How to Make Sense of the Senseless

  Kigali, Rwanda
Sunday, July 27, 2008

How to Make Sense of the Senseless
Kigali, Rwanda
July 26 - July 27, 2008
 
After returning from the churches, Michelle and I found one person at the tourism office. Unfortunately no Kigali tours were planned for that afternoon. We decided to forego Sunday's journey south and spend another day in Kigali, so we booked a tour for the following morning.  Honestly, I was physically exhausted from the previous day's journey and emotionally drained from the churches.  Even though it was still early afternoon, I was ready to rest.   However, we still had to sort out our financial situation.
 
Prior to traveling, we read ATMs in Rwanda are not linked into the international system. We were told to bring US dollars or we could go to the banks and get a cash advance with our credit cards. We brought close to $400 US cash but found that my $100 bills were not accepted as they were dated prior to 2003.  This reduced our cash flow and although we planned on getting money that morning as banks are normally open on Saturday AM, community day thwarted this plan. However, we kept being told they should open at some point in the afternoon, but no one could give us specifics.  We had changed some money at the border, but also discovered that Rwanda was at least twice as expensive as Tanzania. We had made a budget based on Lonely Planet; however, their stated prices were much lower than the actual. After spending some time walking around trying to find a bank that was open, we gave up.  Knowing only the priciest hotels took credit cards, we reasoned that putting the lodging on the credit card for one night would give us the cash cushion we needed. 
 
I had mixed feelings about staying at the Mille Collines.  However, it was the closest hotel to us, and I was tired of trying to figure out what to do next.  Financially we reasoned that if we were going to spend the remainder of the day resting, we would get more of are money's worth if we checked in immediately. Also, we figured we were due some comfort after the long journey and because of our bathroom situation at home.  And if were going to overpay for a hotel room, we would at least be giving the money to a company that had helped save over a thousand lives.  Yet, it was still strange to go to a former refugee center to get a little luxury.

Hotel Des Mille Collines

Starving, Michelle and I sat down by the hotel pool and ordered lunch. Not that I am a huge meat-eater, but I was very happy as I ordered my first cheeseburger in six weeks. The pool is supposed to be one of the popular weekend hangouts and many people lounged around it or contentedly swam inside. On one hand, it felt wonderful to sit, relax, and eat good food.  However, I knew at one point the pool's water was a diminishing source of survival for a terrified group of people. Is it strange to sit peacefully as it nothing ever happened? I had the same realization later as I filled up the tub to take my first hot bath in a long time, and again laying in bed after watching "The Good Shepherd" on TV. How many people once stayed in this room? For how many weeks? How hungry, scared, heart-broken were they? Did they think they would survive? What was the Mille Collines for them during the genocide before they knew they would not be killed? Was it a sanctuary or somewhat of a prison? I know people were struggling to survive in this place where I basked in the comfort. I know I should have just enjoyed it, and I did for the most part. But part of me kept thinking of what it was like inside those walls.
 
In the morning, Michelle and I woke early and enjoyed a delicious breakfast on the open deck of the top floor of the Mille Collines. Kigali unfolded below as I ate croissants, fruit and yogurt.  I could have stayed and relaxed much longer, but we left for our city tour.  The hotel had a 1 pm check -out time, and we decided to wait to check out of our room in case we wanted to freshen up. This proved to be a wise decision as we waited an hour for our tour guide.  When the office finally opened, the manager apologized and re-booked us for the afternoon.  Since we had decided to stay in Kigali and the tour was our main goal for the day, we were annoyed but not too upset. We reasoned we could spend more time resting at the hotel before making the long journey back to Mwanza.
 
The canceled tour was actually a blessing as I enjoyed spending the morning chatting with American state department officials.  Nick and Matt, both ex-military, were training Rwandan soldiers to join the African Union in Darfur as part of a peacekeeping force. As we had a lot in common, time passed quickly over the interesting conversation, and I thought for the hundredth time since arrival that I wished I had more time in this country.
 
To our dismay the afternoon tour did not happen either. When we returned to the office, they explained that the driver had not shown up. Personally I believe they were hoping more people would sign up making it financially worthwhile, and I wish they had told us that in the beginning.  However, I think we had expected this might happen. The tour would have taught us more about Kigali, shown us the sights, and taken us to locations of genocide events and various political headquarters. It also included a visit to the Kigali Genocide Memorial Center, so Michelle and I just took a taxi over there ourselves.
 
I was pleased to see many visitors at the Memorial Center. We began our visit in the downstairs portion where a museum outlines the background and history leading up to the genocide, the events of the genocide as well as the how the country is moving on.  I was very familiar with most of the information, but did learn some additional things.  I particularly liked how the center tried to personalize the genocide.  Throughout the museum, videos ran with survivor's interviews.  In one room, thousands of photos hung all over the walls.  Some of them were individual photos while others were of entire families.  Most were just everyday photos-a mother holding her baby, a man walking down the street, a smiling face never suspecting how their life would end. I walked around and tried to look, really look, at each photograph but   could feel for some unexplainable reason that part of me was trying to stay detached from the reality of what these pictures meant.

Kigali from the Memorial Center

 
I headed upstairs where two more exhibits were located. One exhibit chronicled genocides throughout the world.  Feeling short on time and somewhat knowledgeable about these histories, I entered the other exhibit. Large photos of individual children hung on the wall. A plaque hung under each photo stating a little bit of information about the child, their last words (if known) and how they died. I did not write down the information as this is when I became emotionally overwhelmed, so below is probably a combination of several plaques.  But this very simple presentation had a very strong effect.
 
Name: Joseph
Age: 7
Favorite Food: Ice Cream
Best Friend: Big Brother
Last Words: Mama, where can I run?
Cause of Death: Bludgeoned to death
 
All these beautiful children --killed by machete, bashed against a wall, shot, thrown in a well then smashed by falling rocks.  The one that haunts me the most was a boy whose last words were..."The UN will save us," before he was tortured to death.

Plaque at Memorial Center

Kigali Memorial Center

I sat in the gardens at the Kigali Memorial Center surrounded by mass graves. At least 258,000 victims were laid to rest at the bottom of a hill overlooking the city.  The graves exist among sculptured gardens.  I wanted to comprehend the scale of 258,000 individuals, but it was and is too difficult.  I examined the city of Kigali looking to see the evidence of the genocide.  Not to be morbid, but in order to understand. I tried to picture the roadblocks and corpses and to smell the death and the fear.  I couldn't do it.  The city seems too western, too modern, too normal.  It has been fourteen years, but I do not believe the scars of genocide are ones that can ever heal.  I know if I stayed here longer, I would probably be able to see past the normalcy and see how the country is haunted.  Still I would probably never understand.  In the meantime, do I try to draw on the strength of those who have survived something I do not think I could endure? Or do I look critically as I am sure I have passed someone on the street that participated in eliminating one-eighth of this country's population? Who do I applaud and whom to condemn? And how do Rwandans carry on?
 
For years I have tried to understand what happened in Rwanda. I have read multiple books and watched several documentaries. I knew the causal effects that led up to the genocide. I was aware of how Rwanda's colonial history, economic problems, propaganda and governmental policies led up to the genocide. I realized the limitations of UN peacekeeping missions and the international political challenges in dealing with crimes against humanity. However, the intellectual reasons were never sufficient in understanding how people could do this to one another and why we, as a global community, didn't do everything in our power to stop it.  I had hoped Rwanda itself would reveal a part of the puzzle previously unavailable to me.  Yet once I saw this beautiful country I only understood less. 
 
Even though I failed to accomplish my goals in Rwanda, I am very grateful I took advantage of the opportunity to visit. Just coming to Rwanda has been something that I have wanted to do for a long time. Seeing the country only further enforced that I have an unexplainable connection to this place.  I am glad that I attempted to apologize and realize I could not have foreseen the superficiality of my words until faced with a survivor. And although I am more bewildered than before, perhaps that should have been expected.  Maybe I was never meant to comprehend the murder of a million people. After all, how I can I truly make sense out of such senseless acts? And I do not think I can ever find an acceptable reason as to why no one intervened. Possibly a better understanding could stop current human rights violations and prevent future acts.  But then again, maybe if I was able to wrap my head around these atrocities, I would no longer be outraged when they occur.    Maybe it is in the very fact that I grasp the senselessness of genocide that makes me want to scream out against it.  Perhaps it is best to only understand the intellectual factors as I realize I don't really want to be someone that can comprehend the rest.  The only reaction to all of this should be confusion, anger, outrage, and sorrow.  I would be less of a human being if I felt otherwise.
 
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