It is hard to believe that it is already the middle of
November. I have been a bit under the weather with
one of them African parasites. I subsist on a strict
diet and hope to feel better before I leave (it can
last a few weeks).

The weekend before last we went to visit two genocide
memorials at churches in a rural province south of
Kigali. We hired a private taxi (my friend Kassim) to
drive three Dutch friends and myself. Before
embarking on this journey we debated on if it was
really right for us to even visit such a memorial, as
Rwandans themselves never do. Was it just a morbid
tourist attraction? Do these memorials really serve
as reminders of “Never Again”? We discussed this with
Kassim, who is himself a survivor who lost many family
members. Regardless, upon driving up to the first
cathedral I got a wave of anxiety in my chest as we
slowly approached the entrance of the cathedral. It
is important to note that during the genocide people
consistently fled to their churches, thinking they
were safe havens. Churches actually meant certain
death, especially as many Catholic priests and members
of other churches were complicit in providing
information to the genocidaires and turning over
people to be killed.

I do not wish to describe what I saw in the church,
though remains and belongings have been left largely
as they lay in 1994, but merely to try to convey the
overwhelming feelings of entering such a place. I can
state without doubt that this is the worst testament
to man’s brutality that I have ever witnessed and I
was beside myself with emotion. It almost seemed
appropriate that while we were at the church a huge
storm blew in – almost some sort of strange sign (of
what, I do not know). We tried to wait out the storm,
but I was suffocating in the church so we made a run
for the car. Trees were down all over the place and
we encountered them on the small dirt (now mud) road
as we tried to make our way out of the village.
Kassim blazed underneath one tree, which stripped the
car of its roof rack. We stopped to retrieve it and
tried to temporarily attach it to the car to make it
back to Kigali. We thought we were on our way again
when we came upon a huge tree that covered the entire
road. I could not foresee us being able to get around
this tree (the sides of the roads were covered in
people’s agriculture, so of course we couldn’t drive
through that – it could of meant that loss of a
person’s livelihood for the next year). Kassim
approached one of the huts to try to find some tools
and two women came out with an axe and machete. It is
still disturbing for me to see these tools as they
were the primary weapons of the genocide, but they are
important for agriculture. So these two women came
out to help us, explaining that their husbands were at
the church we had just left (killed in the genocide).
We took turns hacking at the various branches of the
tree and it seemed we were making no progress as the
rain continued to poor and we were covered in mud.
But before we knew it, we had the whole village out
there helping us with their axes, machetes, and huge
smiles on their faces. Every time somebody cut
through a branch we all cheered. I couldn’t believe
it, but they succeeded in cutting up the huge tree and
clearing the road. We passed around the few snacks we
had and gave them money to buy drinks for themselves.
I wish there was a way that we could better thank
them, but at the very least they provided me with
proof that life can go on.

Although we had originally planned to visit another
memorial site, we agreed that we had experienced
enough for the day and attempted to make our way back
to Kigali.

On Saturday I returned to Akagera Park and got to get
my fill of elephants and giraffes (which I didn’t get
to see before). The park was just beautiful, as it is
now one of the rainy seasons. Our friend drove a bit
too fast throughout the day and lost his exhaust pipe
– don’t know why it is that we keep losing car parts
on these trips.

All else is going well, I continue to learn so much
from my colleagues and experiences everyday. Next
week I will travel with Claire, my Rwandan colleague,
to some other provinces to visit a few women’s AIDS
associations. Everybody knows how rampant AIDS in
Africa is, but it is another story to be here and see
that 14% of the Rwandan population is suffering from
the disease. It impacts every aspect of society, from
the economy to the household structures. As if
genocide and the loss of over 800,000 people was not
enough for this tiny country.

I know this is not the most uplifting update, but it
is certainly a part of everyday life here. Until next
time…