Today was the most sobering day of my trip so far, and I hope and pray that I don't encounter anything worse on my trip. We started the day by visiting the Kigali Genocide Memorial, where the memory of the lives lost (both Tutsi and Hutu) during the 1994 genocide are being preserved. It is at this site that 250,000 people are buried in a series of mass graves. Although only a few caskets are visible, it is harrowing to see the traditional gray and white drapes resting across each one.
I thought to myself, "That person meant so much to somebody, and more likely, many people. How much did this country lose out on when these men, women, and children lost their lives, and many other men and women participated in the slaughter of their neighbors, friends, and congregations?" Likely a million people were killed in those few months, and while reliable numbers are hard to come by, this estimate does not include the lives lost in the refugee camp, or as a result of deaths years later as a result of harm done during the genocide.
I thought that the memorial did a great job of individualizing the victims as best as they could by showcasing personal notes from survivors and individual pictures of victims in one specific spot in the museum.
At the end of our visit, I walked into the Children's Exhibit, where child victims were remembered. I found one girl who was born the same year that I was. A picture of each innocent, happy child was enlarged and showcased on the wall, and was accompanied by a plaque that told their favorite activities, favorite foods, and finally, cause of death (which were completely unspeakable).
I felt so pained that evil could exist in the world to the point that children could be brutally murdered in this way, and that the world could sit still. As I walked out of the exhibit, the words, "Suffer the Children" came to my mind. The Savior must have known the pain that these children suffered, and I know that He must have shown them an especial amount of love when they returned Home.
After lunch, we visited Ntarama Genocide site, where over 5,000 people were killed in a matter of a couple of days while seeking refuge in a church. A couple of years prior to the Genocide (or Jenoside in Kinyarwanda), many of these people had come to the church when they found out that an attack on Tutsis was likely, and they had been saved. Two years later, when they returned in the wake of the genocide, their pastor all but gave them to the Interahamwe to be slaughtered.
Because the scenes of death are still quite fresh at these sites, I will not share what I saw, or the stories that were told. I doubt that these images will ever leave my mind. While this experience was a very painful one for me, and there is a part of me that wishes to never remember what I saw, I hope that these memories persist, only if I am reminded the importance of being kind, loving, and tolerant of those who differ from me, or even oppose me.
Most difficult for me was the brutal way in which the women and children were murdered. I had to remind myself that even though the Spirit withdraws Himself from a certain setting, He can still stay in the hearts of the righteous. I needed to understand for myself that those children were not left alone. The only thing that brought me comfort was a scripture story that my friend Tori shared with me from Alma 14. When the children were burned in this chapter, Alma withheld his hand, because the Spirit constrained him. The Lord received these righteous people right away, and I have no doubt that these sweet, innocent children were Celestial little beings. That being said, the Atonement is new, real, and more infinite to me as I recognize that the Atonement is not just for those killed, but for the interahamwe, murderers, and those who lost loved ones.
I will say this though. At the front of the chapel, a purple drape is laid over one of the many coffins in the room. On this cloth, there is a phrase in Kinyarwanda, which our guide roughly translated as,
"If you knew me,
And you know yourself,
You couldn't have killed him."
It wasn't the time or place to take a photograph, but I never wanted to forget that quotation. I wonder how different we would be if we took a moment to hear someone out, to be slower to judgement, and more willing to put others before ourselves.
On the bus ride back to the village, we rode with a couple of genocide survivors. The man that I spoke with (I believe that his name was Anthony) had to be in his early to mid thirties. He was 16 when the genocide happened, and every member of his family was killed. He was the lone survivor, and was forced to hide in the forest for a month, eating only bananas and potatoes (two plentiful staples in this part of Africa). This man said that moving on for him was a matter of "the grace of God" and help from the government.
On a happier note, we ended our day at the Des Milles Collines, better known as Hotel Rwanda. It was at this site that Paul Rusesabegina sheltered thousands of refugees during the genocide. This hotel was much nicer and much larger than the one in the movie with Don Cheadle.
It was nice to end the night in a place of hope. A place where so many survived in those harrowing spring and summer months of 1994. It felt like a bit of refuge to us too. During dinner, a live band was playing, and all of a sudden I heard: "When a maaaan, loves a woman..." Oh, I was a happy girl! But this was not the end of my favorite tunes that they played. Maybe my favorite was that they played "Hotel California" as we were leaving. (Did I change the words to Hotel Rwanda as I sang along? You bet I did.)
Although the evening ended so well, we're going to pop in a movie before bed just to lighten the mood. What a heavy day, and I think it's going to be tough to sleep tonight... even with a big day ahead of us tomorrow... Goodnight everybody!
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