Leaving Kigali - A Sad Day.

What a day.

For lunch, we

met with one of my favourite people in the world,Eloge.Eloge is a survivor, and I blogged about him early on the first thing we did when we arrived in Rwanda was to attend a memorial service for his father. We talked about the program, and Eloge told us how impressed he was and how much he believed in us. He’s really part of the team, so it didn’t need to be said—but there’s something about approval from this guy that just makes your day perfect. As always, he gave a little impromptu speech that made everyone cry, but was uplifting at the same time. I don’t know what I believe in religiously—its come up a lot in this country—but I know that when I sit with Eloge I see all the best things the world has to offer. Whatever God is, it shines through him. I know he will change the world.

We also had a little cry with Faustin, our “guide”/BFF. We thanked him for everything he did for us, and he made a little speech. He said he has no family, and he has been searching for someone to be his sister.He took Sara’s hand, and said he had been waiting for her— to be his family.He is getting married to his beloved “bebe”, and he always thought she deserved a sister—Sara is that woman. SO sweet. He told me that I was tranquil and said everything with my eyes—and that I had the qualities of a leader. I countered that if he remembered my RDB experience, I certainly wasn’t always tranquil haha… but I think I was quieter around Faustin because he was always explaining things in French and my mind isn’t fast enough to translate and make informed commentary before he went on to the next thing. I generally understood him, but translating took me too long!

Sara’s mom took us all out to Heaven, an amazing expat restaurant.We had, hands down, the best meal in Africa. Sara even got a free little cake and birthday song—the humiliating type where 10 people come out of the kitchen singing and bring a little cake with a candle.The best part was they set it in front of me, so I got the abject humiliation while I tried to tell them to move the thing to her.

Alas. Today is the end of Kigali, for now. I woke up to WATER for the first time in 4 days, and despite its freezing-ness, I had the best 20 min shower ever. You appreciate everything much more here. A cold shower is far, far better than no shower. Richard, one of the survivors we met along the week, stopped by the house to visit this morning. He just wanted to say goodbye. So sweet of him. Everyone has been very welcoming and wants us to come back as soon as we can. I think they would keep us here if they could! The generosity is astounding.

Everyone else if off to a wedding tonight. They’re going to get traditional African clothes today. I’m at the airport right now, in Kigali, waiting to fly to Cairo…via Addis Ababa and Khartoum. Trying not to think about that second one.

Heroes and Villains

As promised, today I will begin trying to put words to some of my recent experiences.

The first relates to my understanding of the notion of heroes and villains. What/who is a hero and what/who is a villain? In pre-genocide Rwanda, Mister X was considered a sadist in one of the villages we visited- he was renowned for his cruelty and people often wondered if he was mentally stable. During the genocide, this same Mister X was renowned for his heroism because he was able to murder Tutsis so ruthlessly and with so little remorse.

Mister Y, however, risked his own life during the genocide to save 23 Tutsis - using his position in the military to smuggle them into Burundi. After the genocide, Mister Y is considered a traitor in his home town and one of his neighbours recently poisoned one of his children. What/who is a hero and what/who is a villain?

This is just one example of some of the absurdity I have been trying to deal with recently. Indeed, it seems that during the genocide, black turned to white and white to black, good became evil and evil became good.

My gut reaction has been anger - how could this have happened? However, as wise Holocaust survivors have often told me, it does no good to be angry about what happened, we cannot change the evil that has been done. We can only affect change in the present and future by learning from our mistakes in the past.

Raffi

Murambi. One of the worst crimes in history.

I awoke this morning around 5am, to the city-wide call to the mosque. In cities where there is a large Muslim population there is an early morning prayer call that sounds like something between a song and a speech. This is the second one I’ve woken up to in Africa, and I always wonder what’s going on for a second before I remember. After a stellar freezing “shower” (read: drip from a tap) we headed out for breakfast and off to Murambi Memorial.

Murambi was a technical school where over 50,000 were killed. The Tutsis in the region were hiding in churches but became too numerous and were told by the town leaders to go to the school where they would be protected. They were attacked 4 times, but it was the last attack that destroyed the resistance. The Tutsis were suffering starvation and dehydration, and at 3am late in April, the Interhamwe slaughtered the refugees.

We were guided by a Hutu woman whose Tutsi husband and two sons were killed at this site. She saved her daughter by carrying her on her back and fleeing to her hometown after the massacre. It strikes me each time we go to one of these sites and the guides have almost universally survived the savagery themselves and lost everyone they loved.Yet, they are there. They are walking through the bones and the bodies and sharing the site with tourists taking pictures. I don’t know if I, despite how much I would want the events remembered across the world, would be able to do that. Murambi is a particularly difficult site, with many buildings holding the full remains of people. They have been preserved with a type of paint or thin plaster and the looks of horror and pain are still etched on their face.s I don’t have any pictures… I felt similar to how I did in Majdanek, Poland, in that I felt like I was violating something sacred.It was heartbreaking.

I don’t really have anything else to say at the moment…. It’s very bright today and I think I’ve got sunstroke. Again. Feeling not so hot…we’re going for lunch and a few liters of water right now. Maybe I’ll be able to reconcile some of these events and have something more insightful to say later on… but I don’t expect much. Today I felt like I really saw the genocide. And now I feel empty.

-Candace

Rwanda and the Congo!

Internet has been limited over the past few days, and while I know it may be positive and help me learn to enjoy life and live without constant access to the outside world, I am still unable to find the joy in being without the world wide web. I know that’s a sad thing, but it’s the truth and I admit it.

After the ill-fated Gorilla adventure (ill for me, that is) we headed to Gisenyi to stay with Daniel’s family. They are the nicest people in the world and opened their house to us immediately—they even had our shoes washed. The home was lovely and was the first time I’ve seen HOT WATER in weeks. Most showers in Africa are cold water only—if there is a shower. So, we’ve been having ice cold ones for a long time—the hot shower was a real treat. As was the massive and amazing supper. I refer to African chicken as “marathon chicken” because it runs around all the time and is all sinewy and skinny…this, there is no meat. Somehow, these people found real chicken. After a fantastic meal we headed out to “take tea” on the veranda and have an impromptu dance party where local African daces were taught. We were not the best of students, but it was a valiant effort and much fun! I’m pretty happy to have an African family now—they invited me over anytime and truly make everyone feel at home. With 8 children, I suppose that would be second nature!

We decided to take an exciting side-adventure at this point, as the family is Congolese but livesin Rwanda. We had all discussed going to Goma with enthusiasm, but weren’t sure if we would really do it. This morning, we did. We all piled into the jeep and set off for the border—some 3 minutes away. Our passports were taken to be stamped and the Congolese authority, who said they would keep them and we’d deal with the “formalities” later. As you can imagine, we were not

impressed by this but Daniel's cousin said that we should trust him to deal with it and so we did. We left our passports with Congolese customs officers—perhaps one of the most corrupt countries on earth. To save anyone a heart attack while reading this post—we got them back without incident.

Goma was amazing, and not what I expected. A volcano devastated the region 8 years ago, and people have built their homes on the volcanic rocks left behind. Much is still black and charred, and with such a lack of vegetation it makes the area looks desolate.Aside from this, there is a clear lack of happiness in the people of Goma. In Rwanda, everyone is happy and smiling and excited to see us—even if their own lives have been unimaginably difficult. In Goma, everyone seems sad. There is extreme poverty and extreme wealth, with no visible distribution. Perhaps comparing to Rwanda is unfair—Rwanda is 15 yrs out of war and the DRC is still in it.

We did a tour of Gisenyi after getting back to Rwanda, and headed off on the long, bumpy ride to Kibuye. The road was not recommended, but was a few hrs faster than the alternative, more navigable, route. Maybe not our best decision ever. I usually take the back of the jeep because I don’t get as carsick by being thrown around—thanks to the extensive pharmacy I brought with me. But this was insane. We were tossed around for 3 hrs getting to Kibuye—at one point my head hit the ceiling and I heard my neck snap. That was a great moment. We finally hit our hotel and passed out for a few hours of blessed sleep.

This morning, we briefly visited a church where many had been killed.Kibuye was a Tutsi area, predominantly, and as such the fighting was most deadly and bloody here. We also were lucky enough to met with Josephine, a Hutu who sheltered Tutsis in the war. She took in 5 at a time, and by cover of darkness snuck them to the shores of Lake Kivu where she had hidden boats to take them to the Congo and out of the war. She also recounted the story of Thomas, a child who came to her. She protected him despite the opposition of her husband, and eventually when it became too dangerous hid the child with her parents. After the war, he was raised as her own son and is now studying in Kigali. As for the people in her town, they are afraid of here. They don’t trust her after finding out she protected Tutsis—but she just smiles and seems grateful for life. An amazing woman.

We headed off on another gem of a road to Bisesero, the site where 30,000-50,000 were killed.

The area was called the “Hill of Resistance”, where Tutsis banded together to fight back against the Interhamwe. Unfortunately, they were massacred in June 2004. We met a man at the site whose entire family—parents, 11 brothers and sisters and wife—was murdered in the area. He is all that remains.The site itself if built, but there is nothing inside and it is a work in progress. There is however a tin shack that houses the bones of many who were murdered. It is a strange thing, to walk into a room of human skulls. I want to say it is sad and horrific, but those are clearly implied. What surprised me was how little emotion I felt—indifference is a terrible thing, but I cannot comprehend that each of those bones was a person. I know it is real, but it does not seem to be. Like the Holocaust program and my experiences in Poland, I don’t believe I will fully synthesize this information until I return home and have more time to think.

We are in Butare now, ready for our last day outside Kigali and our last set of memorial sites. Murambi Memorial is known as the most visceral and difficult of all the sites, so I am personally not looking forward to it. But, this is the job we are here to do and the lessons we are to learn.

-Candace

Umuzungu's in Goma

It’s July 7th, there is so much to say, I don’t know where to begin. We left Kigali on the 3rd to travel around the country. The first stop was Ruhengeri to see the gorillas. Raffi and I had quite the experience to say the least. The office ended up over booking, so we were in a group on our own with five soldiers and a guide. They took us on a route that was not usually traversed because all the other routes had been taken by the other groups. We climbed for four hours, a portion of which was a steep jungle and a soldier using a machete to cut through the various branches and plants. We finally made it to the gorillas. Needless to say it was magnificent and well worth the treacherous climb.

The next two days were spent in Gisenyi with Daniel’s family, which was just like being at home and much needed. Despite what my mother, Eloge, and many others had advised, we crossed the border into the Congo with the help of Daniel’s family. In a mere few hours, I began to comprehend the contradictions and corruption that seems to be widespread in the region. Apparently to get through we had to leave our passports with the Congolese border agents. We questioned whether we would see our precious passports again. Apparently Canadian passports sell for around $200 US in the Congo. Thanks to Daniel’s cousin there was no problem.

We drove through the streets of Goma, which according to me, looked worse than the World Vision adds you would see on television. Because of the devastation of the volcanoes in 2001, everything had been completely destroyed. People’s homes were built on black volcanic rocks, there are apparently anywhere from 8 to 15 people living together per house. Due to the violence in other parts of the Congo, many have fled to Goma, so it is totally populated with people who have no means of survival. It is bleak and overwhelmingly depressing. In Rwanda, everyone seems happy to see muzungo’s (white people), even if they are struggling, they seem happy. They run after us, wave at us, want to be around us. In the Congo, no one seemed happy, especially when seeing us.

Perhaps what is even more depressing is the hypocrisy of it all. After passing through the bleak streets of Goma, we reached Lake Kivu where beautiful mansions stand along the water. The Congo has a vast amount of resources, including gold, diamonds, and many minerals. The divide of wealth is unlike anything I have seen. It seems that very few are profiting off of the richness of the country, while the rest fight to survive on a daily basis.

Meanwhile, the head of MONUC (the UN mission in the Congo) stays in one of these mansions. MONUC has a mission of 20,000 in the Eastern region of the Congo, and spends one billion dollars per year to run the mission. We saw blue helmets around Goma who literally sat on tanks and did nothing. After passing the border back into Rwanda, we met drunk MONUC peacekeepers who asked to get their pictures taken with us umuzungu’s. I have always had a skeptical view of the UN, even though I am aware that it is all we have to deal with major peace and security issues. I now have even less faith in this corrupt and bureaucratic “peacemaking” institution. As someone said, it is an international mafia.

To explain the past few days of travelling around this country would be impossible. Seeing the gorillas, visiting Goma, listening to a survivor on the hills of resistance in Bisesero, and seeing mummified bodies at Murambi has left me feeling very confused and unsatisfied. I want answers. I have many questions that no one seems capable of answering. Perhaps I will never find answers. What I do know is that I am even more motivated to learn about this region. I don’t know if I will ever understand it, but I will certainly keep trying.

Off to Hotel Milles Collines for happy hour!!
Sara

Checking back in from Kigali

Having not posted an entry in several days, I can genuinely say that I do not know where to start. Part of the reason I haven't posted is because we have been out of Kigali, which makes internet access less available, however, the other part of the reason relates to my own inability to put my feelings to words. It is as if, on the one hand, I have so much to say, but, on the other hand, nothing at all. Luckily, Candace has been keeping the blog full of stories and pictures. Tomorrow, I will do my best to post a proper entry, but for now, my soup at the restaurant adjacent is getting cold. Best, Raffi

And the incomprehensibility begins...

The last couple days have been intense.

We had a get together at our house with a group of organizations and survivors, to talk about their experiences. Unfortunately, I was suffering from a self-diagnosed throat infection and took a nap/drugs while the visited. After I got up we were getting ready to head for supper, when another man came tour door. He introduced himself as Richard, and he was the happiest man I’ve ever met. He lost his family in the genocide, but has found a faith and strength that lets him continue to be smile. In fact, we commented on how young he looked and he said “it’s because I smile so much.” How one could continue to live, let alone smile, after such an event amazes me.

We’ve started the truly difficult days, and are heading into some of the hardest. We visited the Nyarubuye Memorial yesterday, where thousands were killed in a church. This is a common theme of the genocide, as in past violent outbreaks Tutsi who sought sanctuaries were safe as the Hutu didn’t follow. In many cases, the Tutsi thought this would be the same. It was not. In many instances, thousands of people packed into churches and were brutally slaughtered. The sites are visceral, with human remains visible at every site (we’ve seen, anyway). The Nyarubuye site had another interesting feature-- the statue of Mary had her lower arm hacked off with a machete. This was, apparently, because here nose was too narrow and long, like a Tutsi.

Today we visited Nyamata and Ntamara churches—very close to Kigali, but where thousands died. In the latter, mostly women, children and the aged.We also visited the Ibuka office, the kinyarwandan word for Remembrance, which honours the site where died. This story is relatively known—the Belgian troops who were guarding the Tutsi were recalled, and they left them to their deaths. Within minutes of their departure, the Interwamhe set them on a death march and eventually killed them after they were too tired to continue.

The most inspiring moment for me, thus far, was meeting Silas. Silas is a Hutu, who was in the army fighting the RPF. When he realized what was happening, he started smuggling Tutsi into Burundi. He saved 23 people in 3 days, before he was found out. He was warned that the army was coming after him, so he hid in Burundi until the end of the war. He is the equivalent to a Righteous Amongst the Nations, and risked his life to save others. This is, sadly, not a common story here.

The people Silas saved are now his family, as his own regards him as a traitor. The elderly women are his grandmothers, the children call him father. And he met his wife, amongst the women he saved. He has had children now, though hatred has not ended. Neighbours poisoned his children—one passed away from the attack.

There is more work to be done.

On a happier note, on the way out of Kigali for Ruhengeri (Gorillas!) we stopped at a Gacaca trial.This is the community court passing judgment on genociders. It was particularly interesting because a woman was being sentenced, and none of us had ever really thought of female attackers. Women frequently tortured, in brutal ways I have no desire to recount, and this one was sentenced to 30 years in prison. We also saw a long line, 2 by 2, of about 100 people cleaning roadsides with similar blue outfits on. These are genocideurs—perpetrators of the genocide who have been sentenced. It was strange…so see so many. This is a small number of the murderers though, as many have fled to other countries.

We’re leave tonight for Ruhengeri—in the north of Rwanda. Finally—a sadness free day!

-Candace

Happy Canada Day from Hotel des Mille Collines!

Today has been fantastic-- it started with a visit to Mille Collines, the famous "Hotel Rwanda" to talk with Zozo, the only remaining staff member who worked there before and through the genocide. Zozo recounted his story for us over a couple hours and some coffee. The genocide began on 6 April 1994 and by the 8th the telephone lines were cut and the only outside communication they had was that on the television--from CNN. The reporting was scant and just said Rwanda was in war, but it was all they had and it was on constantly.

Zozo said that when the Belgian Manager fled with the expats, he left the hotel to be open to whoever needed refuge there. Though there are only 104 rooms, over 1200 people were saved by hiding in Mille Collines. Many of the leaders in Rwanda today are survivors from that location.

Zozo's family was killed, but he survived and remarried a woman whose husband had been murdered. He now has 6 children and multiple grandchildren, and says that as awful as the world can be, "life does go on".

It was an honour to meet this man, and he was very friendly and kind. He is clearly very popular and well known in the community, and everywhere we walked multiple people would exclaim "Zozooooo!"

The horror that has occured here preoccupies our minds, but while these people do live with it, it does not preoccupy theirs. Zozo said it seems like long ago, and things have changed so much. This country is the safest in Africa, its people are beautiful and generous, and the society has come back from great division and terror. The resilience is inspiring.

One of the people we met, a 38 yr old who looked 25, said he looked so young because he smiled so often. After surving while your entire family died and you lived in fear on a daily basis, I cannot imagine finding the will to smile. These people are incredible.

Children should get to be children.

I blogged earlier about having visited Gisozi memorial museum—the AEGIS run museum based on Yad Vashem. I wanted to add this piece, as it was one of the most powerful for me.Things surrounding children are always the worst. For example, the museum has a children’s area with photos of murdered children and little plaques with their favourite things, best friends, last words, mode of death etc. listed. One 2 year old died by being smashed against a wall. The cruelty and inhumanity continues to astound me, no matter how much I think I know.

Pictures were not allowed in this museum, but I cheated and took one anyway. This child stuck in my mind because of his plaque, which I will transcribe below. Meet David:

David Mugiraneza was 10 years old.

His favourite sport was football.

He enjoyed making people laugh.

He dreamed of becoming a doctor.

He died from being tortured.

His last words were “UNAMIR will come for us.”

I was 10 years old when David died. If he had lived, he would be my age today, and he might be a doctor, or a father, or a teacher. He was denied his life because he was Tutsi.

It is a crime against humanity to be accused of being born.

Sometimes I find it difficult to explain why this project is so important—why genocide education is so important. I want to avoid the platitudes, like “if you forget history you are doomed to repeat it”, but it seems the best explanation I can give. “Never Again” has not proven to be a reality, and if we truly want to find peace, we must recognize that, as life, it is a process. It takes time. I truly believe this project is important, and with the right combination of luck and opportunity, we will have the chance to change the lives of many Canadians.

The Land of a Thousand Hills

Where to begin. Arriving in Kigali was par for the course—the airline lost my bag, but at least someone picked me up at the airport! Raffi and Dan greeted us in Kigali and we headed off to move into our house (I have a bednet!), which is rented for the two weeks we are here and is definitely a much better deal than a hotel—though, not my dream of staying in Milles Collines for a night…which is ok, since we are doing happy hour there instead.

We’ve already done a lot in Kigali, and it’s only day 3. Most of the genocide sites, the really difficult places, are yet to come.When we first got here, we tested out Rwandan mass transit with a “bus”—basically a cargo van that you hop on and off of for .30 cents. We also checked out the local Starbucks—called Bourbon Coffee. We are very lucky to have a Rwandan on our team, who not only speaks Kinyarwandan, but also is related to most people in Kigali and ensures we have lots of homes to visit. Our first was a visit to a cousin's house, where she fed us a fabulous African meal—sort of a casserole dish, made out of beans, eggplant and plantains (a banana-like potato). It was the best African food I’ve tried so far! And, it was free. Definitely a nice touch when everything else is so expensive. For breakfast, we bought some bread and peanut butter, and have been having those and some juice at home before heading out for the day. Peanut

butter is a fortune here, but was definitely worth every cent.

The common misconception is that Africa is cheap—but visiting here definitely is not. Most prices are the same as Canadian prices, or more (particularly in grocery stores). Part of this is also because our standards of eating and accommodation are higher than the African norm, and we end up paying the same amount as we would in the West for our necessities. We bought a snack from a corner store tonight—so far no one has died from dysentery, and we only spent a buck. So, it is possible.

We have met some amazing people here. The National Commission in the Fight Against Genocide was one of the best—the Executive Secretary of the Commission met with us and discussed Rwanda, the genocide, the future, and showed a lot of interest in our programme. We also met with a widow’s organization, which offers counseling and medical services, amongst others, to Rwandan genocide widows and young women. They also have a business side, where Rwandan widows create items—dolls, jewelry, bags, baskets etc—and the organization sells them, providing income to the women. I bought a lovely doll, which I carried around all day, and who will live in my house forever as a reminder of the amazing women we met. Many lost everything—husbands, children, sisters, brothers, parents… one cannot imagine the type of strength it would take to even continue living after that experience.

Camp Kigali was another incredible sight. Anyone who has seen a Rwanda genocide-based movie will know of this story—and those who have read about it will know more accurately. Basically, after President Habyarimana’s plane was shot down, the Prime Minister received de facto control, but was killed with her family before having the chance to address the nation. She was being guarded by 10 Belgian troops, who had no idea that the Hutu

militia who showed up offering to guard the PM actually intended to kill her. They left her with the Hutu militia and returned to camp with other militia members. After they realized what was happening, they tried to fight back and were killed by a grenade blast and gunfire from the Hutu militia. The building itself is littered with bullet holes and signs of the horrors that occurred there. There are also messages written on a blackboard by family members, decrying Dallaire as blind and heartless for having done nothing.This is an interesting juxtaposition to the position in Canada, where he is a hero figure. The memorial itself is 10 pillars, each representing one killed Belgian soldier. The pillars have notches representing the ages of the soldiers-- one has 25 notches, etc.

We have also visited the Library and Info Centre of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda-UNICTR, the Institute for Development and Research for Peace (poorly translated from the lovely French), and AEGIS, a British organization that does amazing work in Rwanda.The best experiences in my view were the Gisozi Memorial Museum and the Memorial service we attended. Gisozi is based off of Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, which I have also visited, and is a beautiful centre of remembrance for not only the Rwandan genocide but others as well-including the Hereoes, Jews, and Armenians. The museum also houses a garden-like grounds area, as well as the burial site for 50,000 people. Interestingly, the museum has been attacked by grenade 3 times in the past few years, most recently killing a police officer at the gate. The hatred isn’t dead—just as it isn’t dead from the Holocaust or any other systematic, cultural form of discrimination. But in Rwanda, peace is the only option. We were told by one of our speakers, “what other choice do we have?” Rwanda is so small and densely populated—peace must be found for the country to function. President Kagame has been instrumental in creating this peace, and people in this country appear to LOVE him. He has brought stability, peace, education, and hope to a people who had lost it.

The other experience, perhaps the best so far, was visiting a Rwandan memorial service. My friend from the March of Remembrance and Hope, and SHOUT, invited us to attend the memorial service for his father, a doctor who was murdered I the genocide. It was a celebratory service, lasting many hours, where people shared stories and music, memories and dreams of a man they all loved and continue to miss. They also expressed pride in my friend and his sister, and talked about how proud their father would be today to see their success. It is a strange thing—to attend a service in a language you don’t understand (Kinyarwandan) and yet to somehow understand what is being said. The passion and love this man had for his family was so clear. And in knowing his son, who is one of the kindest, gentlest people I’ve ever met, I know he must have been all of this and more. And, this is only one story. One of a million.

I read today that The Rwandan genocide is not a genocide of a million. And the Jewish Holocaust is not a genocide of 6 million. Instead, it is murder—one after another—millions of times. It is millions of acts of brutality and evil, and we should not lose our conception in a number we cannot envision. It is one life, and then another, and another…

There are dogs howling outside…not sure what’s going on, but it doesn’t sound positive. Time to go to sleep, I think. A bientot.

-Candace

Everyone has a story

When I traveled to Germany and Poland to visit the sites relating to the Holocaust, I came back with a greater appreciation of what it means to say that 11 million people were murdered by the Nazis, 6 million of whom were Jewish. It meant that 11 million individual lives were cut, unnecessarily, short. Indeed, each victim had a family, was a mother, was a brother, was a friend. Upon my return to Canada, I heard about the 'paperclips' project. A group of grade school students took it upon themselves to collect either 6 million or 11 million (I forget which) paperclips, to represent each life lost. There project was ambitious, but with the help of donors from around the world, the persistent students succeeded in their goal and turned their collection into a memorial.

This as a preamble to the fact that I have come to learn very quickly that every Rwandan has a story. Some are genocide survivors, some lost family in the genocide, some must live with the burden of knowing that there loved ones were perpetrators etc... In short, it is not enough to say that between 800 000 and 1 000 000 people were killed over a period of 100 days in 1994. Because, each of those people had a story, each of those people had a future and I believe we lose something when we group these stories together, because they are each unique. At the genocide memorial in Kigali, there is a section dedicated to infant victims. The photos of several children are displayed and a brief write-up about each is provided. One in particular had a lasting impression on me. For one of the children, who's name is David, the display included his last words: UNAMIR will come for us.

In a country like Rwanda, with a population around 9 million, everyone has a story worth telling.

Raffi