Never to forget

Rwanda | Anno 2016

 

Friday, July 22 | Kinigi – Nyamata – Kigali

 

 

Friday, July 22 | Kinigi – Nyamata – Kigali

Civil wars. Child soldiers. Hundreds of thousands dead. Unspeakable atrocities. That's still the image with which Uganda and Rwanda are associated in the West. But meanwhile, those events have been behind us for more than twenty years. Not once in the past few weeks have we been confronted with a reference to that horrific past. However, today that will dramatically change. One of the most important memorials of the Rwandan genocide is on the agenda. It is with mixed feelings that we set off for our last journey just before seven.

One of the most important memorials of the Rwandan genocide is on the agenda

The Rwandan capital, Kigali, located a thousand meters below, is our destination, about 120 km away. The serrated silhouette of the Sabyinyo volcano is hidden behind grey clouds, as if the volcano is ashamed of what is to come.

We head southeast via the RN4. Pedestrians and cyclists abound along the road, but motorized traffic is scarcely seen. Children in school uniforms hurry slowly to their schools. With graceful elegance, women in colourful clothing carry the most diverse loads on their heads – baskets brimming with tomatoes, bundles of firewood, long sticks of sugar cane, leaves of potato plants. Those leaves are actually the plant material, Richard explains. Because with sweet potatoes, you plant the leaves, you don't need seed potatoes.

Effortlessly, a cyclist manoeuvres through the busy traffic with two large wooden benches on the luggage rack. A woman sits sidesaddle on a bicycle taxi – her luggage on her lap, her child on her back. Some bicycles seem almost to collapse under the weight of the green matoke bananas – often three to four bunches at once.

It’s one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of memorials scattered across the country, where the memory of those hundred infamous days in 1994 is kept alive

It's half past seven as the excellent asphalt road takes us through Rusenge. Now we go upstream, through a fertile valley, with fields and terraces that effortlessly cling to the steepest slopes. We climb higher and higher out of the valley, higher even than all the misty hills in the distant surroundings. At the top of the pass, near Buranga, the Gakenke Genocide Memorial has been erected. That's one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of large and small memorials scattered across the country, where the memory of those hundred infamous days in the spring of 1994 is kept alive.

 

Nyabarongo Valley

Once again, the hustle and bustle on the road increases rapidly. In Gakenke, there's a market, after all. People come from far and wide, laden with all imaginable loads. The steady stream of people stretches for kilometres, meandering along the edges of the road.

But that doesn't faze the drivers of Kigali Coach. Like madmen, they race downhill, their minibuses packed full of schoolchildren, constantly overtaking cars, even in the sharpest, most treacherous bends.

 

Nyabarongo Valley

Up and down the hills we roll through this land of a thousand hills. A bit slower than before, admittedly, because David's jeep can't go faster than 50 kilometres per hour anymore – a faulty part, he says.

The name of the river is inseparably linked to the many bodies that floated in it during the genocide

Down below, the chocolate milk-coloured Nyabarongo river meanders slowly through the wide valley. An idyllic scene, were it not for the fact that the name of the river is inseparably linked to the many bodies that floated in it during the genocide. Of those victims, 755 could be identified. Their names are inscribed on the memorial that was inaugurated in Kigali a few months ago, on the banks of the Nyabarongo.

 

Nyabarongo

Just before half past nine, we enter the bustling city of Kigali. The sun reigns supreme, with only a few high cirrus clouds posing no obstacle to its generous rays. Like a patchwork of red roofs and pale walls, the neighbourhoods of the capital sprawl in all directions over the hills.

Pedestrians are scarcely seen anymore. Busy motorized traffic has completely taken over the streets – cars, jeeps, taxis, small trucks. And motorcycles, a lot of them, manoeuvring briskly. From street corners, two to three armed military personnel watch over all the hustle and bustle.

The Belgian soldiers who were supposed to protect them were withdrawn after the brutal murder of ten Belgian paratroopers

But Kigali is not our destination for now. Richard immediately navigates to RN15, which leads us further south. We climb out of the city and pass by the site of the Nyanza Genocide Memorial. About five thousand murdered Tutsis are buried there, housed in four mass graves. They had sought refuge in the Don Bosco technical school, but the Belgian soldiers who were supposed to protect them were withdrawn after the brutal murder of ten Belgian paratroopers.

Mostly Tutsis live here, Richard explains, as we cross the horrifyingly peaceful Nyabarongo river. We approach Nyamata, a bustling, lively town. Richard turns right onto a dirt road. It's quarter past twelve when we stop at the Nyamata church – now the Nyamata Genocide Memorial Site.

 

Nyamata Genocide Memorial Site (former Nyamata church)

Rachel will guide us through. She first wants to know which country we are from. Belgium, then. Apparently unaffected, she takes in that answer. But her body language cannot hide it – Belgium still has a lot to make up for here.

Apparently unaffected, she takes in that answer. But her body language cannot hide it – Belgium still has a lot to make up for here

A genocide like that of 1994 does not happen out of nowhere. So Rachel begins her story in 1885, at the Berlin Conference, where Western powers divided Central Africa as they saw fit. The peoples who lived there were not taken into account – they would later find out whose colony they were. Germany was given Rwanda among other territories but had to cede it to Belgium after the First World War.

Germany had governed the area as a protectorate. Belgium immediately turned it into a colony and implemented a policy of divide and rule. The Tutsi minority was favoured, while the Hutu majority was oppressed.

In 1936, the Belgians introduced the Rwandan identity card. The very first item on it was your ethnic origin – Hutu, Tutsi, Twa. A simple administrative measure, the terrible consequences of which would only manifest thirty years later.

From the 1950s, the independence movement gained momentum, as elsewhere in Africa. In Rwanda, this led to independence in 1962. The Hutu came to power, the monarchy was abolished, and the Tutsi elite quickly fled.

An anti-Tutsi atmosphere descended upon the country. Tutsis were systematically discriminated against. Jobs in the military or government administration were denied to them. A quota of 95/5 in favour of the Hutu was applied to higher education.

Meanwhile, Tutsi guerrilla groups from abroad continued to attack the country. Retaliation against Tutsis within the country was the predictable result. Ten to fifteen thousand Tutsis lost their lives. A majority of the Tutsis who managed to escape fled abroad.

The peoples who lived there would later find out whose colony they were

When Tutsis began returning to their country from Uganda in the early 1990s, the Hutu did not welcome them. They set up roadblocks and checked identity cards. Hutus were left alone, while Tutsis were killed, according to Rachel. However, this overlooks the fact that in the meantime, the Rwandan Patriotic Front led by Paul Kagame, a Tutsi and the current president of Rwanda, had also crossed the border by force.

Little by little, the genocide was prepared by the Hutu. Militias like the Interahamwe were trained and armed by the government. Free radios like RTLM played a sinister role, inciting hatred and violence.

When Hutu President Habyarimana's plane was shot down on April 6, 1994, all hell broke loose. A ruthless genocide erupted, and within a hundred days, an estimated 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus were killed.

Within a hundred days, an estimated 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus were killed

Just one day later, ten thousand Tutsis sought refuge here in Nyamata. Initially, they sought refuge in the church building, which they thought was inviolable. Later, they also sought refuge in the surrounding area when the church was full.

On April 13, soldiers appeared on the scene. First, they attacked the refugees on the grounds outside the church with their machetes. Then they turned to the church itself. The entrance was closed off with the sturdy, black metal gate we now stand before. The attackers threw grenades inside, broke through the gate, and killed everyone who was still alive with their machetes. Miraculously, eight people would survive the slaughter.

The bodies would remain there for three months. Today, the church still stands, but the bodies are buried in a mass grave behind the church. Inside and outside, hundreds of bullet holes are still visible on the walls. The traces of grenade fragments are preserved on the ceiling.

We shuffle into the church timidly. The altar, tabernacle, and baptismal font are heavily damaged. The altar cloth still bears traces of blood. Faded clothes of victims are stacked in sad piles on the wooden benches. Involuntarily, images from Auschwitz come to mind.

After the genocide, a crypt was added to the church. About a hundred skulls are laid out under a glass shrine, the traces of machetes prominently visible. Involuntarily, images from the Cambodian Tuol Sleng come to mind.

They had specially come from Kigali for this job

A simple coffin stands there, covered with a white sheet and a plain wooden cross. Inside rest the remains of one of the women who fell victim to another war crime – repeated rape by the soldiers. As if that wasn't enough, she was impaled. A wooden stake was driven through her body via her vagina, reaching up to her shoulders. Here, she represents the many, many women who were victims of similar atrocities.

 

Grave of Sister Tonia Locatelli

With that, our journey through horror is not yet over. Rachel leads us to the back of the church. We pass by the grave of Sister Tonia Locatelli. Two years prior, she had already foreseen the tragedy. She had noticed that more and more Tutsi were being killed in the vicinity of Nyamata. When she informed the international press about it, not everyone appreciated it. On March 9, 1992, she was murdered by members of the Interahamwe, who had specially come from Kigali for this job.

 

Crypt with mass grave for almost 50,000 victims of the genocide

 

Rachel opens one of the shutters to an underground cellar. A staircase leads to a dimly ventilated and illuminated space. Not everyone has the courage to descend into it. Along the narrow corridor, boxes are stacked high, some skulls and bones lying exposed. Each box contains the remains of about twenty victims. In total, these mass graves hold the bodies of 45,308 victims – brutally murdered in Nyamata or elsewhere in the surrounding area.

Murderers and family members of their victims still live side by side in this country

Murderers and family members of their victims still live side by side in this country, in the same villages, in the same neighbourhoods, on the same streets, Rachel confirms.

Back in the church, she insists on leaving a note in the memorial book. It's a request we cannot ignore. We are deeply impressed by this site. We sincerely hope the remembrance of these events and the conservation of this site will contribute to a world where this won’t happen again. It's extremely naive, of course. But still.

It is noon when we reach the Hôtel des Mille Collines in Kigali – the hotel from the movie, the hotel where 1,268 affluent Tutsis found refuge back then. The old, iconic hotel is no more. The place has been renovated and apparently turned into a super-luxurious spot for expats.

Security is taken extremely seriously here. A mirror is rolled under the jeeps to thoroughly inspect the chassis. Both visitors and their luggage must undergo X-ray screening before entering the hotel.

The moment of farewell is approaching. That Uganda and Rwanda are fantastic destinations, that they are safe countries, that tourists are more than welcome there, and that we must loudly proclaim this message to all who will listen back in Belgium – Richard and David cannot emphasize it strongly enough. Their impassioned plea echoes Stephen's plea in Bwindi. As a souvenir, they have brought a little gorilla for each of us.

 

The Hôtel des Mille Collines overlooks Kigali

Just before two o'clock, we begin our final journey, this time to the airport. Two of the three access roads are closed, apparently for security reasons. All vehicles are directed to one access road, where thorough checks are conducted. A dog sniffs around the jeep, soldiers in bulletproof vests check the documents, peer inside the windows, and open the car's suitcases.

It's half past two when we bid a final farewell to Richard and David in front of the airport building. We have come to know them as true professionals in word and deed. Tomorrow they will return to Kampala, a journey of 600 km on a comfortable asphalt road.

Passports and flight documents are checked twice before we can even enter the airport building. And then it goes wrong.

At the check-in counter, it turns out that our names aren't even on the passenger list. It takes quite a bit of arguing – and reportedly some gentle pressure – but an hour and a half later, we are comfortably seated in the boarding area, and shortly after five o'clock, we take off.

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Jaak Palmans
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