Help us, we pray, in the midst of things we cannot understand, to believe and trust in the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, and the resurrection to life everlasting. Amen.
~ Prayer from "Prayers and Meditation in Memory of Over Fifty Thousand People Who Died at Murambi Genocide Memorial in 1994 Genocide Against the Tutsi," led by Fr. Philbert Kalisa
Children carrying items to market along the roadside between Kigali and Butare.
Muramuke!
That's "good night." By the end of the trip, you'll all be armed with a collection of various Kinyarwandan phrases. Expect a quiz when we return!
Our schedule today took us all the way out to the city of Butare, a few hours' drive from Kigali. We stopped midway to meet Father Philbert's good friend The Rt. Rev. Nathan Gasatura, the bishop of the Butare district.
Bishop Nathan Gasatura's (tall man in center of photo, in white shirt)
warm welcome made us smile a lot.
We also had a great time teaching these children to use a digital camera
during our meeting with Bishop Nathan.
Some of us enjoyed a spot of tea before getting back on the road.
Women carrying fruit to market along the busy streets.
A roadside fruit and vegetable stand. Friendly folks!
Women wearing colorful dresses make their way toward Butare.
Along with feet, bicycles, and busses, dirt bikes are common transportation in Rwanda.
Most of the ones we see are colorful, and they serve as taxis to ferry individuals around town.
Loggers balance precariously on the hillside, sawing tall trees with long, toothy saws.
The entrance to Murambi Genocide Memorial Centre.
This is the building that houses the Murambi exhibition.
Behind it are the school buildings where thousands of bodies lie.
The museum exhibits were similar to that of the Kigali Genocide Memorial Center, though no less unsettling. Outside was a mass grave that houses 28,000 Rwandans - it was impossible to comprehend the number of the dead that lay below the simple yet beautiful structure before our eyes.
The mass grave of 28,000 victims.
As additional remains are uncovered around the countryside, they are prepared for burial and brought here for a formal funeral service and internment of the bones.
The school buildings, which were unfinished at the time of the genocide, remain unfinished.
Inside, they offer a record of the horrors that happened here in 1994.
We provide photographs of some of the memorial rooms at the bottom of this blog entry.
But it was what came next that was most difficult (to warn you, the following part is a little graphic - skip to the next paragraph if you like). As our guides led us behind the museum, we came into sight of about a dozen school buildings, each with several classrooms in them. In each room lay piles of decomposed corpses retrieved from the crude pits that the Hutu killers and French soldiers unceremoniously dumped them in. Testimonies, museum exhibits, and books can only hint at the sheer tragedy that was the Rwandan genocide, but standing before the actual bodies of its victims was something far more earth-shattering and threatening to the distance that usually shields us from the devastating inhumanity of such events. Bodies lay contorted in tortured positions, and the decayed remains of children lay atop their parents. There were hundreds, if not thousands, each a horrific reminder of a life that was cut short. I can say without a doubt that walking through those rooms was one of the most difficult experiences of my life, and the one that has most effectively and intrusively conveyed to me the true tragedy of genocide.
A bas relief artwork inside the Murambi Genocide Memorial.
From there, we continued onto the remains of a volleyball field that French soldiers hastily constructed over a mass grave in a despicable effort to hide the killing that took place at Murambi. Passing several more mass graves, we returned to the museum where Father Philbert led us in a prayer session to help us process the sights of the past few hours.
Help us, we pray, in the midst of things we cannot understand, to believe and trust in the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, and the resurrection to life everlasting. Amen.
A view of the lush Rwandan terraced farmlands from the mass grave area
where French soldiers set up a volleyball court after the Murambi massacre.
We then hopped back on the bus, and a few hours later returned to the Center for Unity and Peace for a late dinner. We're up early tomorrow to go meet with a Rwandan youth group, then continue on to Akagera National Park for two nights, including a New Year's Eve celebration!
Muramuke and amahoro - peace be with you all.
~ MacLean Cadman, Boston College senior
Photographs by Annalise Nielson, Northeastern University undergraduate student, and Brandy Purcell, Northeastern University staff member. Additional photographs below.
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Please note: The photographs below are very difficult to take in. After much conversation amongst our group about whether or not we should include them, we decided to do so because we believe they help us tell the story of the one million people who lost their lives in the 1994 genocide. As pilgrims visiting Rwanda, we deeply honor the memory of these men, women, and children who were viciously and systematically murdered and whom we will never have the chance to know, except through the witness of their bones.
These skulls and the other bones that follow are from a mass grave at Murambi.
It is difficult to imagine how 50,000 people could have been killed in the space of a few hours.
The mass grave from which these human leg bones were taken
remains a deep and painful gash in the red earth of the verdant Rwandan hillside.
We grieve with the families and friends of those who lost their lives in the genocide.
We offer this blog as our bouquet of flowers
to the memory of those who died and with hope for those who remain.
Perhaps the hardest and most devastating loss of all is the loss of children.
So many innocent young people--babies, toddlers, school-aged children, adolescents, and young adults--lost their lives to a genocide perpetrated by adults
who should have been teaching them how to live together in peace.
This poem sits on a table in the children's room at Murambi. The poem reads:
Sleep my child and dream of days to come when
Pain is conquered in love's sweet embrace.
Why do these lands cry out, stained with our blood and tears
All the hopeful years blossom into grief
Hurt more than words can say, dignity stripped away
Taking my everything, leaving me to mourn.
Someday I'll wake to see, change drifting over me
When truth has told her tale, and her voice is heard
These rains wash over me, scars though they still may be
Forgiveness takes a step leaving me with hope.
These children, who live next door to Murambi Genocide Memorial
and who play in its backyard, are the hope for the future.
These children are the dream of forgiveness.
Help us, we pray, in the midst of things we cannot understand, to believe and trust in the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, and the resurrection to life everlasting. Amen.
1 comment:
I remember Murambi. A combination of beauty and horror. A supposed place of safety became a place of death. Imagining people coming through the darkness to entrap and kill those who hid there. That stays in my imagination. Thanks Shan.
Theresa
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