I was in Rwanda several years back. If you knew me then, you know that I was somewhat obsessed with that country and its history and its beautiful people. While I was there I wrote a lot and posted all of those writings on a blog. It is timokeefe.blogspot.com.
While we know hunger in this country, Rwanda really knows
hunger. While we have racial
issues in this country – to this day, Rwanda was nearly destroyed by ethnic
violence. Over one million people
were killed there in a hundred days.
It was 20 years ago.
Most of us don’t know a lot about the Rwandan genocide. Our government told lies about it and
did not act when they should have.
The O. J. Simpson trial of the century bought off our attention for the
news. And, after all, Rwanda is in
Africa. Put simply, if it doesn’t
affect us directly, most Americans don’t care about Africa.
What struck me most about my trip there and all of my
readings and my acquaintance with the beautiful Rwandan people, especially
Immaculee Illibagiza (author of Left To
Tell) and our photographer/driver/translator/friend Richard, was their
resilience.
Today, while Rwanda still has its problems, it is one of the
most peaceful, safest, most beautiful countries in all of Africa. Incredible as it seems, the people have
moved dramatically toward forgiving each other for the violence and murder of
just two decades ago. It is
nothing less than miraculous.
When I think of my time there, I think of verdant green
hills and mountains, and the genocide memorial in Kigali, the mountain gorillas
we hung out with in Virunga Park, and the little church in Ntarama where so
many people were killed in one single event during the genocide. The scars of the survivors, the smiles
on the children, the sunrises so beautiful they made me cry, and the stories of
survival, the hard relentless work, the mass I heard in English – the priest’s
very first, and our visit to Mother Teresa’s Orphanage where they never turn
anyone away.
There is no particular reason I came back to Rwanda for this
blog. Maybe I need to just because
those memories are slipping away.
And I never want to forget those people, that precious time.
I'll include some photos from my trip, and a blog post I wrote back in September of that year, the words taken directly from my notebook that I obsessively recorded in while I was there. I will come back to Rwanda from time to time. I don't want to forget.
Children from the school at Ntarama.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 2007
Chopping Wood/That is Rwanda
Wednesday 7/3/07 8:00 PM
I didn’t get to finish my thoughts on Mother Teresa’s orphanage. Just one more before I forget. There were about half a dozen guyschopping firewood for cooking in a big open area inside the compound at the orphanage. Somehow they managed to haul in some huge logs. They looked like cedar but smelled different. Three feet across. Really hard wood. It was a hot and sticky day. The men were working with machetes and really dull looking hand axes. The axes had pipes for handles. Hot. Hard work. The kind of work that would have taken about an hour in the US with chainsaws and splitting equipment. Six guys. Chipping away at tree trunks with machetes. That’s like a metaphor for how things are done in Rwanda. This scene stays with me. They had their shirts off. Their dark bodies were glistening with sweat. They were relentless. We were there for about an hour and when we came out they were still chipping away with machetes and these tiny axes, hatchets really.
Then a puff of cool breeze came. Almost as one the men stopped their labor, closed their eyes and sort of leaned into the breeze. Little smiles came to their faces. Just that little pause. That tiny sip of refreshment. Then, just as quickly as it arose, the breeze left and the men went back to work. Sleek. No body fat. Thin and muscular. Determined. Uncomplaining. Facing a limitless task – That is Rwanda.
I didn’t get to finish my thoughts on Mother Teresa’s orphanage. Just one more before I forget. There were about half a dozen guyschopping firewood for cooking in a big open area inside the compound at the orphanage. Somehow they managed to haul in some huge logs. They looked like cedar but smelled different. Three feet across. Really hard wood. It was a hot and sticky day. The men were working with machetes and really dull looking hand axes. The axes had pipes for handles. Hot. Hard work. The kind of work that would have taken about an hour in the US with chainsaws and splitting equipment. Six guys. Chipping away at tree trunks with machetes. That’s like a metaphor for how things are done in Rwanda. This scene stays with me. They had their shirts off. Their dark bodies were glistening with sweat. They were relentless. We were there for about an hour and when we came out they were still chipping away with machetes and these tiny axes, hatchets really.
Then a puff of cool breeze came. Almost as one the men stopped their labor, closed their eyes and sort of leaned into the breeze. Little smiles came to their faces. Just that little pause. That tiny sip of refreshment. Then, just as quickly as it arose, the breeze left and the men went back to work. Sleek. No body fat. Thin and muscular. Determined. Uncomplaining. Facing a limitless task – That is Rwanda.
