On Thursday we had two site visits. First, we went to visit with and tour parliament! After that, we went to Kigali Memorial Centre, which is the largest memorial to the 1994 genocide. The Centre is divided into two sections: an outdoor area that consists of memorial gardens and a mass grave site, and indoor exhibits that document the chronology and pain of the 1994 genocide. Inside the memorial there is also an exhibit dedicated to children killed during the genocide, and an exhibit that looks at other genocides that have taken place in the world — including the Holocaust and the genocides in Armenia, Namibia, Cambodia, and the Balkans.
When we first entered the Memorial Centre, there was a flame burning in the middle of a clear blue pool. Our group was informed that this flame is only lit from April-July every year — which marks the time period when the genocide took place in 1994.
Pool and Flame at the front of the memorial.
First, I walked around the different gardens outside. There was a fruit tree garden in memory of children of the genocide, a flower garden for women of the genocide who were brutally raped and murdered, and a series of three gardens that represented Rwanda’s history before, during, and after the genocide — which were connected by a stream of water.
Next to the gardens are the mass graves. Not all the names of those who are buried at this site are known. Over 250,000 people are buried there — I think that is roughly the size of the city I’m from. The mass graves are in a long row, surrounded by greenery and flowers, with a path that you can walk down. All that can be seen of the graves are large cement slabs that rise out of the ground one or two feet. A few flower arrangements were scattered across the tops of these sites. As I walked around these graves, I realized I couldn’t even comprehend what they held. I couldn’t comprehend the pain or the reality of the 1994 genocide, though I knew that for the Rwandese participants who had accompanied us to the site, 1994 is not a matter of comprehending or not—it was and is a part of their culture’s history, their family’s history, and its effects will always be felt in their lives. All I could understand was that I will never be able to understand their pain, or the pain felt by all of Rwanda.
Path along the mass graves, which are on the left.
This was further realized when, once inside the Memorial, I walked into a room where pictures lined and covered the walls. They were victims of the genocide, their pictures hung by family members who had visited the memorial. As I walked around the room, I looked at of the faces — some looking directly at the camera, smiling, while others’ eyes wandered to things or people not seen. Some faces were in suits, some were in jerseys or dresses; some were babies. I was overwhelmed both by the hundreds of faces that rested on the walls, and once again by the fact that I couldn’t really grasp the reality of them. I felt both relief and frustration to know that this pain would never be mine, and that I would never understand this memorial as others did. I felt only extreme relief to know that I would never recognize one of these faces on the wall. As I stood there thinking this, one of the girls in our group — who always wears the cutest sandals and flashiest earrings, who is always willing to share a mischievous smile with you — stood next to me looking at the wall. She snatched a picture down from the wall, held it in front of me, and said “This is my mom.” I didn’t know what to say to her. She then carefully put it back on the wall, pointed to the picture next to it, and said “This is my brother.”
***
Once we had left the Memorial and were back at St. Paul’s, we spoke a little about what we had just experienced, though no one felt like talking that much. Someone said that Rwanda is still paying back its previous government’s debt to the French government for weapons purchased in order to carry out the genocide. This is wrong, very wrong.
The international community failed to prevent this from occurring, failed to stop it, yet they are there to collect the money that is owed to them.
It’s difficult to make sense of all of this.
End on a cheerful note--myself, Jessica, and Stina at Parliament!
Semir, Sam and I in Parliament!
