Rwanda

Rwanda is the land of a thousand hills - a fitting description which barely hints at the splendor of this tiny country in central Africa. The drive here through Burundi (see details from Michael) was harrowing but also breathtakingly beautiful. After weeks of driving through the dry season bush of Zambia and Tanzania, the rolling hills lush with banana plantations and terraced farms was a refreshing change of scenery. We were even glad to see a few clouds in the sky and to feel a hint of dampness in the air. In addition to the natural beauty, the pace of development seems more visibly evident in Rwanda than anywhere else we had been. The roads are paved or under repair, shoulders and guardrails are placed where needed, construction sites are everywhere, and fiberoptic cables are being installed. The paper reports decreased malaria rates with the distribution of mosquito nets and improving rates of childhood vaccinations. In one forward-thinking move, plastic bags have been outlawed - they're bad for the future of the environment, right? Not only are they illegal but they're subject to being confiscated if found upon a search at the border. (This was a bit inconvenient, as in addition to my laundry being in a plastic bag, I had organized my socks and unmentionables into 1 gallon ziplocks. Plus, what ever would I do with liquids? Luckily, the border guards were not zealous enough to take all of them - just confiscated a couple to show that they were doing their jobs.)

Kigali, the capital of Rwanda, is a cosmopolitan city with a vibrant international presence and prices to match. (We saw more white people within an hour of our arrival here than we had seen in the past several weeks!) There are marked roads, modern buildings, and evidence of new commerce and development at every turn. After weeks of instant coffee, we indulged a cup of delicious and aromatic Rwandan coffee, at a swanky overpriced coffee bar. The well-lit streets with wide sidewalks felt quite safe, even at night, and we even treated ourselves to our first 4-star hotel of the journey. (Did we imagine the sneers from the lobby full of businessmen and diplomates when we walked in with our tustled hair and dusty packs? We were used to being stared at for being the only Mzungu but these suits looked like they had never seen backpackers before!) The Hotel Des Milles Collines sits near the top of a hill in the center of town with a beautiful view of the surrounding hills and countryside, lounge chairs and hammocks on a manicured lawn, a poolside bar showing CNN in HD, and a fancy restaurant on the top floor. It looks like any other upscale hotel full of elegantly dressed patrons, and it is seems possible to sip a beer and read a book by the pool without considering the history of the place: the Hotel Des Milles Collines is featured in the movie 'Hotel Rwanda' which is based on the story of hundreds who took refuge there during the 1994 Tutsi genocide.
 
Indeed, it seems nearly impossible to reconcile the current 'just another up and coming international city' atmosphere in Kigali with the events that transpired in Rwanda 16 years ago.

Of course I remember studying the history of the Nazi Holocaust in gradeschool and highschool. Even though my grandfathers served in the 2nd world war, I never knew either of them and the horrific stories in my text books seemed to come from another world as well as another time. At any rate, I remember it being quite clear from the textbooks who were the good guys and who were the bad guys, and of course my countrymen had been with the good guys who not only marched into eastern Europe to shut down the concentration camps, but then got together with all the other 'good guys' in the UN to make a promise to the world that the international community would never again standby and let genocide happen (the 1948 genocide convention). I have visited the Holocaust Memorials in Boston, Washington DC and Los Angeles, and each time was hit with an appropriately solemn reverence for the victims of history as well as an appreciation for the importance of remembering such events in order that, according to the prevailing wisdom, the world would never again stand by and let such things happen. It seemed like such an easy and believable promise to come from all those powerful civilized countries. Never forget....never again.  I may have even bought one of the buttons.

But in 1994 I was a sophmore at Boston College in the midst of a weighty pre-med curriculum. I vaguely remember hearing about genocide and refugees in Africa, but although I had a quite respectable GPA, I probably could not have found Rwanda on a map. I may have watched heard on the news briefs that their were people called Tutsis and others called Hutus and that they shared a country but did not get along...but did I ever take the time to understand what was happening? Not really. It was so far away, so remote, and it probably seemed more important, if not easier, that I study my organic chemistry.

As it turns out, I wasn't the only one neglecting to pay attention to what was happening. Not that I had an excuse: if a supposedly social-justice minded college sophmore couldn't manifest a little outrage about a genocide in Africa, than it is no great surprise that, due to politics or inconvenience, others could not be bothered with it either. And so, as I visited the genocide memorial sites here in Rwanda, I could not have the comfort that I was on the team of the good guys who would never let this happen again. Instead, I faced the unsettling reality that I was a part of a large international community that chose not to pay attention as a million Rwandans were brutally murdered over the course of 100 days from April to June of 1994. (Ironically, Schindler's List topped the box offices during this time while another genocide raged on unnoticed.)

I'm not sure which part of our tour through the Rwandan memorial sites was the most powerful, but I'm quite certain that I couldn't describe any of it adequately. The driver that we hired for the day revealed that he was a Tutsi who lost 4 of 6 siblings to the genocide, who himself survived by smearing dirt on his face and wandering the town aimlessly pretending to be crazy. We visited the grenade and bullet shattered remains of Roman Catholic Churches where thousands saught refuge only to be given over to the genocidaires and murdered in the pews. Blood still stained the altar cloth and the statue of Mary and bullet holes riddled the sacristy but most striking to me were the provisions that people had brought along with them - beans, thermoses, crossward puzzles - to sustain and entertain themselves - evidence of their faith that they would survive once safe in the sanctuary of the Church. We visited the site of a mass grave where thousands were murdered just after most UN forces(from whom they had saught protection) were evacuated. In addition to the graves, the site is also now home to a center which is attempting to document the names of the victims - a daunting task given that so many families and neighborhoods left no survivors to name the dead.  Finally, we visited the Kigali Memorial Center, which contained numerous symbolic gardens to memorialize the victims as well as educational exhibits which put the genocide in the context of the history of Rwanda as well as that of other incidences of genocide (Armenians, Cambodians, Jews, Bosnians....the list is not very short).

Which brings me to history, another subject that I didn't pay much attention to in school. I remember a romanticized version of European history, a sanitized version of U.S. history, and lots of dates to memorize for exams. I don't remember learning much about the history of Africa, of the 'dark continent', of undeveloped or uncivilized countries where tribes that looked intriguing on the pages of National Geographic could turn savage at the least provocation. As I ponder the atrocities that took place in Rwanda I start to realize how little I understand about what is currently happening in Burundi, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Sudan, Somalia or any of the war torn or 'failed states' on this continent. I realize that my comprehension of current conflicts and social injustice is limited by my meager understanding of the history of these regions. Rather than 'savages in the dark continent' these are people in nations not yet 50 years free from colonization, whose borders were sketched out at conferences of European nations with no input from Africans nor consideration of their history or values.

There was too much to think about as we took a taxi back to Kigali, sat down for a cup of freshly brewed Rwandan coffee and watched the midday hustle and bustle of the people who try to move on and rebuild with memories that must be still fresh in so many minds. At first we were hardly able to talk about it, and for the most part we are left with inadequate words and more questions than answers. Although there is peace and progress on the surface in Rwanda, we wonder what sentiments live in the hearts and minds of the people there. It is difficult not to be suspicious of propaganda from a president who was just reelected with 93% of the vote. Or of the motivations of aid money that pours in from an international community that turned its back when it was most needed. A strong leader or a dictator; philanthropy or neocolonialism? The idiot's guidebook for recovery from genocide has not yet been written.
I'm not sure what the answer is, but I think it starts with paying a little more attention....for me it starts by trying to learn more about the history of this continent and to pay more attention to world events, even those that seem too far away to matter.  Since leaving the Kigali Memorial Center, I keep thinking of a line of lyrics by Ani Difranco: "cause I know the biggest crime is just to throw up your hands say this has nothing to do with me I just want to live as comfortably as I can."

Colleen
Dar es Salaam, Tanzania