July 12, 2009 -- Part I

As we trod the path to the church, I knew it would be difficult. The day was hot, just as it would have been during the genocide, and the trees offered shade to us after a long day of walking around Kibuye. I had known that we would be travelling there today, but that doesn’t mean I was prepared for the vast shades of emotion that washed through my body.

A sign shone like a beacon, complete with bright blue paint, commemorating the massacre of 1994. We had seen the church this morning, as we awoke at dawn to watch the sunrise. We walked all of two hundred yards to the church, and in the back of my mind, I wondered.

I walked to the front of the church, where a mass grave had been dug. There was a window from a smaller building that looked out upon this garden on concrete, and through the window stared at least twenty-five empty skulls. Human skulls. The skulls of the victims of the massacre committed at this church. I stared in silence, unable to make a sound as the voices of singing and laughing children filled my ears from across the way. The same sounds many of these people had made before the Interahamwe raped the country and entered the church.

We entered from the back of the church, and found complete emptiness. The stained glass shone with the light of the setting sun, and our footsteps echoed through the lines of bench upon bench. Thousands of people we slaughtered here. Thousands. Herded in like cattle. Thinking they were safe under the eyes of God. Thousands. Murdered. Massacred. Killed. Here. And there was nowhere to hide. Even if it were one person trying to hide in the empty church, it would have been impossible. It’s incredibly open and empty, but for the hundreds of benches that on Sundays—today—are completely filled with bodies.

Beautiful, devout, hardworking, terrified mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, grandmothers, brothers died here while praying for forgiveness and crying for a way out. Under the eyes of God. “Please, Father, let me not be Tutsi anymore,” came the plea of a little boy. “I promise I’ll be good.”

There are hundreds of churches like this in Rwanda, each with its own, distinctive past, and each filled with hundreds or thousands of human beings, beings who deserved life, freedom, and the right to feel safe in their own church and home. Hundreds of these churches existed, herding people in like cattle only to leave one or two survivors, hiding under the corpses of their mother for days, wondering if they were alive or dead. Breathing in the stench of rotting flesh. Flesh that was left in a building under ninety-three degree weather for months upon end.

And still people attend this church. Hundreds, if not thousands. How they found it in their hearts to forgive their brother’s murderer, found it in their hearts to forgive their failed God, I will never understand. These people are much stronger than I could ever even pretend to be.

We can not look away. We can not turn our heads and wait for another race of people to be eradicated. As I type this, the Sudanese government believes it can do what Rwanda did not. What Armenia, Bosnia, the Holocaust, and the United States could not do. They believe they can rid the world of the Fur, Massalit, and Zagahwa peoples. And again the international community looks away. Incomprehensible.

I’m not religious, but I said a prayer. I said several.

Amen.

July 11, 2009

July 11, 2009

Gacaca Day—

For those who do not know, Gacaca was originally a justice system to work out issues in cells and districts in Rwanda—issues that were not big enough to be tried in an actual court. You were tried by a group of your family, friends, and neighbours in front of a council, who would decide your fate. If unhappy with the result, you could appeal to the district level.

After the genocide, gacaca was reformed to try genocide perpetrators, because there were just too many to try in a big court. Traditionally, there are no lawyers, and each person must defend themselves and ask for forgiveness straight to those whom they wronged. While this sounds great in theory, not everyone is guilty, and if they have no lawyer, they have no way to win. I’ve heard from a few Rwandans that Gacaca is about 50% effective, but it is good, because otherwise no one would be found out at all.

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We’ve been waiting here for a while. Gacaca was supposed to begin at nine, but now it’s ten and it has not yet begun. Nothing is on time in Rwanda.

We saw the prisoners arrive, and it was very difficult to watch. They walked freely, unaccompanied by guards, clad in clean, baggy, pink clothing. It was the look on their faces that really got to me, though. They were tense, angry faces—though I’d be angry, too, if I had to be in one of the Rwandan prisons; I hear they encompass terrible conditions.

Lynnette and I spoke to William’s brother, Baker, for a while. He was a gacaca elder for two years, from 2005-2007, though he was born in Uganda.

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We just entered the trial room now at 10.30. It is a district level trial, which means it is for the more serious cases, and the room is clad in green, yellow, and blue, the national colours, with the usual photo of Mr. Paul Kagame looking down on us.

Basically, the trial was against one man whose name I don’t know. He wore glasses and spoke in a hoarse voice, denying any part in the killing. He was accused of killing two children with grenades, giving another boy to a man to kill, and teaching Interahamwe militia how to use weapons. He claimed that he was training Tutsis to defend themselves, but later said it was only two Tutsi, who were later killed anyway.

Next, he was accused of being at a roadblock, and stopping a car trying to escape Rwanda. Apparently, most in the car were killed, and then the Interahamwe stole the car. He was accused of looting houses. One person said, “Why would he have their things if he didn’t kill them?”

As part of the CDL, he held a meeting where only full Hutus were allowed. It is assumed that the meeting was about killing. One man said, “I didn’t see him kill anyone, but I saw him training people to use guns.” The man accused had already been tried at the Cell level, and was convicted for five years in prison (“What?!!” I said, “Only five years?!”)

So that’s the short of it—It was a very very long trial, and people kept basically convicting themselves, saying things like, “When we were at the roadblock…” and then the council members were like, “We?! Come up here!!” Thus, it was a very long process. We had to leave early, as it turned out, as I was going to spend the night in Kibuye, which is about a two and a half hour bus ride from Kigali.

However, all of the Rwandans I spoke to told me they believed him to be guilty—Fred, William, Kevin, and Rose all believed him to be guilty. If they were a jury of his peers, he most certainly would have been convicted. We never found out the outcome of the trial, but I will try to ask Jesse.

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So Valerie, Sarah, Jesse, and I went to Kibuye, while the rest of the crew headed to Gisenyi for the weekend. I had only planned on staying for one night, because I had to work at RAPP early on Monday, but I ended up buying a bus ticket for early Monday morning and winging it.

The bus took quite a while, and I was in the front seat with the driver and another, older, smelly man who kept invading my space. Bleh! But after that ended, it was fine, and we met up with a big crew from RAPP—Laura and her boyfriend, Philippe, Matthew—as well as others—Melissa from the US embassy, Kristy from Operation Stop World Hunger or something, and a couple of others who they knew from elsewhere.

We were half starved from the bus ride, and it was extremely unfortunate that the food took 2 hours to arrive after ordering. We felt very badly for the one waiter and one chef who had to serve food to at least five groups of people. I didn’t end up taking a shower, because the showers were closed by 11.30, so Sarah and I just headed back to our 6,000/night room (that’s 3,000 each per night—six dollars!! Yes, I love places run by nice priests!)

July 10, 2009

July 10, 2009

So, I took the Remera bus straight to rehearsal today (and didn’t get lost!!) and who was there at St. Francois but Alice for another human rights workshop! The nuns rent out rooms to different groups, and she happened to be there, too. I love her so much.

So we got into our new room and warmed up a little (1, 121, 12321, 1234321, 123454321…) in a scale progression. We played pass it drop it hold it pick it and then started rehearsing the intro market scene and here I am! They’re writing some music for the intro scene outside right now. It’s a song between Rwanda’s two cell phone providers, MTN, and Rwandatel, fighting over a customer—hilarious!

Later, the American part of GYC plus some of the Rwandan AJPRODHO folks will go to the Twa village. The Twa are an indigenous people of Rwanda, not unlike our own American Indians, and make up only 1-2% of the population. They were (are?) originally potters, and Flo, the Austrian guy we hang out with at the hotel says they’re, ‘small people,’ and used the word, ‘oompa loompas.’ I’m a little sceptical of such things, as I’ve never heard such a thing. He says, though, that during the genocide, the Hutu would pay them to rape Tutsi women.

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After rehearsal, I ran straight to St. Paul’s to catch the bus to seea play and then visit the Twa village. We picked up Jesse’s father and little half-sister, Vanessa, who is the most adorable half-Rwandan, half-American I’ve ever seen. She really kind of latched onto me when we reached the village where the play was to be performed. There was a lot of music playing and about a hundred children flocked around and danced with me and Sam and Julie. Vanessa grabbed my hands and wouldn’t let me go the whole time—adorable.

She sat on my lap for most of the play, and translated bits and pieces of it for me, as she understands very basic Kinyarwanda. It didn’t really help, but it was cute just the same. We left, and she and her father took the bus home, while we went on to the Twa village.

Te Twa village was very close, but the roads were terrible, so it took a very long time. Finally, the bus had to stop, and we had to make the trek on foot the rest of the way to the village. A lot of people were upset, because they were not wearing the most appropriate shoes for the walk—lots of flip flops, not so many sneakers. However, I was in sneakers and I was still having trouble, just for the record.

We met with the leader of the village, along with Dr. Carl, who works there with a bunch of foreigners working. They told us that out of 133 babies born, 67 were stillborn. The infant mortality rate in this village is at least 400x higher than the infant mortality rate in the United States.

Dr. Carl’s group is helping, though. They’ve helped buy the children shoes and uniforms so they can go to school, and supplied vitamin supplements and anti-worming medication. This equals 5 cents per person every six months, though they would use it a whole lot more often. The children’s bellies are very big, as they are filled with worms.

They’ve supplied the people with basic health insurance, helped them form a village council to address issues in the community, and built them their first latrines this year. Before, they would just relieve themselves wherever they wanted, which added to the problem of worms, hygiene, and cleanliness. These people earn less than $1. per day, and they are very much isolated from the rest of the country. Very few can read at all.

Dr. Carl’s group led a class on how to apply soap, and only one out of the twelve women knew what it was and how to use it. Even if they know, though, it would be very difficult to use, because of their lack of water. It takes at least a half hour to walk to the well, another half hour to fill a bucket, as they have to do it by the cupful, and then there’s the long walk back with a full bucket of water—on average, a trip to the well will take two hours ad fifteen minutes. The amount of water they have per day is well below the minimum for human existence.

There is hope, though! One Twa girl is the second in her class of 47, and another girl is in the top 5 of her class. When asked about the resources they had that they could use to help themselves, they replied, “We have life, health, and happiness.” They have the ability to love, they have the ability to sing, dance, and play flute. Even with the health clinic an hour and a half walk away, beans as their only source of protein, and the lack of water for their children, they find ways to be thankful.

Traditionally, the Twa people use the word, ‘Twa,’ to define themselves. The government, however, sees this as an ethnic term, and calls them the, ‘community of potters,’ which promotes classism, instead. They have been called the, ‘Batwa pygmies,’ by the colonists, which refers to them as small creatures, which they are certainly not. By others, they have been called the, ‘people who have been here from the beginning,’ or the, ‘people who were left behind by history,’ and it is certainly true.

There have been many times on this trip when I have thought, ‘wow, it can’t get much worse than this.’ Well, this was it. The Twa people of this village, even with the help of Dr. Carl & co, hands down have the worst living conditions I ever could have imagined. The people were more dirty than I’ve ever seen anyone, and the shoes they owned were only because of Dr. Carl’s project. We arrived on a day that they had lost another baby, and so it was a solemn day for the whole village.

The HDI desperately needs funds to help this, and the many Batwa villages like this one. There are two websites that you can go to to help. The first is http://www.coffeerwanda.com . This site’s proceeds go to the HDI, Health Development Initiative, which provides shoes to children with worms, vitamins and anti-worming pills so that they can be more healthy.

The second site is not going to be up until the beginning of August, but the link will be http://www.pygmysurvival.org and the proceeds will go specifically to this village outside of Kigali.

July 9, 2009

July 9, 2009

So I took the Kimironko bus to Chez Lando on my own this morning (I was only slightly terrified, really) and walked to RAPP where Matthew, Philippe, and Flavia (the girl who didn’t show to rehearsal yesterday) waited for me so we could head to St. Francois for rehearsal. We grabbed a cab and joined for warmups (‘telephone,’ which is like pass the squeeze, catch the leader, police and thieves, which was played with two scarves, the name game, and pass the clap).

Then at 9.30, we began rehearsal. We skipped the intro and began the first scene with the two leading ladies, called Soso and Zwena, played by Flavia and Jackie, respectively. Matthew gave Charles some ideas, but Charles later told us that the actors weren’t reacting well to his notes. Matthew said to ask them questions about their character, so they don’t get too sensitive. We took a quick break and then I introduced them to the grid.

I started it off, asking them to walk and turn at ninety-degree angles. This went on until Matthew jumped in and introduced speeds and weights and eventually giving them characters to be. I’m orry to say, but Flavia, one of the two leading ladies, is a COMPLETE DIVA, and refused to participate. Even during warm-ups, she did them half-heartedly, if at all.

However, everyone else is very committed and engaged. I find it incredible how they can act so confidently without a script. Their movements are natural and they always say yes as actors. I’m learning a lot from them. One girl, Kareen, is incredible, though she has a small role. As Soso tells the Boss about her pregnancy, the Wife hears at the door, and comes in screaming. The other actors really need work on this, but Kareen was spot on.

After rehearsal, Rose took Matthew and I to the Traveller’s Café, where Jesse joined us, and then we had a crazy long meeting discussing the script and plot. Once I returned home to St. Pauls, Rose and I met Cedy and Sam, who convinced us to go meet with a Rastafarian man named Mustang, “like the horse,” he said. Mustang gave Sam a necklace, called her his, “Rasta Queen,” and then we got out of there as soon as possible. I’m pretty sure he wanted to get, “Rasta nasty,” with his, “Rasta queen.”

Later, we went to a Salsa club with Rose for a while, but I didn’t dance for embarrassment—a lot of them, including Cedy and Rose, were incredible. Two friends of mine decided to stop working with HOCA, Rwanda’s gay and lesbian rights group, that night. Apparently, they felt their energy could be better used elsewhere.

That’s all for now!

July 8, 2009

July 8, 2009

Jesse came with me on the bus to RAPP so I can do it on my own tomorrow. I go to the farthese exit of the roundabout and look for either the Remera or the Kimironko bus, which I’ll take to the Chez Lando stop. (Lando is a man who housed Tutsi refugees in his hotel during the genocide. I believe they all lived, but I’ll research it better and find out.)

However, we’re not rehearsing in Remera, we’re rehearsing in a little classroom at St. Francois. Jesse drove me and Philippe there, because Rose had a meeting, and he also played a few games with up, including: Zip, Zap, Zop (which I haven’t played since musical theatre with Bob and Suzette) and pass the squeeze.

I met Charles, who is a part of the directing staff, and who kind of took over the project since Rose couldn’t be there. We had a short break before miming kitchen scenes, playing sculpt & clay, point & go, and another called, ‘heavy ball.’ There were five actors there when I arrived, and one girl, Jackie, came late. Apparently, they’re all getting paid 5,000 rwf a day ($10) to be in the show, and anytime they’re late, 500 ($1) is deducted from their pay.

It was truly just so much fun. I really haven’t played that many theatre games in ages, and it was great to kind of relive my childhood with HJT through them.

Now, Philippe is explaining the play to everyone, but I can’t understand, because he’s speaking in Kinyarwanda (in my DREAMS, I can speak Kinyarwanda). But I’ve heard the plot from Philippe, Rose, and Matthew already. It’s excellent, I think. I’ll summarize later.

July 7, 2009

July 7, 2009

Well, I began the day with Jesse, who drove me and Ramsey to the RAPP (Rwandans Allied for Peace and Progress) office to meet with Laura Hanson and Rosalia to begin our orientations. We’re basically interns here for the next two weeks, Ramsey working with Rwanda Knits and microfinancing, and myself working with Rosalia, Philippe, and Matthew (per Yale University) on their newest theatre project. The auditions are at 2.00 today, but I will be missing them, because of—surprise, surprise—the government!

Yesterday, we were supposed to meet with the Human Rights Commission after LIPRODHOR, but the HRC, being government-run, left Silas hanging for a while before flaking out and rescheduling for today at 2.45. We’ll see how that goes. I’ll be very unhappy if the same happens again, as I’d really like to be at the auditions, and it’s really not fair to Silas at all.

Apparently, we’re not sure whether or not we’re going to have a script at all for this show. In the past, they’ve not been used, and most plays have been improvised off of a set plot. Matthew and I were under the impression that at least parts of this script would be written, though we do not know who would be doing the writing, as neither of us speak Kinyarwanda.

In general, I would agree with the power of good improvisation. In my experience, I have learned the most about my characters in improv exercises (Shout out to Lisa Canto and Tammy Harper!) than anything else. This seems to be because pressure is off (lack of audience) as well as the fact that you can really ease into character and learn what they would do in certain situations.

Anyway, I guess they’ve made good use of forum theatre in the past, and plan to incorporate audience participation and music into this show, as well. They’re still working on the logistics. The show’s target groups are barmaids, moto drivers, domestic workers, and their bosses. It tackles the difficult subjects of family planning, HIV/AIDS, and sexual favours. In fact, I’m writing now, because I’m in the back of a classroom where Rosalia is teaching about HIV/AIDS and family planning. She is such a beautiful, vibrant teacher who simply commands the attention of the whole room when she speaks. The children, who are in their late teens, I think, really listen to her, speak back, and laugh when appropriate. You can see her love for teaching as she looks into everyone’s eyes when she speaks, gestures, and walks around the classroom. Even though I do not understand the language, I can feel her passion and power, and very much enjoy watching her do her thing. She says she doesn’t want to teach, but I’m not so sure.

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So we met with this woman, Hope, from the Human Rights Commission, and she was pretty much the most uninformed commissioner I’ve ever met. First, she said the HRC is not government run and that their only job is to “advise” the lawmakers, and inform them of human rights law—then the lawmakers can do what they wish with the info.

We asked about the phone tapping law passed in December, and she didn’t know, we asked her about the law concerning AIDS testing and mandatory sterilization of the mentally handicapped and she didn’t know, we asked about the law in the works to criminalize homosexuality and she didn’t know. Seems to me like the HRC is just a façade, used so the world thinks they’re moving forward.

Government run or not? You tell me.

In Peace,

Mac

July 6, 2009

July 6, 2009

So today, Cedy came with us in a cab to St. Paul’s and we had a heartwrenching goodbye before we both realized that we’d see each other later that day for his meeting with Sam and Valerie. So we both hugged, shrugged, and I boarded the bus to head to the LIPRODHOR office to talk to the organization president.

LIPRODHOR is a Rwandan human rights organization that has been condemned by the government on numerous occasions. The government sees them as an opposing political party, and often tells people that they’re promoting divisionism and genocide. However, with their collective energy and the help of the international community, they avoided being dissolved.

Gertrude, the woman who spoke to us, told us that the government really used the word, ‘genocide,’ as a tool to silence people. Everyone is so afraid of the word that if they believe an organization is linked to it, it will be socially as well as politically condemned. Because a law has been passed to punish genocide ideology, groups can be punished for expressing their ideas, even if it has nothing to do with divisionism or genocide. It’s an infringement on their human rights of freedom of speech and expression.

What really struck me was the fact that she said their phone calls, texts, and emails were tracked by the government, and for a moment, it really brought me back to the presidency of George W. Bush and his controversial act of tapping communication lines. Apparently in Rwanda, a law was passed in December that allowed the tracking of the aforementioned communication lines. Gertrude herself said that her phone and emails were tracked everyday. This certainly violates the human right of privacy. Talking freely is not something that is often done in Rwanda.

We talked to Jesse about this freedom of speech thing, and he said that he’d heard about certain disappearances, but he could confirm nothing, as many of these reports came from unreliable sources. Taryn mentioned that Flo, one of our neighbours, had spoken to her a bit about his views of the country. He believes that it’s all a façade and that the government is brainwashing the people, and all of the white muzungu only see the exterior of Rwanda and not the inner workings. For me, it’s very difficult to say.

We spoke to Gertrude about Ngando, which is basically a government-run class teaching, ‘history,’ to children, and she said that they select people to go there to be brainwashed. This is 110% the opposite of what we heard when we were in workshop with the Rwandan youth. Rose had said that she thought it was a great experience, and was glad that they were learning the truth for once. It was interesting getting a view that was not all positive. Youth are much easier to convince than adults, and it seems like they were all just taught from a young age the visions of the RPF. It makes sense, because they were so scarred by the genocide, that they’d listen well to the government that, ‘liberated,’ them. Personally, any government that is all aligned with one political party makes me a bit nervous.

Also, watching the Liberation Day ceremony, I didn’t really think anything too odd, although it seemed like a very military ceremony. Looking back on the photos, though, it looked a little dangerous. Granted, I like that their military is intervening in Darfur, but almost ALL of the photos I’ve seen of the Amahoro Stadium that day were of armed soldiers and a wild crowd. Hmm. Just an observer. Edy also got shoved by a police officer in the street after the ceremony.

LIPRODHOR apparently has trouble publishing some of their human rights reports. There are things the government does not want the people to know. This includes—and this is new information to me—the detention centre in Gikondo. The government will not allow anyone to visit or see this facility.

Furthermore, Jesse told me that today the Human Rights Watch had gotten their hands on a bill that had been passed in the Rwandan House that had very controversial matierial in it, including sterilizing people who had a low learning capacity so they wouldn’t carry on their genes—THIS IS HUGE. We were told briefly about this in our LIPRODHOR meeting, and everyone was absolutely disgusted. I have to go onto the Human Rights Watch site and find out that it is they learned.

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UPDATE: The Reproductive Health Bill (which HAS been passed in the House, but the Senate sent it back to the House for changes) will require mandatory HIV/AIDS testing for all individuals getting married. They will need to show their certificate before marriage will be granted. Next, married individuals will be required to take HIV/AIDS testing at the request of their spouse. Third, if a physician deems it imperative for a child or incapacitated person to be tested for HIV/AIDS, the physician may conduct the test without seeking consent and may show the result to the parent, guardian, or care provider.

ADDITIONALLY!!! The Rwandan Government will be obligated to, “suspend fertility for mentally handicapped people.” Forced sterilization is a crime against humanity and this provision goes against the Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, which was ratified by Rwanda in May of last year.

July 5, 2009

July 5, 2009

My heart hurts. We just had a farewell dinner with the Rwandan delegates, and I’m going to miss them so incredibly much—I mean, I’m going to see some of them, and I have a lot of their phone numbers, but it’s just so….I dunno. I’ve only been here for nine days, and already it feels like home. I have amazing friends here, I’ve learned so much, and I just want to learn more.

My homestay is over, and it was incredible. I stayed with this wonderful, sweet, gay Rwandan man named Cedy and we truly had a great time. Edy, Samantha, and Valerie also stayed with me. It was an incredibly huge, beautiful house. There wasn’t a whole lot in it, but it was very roomy, and in a very posh neighbourhood. Whilst a lot of the other delegates had to deal with huge families, people trying to convert them, and two buckets of water for a ‘shower,’ we had only two others in the house—Cedy and his sister, Claire—no church, amazing food, huge rooms, and three—YES, THREE—showers and running water.

One thing made us a little bit uncomfortable, though, and that was the fact that Cedy had a houseboy. He basically did all the work around the house—cooked, washed clothes, scrubbed floors, carried our luggage, etc, etc. He was really sweet, but from what we learned, houseboys and housegirls really don’t make much money at all—about 400-600 Rwandan Francs per day, which is a dollar or less—work all the time, and have very little, if any, time off. They aren’t treated as members of the family, and are often called by rude names, or are simple called, ‘houseboy.’

Apparently, at one homestay, the youngest girl, who was 17, had to do all of the cooking and cleaning, and basically acted as a housegirl, at the cost of her schoolwork. There were two American human rights activists speaking with a couple of Rwandan activists about issues, as they were served by a woman who was denied her human right to education. She told them, ‘I might be able to go to school today if I am not needed here.’ If she does not get a certain grade in school, she will not be able to attend secondary school or college.

More later!

July 4, 2009

July 4, 2009

I apologize for not writing recently! I’ve been getting pretty much zero sleep because we’ve been clubbing a lot and going out to eat a lot and…yeah. But today was Liberation Day! In other words, the day the RPF (Rwandan Patriotic Front) overthrew the Hutu Power regime, and ended the genocide. It was a beautiful celebration—I took notes during, so allow me to dictate.

“So wow. This is incredible: sitting here next to Silas with ten other incredible US delegates with a special invitation from Rwandan president Paul Kagame for a VIP seat to the Liberation Day celebration.

It’s about twenty times bigger than our own Fourth of July celebration. We’re at the Amahoro Stadium with about 30,000 ecstatic Rwandese citizens and thousands more outside waiting to enter. It’s beautiful—I can’t understand much that is said, because it’s all in Kinyarwanda, but just hearing it spoken and with such fervour and excitement is incredibly gratifying. These people have so little, and yet they find things to be thankful for.

Just like in America, the Rwandans stand in thousands in the back of the stadium, in colourful clothing that spells out words. Their bodies spell out, ‘Kwibohora 15,’ which literally means, ‘Liberation 15.’ They were liberated 15 years ago today. The shirts are in the national colours of the flag, blue, yellow, and green, and a man revs up the crowd with a repeating exercise not unlike our own, “I say Yankees, you say suck! Yankees! Suck! Yankees! Suck!” except it’s joyful words and songs and everyone wins, not just one team. We’re all on the same team here: Team Liberation.

Next, the military band came out—amazing. Rose Richard shout out here!! There ended up being two incredible bands, one the military band and one the military police band.

[Again, I will add more here later]

June 30, 2009

June 30, 2009

Today was another beautiful day in Kigali. I awoke early, showered, and read Dallaire’s Shake Hands With The Devil before heading to our traditional morning French-pressed coffee. We worked out what we were going to say in our introduction to the Rwandese delegates and headed over to the conference room where a few Rwandese delegates were already waiting for us.

Some of us were a little bit shy at first, but we soon got acclimated, and the Rwandans made us get up and dance with them as part of their intro. We said our whole intro in Kinyarwanda, and I think they really appreciated the effort we made—they thought our pronunciations were pretty hilarious, too. We were pretty much sitting by country, with a few exceptions, but we started mixing with our ‘human rights squares,’ activity. It’s a game that Ms. Chilaka would definitely love! It was full of questions to ask, like, ‘Name a movie that confronts human rights,’ and, ‘What is a human right that is violated in your country?’ and, ‘What is the type of human rights violation that most disturbs you?’ It was incredible, and we got to meet a lot of people, and hear a lot of interesting answers.

[I will write more concerning this soon!]

June 29, 2009

June 29, 2009

“We…say to the Inyenzi [cockroaches] that if they lift up their heads again, it will no longer be necessary to fight the enemy in the bush. We will…start by eliminating the internal enemy…they will disappear.” -Hassan Nyeze, Kangura, Janvie 1994

We started our day a bit later than yesterday, and Jesse had a table ready with some coffee and tea, so we wouldn’t have to go into town and pay for it, as he knows we’re trying to conserve money. It was very sweet of him. Then, we jumped into a discussion about some of the readings once again before heading out to the Kigali Genocide Memorial.

Words cannot describe how incredibly moving it was to walk among the mass graves and look at the names on the wall opposite. There are so many, and many of the remains have not been identified. There are presently fifteen mass graves with two hundred coffins each, and each coffin holds the remains of about 50 people each (my math is so off; the guide told us there were 300,000 in the graves, and 15x200x50 is only 150,000… oh well). It was incredibly moving, especially seeing Rwandans walking past, and seeing the flowers placed over the graves.

Then, we went into the actual museum part. As an American studying the Rwandan genocide, I had a very westernized idea of what happened, how it could be prevented, how to rebuild, and even the justice system of Rwanda. Entering the museum and reading the text from the Rwandan point of view was incredibly eye opening and sincere.

I knew that colonialism of Germany and then Belgium had divided the Bahutu, Batutsi, and Batwa people, but I had no idea that it was done by their socioeconomic standing, or that there were actually ten clans before it was decided to break it down into the three. Apparently, anyone who owned more than ten cows was considered Tutsi and those with less than ten cows was considered Hutu. The Tutsis were considered better by use of the Belgian Hamitic ideology, which basically said the Tutsi were derived from white Africans in Ethiopia. The Hutus were repressed, and finally rose up and began massacring Tutsis in 1959, shortly before their independence in 1962, which implemented a repressive, single-party system into the country of Rwanda. Kayibanda became the prime minister, and began a government policy of ethnic cleansing. In the 1973 military coup, Habyarimana took the presidency, declared the MRND the only party, and stated that ‘all Rwandans,’ were members.

Moderate and extremist groups emerged in opposition to the MRND, but the repression and massacres of the Tutsis continued. There were massacres in October 1990, January 1991, February 1991, March 1992, August 1992, January 1993, March 1993, February 1994, and then the actual beginning of the three month genocide, which began on April 6, 1994, and went until July 4, 1994. What’s more is that the French government knew the goal of the Interahamwe (younger, more extreme part of the MRND), and still supported the Habyarimana regime. During the genocide, French soldiers also identified Tutsis on behalf of the government.

What shacked me the most, however, was my discovery of the ‘Hutu Ten Commandments,’ all of which were translated into English (and absolutely revolted me) except number six, which they chose to keep in Kinyarwanda (I have to ask Silas about that one)—once I get internet access, or access to Sam’s audio recorder, I will put them on here. There seems to be an underlying theme here in the chains of genocide, as similar documents and orders have been used to make ethnic cleansing efficient and ‘legal,’ to the motherland.

I also learned that not only shooting and machetes were used, but also crucifixion was used to kill Tutsi people. The place where I’m staying, St. Paul’s, held 2,000 refugees during the genocide, and, as far as I know, it ended up being a safe haven, although a lot of other churches were not so lucky. Some people were crucified, some were hacked apart by machetes, some were shot, some had their tendons cut so they couldn’t run away, and some were thrown alive into latrines. Rocks were thrown down at them until there was silence. The number, unlike the one we find in the United States and ‘official,’ documents, is OVER 1,000,000. We’re lucky if we see the word 800,000. And this number killed doesn’t even begin to describe the children scarred by what they saw, as well as those recovering from machete cuts, bullet wounds, infection, starvation, and torture. After the genocide, there were over 300,000 orphans, 85,000 of them the heads of their households.

Speaking of heads of households, we visited a village full of children who are heads of households, orphans of the genocide, victims of HIV, and young girls who were victims of rape and sexual violence today. The village is called Uyisenga N’Manzi Peace Village. We arrived and Jesse and Silas disappeared, so the children integrated us into their soccer game. The range of ages of the children was wide—anywhere from five to nineteen, I would say, and we really had a great time with them. We then entered a circle and discussed different issues faced by Rwanda, as well as their village.

They urged us to write to the media and not just our political leaders, as the media is a way to gain attention and rally support. We need to help the people of Sudan to live together as the Rwandans now do, and understand that yes, there are differences, but these should not escalate to violence and loss of peace and culture. One boy, who seemed to be the leader of a household, possibly age twenty, suggested that Sudan cut into states, just like the US. This way they are divided, yet still connected, and they won’t have to split into separate countries.

We asked, ‘What is the root of Rwandan security?’ The reply was, ‘There was no revenge. Rwandans started and ended the genocide. Then, security was provided. Perpetrators used to try to come back into the country and fight, but the government wouldn’t allow it, and this restored security. Our grandfathers lived happily together. There were no wars or killing each other. Colonialists tore us apart.’

We then asked about their feelings of Gacaca, which is their form of justice in bringing the genocidaires to trial. It has been about 50% effective, but makes sure a lot of people are brought to trial. “We tried. It was a system to try. A choice in resolving. Rwanda is different from the USA. Most people here know their neighbours and know when someone is missing from a household, and who is there and who isn’t there [after the genocide]. We know the number in the family. We chose Gacaca, because everyone knew each other. They are tried by the people in their own neighbourhood. Judges are from the neighbourhood and the family of survivors is there. It could be the only option of forgiveness and uniting people again.”

Another person replied, ‘It was the only choice taken, and the only form of justice that has been used in any way. When you’re in front of neighbours and family and are begging for forgiveness and the forgive, then you are truly forgiven. In the International Tribunal Court, you have a lawyer. Your judges are not your neighbors and you will not feel sorry for what you have done [because you are far away in Tanzania and there is no one you know to look in the eye]. It doesn’t give a chance in their heart, and for them to believe it is wrong—they are not asking forgiveness except when they ask their neighbours. When you are forgiven in front of your own children and family, it gives confidence in the unity of the people.’

Again, it was incredible to talk to these suffering children, and after our talk, we were invited to a house to look. We took some pictures with them, and the children were so excited, especially because they could see their own photo on the screen of the digital camera. I cannot ever imagine wanting to hurt these poor beings. They were so beautiful and bright, and confident in the future of their country. And…they LOVE Obama! Apparently, they spent days celebrating in the streets when he was elected. They found it amazing that America was able to put aside their racial hatred and decide that he was the man for the job. They asked us a lot of questions about him, and how he got elected, and why so many people rallied behind him. They asked what he was doing currently for the people of Darfur. Sadly, I didn’t have much to report to them, except the appointment of Gration as the special envoy. They very much hope he will make ending the genocide a priority.

That’s all for today, except what I found probably the most interesting about the Kigali Memorial Museum, which was the ‘Hutu Ten Commandments.’ I will put it at the bottom of this entry.

In peace,

-Mac

1. Every Hutu should know that the Tutsi wife, wherever she may be, is serving the Tutsi ethnic group. In consequence, we shall consider a traitor any Hutu who does the following a traitor:

* marries a Tutsi woman

* befriends a Tutsi woman

* employs a Tutsi woman as a secretary or a concubine.

2. Every Hutu should know that our Hutu daughters are more worthy and conscientious in their role as woman, spouse and mother. Are they not more beautiful, good secretaries and more sincere!

3. Bahutukazi [Hutu women],, be vigilant and try to bring your husbands, brothers and sons back to reason.

4. Every Hutu should know that every Tutsi is dishonest in business. His only aim is the supremacy of his ethnic group. As a result, any Hutu who does the following is a traitor:

* makes a partnership with Tutsi in business

* invests his money or the government's money in a Tutsi enterprise

* lends or borrows money from a Tutsi

* gives favours to Tutsi in business (obtaining import licenses, bank loans, construction sites, public markets, etc.).

5. All strategic positions, political, administrative, economic, military and security should be entrusted only to Hutu.

6. The education sector (school pupils, students, teachers) must be majority Hutu.

7. The Rwandan Armed Forces should be exclusively Hutu. The experience of the October 1990 war has taught us a lesson. No member of the military shall marry a Tutsi.

8. The Hutu should stop having mercy on the Tutsi.

9. The Hutu, wherever they are, must have unity and solidarity and be concerned with the fate of their Hutu brothers.

* The Hutu inside and outside Rwanda must constantly look for friends and allies for the Hutu cause, starting with their Hutu brothers.

* They must constantly counteract Tutsi propaganda.

* The Hutu must be firm and vigilant against their common Tutsi enemy.

10. The Social Revolution of 1959, the Referendum of 1961, and the Hutu Ideology, must be taught to every Hutu at every level. Every Hutu must spread this ideology widely. Any Hutu who persecutes his brother Hutu for having read, spread, and taught this ideology is a traitor.

June 28, 2009

June 28, 2009 – 11.30 pm

Muraho from Kigali, Rwanda!! (That means Hello!!)

I’m just going to take a minute to tell you how incredibly beautiful Rwanda is. There are literally a thousand hills, if not more, all rolling and covered in houses. The soil is mostly red, and there’s greenery everywhere. In Rwanda, there are mandatory public service days when the government calls for it—no, there are no arrests or anything; it’s voluntary, but most people want to participate—and they plant beautiful plants on the sides of the roads, and clean up any litter they see. There are parts of the country that are more polluted than others, because their cars don’t have any standards to meet, but there are also a lot of motorbikes that are ridden (moto-taxis are common, as well, and I’ll probably be using one to get to my internship next week. Don’t worry mom, they’re safe! The police pull them over at random to check licenses and registration, so they have to be able to drive well, or their licenses get taken away), and a few bikes when you get away from the city—bicycles are banned in Kigali, because there are a lot of crazy drivers.

And the people!! The people are incredibly beautiful. They wear a lot of American clothing, but you see a lot of women wearing traditional clothing, as well, and it’s incredibly colourful and the designs are just so intricate. There are a lot of churches—80% Roman Catholic—and you can hear the choirs from the streets, and the music is breathtaking. We live in a hotel by St. Paul’s church, and can hear the singing from our rooms. It’s beautiful. We’re on a hill, and can see much of the city when we’re outside. The sun rises around 6, apparently, and I’m going to try to catch it in the morning with Ashley before I shower.

Rwanda is cheaper than the United States, but not by a whole lot. A dollar is worth about 500 Rwandan francs, and you can buy a cup of coffee for 1000 rwf, and a meal is usually between 1500 and 4000 rwf, so roughly 3-8 dollars, depending on whether it’s breakfast or lunch. I’ve actually been having a lot of trouble with my ‘global phone’—Verizon lied to me, and said I’d be able to make calls for about 0.25 per minute, but it’s going to be 2.29. What a scam!! Me and my roommate Edy are going to share a cell phone—I think they’re about twenty dollars plus the sim card, but it should be fine to share. Internet access here is actually awesome. I got two hours for 1000 rwf at an internet café, and it was a bit slow, but worked just fine, and I could instant message and everything. We’re six hours ahead of EST, so it was 6.00 my time and 12 pm my mum’s time.

NOW… what have I done today, you ask?! Amazing things!! I got up at 6.15 am this morning feeling incredibly fresh and well-rested—the mattresses are great—and took a shower before running to the Bourbon Street coffee shop at the 24-hour ‘mall,’ and then meeting Silas and his bus at 8.15 to head to AJPRODHO (Association de la Jeunesse pour les Droits de I’homme et le Developpement, or Youth Association for Human Rights and Debelopment) to begin our orientation. We met John, who is an incredibly exuberant and energetic man, Ugandan by birth, who is now the executive secretary of AJPRODHO, and he began by talking to us a bit about the program and its goals:
*Giving Rwandans access to justice and Human Rights
*Teaching governance and how citizens can involve themselves for change
*Helping with economic development
*Networking within communities for empowerment and betterment of the program

So yes, AJPRODHO is an incredible youth program, and reminds me a lot of some of the programs we have in the US, and specifically on Cape Cod—the Human Rights Academy comes straight to my mind.

We were also given tips from Jesse, John, and Silas, who recommended we only take transport from men in a green jersey and helmet, which means they’re legally licensed moto-taxi drivers, and to hail them, we can raise our hand or hiss, ‘tsssss!’ It takes about 500 rwf to get to AJPRODHO from St. Paul’s, which is about a dollar, and to make sure they have change for your bill before you accept the ride.

Tipping is another question that came up while having lunch at the Simba Café, and John said that Rwandans don’t usually tip, but waitstaff in most places do not earn a lot, so any type of a tip, even coins, is a very nice gesture, especially if the service is good. He advised us not to give more than 1 or 2%, though, as opposed to our usual 15-20% tips, as they don’t want to be viewed as a charity case. We also should refrain from eating while walking down the street, because people will think it’s really odd.

We learned some quick phrases in Kinyarwanda, such as, ‘Nshobora ku gu fotora?’ which means, ‘Can I have your photo?’ It’s very impolite to photograph people, especially adults, without asking first, and people do not usually smile in photographs, so we also learned, ‘Ushobora guseka?’ which means, ‘Can you smile?’ We also have:
Nshobora – Can I?
Amakuru – How are you?
Murakoze – Thank you
Seka – Smile!
Mbabarira – I’m sorry or Excuse me (to be polite and not give to beggars)
Ntronfite – I don’t have anything
Or French ‘desole,’ meaning, ’sorry!’

Our program, specifically, has four goals, which are
*Increase understanding of context and practice of human rights activism
*Cross cultural dialogue
* Assist local Rwandan organizations currently working in the field of human rights
*Explore options for sustainability and endurance of our collective actions

Cross-cultural dialogue is very interesting, though. Customs and traditions are incredibly different in Rwanda than in the United States, but US citizens have a very preconceived notion of Americans, just as Americans have a preconceived notion of Rwandans, as with all Africans—we tend to think they’re all the same throughout the continent, and that is really a falsity.

The Rwandan government has banned all use of ‘Hutu,’ ‘Tutsi,’ and ‘Twa,’ in legal language, and it’s generally frowned upon socially unless talking about the genocide of the past. Everyone is viewed as one people, which sounds great as an ideal, but is very difficult to implement. However, there is no truth in the ‘history of Rwanda.’ Traditionally Hutu people believe the Tutsi came from Ethiopia as nomads, the Hutu are generally seen as farmers, and the Twa, the minority and only ‘true,’ people of Rwanda, are looked down upon as potters, and are generally very poor and very discriminated against in Rwanda, though they’re not technically supposed to be classified as the ‘Twa,’ group. Instead, people are referred to, ‘perpetrators,’ ‘victims,’ ‘survivors,’ or, ‘suspects,’ of genocide. We will witness this at the Gacaca hearing, hopefully to be held on July 11, if it is not rescheduled by the government—they do that sometimes.

John told us something interesting that I jotted down in my steno pad. He said that genocide survivors are generally not taken care of by the government, and that seems to me a direct correlation to this policy of all, ‘being one.’ It also struck me as something similar to the veteran population of the United States. Both of these groups are not well funded, and many are homeless, sick, or mentally ill, if not all three. There is so much PTSM, and it is often ignored as genocide survivors live in the same village as a perpetrator who may have killed the survivor’s whole family. The survivors are expected to forgive, and, for the most part, they do an incredible job, mainly in part to church and their belief in Jesus Christ. However, 56.4% of all citizens of Rwanda still live below the poverty line.

Those are just some parting thoughts, and my musings, basically. Tomorrow, we are visiting the Genocide Memorial of Kigali at 10am, and spending the afternoon at the Uyisenga N’Manzi Peace Village of child-headed households. It should be incredibly moving; it is a village partly funded by the government to contribute to the psychological and economic rehabilitation of orphaned children affected by HIV/AIDS and genocide, as well as young girls who were victims of rape and other forms of sexual violence. Should be an incredibly moving and learning experience, and I look forward to sharing it with you tomorrow, or whenever I’m able to upload another entry!

Ijoro Ryiza!

-Mac

June 27, 2009

And I’m back again, but a bit bummed that the Internet on my Blackberry doesn’t seem to be working, nor the email. Sad. I thought for sure I would beat the crazy text messaging rate by sending emails to people’s phones.

As I typed my last blog, I was sitting with other delegates, Samantha Gavagan, Lynnette Miner, Julie Simeone, and Ashley Smith at the airport in Washington, DC. We all got along really great, and stuck together through the whole ordeal. I ended up sitting with this woman named Linda Taylor who was headed to Malawi to do missionary work for two weeks. She was nice, and reminded me of me, a bit—talking socks, telling tall tales, and just being rather interesting.

It was a freaking long flight, though. It took about eight hours, I believe, to get to Rome, Italy, where we refuelled and sat tight, and then it was another six to get to Addis Ababa (we flew over Khartoum and I was really disturbed by being so near to such atrocities). Africa is unlike anything you could ever imagine. We only saw Ethiopia from the sky, but there is so much farmland, and it’s really very flat. The buildings all have flat tops, as well, so it’s kind of like that scene in Slumdog Millionaire where they zoom out and show how close the buildings were together, but just not that extreme. It was scattered portions of houses pulling the slumdog.

There were armed personnel at the airport, too! Or first look at how Africa keeps order. They were nice enough, but it definitely discourages crime if there’s a man with a handgun right by security.

So, we got onto our Kigali plane (I sat next to this cute guy who I was too shy to actually speak to (well, he was really engrossed in his book (but I lent hm a pen later when it was time for customs stuff)) from Doctors Without Borders, and I just thought that was so nice) and this time the flight was shorter—like 2 hours 45 minutes or something. Let me just tell you—there is nothing more gorgeous than the country of Rwanda as you descend into it. It’s laden with hills, and there are also scattered groups of houses, and so much gorgeous red soil… it’s so real and so much less commercialized than the United States. It’s the earth the way it was supposed to be.

We get our bags (after irrationally freaking out because we don’t know the address of St. Pauls’s —it didn’t end up mattering) and met Silas (!!!) right outside. He was the sweetest man, and helped carry my bags to the car/taxi. We arrived at St. Pauls, and it had the most amazing view of the city, and a gorgeous garden to boot! It ended up being the only photos I took the first day (there will be a ton more tomorrow, I promise, when I get a chance to upload these entries, as well).

Silas showed us around the city a bit, helped people buy cell phones and change money (exchange rate $1=560 rwf, BUT thing are NOT cheap in Rwanda). We ate lunch/dinner at a place called Simba café, and then came back to meet (most) of the rest of the delegation, and I met my roommate, Idi (or Edie, I’m not sure how she spells it) Yin, the sweetest girl in the world. She’s from China, but her family moved to Texas, which she hates, and now she goes to Brown University. She’s fabulous, and I couldn’t ask for a better roommate.

Oh! I forgot something! We’re staying right next to a Catholic church, and we hear their choir practicing ALL the time—it’s incredibly cultural and incredibly beautiful. Jesse also ended up taking a few of us to a little café for dinner where there was live music, and that was quite interesting, too. Idi and I really want to go back next week.

Well, I have to get some shuteye! I’m up early for a jam-packed day… we get to meet our Rwandan delegates! Yay!

I love Rwanda!

June 27, 2009

Double post--oops!

June 26, 2009

Well, here I am at Washington Dulles airport, with a bit of a layover, and I realized that I haven’t blogged at all to introduce myself or anything! I’m MacKenzie Hamilton, a recent graduate of Harwich High School, and an incoming freshman at Smith College.

As an anti-genocide activist, this trip to Rwanda provides me with a unique opportunity to view a recovering nation, and find how they rebuilt after the 1994 genocide. I have to give a huge shout-out to Emily Cunningham of STAND who gave me the email to apply to this program. As I sit here with four other young women from the delegation, I realize how incredibly lucky we are to be making this pilgrimage.

Although arriving at Logan came with a few speed bumps, the DC leg has been cake thus far. I’m looking forward to catching up on a bit of sleep (I left the house at 2.30 this morning), and reading a bit of Dalliare’s book, Shake Hands With The Devil, which I highly recommend to anyone interested in the Rwandan genocide. It’s an incredible read, and very comprehensive, as he led the UN peacekeeping force for Rwanda in 1993-1994.

So what will I be doing in Rwanda? That’s an excellent question! I’ll be attending a Gacaca hearing (bringing genocidaires to justice for their actions in the 1994 genocide), staying with a family in Kigali for three days, interning at a program called RAPP – Rwandans Allied for Peace and Progress, teaching theatre to teenagers, and learning about the rebuilding of this once-troubled nation. I’ll be taking a lot of pictures, as long as my camera cooperates with me (it’s temperamental on occasion), and hopefully learning things that can help me in my fight to end the Darfur genocide.

PS -> Any of you who haven’t, make sure to clear your schedules for August 3^rd – you’re coming to the Cape to go to a Sarah Lee Guthrie concert. They’re performing at a dinner in Chatham (tickets are $40, advance pay; let me know if you’re interested) and then a concert at the Chatham bandstand with a $10 suggested donation. Sarah Lee and her husband Johnny are not only incredible musicians, but incredible people—ALL proceeds go to our sister school in Djebal Refugee Camp in Chad.