What a difference a week makes

Emmy arrived in Butare with Ashley in tow for our last guided weekend. The rest of us had been in Butare since Wednesday night, and were set to adventure. We wound our way westwards, through the Nyungwe forest, whilst the temperature dipped to 19 degrees during the middle of the day. We stopped frequently to take pictures, to appreciate viewpoints, and to see the origin of the Nile. Near the far end of the forest, we came to a conservation cooperative that took the form of a hotel and residence for researchers. It was a quiet, beautiful collection of buildings, just off the only road in the south that reached to Congo. It was otherwise very remote and engulfed by nature. We would spend the next two nights basking in the sounds of the rainforest by the campfire.

The next morning we were welcome by a large breakfast and the managing Australian whose primary job was to develop the park into an internationally recognized haven – with assistance of a Rwanda/international group of workers. We prepared our packs, and headed through the dense green carpet of a tea plantation, then along the serpentine waterfall trail. The valleys were narrow and sharply cut into the volcanic rock, thickly populated by old growth trees. At points during the walk, the canopy opened to treat us to expansive views of Nyungwe tree ferns and igishigishigi. Approaching the waterfall, the sound of rushing water drowned out our voices, and a tropical oasis waited our arrival. We sat and ate our snacks below a 45 foot cascade of water, just like a millennia of Rwandans before us. Returning in the early afternoon, we decided the night would best be filled by relaxation…

The next morning, we made to leave our little Ewok village, and enjoyed the fruits of Emmy’s labour. He arranged a visit to the tea factory nearby, who specialize in fine Rwandan black. I’m sure as time goes on, and standards continue to increase, there will be very few visitors allowed to reach into the drums of semi-dry tea bits and pull out a handful. Don’t worry, we put the bits back. From there, we left the park, and headed to a genocide memorial on the way back to Kigali.

Ashley here. Rob and I decided that I would speak first of the memorial since I have been to the Kigali one as well. The memorial located in Kigali and the one we visited Sunday in Murambi are vastly different, yet both convey the horror that occurred during the 1994 genocide. The Kigali memorial told the story of the genocide through words; the Murambi memorial did not need words. As we approached the gates of the memorial on Sunday my stomach was in knots and my palms were sweating. I knew what I was about to see was going to be difficult, but out of respect of those affected by the genocide, I felt it necessary to view as many memorials as I can while in Rwanda to try and understand what this country has gone through. The memorial setting is a school placed atop a clearing with a panoramic view of agricultural fields, where fleeing Tutsis sought shelter and protection from Hutu militias. Through coalition of the French army and the militias, Tutsi civilians were lured into what they were told was sanctuary. 50,000 people endured 2 weeks of premeditated starvation and dehydration, enough time to weaken even the strongest among them. April 21^st, under the veil of darkness, the militia massacred every man, woman, and child for an ideology called Hutu Power. “We felled them like cows.”, a genocidaire was quoted. In this memorial you walk through room after room, viewing almost 900 of the preserved, half decayed bodies of those killed at this location. Rob and I held hands and made it through the memorial, while I prayed to God, to Dad, to whoever was listening. I prayed to bring peace to the souls of the bodies that we viewed and to bring peace to their families. The remains of babies, children, lay in front of us, clearly exposing the mutilation that their bodies endured. Bodies missing limbs, fractured bones tearing at the flesh, skulls of little children stomped upon, mouths open in terror...all frozen in the position they fell in the mass graves. We heard the screams without any sound. I was uncomfortable for the first time in Rwanda. At the Kigali memorial I was overwhelmed with sadness, at the Murambi memorial the feeling was fear. Eventually I looked at Rob and told him I didn’t need to see anymore. I didn’t need to continue walking into the classrooms not only seeing death but smelling it as well. Emmy had said that a bullet was a diamond during the genocide. A Tutsi would pay 1,000,000 Rwandan Francs to have the privilege of being killed by a bullet. The militias were not ordered to simply kill, they were ordered to torture. They would cut limbs with axes and leave bodies to die, sometimes for days. Children and babies were not spared; they were to be killed in the same manner as all Tutsis. Our minds will forever be etched with the images from this memorial.

Our day ended rather somberly, heading back to Kigali to reflect on the beauty and utter despair we saw on the weekend. Love you guys.