Sabbath #6 Kigali Memorial Centre

Kigali Memorial Centre. Terry and I decide that we’ll try to find the Kigali Memorial Center this morning. We’ve got a road name from the Bradt Guide. We’ve got the web address from the Lonely Planet guide. We’ve looked on a map of Kigali and think we know where it is but decide to go to the ORTPN office first and confirm then go, but the ORTPN office is closed on Saturdays. Back to the bus drop off and we asked a policeman (who seems quite surprised that we wanted to walk that far). He pointed us in the direction we thought we should go. It was around a 3 mile walk from the city to the Centre. We had to be careful walking down the hill as the sidewalks were quite uneven. I was surprised to find the shurtliffs has made it Rwanda but changed the spelling to protect the innocent. It started to drizzle as we arrived. Although not as shockingly brutal as Murambi the experience was just as intense.

We had to be wanded and have our bags searched before entering. No photography was allowed inside (outside only), cell phones were to be checked to ensure that they were off or silent. Just outside the entrance was an eternal flame. The inside of the building reminded me of a sea shell in that you circled around a couple of times but never intersected the entrance until the exit. The lower level succinctly chronicled the events that built up to the genocide and then chronicled the actual events and aftermath through photos, displays, video kiosks and a small theater. There were snap shots of the victims in life (donated by relatives) hanging around small alcoves of the theater. Two beautiful stained glass windows and a series of glass figurines added to the atmosphere of concern, respect, presentation of fact and thoughtfulness to those still living with the loss. Once we completed the downstairs section we were guided to the upstairs which is dedicated to the remembrance of genocide victims through the ages. Each room chronicled a different genocide, Some I'd never heard of and others I'd known of only obliquely. By the time we walked up the stairs Terry had had as much as he could handle and he went for coffee. I continued on and then through the section showing photographs and stories of the children who were massacred.

The grief is overwhelming, but once I was able to evacuate from the building, I found that there are a dozen small and private gardens surrounding building. The now continual rain seems quite appropriate. The beauty of the flowers and the gardens relieved a great deal of the crushing weight of the place. Then I came to the cement vaults of mass graves. Over 250,000 people have been buried in this site alone. I went to find a cup for myself. We pondered how these things happen and the inhumanity of man to man. we discussed our own issues with thoughts of exclusionism and dehumanization that we keep under control but nevertheless express in quiet moments. It makes me wonder if I'm capable of such an evil thing and I suppose I am but I can't conceive it. I give up, it's too big and I can't get my mind around it. I finish my tea and we leave. Anyone alive here over 3o was a teenager when this happened. How did they let this happen? The people I've met who are over 30 are kind and sweet and nice... I can't get my mind around it.

We walked the mile back to the bus stand with the raining slowing and caught the matata making a big circle back towards the house. Instead of walking directly to the house I showed Terry the large roundabout park (The Peace Park) and the government ministry buildings that abut the guest house property. I took a nap and got up in time for the Realife Sabbath School Lesson Live and Interactive from Collegedale. I don't know how, but it relieved my homesickness and increased it at the same time. Ken Willes had it all set up and I was able to hear and participate in the discussion. Truly the highlight of my day.

This evening I went with the Terrys to the Indian restaurant again. Crammed into a matata as though sardines, we quickly smelled the aroma of petrol. Then the man next to me (who was a pleasant drunk) started to talk. Now Dr. Konn and I can't figure out if the odor is truly petrol or fumes from this man's consumed or spilt banana beer. He was sure that we were his friends and greeted us as such introducing us to the other passengers (who I never could decide if he really knew). Finally we reach our stop and walk to Indian Khazana.

The first time I went here was on my birthday and the waiter asked if they could sing for me and I insisted that I would not enjoy it. Tonight we got to witness a birthday song. The lights went out and the entire African staff lined up in a congo line and very loudly began singing as they snaked from the kitchen,through the tables towards the object of their myrth. First a version of happy birthday with 3 verses and the last one asking "How old are you now? How old are you now?", this was quickly followed by a couple of songs that were super joyous and African but not recognizable to me as birthday songs. A couple of the singers had wild masks on and one kept blowing a large horn which gave some rhythm but not a specific identifiable note. It seemed to take about 6 minutes from lights out to clapping of the restaurant patrons at the end. I was happy I hadn't consented a couple of weeks ago.

A taxi ride home and in to bed. Kimironko market in the AM with our cameras and I've got to work on my presentations for the physicians for Monday.

Click here for all of my pictures from Kigali Memorial Centre