to get strength to go into the next room, but she leads me away. She didn’t say anything, but I could feel her saying “that’s enough” I skipped the next 3 or 4 rooms until I reached the end of the hallway. Looking out at the beautiful green hills and feeling the soft breeze on my skin. I continued to weep. By now, the children who live next door have seen that there are Mazoonga around and they run as close as they can without leaving their property. I can’t look at them now. Not like this. They are so happy to see me, I don’t want them to see me cry, so I turn and face the doorway to the last room. I see yet another child’s crushed remains, the smell sneaks back into my nose and I hear a high-pitched scream. That took me somewhere I want to forget, but will probably give me nightmares for the rest of my life. I thought I had imagined it, but it was another neighbor kid who’d just seen us and was so excited he screamed. I don’t know if that’s comforting or not, but unfortunately I can’t undo what I’ve already imagined. I go back to the edge, sit down, and for the first time in a long time, I REALLY prayed. I believe in God and I go to church every once in a while, but I haven’t actually knelt down crossed my hands and begged God to take this burden from me. I was scared I’d never be the same again because of what I’d seen at Murambi. I open my eyes and see that now the kids are dancing. They are so happy to see us that they are DANCING, and it’s funny. I didn’t think it’d happen so quickly, but with tears still dripping down my face, I laughed. It didn’t take away the pain of it all, but I didn’t feel quite so hopeless. We went to 2 more hallways like those and I skipped a majority of the rooms, but of course now I had the image of these children hiding in these rooms and cowering in fear. I can’t begin to tell you how much worse it is to have living smiling dancing faces to connect to a flattened corpse. I felt like I was hollow and I needed to be grounded. For some reason I wanted to take off my shoes, but since this was a construction site at the time of the genocide, it wasn’t really safe to do so. We walked around and I knelt in the grass and just felt the ground. No clue why I had the impulse to do this or why it worked, but it brought me back to Earth for a second, which was exactly what I needed.
Now the newest information I learned at Murambi was not only did the international community FAIL to intervene, but French soldiers were living in Murambi and told the people that they would be safe at that school under their protection. Instead of keeping them safe, they congratulated the Hutu who killed those hiding there and then built a VOLLEYBALL COURT over a mass grave to cover it up. That’s almost more disgusting than those who did the killing, because the colonial influence is what created the animosity in the first place, and when they were asked to stop the killing, they helped it instead.
Here’s the link to some pictures I found on the internet, but just to warn you they are very graphic and not for the faint at heart http://www.pri.org/theworld/?q=node/7997
So after leaving Murambi, I was obviously in a very very sad place. Even though such natural beauty and happy people surround it, I was in a major depression mode from having to process such a harsh and horrifying reality. Luckily, Drew was aware of this and planned for some uplifting fun afterwards.
After lunch, we went to Burundi which is a college town in Rwanda. The most powerful women drumming group performed for us. It was around half an hour, but I was so into it and enjoyed it so much that it seriously felt like 5 minutes. They’re energy was electric and it was impossible not to smile in their presence. I felt like my soul had been refilled yet again. After their performance they did a workshop with us and drumming with them was some of the most fun I’ve ever had. They all had such major attitude and loved what they did. Women traditionally weren’t allowed to drum because drums are a symbol of power, and that was reserved for men. But of course now, they are officially the best drummers in Rwanda (through competitions) and they’re an inspirational example of the gender equality that Rwanda has reached. They have at least met, and probably surpassed the United States in that realm. Later when Drew told us that the women in this group had been a mixture of survivors, widows, and perpetrators, my jaw literally dropped. None of us even had a clue. Just another example of how inspiring Rwandans are. At first they didn’t want to work with each other, and they had every right to feel that way, but through music and drumming they are a family. It’s amazing to see the forgiveness and the rebirth of a community that once destroyed itself at the word of foreigners. And the fact that they still invite foreigners with such compassion and excitement, I am in awe of them every single day I am here. They are the most generally loving people I have ever met and it was a gift to be in their presence. After seeing Murambi and being surrounded by so much death, I truly needed their joy. And the strange mixed backgrounds of the group gives me even more hope that Rwanda has moved past this genocide and that a better world is indeed possible.
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