Day 8 - Shopping Therapy

Yesterday was a processing day. We went to the markets and I bought A TON of stuff. Gotta love barterin :) Afterwards, we watched Mashirika’s most famous show called Africa’s Hope. It was amazing. They are all such awesome actors, and knowing them personally made their pain and all their emotions so much more real. Sat in the front row. It was awesome

Day 7 - Muhanga, a Cow, and an Inspirational Woman

I'm already out of order on days.  Yesterday was much lighter on my heart and everything about it made me feel good.  We toured around the Muhanga district, which is the sister city of Buffalo (the city most of the people in our group are from).  I was a little disappointed because we moved around so much so fast.  First, we went to a school for the handicapped, which I'm a little disappointed we moved through it so quickly.  It's nice to see how intentional Rwandans are in the work that they do.  It was difficult to communicate with the kids because I don't sign, but it's just another less in how universal a smile truly is.  Next, we went to a high school.  This school was so impressive, it is better than most public schools I've seen in America.  The students here were the best and the brightest, it's obvious that they recruited these students.  They value science and sports and are so knowledgeable about what exactly will bring them prosperity.  Next was a school for future teachers, which is where the group did their performance.  None of them would believe that I was 21, and those that did were surprised that I wasn't married and had no children.  I ended up talking to one of the guys about my major and he was so intrigued by the idea of studying communication on the psychological level and as a practice.  They're minds are so open, which is such a new concept to me.  People here want to share your knowledge and find the best way to do things.  It's all just so intentional.


The best part was when we drove way out into the boonies to one of the poorest neighborhoods in the district.  Steven had to stop the car because he couldn’t drive in all the way.  We slowly built up a crowd, and the kids would run down the hill just to catch a glimpse of the “Mazoonga”  We bought a cow and gave it to a poor family.  I was so overwhelmed with their gratefulness and curiousity.  After Drew paid for the cow, a very old man who was dressed in what probably was his nicest clothes started singing/chanting in KinriRwanda (sp?) to bless the cow and pray that it give the family much prosperity.  In Rwanda, cows are a symbol of wealth.  The word for wealth “Ishyo” actually means “herd of cow” when literally translated.  I am so grateful to be a part of this and it’s definitely true that giving is the best feeling in the world.  We changed this family’s life forever by giving what is so little to us.  I lucked out because I always lag so far behind the group and the old woman called to Drew and I because she wanted to show us her home.  I was just saying how curious I was about what the inside of their adobe houses look like.  It was a little dark, and definitely a simpler lifestyle, but there’s a beauty in that.  I was so honored to have shared that with her, and just like every other place that we’ve visited, I have a greater appreciation for EVERYTHING I have been given in my life.  I have a new way of thinking about how we solve problems and how I even identify something as a problem.  My computer not working at 100% really doesn’t seem like an issue anymore.  It’s an annoyance that I am so fortunate to have.


The mayor of Muhanga met us for lunch, and although she didn’t speak English, she is such an inspiration to me as a woman.  Rwanda has the most female representation in government per capita than any other country in the world and the mayor is such a strong woman.  Their initiatives to improve her district are so intentional.  They don’t just grow anything in anyway, they test out different crops to be sure that they are getting the most out of the little they have.  The reintegrate criminals by making them do tangible and visible work within the community. That way, civilians see the good that they have done and it builds that sense of comraderie and community for when the convicts have served their time. Rwanda’s justice system is the most effective at not just throwing away people’s lives after they’ve committed a crime. For a place that has experienced the worst hatred and violence I’ve ever seen, there is such little animosity towards each other because of it.   The feeling of reconciliation and forgiveness throughout is so eye opening to me, and I hope that I can reciprocate it in my own life and help to spread this beautiful idea with everyone I meet, and I hope that those of you who read this can understand it well enough to spread the love as well :)


At the risk of sounding preachy, I’m going to stop now.  I am so thankful to every person I have met here for their smiles and their compassion.  I am forever changed.

When it Rains in Rwanda

It's 10am and today is already a gift.  After an amazing night's sleep, I woke up to sunshine at 6:30am. Had a great talk with Ben, drank some of the best coffee I've ever had and had some delicious bananas. Sitting on the porch while talking story with our group.  The clouds started to roll in and make shapes.  Julia commented that it looked like the dragon from Neverending Story.  All of a sudden it started to pour rain. I just love the smell when it rains. I kept saying "oh my god I wanna run in it" and Eve finally said, "hey if you wanna go I'll go with you." I immediately jumped up and booked it and of course I slipped and fell right on my ass. I wanted to play so bad though and I got right back up and sprinted towards the gazebo in the backyard.  I ran around the house and other people started to join us. Screaming and jumping around, loving everything about it.  Grass between my toes and rainwater dripping from my hair.  I've never felt so cleansed. What a great way to start my day :)

Day 6 – Rwandan Compassion and Foreign Guilt

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. 

Day 5 - Safari Day

Woke up at 5am to drive to the Akagera National Wildlife Park.  It's awesome how they just have a protected area for the animals to live how they're supposed to.  Got some amazing video and Lewis took over my picture taking duties for a while... Here's some of my favorites.

Warthogs!! Pumbaa

didn't see any elephants, so I made one in the car :)

Day 4 - Indescribable

I fell in love with Rwanda today. There’s no other word to describe the feeling I have right now. I’ve never felt so physically overjoyed and upset at the same time.  Whatever the word is for this, it’s the most intense emotion I have ever felt. It’s all thanks to a little girl named Rita.  I was expecting to be overwhelmed at the orphanage by sad faces, but from the second we arrived all I saw were smiles and little hands to hold.  Of course, Rita is just one of many children who call Gisimba their home, but she touched me deep down in my heart and soul. Saying goodbye to her smiling eyes was one of the toughest things I’ve ever had to do.  She is so curious and never left my side. When we left my hand felt empty without hers in it.  I fell in love with her smile and her sense of wonder.  She would admire my earrings and my hair, but she never once asked for anything. My presence was enough for her, but I wanted to give her everything I owned. She was a little more timid than the other kids, and I think that’s why I was so drawn to her because after a few minutes her personality really started to shine through.  I’d hear her quietly begin to sing, but if I drew attention to it she’d stop and flash the most shy yet flirtatious smile. Her dress reminded me of the fancy poofy ones that Keilana would wear and play princess.  Rita was amazed with my hair and kept touching it, and when the other kids were playing football, we sat on the side while she braided my hair.  Sitting next to me she played with my camera a little and caught on so fast! I didn’t even have to show her, but within a few minutes she was playing with the manual zoom and focus. She helped me get some great footage with commentary on who was in the shot and who they were to her.  She loves her sisters and wouldn’t stop talking about them.  I really hope she does email or call me, because I don’t think I could truly be okay in my life without knowing she’s alright.  Thank you Rita for sharing your love with me. The memory of your hugs and your soft “I love you” will fill my soul with this wordless emotion forever.

To learn more about the orphanage I visited visit http://Gisimba.org a donation of $300 sends a child like Rita to school for a year. That’s less than $30/month. Please consider it because there were so many other children who touched my heart that day.  There are some who live at Gisimba who are 18 years old, and although it is a great place, they deserve to have the same opportunities we have just for being born in America.

Day 3 - "I Can. I Must. I Will." Rwandan Courage

“Today” we went to the Kigali Genocide Memorial, the biggest mass grave in Rwanda with over 250,000 victims buried there.  We first bypassed the building and went into a beautiful garden.  Walking under canopies surrounded by giant cement slabs and beautiful plants and flowers. Almost like a reminder of those who died while still honoring their life and creating new life around it.  We enter the memorial center and it starts the history of the Rwanda genocide.  Although the 100 days of killing in April 1994 is the “climax” of Rwanda’s genocide story, it’s scary to know that this genocide (and all others) was the result of a very intentional plan. The groups of Hutu and Tutsi didn’t even exist until the Belgians gave them those labels and ID cards based off of how many cows someone I find the trivial differences between the groups even more scary because it’s clear that for YEARS Rwandans were pretty much brainwashed against each other. From what I understand, during the colonial time, Tutsis were more of the upper class (more cows) minority, while the Hutus were the working class, but had a huge majority in the population.  After the Belgians left Rwanda, the Hutu had a\ lot of resentment for the Tutsi and once the Hutu president was assassinated (debatably by Hutu, Tutsi, or Belgians) the killing began immediately.  The history of what led up to the genocide is equally as important as remembering those who died because it is the only way we can prevent this from happening again. Genocide isn’t spontaneous. It’s calculated and planned out.  There were radio broadcasts and 10 Commandments for the Hutu establishing superiority and calling the Tutsi cockroaches.  It’s a gradual dehumanization that allowed neighbors to turn on each other and it will frighten me everyday to know that it could be happening anywhere without our knowledge.  We automatically assume nothing like this could happen in America, but the further our country gets divided and the more I hear politicians subtle hate speech against homosexuals and our inability to find compromise in almost any situation. Of course, I’m not saying that America is a time bomb for genocide, but in a more intense division in an unstable environment like Rwanda’s was it would be ignorant to say it couldn’t happen anywhere else and that scares the crap outta me.

There was one display that spoke about the children who were orphaned with a giant photo of a group of children staring down at the center.  At this point I needed a break. I didn’t have room to take in any more.  I just sat there and let them stare at me. I wanted to remember their faces and after everything I had already seen I needed to just sit down and breathe (and cry..again).  I looked into each child’s eyes and even though I was 3 years old when this happened I can’t help but feel responsible.  These children are parentless and what they went through has will be part of them forever and the most fortunate people in the world didn’t step-in to help.  When they needed us most, the UN said “yes, there is major killing and they need help” while pulling out troops and turning their backs on these children and their country. I’m ashamed and horrified that the entire world stood by and did nothing while this girl with deep brown eyes watched her parents be killed and carrying a baby on her back.  The 3^rd section of the center was dedicated to the memories of the children who died in the genocide. There was a large photo of a little girl named Ariane Umutoni. Looking into her eyes and then at the plaque that says

                        Ariane UMUTONI

                        Age: 4

                        Favourite food: Cake

                        Favourite drink: Milk

                        Enjoyed: Singing & Dancing

                        Behaviour: A neat little girl

                        Cause of death: Stabbed in her eyes and head

This room was filled with other pictures and mini-bios.  Seeing the face of a baby who’s head was bashed against the wall was too much. This memorial was so beautifully made. I felt like I knew a little of who they were. Humanized their photos and I felt like it gave them a little more life.

The survivor wall was a big room with photographs hanging on clotheslines. It’s a live display because people can come in and take photos or add photos of their families.  The photos gave a very short glimpse into the immense stories of those who are buried outside.  I sat again and watched another video projected on the back wall of survivors talking about the loved ones they’d lost.  A man was talking about how he and his mom were in hiding and there was almost no food left, only beans. His mom knew he didn’t really like beans so she somehow found him a passion fruit and the next day his mother was killed.  He’ll always remember that passion fruit was the last meal he ever had with his mom. I thought about the lilikoi that grows in our backyard and my parents are very adamant about making lilikoi juice out of it.  I don’t know why my mind went there, but I pictured the same situation and that lilikoi being the only thing we had to eat. I also couldn’t even remember what my last meal with my parents would be, but I know I would never be able to eat it again. What an ugly reminder of a tragic and traumatizing moment in his life.  Clovis was sitting near me and saw me crying. He scooted over, touched my shoulder and said “sorry” I asked him why and all he said was “you have to be strong.” I’m constantly in awe of their courage and how strong survivors are. I would be a wreck.

After seeing more and more death, hatred, and the extent to which the murderers went to to cause the most amount of pain, it was easy to say that they were just evil people. After lunch, we spoke to Jim Waller, a researcher of the penetrator psychology. He spends all of his time in the Rwanda prisons, interviewing the worst of the worst of the murderers. It was important to have that talk with him because it reminded me of how dehumanizing anyone, even someone guilty of such horrific things, is counterproductive.  Genocide is only possible because of the calculated dehumanization of the victims over time. By dehumanizing the perpetrators, we open the door for history to repeat itself.  In a way, the perpetrators are a different type of victim. I don’t want to put them anywhere near the same level as the true victims and those who were tortured or have to live with the physical and emotional scars. It’s scary to think that the people who committed these horrendous acts are human the same as anyone else. We all have it in us somewhere, which is yet another heavy truth I have to remind myself of.  These people were brainwashed and possessed by the devil.  They have to live with what they’ve done, and they easily could have been born on the other side of it. Most of them didn’t have a choice. We talked about that gang mentality that we see in America and how most of them were teenagers who are proven to act on impulse and take advantage of any opportunity.  I’d like to believe that human nature is to resist the opportunity to let the animal out and take without remorse, but when it comes down to it, we’re all made of the same stuff genetically. Those murderers are only 0.01% different than me, and it was the mob mentality that allowed it to get that far. It’s something I’m struggling to really believe, but I’m trying to forgive the human inside them.  If a survivor can live next to them and forgive them, I should be able to too.

Afterwards we did a workshop with Mashirika. I filmed a lot less because I really needed that reflection to deal with all of these intense emotions of the last few days.  Highlights were asking the difference between genocide and war, and exercises in how we carry burdens and the struggle to let it go. Then we went to Rosette’s for dinner which turned into one of the craziest dance parties. Can’t wait for them to take us out clubbing next week :)

Day 2 - Rwandan Rollercoasters

I apologize in advance if this post is all over the place and INCREDIBLY LONG I’m trying to break it up and bold the important things…but no promises. Today was such an emotional rollercoaster, I still feel like I can’t fully comprehend the experience I had today let alone pass that on to other people. Rwanda has changed me more in 2 days than any experience I’ve ever had. Nothing can compare. But I’m gonna try my best to explain.

I woke up under my mosquito net to soft sunlight and birds chirping out the window…2 hours before my alarm. I don’t remember the last time I slept that well and still woke up early. There’s a Rwandan saying that we kept hearing today “God spends his whole day working all around the world, but he sleeps in Rwanda” and at breakfast Drew asked what it was like to spend my first night with God.  We sat outside on the porch and took in the beautiful sunlight and scenery with my delicious Rwandan cup of coffee.

I’m gonna talk about my day out of order because I want to make sure I get to the important stuff and I’d rather end on a happy note…

NYAMATA GENOCIDE MEMORIAL – Questioning Humanity

The drive to Nyamata was our first time out of Kigali which is a major city. We drove there straight from lunch, so going from the city center and through all these smaller towns was one of the coolest transitions.  The landscape in Rwanda is so lush and green We’d pass a bunch of trees that would open up and show the hills and valleys. I’ve never seen so many banana trees!! There were children playing on the side of the road and carrying big square jugs of water on their backs or heads. There were bicycle taxis (yes a guy riding a bike with 2 seats who gives people rides) and women carrying fruits in baskets on their heads.

We get to the outside of the church and the guide, Valenti begins by telling us the story of the people who were massacred in this place.  The mere numbers were enough to sink my heart into my stomach.  Of the 45,000+ who are buried in the mass graves, Over 10,000 Tutsis were led to the Nyamata Church with false promises of sanctuary, and how they were killed is even more horrifying than the numbers.  It was a plan. Every piece of new information just made me question everything I believe about humanity. I hate to say it but I even began to question God. What God could let this happen? Of course I know that this was the pure absence of God, but it really makes me question my faith. How could any human PLAN to murder thousands of their neighbors with no mercy? What brings a person to do that?  They used work tools outside like machetes and hammers so that they didn’t waste their ammunition (something they could only get from the government). Then they tried to break down the doors of the church while the men inside pushed against the walls to protect the women and children inside. I can’t imagine the sheer terror to witness the massacre of your family and friends while hiding inside a church.  The screams ring in my ears and I know that what I imagine can’t compare to the reality of it all.  The image of the children cowering inside, trying to be quiet while seeing and hearing what will eventually happen to them is the heaviest truth that I have ever had to face. When Valenti points to the dent in the floor and huge gap in the metal door and says it’s from the grenade the Hutu extremists used to eventually get through the door. I look up and see the holes in the ceiling from the shrapnel.  We walk inside and the piles and piles of clothes on the benches taken off those who were killed there and more devastating reality hits me.  

At this point I’m still successfully keeping my composure because I’d seen these pictures before, but as I walk around I get the courage to really look at the details of these clothes and on the top of one of the piles is a tiny pink T-shirt with a faded cartoon on it and at the time I thought it was Rocket Power (but that wasn’t even playing till 1999).  Regardless, that tiny pink T-shirt was tattered and surrounded by more clothes filled with bullet holes. The clothes were so small. How could someone do this, let alone TO A CHILD? I want to erase my first thought from my mind because I thought that shirt looked a lot like one I’d seen Keilana wear with a similar character on it. It was exactly her size.  This is when I lost it.  The thought that a child just like my niece witnessed such hatred before being murdered so horrifically was unbearable.  They took this girl’s life and all of her innocence. We walk over to the back of the church and Valenti deals out yet another heavy story of how all the children hid in this area because it was the most protected and the adults hoped that by putting all the children together, the murderers would have mercy on them.  Unfortunately this genocide was about more than just killing the Tutsi’s physical bodies.  They’re intentions were to torture them not only physically, but emotionally by murdering all hope until they begged for death.  I remember the children we played with yesterday who were dancing and playing with us. Their curiosity still makes me smile, until I picture them cowering in fear while their innocence and faith in the world is destroyed under a cross in a house of God.

It was the job of the women to kill the babies. Most would pick them up and bash their heads against the wall, and most of the blood is still there. I remember when Eve and I were talking in the car on the drive up to Nyamata about how it’s scary to hold a baby because they look so fragile. Again I asked, HOW? What woman, let alone MOTHER could do this to a helpless baby? Later I am told that the more vicious women would pound the babies’ heads with a big stone mortar like a poi pounder.  It’s almost as if they got pleasure out of coming up with even more sadistic ways to end an innocent life. Like animals thirsty for blood.

We go down into the tomb and there are skulls and bones in a glass case.  I force myself to look at each skull and at this point I can barely hear Valenti’s explanations about IDs.  You can see exactly how each person died. Gunshots, machete, some looked like half of it had been completely torn off.  I tune back in and Valenti explains how most of the bodies were unidentifiable, so the survivors had no way to honor their dead.  They had to pass this place everyday with the knowledge that their loved ones never received a proper burial. So those who hadn’t found their relatives would clean unidentified bones to symbolically give their lost loved ones closure.  Going outside and into the next tombs, all you see are caskets draped with purple fabric (a symbol of mourning).  I couldn’t even count the caskets, and each had at least 5 sets of remains most had more.  One section had all of the skulls and bones laid out. The skulls were facing in towards the center, staring at me. 

Afterwards we spoke to a woman who was visiting the memorial named Veni, and she told us she goes there all the time and looks at the bones in the outdoor tombs searching for her family.  She talked to us for hours, and after going through such intense emotions, all she could talk about was how important it is to know the truth but also to move past it. “The mourning is over” and “There is a better day” such a wise woman and I’m blessed to have met her.  If she weren’t there I would have been in a very dark place. My heart had been broken and I had lost most of my faith in humanity.  Hearing her speak about something so horrifying and ugly in such a calm way lifted my spirit.  Knowing that a woman who has a direct connection to this place and even more questions that will never be answered can somehow forgive the murderers and those who refused to help is inspiring. The part of the apostle’s creed “forgive those who trespass against us” has never rung more true. She lives that everyday.  I think about all the people I get angry at on a daily basis for something as silly as cutting me off and the people I still hold grudges against because they’ve wronged me in the past and I think “If Veni can forgive the people who gave her brothers and sisters limps in 1959, made her move to another country, killed her family members, and be at total peace, I should be able to too.” I think how America reacts to any type of attack like 9/11 and how we’ve alienated an entire culture who had nothing to do with the attack. There is such hatred for the Islamic people in America because of what a few had done on 9/11 and some hold on to that hate, but somehow she is at peace with the thousands of her neighbors who raped and murdered uncountable numbers of her people including children.  She alone restored my faith in God and in humanity.  God sent her there to bring me back my hope, because without that there is no way I could have survived 2 weeks here.  Thank you Veni! I wish I had more time and space to tell more of your story. You have inspired me and given me something I will hold onto for the rest of my life.

On the drive back we stopped at a river (the name I forget, but will update later when Carl is up) There were men cutting sugar cane and young boys on boats hauling it down the river. The kids immediately crowded around us and loved playing with my camera (per usual).  We stood on the bridge with the beautiful Rwandan sunset and reflected on the memorial together just by saying single words.

HAPPILY EVER AFTER - at the beginning of the day..

Even though this happened first, I wanted to talk about it last.  My goal isn’t just to tell the story of the genocide. That story has been told many times and now there is a fear that Rwanda is still dangerous today.  That was in 1994, but Rwanda has grown and been reborn in the last 17 years.  There is life in Rwanda and so much joy. Just driving around if you smile at someone passing on the street they give you the biggest smile.  I’ve been given the best hugs by people I had just met.  There is an openness here that I haven’t seen anywhere else.  This is the Rwanda that gives Veni hope. (keeping it short because I’m already at 3 pages)

We went to the Mashirika studio at that’s a very small space with bright colors and great energy above a few shops down the street from our guest house.  The group did a lot of acting exercises and it was awesome to see how close we all were after only meeting last night.  Drew led breathing exercises and a fun name/movement game.  During the name part I wanted to get in the middle of the circle to film and of course slipped on my pants that are too long and slid right into the floor. Bruised my elbow, but the camera was perfectly fine.. so I’ll count that as a blessing. I always do know how to make an entrance aaand it was a game to introduce ourselves :) but the best part was definitely whenever Hope taught us songs in the Rwandan language. The first was repetition of “Mwaramuste” which means good morning. My favorite was  a song that was very playful, and the leader would say “Iyabi yabi yabawe” and the group would answer back “Iyaba Iyabawe” twice while going in a circle, then the leader could say anything they want being as silly as they want before passing it on to another person who could lead the circle in different directions. Difficult to explain, but that’s why we filmed the whole thing anyway :) We got some great footage.  Words cannot describe the joy in each of their smiles. As horrific as the memorial was, the time with Mashirika made me feel like I had grown another family and I never would have thought they had been through such a nightmare.  This is Rwanda in 2012. They’ve found the hope that was lost in 1994, built upon it and healed in less than 20 years. They remember their dead and the history and refuse to let anyone deny that it happened but still live their lives and find ways to find joy in whatever way they know how. For Mashirika it’s through music, dance, and theater. And coming from a place that still holds grudges about slavery and republicans or democrats, I wonder where we could think we are ahead of them.  The sense of community they have is priceless. The Rwandans I’ve met in the last 2 days have been through so much but are still happier than any American I have ever known and we could learn a lot from this “3^rd world” country.

I remember how ethereal my morning was, and I truly believe that the evil that occurred in 1994 (whether it be the fault of a corrupt government, the devil, mob mentality, pure hatred...WHATEVER it is) has been buried and built upon. Whether he was here or not in 1994, God is in Rwanda now.

Day 1 - It's Time for Africa

Sitting on the couch in New Life Guest House in Kigali Rwanda and almost everyone I’m here with is blogging haha. In case you missed it, I spent all of my 21^st Birthday on a plane to Africa. Correction: not A plane…more like 4 planes. From Boston to Buffalo to DC to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to a stop in Uganda and FINALLY over 15 hours later to Kigali, Rwanda.   It took me from “snow” to desert and the longest leg of our flight was 12 hours!! We got here around 2pm Rwanda time, piled all of our bags into the bag of a truck and followed it in a big van.  We had a couple hours to settle in and take a quick shower before we headed out to ISHYO Performing Arts Center to meet up with the Rwandan performance group Mashirika (www.mashirika.com).  When we first arrived, there were a lot of kids around and we are so obviously American they couldn’t get enough of us.  It reminded me of when we went to the gypsy villages this summer. They ambushed us to take their picture and were totally tripping out on my video camera. I was letting them look through the lens and see themselves in the screen.  Definitely almost got it taken away from me at one point when I was surrounded by little kids with no way out, but they all listened very well once I got the heart to tell them no more. They weren’t even mad about it and started dancing for us. AND THESE KIDS COULD DANCE! They were doin the dougie and breakdancing. It was so cool. We were talking about it later and still can’t figure out how they know that stuff since most of them don’t have tv (a few didn’t even know that “dougie” had a name).

We finally went inside to “give” them our performance. It was so inspiring to watch both groups…definitely made me miss my Kam Skoo drama kids. The AFP group from Buffalo State performed 2 scenes from Romeo & Juliet and a few songs from RENT.  Mashirika’s performed an excerpt from one of their full-length plays inspired by the word “tomorrow.” It was about how children view tomorrow and the vicious cycle of abuse and runaways who get lost in it.  All the actors were stunning as individuals and as a group and we definitely got some great footage. Of course, at the end it ended in hugs like we’d known each other for more than just those few hours. After over an hour of carrying the camera on that shoulder mount I could definitely use some TLC on my back :) We’re all so tired after dinner (which was bomb btw), that when we all got on our computers to blog about it Papa Drew (aka Drengis Kahn) passed out on the couch with laptop in his lap. So of course we took a few great pics before we woke him up.

Tomorrow we’re meeting with Mashirika again so that they can start collaborating on the story they’re going to create together in their original (very very small) performance space. Then we’re going to lunch and heading over to the Nyamata Genocide Memorial…which I guess I’ll talk about tomorrow :)

Thanks again to everyone who supported me through this (financially and just keeping me sane whenever I freaked out about it).  I couldn’t have done it without all of you.