I know some of you are expecting to hear the basic “OMG I heart Africa” and “People here are just soooo nice”. That’s not this kind of blog, and I’m not really that person. While people have been incredibly nice, their friendliness is not really what I’m interested in; I want to understand their willingness to forgive. Here’s why:
Reader discretion is advised:
I first learned about the Rwandan genocide at the age of sixteen, in a history unit about all genocides. The aspect that made Rwanda stand out was the use of machetes. A machete is a very large knife used mostly to cut through long grass or trees; but in 1994, they were used to cut through human beings.
This week we traveled to two famous churches where thousands of people once sought safety from inevitable torture and death. Apparently being in ‘the house of God’ doesn’t make much of a difference to brainwashed people with a goal of extermination.
Now, I knew all this. I have seen every documentary and read countless testimonies from survivors and perpetrators. But the thing of genocide is that the gruesome acts just never cease to shock me.
In the room that was once the Sunday School, there was a large area on one of the brick walls that looked like it had been burned. After every adult had been shot or hacked to death, the killers entered this room. They picked up children and babies, and one by one, smashed them against the wall. To this day, the wall remains covered in blood and brain matter.
There is nothing, nothing that could prepare me for standing in that room. But it’s not about me. Bearing witness to the unfathomable atrocities that ACTUALLY HAPPENED is so much more important than my discomfort.