On the night of
April 6, 1994, the airplane carrying the Rwandan president was shot down as it landed at the Kigali International Airport in Rwanda. Then, as the Hutu Power party took over, a genocide ensued that left over 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus dead. This week marks the fourteenth anniversary of its beginning, and the entire country is in a state of mourning.
The genocide in Rwanda was by no means a simple event. The more I read and watch and listen to about it, the more baffling it becomes. It was completely chaotic and yet meticulously planned. People who had given their sons and daughters in marriage to neighbors suddenly turned on them and slaughtered them with robot-like obedience to the Hutu Power's orders. There were unlikely villains, like the church pastors who oversaw the deaths of tens of thousands who sought refuge in their churches, and unlikely heros, like Paul Rusesabagina, who used his influence to save 1,200 people who sought refuge in the Hotel Mille Colline. The international community made a resolution after World War II that obligated them to act in face of genocide so as to prevent another holocaust from ever happening again, and then they fumbled for two months trying to avoid the use of the word so they wouldn't have to intervene.
Pretty much every Rwandan alive in 1994 has a story of incredible trauma following them around for the rest of their life. Whether their whole family was killed or their father is in prison for killing, there is no one here left untouched by the horrors of that spring and summer.
We, along with the rest of the country, got the day off work on Monday, as April 7 marks the official beginning of the genocide. As ex-pats we were told to just lay low and not look too happy if we went outside, for fear of being disrespectful and offending people who are allowing themselves to fully mourn. Many people just leave the country for the week, because its pretty eerie and most businesses close after lunch anyway. I was at my friend Lindsay's house on Monday morning, sitting on the porch drinking coffee and playing with her new puppy, when we heard some kids yelling in our direction and barking at the dog. We looked around for a minute and spotted two or three children in a tree across the street peering over her fence, trying to get a good look at her puppy. After a few more minutes, enough of a ruckus was made that about seven kids gathered outside her gate making whiny dog noises, so Lindsay took Tub Tub (it's a pudgy little dog) outside the gate and introduced her to the neighborhood. The kids had an absolute ball playing with Tub Tub, but I couldn't help but feel like I was slapping the whole country in the face by being happy and encouraging kids to play around on that day. Older people walked by and I couldn't help imagining that they felt we were somehow disregarding the meaning of that day and teaching the younger generation to do the same.
After a few minutes of Tub Tub being harassed by the kids, we took her inside, then shortly after I walked home, still confused and worried that the we'd lost credibility with the community we live in.
I spent a lot of the day trying to make sense of that encounter. Based on what a lot of people had advised concerning that day, I was worried that I'd be written off as an insensitive foreigner who cares nothing about the plight of the country. But then I realized something pretty incredible......these kids didn't experience the horrors of the genocide. They didn't grow up being called "cockroach," nor have they grown up being told that their neighbors were lesser human beings, worthy of extermination. The baggage of the genocide that they carry is largely from their parents, and though Rwanda still has many years before full healing and recovery take place, I saw Monday that a good place to start may be with those kids, who aren't plagued with horrible images of their family being slaughtered, who are part of the first generation in Rwanda that even has a chance at achieving universal primary education, and who, on days they get off from school for whatever reason, want to play outside just like any kid anywhere, kicking soccer balls, climbing in trees, and chasing the neighbor's puppy.
There is definitely a time for somber remembrance, and I don't want to downplay the importance of this week in Rwanda. But there is also a time for simple child-like joy, and I saw on Monday that in Rwanda, the two times do not oppose one another. They are both part of the delicate balance of not only appropriately remembering the past, but also realizing the brightness of the future. And in Rwanda, the hope of the future shines like the morning sun.
