I was the first of the passengers to arrive for the express to Butare and get the front passenger 
seat near the window. YEAH!! Definitely a favorite location for me. We’re not totally jam packed for the 7 am trip so there are actually a few empty seats. While we’re waiting I see a lady in a blue uniform. She is using what appears to be a home-made broom to sweep the entire street and both sidewalks. She is sweeping the trash, bits of paper, etc into little piles. I assume that either she or somebody else will come along later to collect the little piles.
seat near the window. YEAH!! Definitely a favorite location for me. We’re not totally jam packed for the 7 am trip so there are actually a few empty seats. While we’re waiting I see a lady in a blue uniform. She is using what appears to be a home-made broom to sweep the entire street and both sidewalks. She is sweeping the trash, bits of paper, etc into little piles. I assume that either she or somebody else will come along later to collect the little piles. The drive is pleasant and I recognize many of the houses, fields, and other sites. For the first half of this trip we follow the same road that I traveled a couple of weeks ago to Kibuye but once we hit the town of Gitarama, we turn south. Some of the trucks move so slow up the hills the the 
bicycle riders catch a ride by grabbing onto the back of the truck to get towed up the hill. It looks really dangerous to me. We arrive in Butare a bit after 9:00 am and the town is just waking up. The company I’ve ridden with does not proceed further on my trip. They suggest Atraco, the guy @ Atraco doesn’t speak English but tells me they don’t travel that way either. I walk to a hotel which I’ve read about in the Lonely Planet Guide and meet an American. He says that it’s about a two hour trip but he’s only done it by hired car. I’ve yet to see a road that doesn’t have matatas (local service taxi buses), so I’m relatively sure if I can find the right road I’ll be able to get a ride. I go to a supermarket and there’s an English speaking man who seems to be the proprietor. He tells that if I walk down the road there is a special bus stop where the buses will proceed to Gikongoro and Nyungwe once they fill up.
bicycle riders catch a ride by grabbing onto the back of the truck to get towed up the hill. It looks really dangerous to me. We arrive in Butare a bit after 9:00 am and the town is just waking up. The company I’ve ridden with does not proceed further on my trip. They suggest Atraco, the guy @ Atraco doesn’t speak English but tells me they don’t travel that way either. I walk to a hotel which I’ve read about in the Lonely Planet Guide and meet an American. He says that it’s about a two hour trip but he’s only done it by hired car. I’ve yet to see a road that doesn’t have matatas (local service taxi buses), so I’m relatively sure if I can find the right road I’ll be able to get a ride. I go to a supermarket and there’s an English speaking man who seems to be the proprietor. He tells that if I walk down the road there is a special bus stop where the buses will proceed to Gikongoro and Nyungwe once they fill up. So down the road and I do eventually see an area with minibuses and buses waiting for passengers. But not before passing a large group of bicycle taxis. I ask for directions to the buses and three insist that they can take me to Gikongoro. I know it’s over 25 Km and I certainly don’t want to go that far on the back of a bike, so I walk on to the buses. I ask at the first bus which is big and old and parked under a tree for shade. Yes they’ll be going that way and only $400 FRw to Gikongoro This one will leave even before they fill up, as they will be picking up all along the way. A small child is fascinated by me and the parents let him stare and touch. I’ve brought my Tenor Recorder and quietly slip it out and start playing for the child. The kid still doesn’t do anything but contemplate my skin but the adults on the bus seem to like the music. After a couple of songs I put the Recorder away and a man invites me to come sit next to him.
Athanas is a dentist working with an NGO. He told me that he is working quite a bit with the
pigmy population. I asked if I would recognize them by look or stature and he says that they simply look like all impoverished people. He is on his way home which is just a few miles outside of Nyungwe Forrest and before Cyangugu. We eventually get enough passengers or hit the right time and start to proceed down the road. We stop frequently picking up local people who pay differing amounts based on the distance they intend to travel. There is a man traveling along as a porter collecting monies and giving receipts. With the ebb and flow of people coming and going I’m amazed that he can keep track but he does. I think that the people are also honest about paying their fares.
pigmy population. I asked if I would recognize them by look or stature and he says that they simply look like all impoverished people. He is on his way home which is just a few miles outside of Nyungwe Forrest and before Cyangugu. We eventually get enough passengers or hit the right time and start to proceed down the road. We stop frequently picking up local people who pay differing amounts based on the distance they intend to travel. There is a man traveling along as a porter collecting monies and giving receipts. With the ebb and flow of people coming and going I’m amazed that he can keep track but he does. I think that the people are also honest about paying their fares. Athanas is a bit concerned about where I’ll stay the night. I’ve read that there is camping @ the park but that you have to have your own tent and sleeping bag. However, on one web-site there 
was mention of a recent addition of a couple of rooms that might be rented if you’re otherwise prepared to camp (bringing food). If that doesn’t work out there is a ORTPN guest house some 18 Km down the road. If neither of those work out I can catch a ride on to Cyangugu or back to Gikongoro. My hope is to find some way to stay at the forest. I’ve got food and warm clothes for the night. This plan doesn’t sit well with Athanas and he promises he will call
this evening to make sure I’m not stranded. We reach Gikongoro but Athanas wants me to stay until we’ve gone the last bit by bus. The road to the memorial is a couple of Kilometers on the other side of town and the bus will drop me there. We exchange phone numbers and he introduces me to a new fruit - Imbuhu - that they peddlers are selling to the bus passengers at the stop. It is small about the size of a walnut with a paper skin and when you feel it there is a fruit the size of a marble. It is sour and seedy and I get a quart bag for $400 FRw.
was mention of a recent addition of a couple of rooms that might be rented if you’re otherwise prepared to camp (bringing food). If that doesn’t work out there is a ORTPN guest house some 18 Km down the road. If neither of those work out I can catch a ride on to Cyangugu or back to Gikongoro. My hope is to find some way to stay at the forest. I’ve got food and warm clothes for the night. This plan doesn’t sit well with Athanas and he promises he will call
this evening to make sure I’m not stranded. We reach Gikongoro but Athanas wants me to stay until we’ve gone the last bit by bus. The road to the memorial is a couple of Kilometers on the other side of town and the bus will drop me there. We exchange phone numbers and he introduces me to a new fruit - Imbuhu - that they peddlers are selling to the bus passengers at the stop. It is small about the size of a walnut with a paper skin and when you feel it there is a fruit the size of a marble. It is sour and seedy and I get a quart bag for $400 FRw. Almost as soon as we leave, we come to my stop. Immediately there are motos and bicycle taxis who want to take me the 2.5 Km to the memorial. I turn them away because I want to walk and
contemplate the enormity of this place. I’m denied my solitude as one small group of youngsters after another run to walk a ways with the strange muzungu who is walking. But I can smell the fertile ground and the growing plants and the cooking fires. I’m content to walk. Finally the last 100 yards to the entrance all of the local people drop away and I can walk slowly through this place which at one time was a well known technical school. It is totally quiet except the crunching of my boots on the gravel. A huge dried out wreath and banner arch across the entrance. I know that in April there are remembrances and based on it’s state of decay, I’m pretty sure this is a left over from a month ago.
contemplate the enormity of this place. I’m denied my solitude as one small group of youngsters after another run to walk a ways with the strange muzungu who is walking. But I can smell the fertile ground and the growing plants and the cooking fires. I’m content to walk. Finally the last 100 yards to the entrance all of the local people drop away and I can walk slowly through this place which at one time was a well known technical school. It is totally quiet except the crunching of my boots on the gravel. A huge dried out wreath and banner arch across the entrance. I know that in April there are remembrances and based on it’s state of decay, I’m pretty sure this is a left over from a month ago.
There are some tour buses so I’m sure it’s open, , , I quietly walk inside the former 
administration building and a group of Rwandans are just finishing a tour. I don’t know what is proper so I wait until they finish their talk and then they go outside to the burial site to sing hymns. Still no one comes and the signs are a bit confusing and as I start up a stair case the man who has been giving the talk comes and asks why I’m here. I try to explain that I’ve come to the memorial to see what is to be seen and he asks me to wait. After a bit he brings a lady to "Show me the bodies". We quietly walk outside and around the admin
building and start walking toward a neat set of tan brick buildings with glass-less windows and open doors. The first is quite startling. A set of racks has been constructed about 2.5 feet high and these are covered with the bodies of victims.The bodies are covered with lime to slow the decay process down. 
There are also mothballs in every room and on the some of the corpses. The smell is unique, deeply penetrating, and quite powerful. I have never smelled it before and will likely never forget it either. Sunday while uploading and titling the pictures I could vividly smell it again even though I know I had none of it on my clothes or materials. I have had a similar smell experience in Waveland, Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina. The smell of rotting food, vegetation and gulf muck is permanently imbedded in my brain as the smell of destruction and ruin. Now I have two of those references.
There are also mothballs in every room and on the some of the corpses. The smell is unique, deeply penetrating, and quite powerful. I have never smelled it before and will likely never forget it either. Sunday while uploading and titling the pictures I could vividly smell it again even though I know I had none of it on my clothes or materials. I have had a similar smell experience in Waveland, Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina. The smell of rotting food, vegetation and gulf muck is permanently imbedded in my brain as the smell of destruction and ruin. Now I have two of those references. The silence was equally penetrating. The countryside around the site is peaceful and serene and 
you can scarcely believe that an atrocity of this magnitude could have occurred here, the report says fifty thousand died in a matter of a few days, but here are the bodies. As macabre as the sight 
seems I suppose that sometime in the future there will be people who will deny that genocide occurred and there must be places like Murambi to make us remember that it did occur. Equally disturbing are signs showing the location of the French flag and another indicating that French soldiers were playing as the massacre occurred.
you can scarcely believe that an atrocity of this magnitude could have occurred here, the report says fifty thousand died in a matter of a few days, but here are the bodies. As macabre as the sight 
seems I suppose that sometime in the future there will be people who will deny that genocide occurred and there must be places like Murambi to make us remember that it did occur. Equally disturbing are signs showing the location of the French flag and another indicating that French soldiers were playing as the massacre occurred.The rooms go on and on. There are over 950 bodies preserved for viewing. There are more than 
50,000 buried in mass graves. Some where shot, some died by grenade, some were bludgeoned and some were hacked by machete. It doesn’t take a forensic scientist to detail these methods through the wounds on the corpses. I walk from room to 
room silently filled with remorse for the families who were slaughtered together. It is so overwhelming that I can not cry but another group is walking through and one of their members is wailing and is having to be carried away. Later, I see that this must happen often enough that they have a room prepared in the administration building where she is recovering.
50,000 buried in mass graves. Some where shot, some died by grenade, some were bludgeoned and some were hacked by machete. It doesn’t take a forensic scientist to detail these methods through the wounds on the corpses. I walk from room to 
room silently filled with remorse for the families who were slaughtered together. It is so overwhelming that I can not cry but another group is walking through and one of their members is wailing and is having to be carried away. Later, I see that this must happen often enough that they have a room prepared in the administration building where she is recovering. I’m told that many of the worst massacres occurred in churches and
this school. The two institutions where I spend most of my time, in this country, 14 years ago, became places of murder. I can not fathom. As I’m walking back I come to a group of teenagers from a school in NE Rwanda who have come to see. As I pass them, one quietly asks me if I have an explanation for this. . . I do not. There is a place with a high water spigot and people are washing their hands, faces and heads.... It seems appropriate to try and wash the odor away but I do not see how it can be erased.
this school. The two institutions where I spend most of my time, in this country, 14 years ago, became places of murder. I can not fathom. As I’m walking back I come to a group of teenagers from a school in NE Rwanda who have come to see. As I pass them, one quietly asks me if I have an explanation for this. . . I do not. There is a place with a high water spigot and people are washing their hands, faces and heads.... It seems appropriate to try and wash the odor away but I do not see how it can be erased. I sign the guest book, walk out the gate and back to the noise of Rwanda.
here is the link to all of the images.
1 comment:
The Gikongoro Genocide Memorial pictures were down right disturbing to me. Especially all the skulls and the crushed skulls and the children. Looks like a nightmare, with the clubs still there.
The people walking along the road were in coats. Is it cold? You only took a light jacket with you. The balancing of produce and items on their heads, reminds me of Korea. Also all the beautiful colors of clothing, remind me of Korea.
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