Rwanda commemorates

On the 7th of April Rwanda began the 17th commemoration of the 1994 genocide in Rwanda. There is a week of official mourning, with flags at half-mast and the country subdued. For this week, there is no singing in bars; the only music heard anywhere is that which evokes the genocide. Like the genocide, the commemoration lasts 100 days.

At the memorial centre, high protocol, high security. Cleaning, planting, trimming, organizing. We go through airport scanners to get to work in the morning because President Kagame is coming to light the memorial flame. It starts raining. It rains every April 7th, someone says. The preparation for the president’s visit kept everyone busy but after that the pain begins. On every face anguish surfaces.

Every day is a tragic reminder – a word, a gesture, the rain, the sun, anniversary dates. This date the massacre in Kibuye stadium, this date the massacre in Nyamata church, that date the anniversary of the killings at Ntarama, that date the day I saw my parents murdered, my sister raped.

That first night, thousands gather in Amohoro (peace) Stadium. The stands glitter with candles lit in memory of the dead. Amongst those in the stadium perhaps were some of the children from the Gisimba orphanage where a bold rescue took place. None of us know what we would do when faced with death, but for these Rwandan brothers and the only American who refused to leave with the ordered evacuation of US nationals made a choice that can inspire all of us.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-12978946

Late in the evening, young man and a boy of perhaps eight years walk side by side along the sidewalk. Each holds a candle in cupped hands, carefully. Each walks slowly, keeping the flame of memory burning. They are mindful, attentive, together.

Just after we left the stadium a movie was shown. It began with graphic images and then quickly screaming echoed around the stands. The president was there and some said he seemed to not know what to do. The paper reports that trauma is down this year but you can see it, suddenly. ‘We all pretend to be normal,’ someone told me once. The pretense has dropped.

It is as if for a year there is tight control and then on April 7th comes a mass agreement that it is time to mourn, to remember. A friend breaks down in tears over a meal of brochettes and fries. Another travels to the site of a massacre that he survived.

Another friend, the orphaned child of a murdered rescuer, his mother killed protecting Tutsi, feels outside of the official remembering. I sent him a text message – I’m thinking of your mother and send my support – and he shows this message to others, see, someone has remembered. He spends the memorial week withdrawn.

Those whose parents are in jail for genocide crimes have their own pain; those who belong to the ‘perpetrator group’ have their own shame; those with other sorrows struggle silently; those who still deny feel angry and resentful. A man hacks at his wife for attending a commemoration activity, the newspaper reports.

For the Tutsi survivors who faced extermination just because of who they were, the pain is intense, the fear of those who deny the genocide is real, the need to speak out and keep the truth alive is critical to survival, and to the restoration of dignity and hope One of them, Honore Gatera, head guide and operations manager at the Kigali Genocide Memorial, launches a facebook site that will post stories, testimonies, memories, thoughts throughout this commemoration period. Check it out.

https://www.facebook.com/exploreRwanda