Questions of Reconciliation

8 January 2010

Rwanda entry: 6

There’s something to be said about openness in reconciliation. The process of moving on after a tragedy is a difficult one. The strength of imagery can prevent forgetfulness. But where does that strength come from? Can openness go too far?

Today we traveled to the Millennium Village in Mayange. The Millennium Village is a project meant to actualize the Millennium Development Goals that were set forth by the U.N., to be achieved by 2015. The MDGs confront development with an integrated approach, including health care, access to education, and improved farming techniques (among many others). Our guide, Florence, showed us around the project today, a sprawling community with 25,000 people, and signs of progress. Upon arrival, we went to a church that was the site of the 1994 genocide. 11,000 people had gathered there with the hope of safety. When the Hutu militia came, however, they were hopelessly slaughtered. From the beginning, I understood that this was going to be an intense experience. Florence told us that the guide at the memorial was actually a survivor. He had hidden under the corpses of his friends and neighbors for three days, and he was now here to tell the story of the massacre.

The door to the church was mangled and broken. The militia had thrown a grenade at it, and the concrete below the door was indented, the tin roof above shredded with shrapnel. Inside, the smell of dirt and pain consumed me. The church was filled with benches, on top of which were the tattered clothes of 11,000 victims. The benches were still situated as if church were going to be held the next day. At the front of the church was an altar covered with a stained cloth. Stepping over the mounds of clothing, Florence touched the altar telling us that the stains were the blood of the pregnant mothers that had been killed in front of the captive masses.

The church was hardly a large one; I found it amazing that 11,000 people had managed to fit. Our guide, Charles, showed us were he had hidden for three days, his head wedged into a hole in the brick. He had been 7 years old. At this point, he led the group downstairs, where, from the top, I could see skulls. I could not find it within me to continue, so I went outside to calm myself. I turned around to see the bullet holes in the brick wall.

Charles then led us behind the church to see the mass graves where thousands had been interred. Again, he led the group down a set of stairs into the crypt. Again, I abstained. While I waited, I pondered the question. There is a certain blatancy about the genocide here. While it’s not openly discussed generally, it can, at times, become over-whelming, most especially for outsiders. The tragedy that has occurred here is unfathomable. Perhaps the reconciliation that is necessary is also unfathomable.

We toured the Villages that comprise the Millennium Project. We went to a basket weaving cooperative where women in the community pool together their resources and talents to sell their impressive crafts. We were greeted by a crowd of children and a small group of women that were sitting outside the basket store. We all said “Muraho,” (hello/how’s it going) and clasped forearms. The store was full of baskets that they had woven. These are the baskets that people in the U.S. sell for upwards of $60. Here, they sell for 3,000 Frw, about $6. I bought a few, each with the name of its maker on the inside. Of the few that I purchased, one had been made by one of the women that was sitting outside. I met her and told her how beautiful her craft was. She was holding a blue BIC in her hair. Before we got into the Land Cruiser to leave, one of the women approached us an offering. Florence told us that they didn’t want us to leave without receiving their gift. She offered all of us a traditional Rwandan peace basket. They are beautiful. As we drove away, children stood outside of the car, giddy with excitement when we took their pictures. We realized that one of the children, no more than 10 years old, held up a small bottle of gin.

At the end of our tour, we went to what they call the Reconciliation Village, where perpetrators and survivors live side-by-side. Driving in, children ran after and jumped onto the back of the Land Cruiser, grand smiles on their faces. The houses are the light brown of the dry dirt on the ground. As I got out of the car, a small child ran up and immediately embraced my legs in greeting. I said “Bite” to the small group of children that had surrounded us, high-fiving their tiny brown hands. We were greeted by Janet- a survivor. She led us into her modest living room. A pink tablecloth covered the coffee table; a picture of her military husband who died in the Congo adorned the wall. Frederique- a perpetrator- entered the room and sat down on one of her wicker chairs. Amanda filmed as the two told their stories, of regret and of forgiveness. Again, I found it overwhelming. How could these two people, 16 years after the genocide, sit down beside one another and hold a conversation about such a tragedy? I asked Janet, through a translator, where she found the strength to forgive. We looked one another deeply in the eyes, despite the language barrier that separated us. We saw something in one another that was powerful, human. Her eyes glistened as she explained her obligation to forgive, to move past the death of her parents. As we left, I took a picture of her. She was smiling as she stood next to the man who represents all the pain that she feels about the genocide.

I find it impossible to imagine that sort of reconciliation. I think of the grudges that I have held in my lifetime, for things like poor music taste and insensitivity. I think of the pain these people experienced. I can’t imagine what that must be like- to live next to the people who killed your family. Even further, I can’t imagine what it might be like to live next to the people whose family you have killed. I find it incomprehensible. I don’t know if this is a triumph of humanity, or a perversion of forgiveness. I suppose I can’t see into someone’s heart. But I can see the realities that are present. The welcome in this community was palpable. I have had an amazing experience here in just 6 days. I don’t know what awaits me, and I don’t know if it will ever get easier to understand the questions that I have about reconciliation. I know that the search will be worth it.