Human dignity
posted by: Nick Lowles | on: Monday, 9 November 2009, 15:47
On one April morning, in 1994, the militia attacked. Grenades were thrown through windows. For the almost 12,000 people huddled into the Church of Saint Jean, praying at a special mass, there was no escape. The Hutu militia, known as the Interahamwe, backed up by police and army units, had surrounded the church and were determined to ensure no one survived. Those who dared leave the church were shot on sight. Eventually the Interahamwe entered the church and, picking through the bodies of those who had already died, butchered those who remained.
Over 11,400 people were killed on this one day. It was by no means the worst atrocity of the Rwandan genocide, yet the memorial that marks the onslaught is very different from most of those that literally litter the scarred country. There are no bodies, no skulls or even bullet holes – like at so many others. The church has been cleaned, repaired and is now in use again.
What marks this church out are the beautiful stained-glass windows, obviously put in since the massacre. They were paid for by relatives of those who perished here as a mark of respect to their loved ones. To me this church reminds us of the hatred people are capable of, but also the resilience and dignity.
Of all the memorials and genocide sites that I have visited since I have been here, this has certainly had the most profound effect on me.
My first week in Rwanda has mixed travelling with work. After a couple of days in the capital, Kigali, I headed out into rural Rwanda to areas that are certainly off the beaten track. While Kigali is undergoing massive change – with new hotels, a shopping centre and even high rise tower blocks sprouting up – life in much of the countryside appears to have changed little. In three days travelling through small villages I did not see a domestic vehicle. Power appeared at a minimum and many houses consisted of little more than a living room with a low table but nothing else and a second room that was used as a bedroom.
I even managed a quick trip into Congo but that did not go according to plan as we ended up being held in a police station for a few hours after being caught by plain clothes police taking a photo of a street sign. They claimed that I needed a special permit, though were not able to produce any evidence that such a permit was required or even existed, and suggested we could buy our freedom by oiling their palms with several hundred dollars. We stood our ground and after an amusing telephone call with a fictitious British Ambassador, whom we informed the local police chief was going to ring him personally, we were released.
Posted: 9 Nov 2009 | There are 0 comments
You can comment on this article here (All fields required)
