It's not easy, part two

It’s not easy. I have heard these words so often in Rwanda. They are said by people with all kinds of stories and all kinds of backgrounds about challenges of living with the past and living together in a post-genocide society.

I visited a youth group in the south two days ago, and I heard again these words. It is not easy. It is difficult. It is slow. They used these words to describe the struggles they have had in their own heart, the conversations they have had with each other, and their efforts to bring a message of reconciliation to their families and their communities.

This youth group is not so far from Murambi, the memorial site where up to 50,000 Tutsi were murdered. It’s an area of the country where the genocide was severe. The group members themselves are of mixed backgrounds – Tutsi and Hutu, youth in school and youth not in school, male and female, and they range in age from mid-teens to mid-twenties.

They all attended personal development workshops (PDW), which is an intensive and carefully facilitated process delivered by World Vision. In the PDW workshops, people from different backgrounds come together to talk and to listen. There is room for all perspectives, all stories. Now they are a youth group of sixty-five, within World Vision’s peace and reconciliation program.

They had come together this day to tell representatives of the Kigali Genocide Memorial (myself and one of the teachers) about their experiences and their work. Here is some of what they said.

“In the beginning, it was not easy to revisit our history; to talk about ethnicity. We were wounded and in pain. It was not easy. Between groups, for us to talk, to trust; it was challenging. In the training, in our small groups you might sit beside a person whose dad killed your parent. We were suspicious. As the process continued, facilitators helped build a space of trust and we felt it was possible to accept. We found out that we all had wounds. We forgave, but we forgave only after suffering together. Suspicion disappeared.”

“We recognized that our greatest problem is the brokenness of our hearts because of the genocide.”

“The biggest impact has been amongst ourselves. We were wounded in our hearts, different wounds as a consequence of genocide. Some of us have parents in jail, some have parents who are survivors. The biggest impact has been to build ourselves first. We saw the heaviness of our pain and felt compassion for others. After healing, then we thought of our neighbours. We try to help them.”

“It is not easy to take this into community because of the long suffering.”

“We have exposure now. We are rural people but we are now visible and bold and can speak in front of others.”

“For me, every year in April (the annual commemoration of the beginning of the genocide) my mother was traumatized. I helped my mom; when she was in a crisis I stood by her and I let her talk about everything and I listened. I tell others how to help her and not traumatize her. She is not traumatized in April now. “

“In my village, after umuganda (collective work duty, the last Saturday of every month), we ask for opportunities to share and we talk about reconciliation.”

“When you open your eyes and see others, that is the greatest achievement. For me, I have been two years in the group and I think I have impacted more than a hundred young people. I share with them and tell them to spread knowledge.”

“What I learned, I made it my own. I treasured it. After training, I had neighbours in conflict, a husband and a wife. The lady was about to divorce. I took the lessons to them and I told them the origin of conflict and how to solve it. Now the husband and wife are living in harmony.”

“Before you do anything you need to be prepared emotionally and to be clear of your goal. The most crucial thing is yourself; things break your heart, you have to be able to carry them. You have to be humble and accept how they see it. It depends on what comes; it might be easy but if there are extremes you look for a small step. Stay open to the possibility of one-step forward, one step backwards. And we are not alone. There are others.”

“After the workshop, my sisters were angry with me (they did not attend the workshop). They were very bitter and they turned against me because I forgave. I told them that even if genocide took place, there could be a future. I visited the people who wronged our family and my sisters rejected me. But now we talk. It is still a struggle; it is hard to be liberated when your sisters are not but we are talking and they have come to accept me. One sister even said, is what you are doing helpful? Now, even without change, we can live peacefully.”

It is not easy, that’s for sure.

A young man spoke of a man in prison who insisted that he was innocent. “Whether he is innocent or not I don’t know, but I see that he has pain from imprisonment. We talk to him. He is changing; he no longer accuses his neighbours.”

“I stand between,” one young woman said. “It is not for me to judge. I stand between (the perpetrator) and the survivor… The survivor lost people…the perpetrator, there is something that binds him that needs to be broken.”

Buhoro buhoro. Slowly by slowly.