Genocide Commemoration

April 7^th marked the beginning of the 17^th Genocide Commemoration. The Commemoration officially lasts one week, but is subtly observed for 100 days, ultimately ending on July 4, Liberation Day (the anniversary of the official end of the genocide).

As I’ve mentioned before, the 1994 Rwandan genocide killed nearly 1,000,000 people in just 100 days and forced over two million to flee as refugees. It is frequently compared to the Holocaust, past genocides in Cambodia and Armenia and, more recently, the genocide in Darfur. What makes the Rwandan genocide different, and, frankly, more disturbing, is the level of mass participation in the killings. Pol Pot and the Khmar Rouge killed in Cambodia; Hitler and the Nazis killed during World War II. In Rwanda, ordinary people, including youth, killed their neighbors, friends, colleagues, classmates, and family members. Many major massacres occurred in schools and churches: teachers killed their students, and priests killed their parishioners. And, only killers were “safe.” Hutus believed to be “moderate” (ie, Hutus who opposed the genocide, even passively) were targeted as well.

During the genocide, the international community knew exactly what was happening in Rwanda. Canadian Lieutenant-General Romeo Dallaire, the Force Commander of the United Nations Assistance Mission for Rwanda (UNAMIR), told the UN his forces could put a stop to the genocide with just 5,000 troops. Instead, UNAMIR was reduced to 270 soldiers, and they were essentially prohibited from using force to stop the genocide. The U.S., bearing the political backlash of “Black Hawk Down,” in which American peacekeepers had been killed just six months earlier, refused to even use the word “genocide” to describe what was happening in Rwanda, as use of the term would have mandated intervention. While the genocide garnered a fair amount of media coverage, Americans were primarily inundated with news of the O.J. Simpson trial, the death of Kurt Kobain, and the Nancy Kerrigan-Tonya Harding rivalry in 1994. So, the killing in Rwanda continued – until corpses and genocidières (killers, organizers, and planners of the genocide) both totaled nearly 1,000,000 – put to end only when Paul Kagame (Rwanda’s current President) and his army of Tutsi rebels, the Rwandan Patriotic Front, seized Kigali in July.

But, I digress – this post is supposed to be about the ongoing commemoration. Volunteers, trying to be culturally sensitive while also involved in the community, have different ways of commemorating the genocide, and it’s often hard to know what’s appropriate. At the advice of a Volunteer from the first group, I decided to attend events if invited or asked to, but not to show up alone or invite myself to join people. I didn’t want to cause a scene and be a distraction, nor did I want to burden anyone with muzungu-sitting while they were grieving and should be focused on their families.

The first day of memorial week is the only official holiday and has the longest, and most emotional, events. Nobody asked me about attending, so I opted to stay at home that day. I did, however, attend a few events later in the week, the most notable being the all-night one. It began around 4:30pm and lasted through the night. Several hundred people gathered at the university and walked through town, the leaders carrying a large purple banner, which is a common way of beginning memorial events. The march ended at a church in town, where there was a short ceremony of music, speeches, and an offering. Around 6pm, the entire crowd headed back to the university and settled in for the night. The next several hours consisted of speeches, music, skits, and films, as well as a candle-lighting at midnight. During the films following the candle-lighting, tea and Fanta was distributed to the people who were still there. I gave in and headed home around 2am, so I’d be able to make it to church the next morning, but I’m told a small crowd remained five or so more hours.

All in all, I’m really glad I went to the mourning events. It seemed like people really appreciated my being there, and the experience provided a lot of insight. It also highlighted how little, at least in some aspects, I can relate to people here. I literally cannot imagine the things my friends here have seen and experienced, I don’t know what it’s like to see your loved ones murdered or to fear for your life, and, even after a year here, I don’t fully understand the implications of ethnicity in Rwanda.

The Last Two Months

Wow, I can’t believe I haven’t written anything in two months! I guess I’ve been pretty busy.

Here in Nyagatare, I’ve been working on lots of new projects since I got back from the U.S. in January. The water project at Saint Leonard is finished, and a new one at Groupe Scolaire Nyagatare is underway. There's also a shipment of books for Saint Leonard on the way from the Darien Book Aid Plan, and details are being finalized for a donation from the International Book Project, which will be for Groupe Scolaire Nyagatare and possibly a couple other schools. I’ve been teaching English at Saint Leonard for the past three months as well, though the schools are on vacation at the moment. At the end of the vacation, which will be in two weeks, I’ll resume teaching at Saint Leonard and will also start teaching part-time at Mary Hill Girls’ Secondary School. I enjoy teaching young students, but I’m really looking forward to working with the teenaged girls at Mary Hill. As this is the school’s first year, they have only Senior One (7^th grade), which is the first year of O-Levels, and Senior Four (10^th grade), the first year of A-Levels. And, there’s just 40 students, which is great, because it means I’ll actually be able to get to know each of the girls and see them all regularly.

Unfortunately, the past couple months hasn’t been all positive. Godfrey, one of my friends here, who was just 28, was killed in an accident at the end of February. He was hit by a car while driving a motorcycle on a dirt road outside of town, and then waited four hours at the local hospital for an ambulance to transfer him to Kigali. I attended the funeral, which took place two days later at his father’s house, about 30 minutes towards the Ugandan border from here. It wasn’t dramatically different from American funerals, other than that everyone just hung out, laughing, joking, and drinking Fanta, as though everything were completely normal, for a couple hours after the ceremony. Which brings me to a funny story.

The funeral took place in a rural area, so, of course, the sight of a muzungu caused quite a stir among the neighbors, namely the children (thankfully, I don’t think I was too much of a distraction during the actual ceremony, which I had been worried about). I was standing outside with a group of friends, and a mass of children eventually gathered to watch me. At one point, a friend of mine came up and put his arm around me, and the children screamed and said, “Aren’t you scared to touch a muzungu?” Of course, he said no, and then had them all shake my hand to show them I wasn’t scary. A little while later, they were still gathered, watching. Finally, my friend gave them money to go buy pineapples, and they ran away, ecstatic, faster than I’ve ever seen kids here run – and probably the only time I’ve seen kids run away from a muzungu. I guess pineapples are more exciting than bazungu.

At the other end of the life cycle, Rebecca, one of my neighbors, just had a baby. His name is Noah, and he’s about six weeks old now. As is customary, she left Nyagatare a few weeks before he was born and went to stay with her parents, who live an hour or so away. She came back with Noah (who, at that time, didn’t have a name) a few days later. The following Sunday, she and her husband held the kwita izina, traditional naming ceremony, at their house. Many of their friends gathered, ate dinner, drank Fantas, and chatted for awhile. Then, each person suggested names for the baby. Naming the children is the responsibility of the father so, at the end of the ceremony, Rebecca’s husband stood and announced the names he had chosen – Mugisha (the Kinyarwanda name) and Eric (the Christian name). However, Rebecca much preferred the name Noah, so now their baby has three names instead of the usual two, and people mostly call him Noah.

In other exciting news, my mom came to visit for two weeks!! She just left, and my house feels very empty right now. But, this update is long enough, so stories from her visit will have to wait until next time.