Tuzahura Tubibuka

June 16, 2012

This one is addressed to my sister in particular, but for anybody to read. It was also written yesterday, but I didn't have the chance to post it, so here it is.

Today, I walked through a rose garden. It wasn't particularly large, nor were the roses that stunning or even fully bloomed, but the significance of the garden was just as great as that of the one in Swarthmore, if not greater.

Today, I went to visit the genocide memorial site in Kigali. The memorial has an exhibition of the Rwandan genocide along with the graves over 250,000 people. There is a special rose garden that is an addition to the genocide memorial, as well as a collection of books written on genocides of the 20th century. The memorial is maintained by the Aegis Trust, which is an organization dedicated campaigning against crimes against humanity and genocide and which sponsors many other initiatives including a genocide education program, a program targeted to help Rwandan widows and orphans, an international grassroots organization for students, and the Discover Rwanda Youth Hostel that I have spent a few nights in.

After walking through the entire site, I was asked to fill out a survey describing my impressions of the site. How do I describe the feelings that I felt while walking through that place? Reading about the circumstances leading up, during, and in the aftermath of the genocide, watching videos of the testimonials of survivers, seeing the photos and bones and clothing of some of the countless people killed, knowing that the rest of the world did nothing but watch... I felt a combination of confusion as to how it could be possible for a person to kill another, much less several or tens or even hundreds of other people, anger that such an atrocity was permitted to happen after everybody declared "Never Again" after previous genocides like the Holocaust, shame that the U.S. and the rest of the world did nothing to prevent nor alleviate the killings, compassion for those who survived and live with the physical, mental, and emotional scars of 18 years, frustration that even now is a struggle for many Rwandans and that I can do next to nothing to help. If I could give money to every beggar on the street, if I could take every village child and feed and clothe him and send her to university, I'd be God. But I'm not, so I can't.

There was another exhibit at the memorial centre that described other genocides in the 20th century like Heteros, the Armenians, the Holocaust, in Cambodia, and in Bosnia and the nations of the former Yugoslavia. Each time, it's as if just by saying "Never Again", apologizing, and sending monetary aid to [some] of these places, it's as if the rest of the world feels like they can be let off for letting such a horror occur. How easy is it to forget after 10, 20, 30 years? The Holocaust was over 50 years ago, and after a few generations has passed, it becomes easier to let it slide into the past.

The Aegis Trust also has an education programme for teaching people in Rwanda about the genocide in order to ensure that it never happens again, and that people never forget. But tell me, which country that has endured genocide has undergone a second genocide? I don't think education programmes are necessary to ensure that Rwandans never forget the genocide. I think the broken homes, the shattered families, the missing neighbors and mothers and brothers and fathers and sisters and friends will be enough to make sure that they never forget. Maybe it would be more useful to target these education programmes towards other places where it is not as likely that they will have heard of genocide, particularly in countries where education is lacking (which is a far larger number of countries than I would care to count or identify), and even more so in areas where there is ethnic strife or tension that could potentially explode.

After my time in Rwanda, I will be traveling through Europe, with my primary focus on a programe which will take me through the countries of the Former Yugoslavia to learn about various interfaith initiatives for post-conflict conciliation. I'm not really sure what to expect, but it is a programme organized by the office of religious life at my university. I didn't know much about the Rwandan genocide before I came here, and I know even less about the Balkan Wars. I'll try to do some research if I can before I arrive in Serbia, but I have the feeling that I'll learn much more during the two-week programme as I travel to each state that was once a part of Yugoslavia.


Until then, there are many other memorial sites around Kigali that I would like to visit. I'll try to post some pictures along with descriptions of the other sites I have the opportunity to visit.

Motortaxis, or motos, or bodabodas

June 12, 2012

Yesterday was my first full day of exploring Kigali, although to be honest, I didn't get that much exploration done. We caught motortaxis, also known as motos or bodabodas, from Kagugu to downtown Kigali for 1000 RWF, or about $1.65 or so. This is a big change from the first day we arrived in Rwanda, when we got ripped off on a similar motortaxi ride for the same price for about a hundred meter drive.

Motortaxis are one of the options available for public transportation. There are also buses and standard cabs that can be ridden into and out of town for slighter lower or higher prices. Buses and cabs generally have standardized fees which depend on the distances traveled, whereas moto prices generally require some haggling, particular if you are a foreigner. Although buses are the cheapest option, they are generally extremely crowded with passengers, so not the most comfortable of rides. The cabs are the more expensive option of the lot, and the motos fall in the middle. During rush hour or in areas of heavy traffic, it is recommended that one opts for a ride in a moto since the bikes weave in and out of traffic much more easily and quickly than a car or a bus.

The 30 minute ride into downtown Kigali was well spent and worth every penny. Not only was it much faster than driving in a car (and much more dangerous - about every traffic law is broken on these bikes, and the helmets are more often broken than not, although at least they do have helmets for passengers. I also discovered on another ride that the spedometer of my driver's bike was broken, so I didn't actually know how fast we were going, although it was definitely over whatever the speed limit may have been in that area.), but the view is much more impactful. Driving in a car, one has a wall of metal side and a window between yourself and the view. Driving on a bike, there is nothing other than maybe the helmet. Terrifying, but exhilarating. The feel of the wind blasting past as I watched the city speed by stirred up such an adrenaline rush. And the country sprawls out in hills and hills past the roads we drove on. No wonder the country is known as "The land of a thousand hills". We passed people selling wares on the road, workers hoeing out a field, friends lounging at an outdoor bar? (not sure how to describe them or what they are called), women with bolts of kitenge, the local fabric. It was beautiful.

I'm excited to explore and discover more of this country during my time here!

(pictures are rather difficult to upload, so until next time!)

Prelude

Hello, folks!

It's been a while, but I'm back on the road again. This summer, I will be in Rwanda for 10 weeks before traveling through Eastern and Western Europe on a mixture of internships, Eurail, and a program learning about interfaith initiatives to post-conflict conciliation in the former Yugoslavia. I hope to blog whenever I can find internet access, so I hope you'll follow along!

Best,
Jen

Skype

Skype is a gift from God, or from the creators of technology. It allows us to connect with those far away, to hear their voices, and to even see their faces. Having attended an international school in high school, Skype means even more for us whose closest friends are some thousands of miles away.

That being said, I'm terrible at Skype-ing.

I am always telling my friends through Facebook posts and messages that we ought to Skype sometime, but to set an actual date and time, and follow through and go online at that precise moment, is quite difficult. For me, it's even more difficult than getting to a meeting on time. And Skype-ing doesn't even require leaving my room!
Thinking about it though, I think that however much I would love to see and hear my friends, I am, in reality, afraid to video chat with them. I can type for hours on end and write letters and leave wall posts, but I am afraid of that surreal face-to-face encounter that although it seems real, is really not. Although it's just like talking to a friend in the flesh, it feels weird for me to Skype. For some, it's as naturally as placing a phone call. For others, like me, I wouldn't say that I avoid using the application, but I definitely don't utilize it as much as I say I want to. It's something about the physical gap in time and space since the last time I was standing next to my friend in the flesh I shy away from video chatting. I don't know if it's just a quirk of mine or if it's a common feeling shared by others, but

I'd much prefer to wait to meet in person. 

Memories

I wonder how many, and which memories could I dredge up from my lifetime if I blogged about one per day?

Sometimes there is a fleeting feeling of nostalgia, other times waves of memories that wash over me. Sometimes I could write a novel; other times a photo is more than words.

This song has been on my mind tonight: "Every Night (When the Sun Go In)"
Although the beautiful lyrics and tune were the only aspects on my mind, as I turn my attention to the melody in my head I find myself facing middle school, and the chamber choir, Seventh Heaven, along with the longtime director of the choir and all the pride that came with being a member of the prestigious Seventh Heaven. With those memories come recollections of weekly performances, either in concert or in private homes or even once at the state capital. Memories of 7:30am rehearsals, jokes on the director, spending so much time together with every performance. The group of friends that formed during these two years of 7th and 8th grade were my friends throughout high school, and most of them are still tight today.

The song itself is beautiful, if a bit sad. There are present accompanying feelings with the tune, but the memories outweigh the emotions for now.