RE-ENGINEERING RWANDA

IN REHANA'S WORDS

Sunday, 8 December

Jeanette, who had one of the best set of eyes in my creative writing class and who is continuing to provide excellent feedback on the blog, wrote in her latest email that she hopes “Rwanda is proving the best country yet”. Despite my attempts to open my heart and learn from their experiences, Rwandans are creeping me out and I can’t wait to leave the country.

If we were like most tourists to Rwanda, and came here to see the gorillas, we might have been charmed. Instead we are transfixed by the killers, their victims and the former guerillas who are exacting retribution on the entire nation.

After people get over the shock of two women in a Landcruiser pulling into their towns and villages, one of the first questions they ask – after they ascertain whether we have permission from our husbands for this trip – is why we’re driving across Africa. Our stock answer is “we’re coming to visit you”.

Rwandans are hard to visit. The language barrier is huge, one of the most difficult to surmount in all the countries we’ve visited. French is better understood despite the government switching to English five years ago, joining the Commonwealth and establishing a cricket board. Some young children can greet us and tell us their names, but that’s about it when we try to engage outside of the formal tourism establishment.  

We were warned that it would be difficult to connect with locals and impossible to discuss with them what happened 20 years ago. Even worse, I find it hard to make eye contact with people. Many look at the ghost standing alongside me when we talk, even when I’m not asking difficult questions.

So far, the few conversations we’ve had with Rwandans about the genocide have been fruitless. One of them managed to change the subject when I deliberately raised the issue of the genocide five times during our short conversation. They are immediately on the defensive, and two Rwandans changed the topic to crime in South Africa, saying how terrified they are when they visit our country.

I can’t see how they can equate our violent crime with their brutality. At the Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre I learned that some Hutu killers first raped their Tutsi neighbours and their young daughters, then slashed their Achilles tendons and elbows with machetes before throwing them into pit latrines to drown ... slowly.

Yes, I know that a six-week-old baby was recently raped in South Africa, but nowhere in my country did a priest open the doors of his church to hundreds of people fleeing in terror and then call in the killers after he had locked them inside. Nowhere in South Africa were tens of thousands of bodies left to rot in the sun while the killers strolled to the village down the road to exterminate most of its population.

We had planned to visit the Nyarubuye Church as well, where 20 000 people were killed. We naively thought that we’d only go to three memorial sites in a country littered with them.  But we can’t visit the church. We can’t put ourselves through three memorials in one week. It’s too hard and I’m quite happy to be branded a coward. Better to admire the stunning landscape.

So far I’ve learned nothing useful from the people of Rwanda about how to live with evil in your midst. All I’ve discovered is that, should we ever allow a president to become a dictator, we will be able to put a lid on discussion about the past.

After we visited the skulls of Bisesero and the genocide memorial centre I found myself sighing for hours afterwards. When I caught Julia sighing I realised why we were doing it: we had no words to describe what we had seen and we were trying to release the poison that had seeped inside us.

This is how I live in South Africa: I read about a baby being raped and for a few days afterwards I look at men in the street and wonder “are you capable of that?” After I hear about a brutal burglary I pull my car over and wait when two men or more are passing my house, before I open my garage doors. That paranoia usually wears off after I get tired of living in fear.

In Rwanda, I wonder about everyone I meet: are you a survivor, a victim, a perpetrator; has your entire family been wiped out; has a damaged human being raised you; are you capable of love? 
Are you a perpetrator who was sentenced to 10 years or less for a crime against humanity? Aren’t you scared of living amongst people capable of such evil? Aren’t you scared that the racial poison that caused the genocide is being fed to the next generation? Why are you having so many children? Is it an insurance against the next wave of murder? Are you all tired of living in fear, like I am?

You have to wonder. At the memorial centre they had a section dedicated to some other genocides. Rwanda’s was the only one perpetrated by civilians rather than soldiers, the only one in which there was little or no attempt to bury the bodies and cover up the crime.

So how to relax and be a tourist in Rwanda? Do you decide to only visit the gorillas and the places of beauty and ignore the many sad places that mark the genocide? And after you’ve seen just how evil the genocide was, how do you ignore it and have a good time? 
I’m so glad we started our travels in Rwanda with trips to the volcanoes and the lake.

IN JULIA'S WORDS

The Kigali Genocide Memorial has fine brick buildings and a coffee shop. Rehana and I, after getting lost as you must in Kigali, a city with inscrutable hieroglyphics substituting for useful road names, arrive at the arch marking the entrance to the memorial. 

Like the police who met us at the Ugandan border, the uniformed man and woman treat us with curt, aggressive contempt, clearly graduates of the School of Fascism that the forces all attend. Turn the car off, get out, stand here, we’re now searching your bag, what are you here for, ok, go now. 
They were the first we met on the verge of a memorial we were anxious about witnessing – going to a place that attempts to recognise, explain, capture a group pursuit that defies comprehension (or, rather you wish it defied comprehension). We know, all of us, what humans are capable of. But ….. this?!?!?!?

Rehana and I felt as soothed by the Rwandan police at the memorial as we would have had a Nazi welcomed us to a concentration camp's gas chamber.
Worse, the exhibition is full of flaws. An easy one to spot is that it’s 10 years out of date. Another is that it follows the official Kagame (that would be the Rwandan president, for the last 13 years) line that the genocide was a one-way slaughter of Tutsis by Hutus – no mention of atrocities by Tutsis against Hutus. 

One of the first panels in the exhibition is about Belgian colonialisation, blaming the administrative system for tampering with existing ethnic differences in a way that made them dangerous. 
They also blame the church for asserting that the Tutsis were descendants of the Biblical Ham and had wandered down to settle on what had been Hutu-land.  It all amounts to a failed narrative that both distorts the facts and infers culpability without solid evidence.
One part of the exhibit has glib tripe about learning from past mistakes and never letting it happen again. And yet, the section on “Propoganda”, which attributes much power to the persuasion of radio to the neighbour-killing-neighbour blood frenzy, describes exactly the tightly controlled media that is enforced by Kagame’s own government. 
The only clear difference is that the media doesn’t demand that listeners “do the work” (the phrase used by the Hutus on the radio to galvanise the extermination of Tutsi neighbours, friends, families).
So much for a people who have reflected and learnt. In a way, it seems the government’s iron-fist fascism suits the people. I think they are afraid not only of each other, but of themselves. 
They have done, and seen, the disgrace of humanity. At least their terror of state violence keeps that impulse in check today.

How glad I am to be away from there. Here in Mwanza, Tanzania, Kingfishers are alight and adark on Lake Vic’s old waters. A ladle of peace after Rwanda’s noxious brew.

From darkness to the light

IN REHANA'S WORDS

Sunday, 15 December

In Kigali we fell into the most comforting arms we’ve encountered since we left home. We met Priya and Viresh at a dinner last Saturday where a few South Africans came to share their thoughts about Madiba. A few minutes after we met they invited us to move into their house.

Getrude Fester – who looks just the same as when we were battling apartheid – organised the dinner, despite being in the middle of packing up her life in Rwanda.

We took turns telling our Madiba stories. Gertrude told about of one of her many kisses from the great man. Jules spoke about growing up without hearing his name but being a proud mlungu at the FNB stadium for his first Joburg rally after his release and at the Union Buildings for his inauguration. I told the table about celebrating Madiba’s 75^th birthday inside Pollsmoor Prison, a few meters away from where he – and Gertrude – were being held.

The next day we moved into Viresh and Priya’s home in Nyarutarama, where the diplomats and the Kigali high flyers live. Viresh is first secretary at the South African High Commission and Priya is studying for her MBA (she already has a medical degree!)

Viresh, our fascinating and generous host

Not only did we have two kinds of curry for Sunday lunch, we also had the most delicious home made MILK TART. Their two precocious children, Juhi (6) and Megha (3) latched onto Julia immediately – as all children always do.

For the first time since we left home in April we lived with a family, enjoyed huge dollops of South African hospitality (we had PRAWN CURRY and HOME MADE roti) a mattress that gave us absolutely no trouble and access to a WASHING MACHINE. Excuse my continued use of capital letters, but my family will understand – I had a BATH for the first time in months.

Living with South Africans made marking Mandela’s death much easier. Priya took us to the High Commission’s office to sign the book of condolences. 
We went to Ambassador George Twala’s house to watch the memorial service on a floor-to-ceiling screen. While the rest of the audience observed all the protocols, Jules and I were the peanut gallery, hosing with laughter and booing when required.

We even went to a Rotary Club meeting where Juhi was one of several cute children to read Mandela quotes.

Juhi signing the book of condolences

Madiba’s death made me very homesick. Where else would a revered leader be buried with so much laughter about an interpreter’s blunders and Mac Maharaj’s whitewash of the booing of Jacob Zuma as static on a microphone? Where else will “intelligence” services fail so many world leaders by putting an alleged murderer on the stage with them?

Despite living in the lap of luxury, we could not be persuaded to stay longer. Had our car not needed repairs, I would have left Rwanda hours after visiting the genocide memorial. 
All of our city stops have been stressful so far, but Kigali was by far the worst. I reached the point where I wanted to drive to the airport, get on a plane and be home in four hours.

Besides the horror and resulting terror of our genocide tourism, everything was hard to achieve in the city. Julia’s bank card got swallowed by an ATM (the first time on this trip), the mechanics fixing our car made two things worse for every one thing they fixed. 
Getting anywhere was a nightmare as there are no addresses in Kigali. People say they are next to somewhere or down the road from someplace else. If you don’t know any landmarks, you’re stuffed.

Kigali was, by far, the most expensive place we’ve been. We paid a premium for our mouldy guesthouse room, petrol was pricey (thank goodness the country is tiny) and the cost of food was prohibitive. We tried to stock up on a few provisions on our last day but I gave up when I saw that the “special” on chicken was the equivalent of R60 each for skinny drumsticks and thighs.

Crossing into Tanzania again was a huge relief. We were greeted with broad smiles, complimented for our smattering of Swahili and jokingly asked if we wanted to apply for permanent residence.

We’re parked 10 steps from the southern waters of Lake Victoria. Our campsite 7km outside the city of Mwanza has all the requisites for a beach holiday: a stretch of water extending as far as the eye can see, dhows skimming across the horizon, lapping waves, white sand, palm trees, fish eagles and kingfishers diving into the water.

We also have wifi, DSTV to watch Madiba being laid to rest and hot water for showers and dishwashing. We need a break from travelling. I think we’ve found it.

See no evil in Rwanda. There is much beauty to gawk at

FINAL THOUGHTS ON RWANDA

1.     You can rewrite the history of anything – even a genocide – and legislate that only your version be believed, but it probably isn’t in the best interests of your nation’s psyche. You can legislate to ensure that the entire nation and foreign guests put their hands on their hearts and swear loyalty to the president every time they gather; that they come to a standstill and put their hands on their hearts whenever the national anthem is played; that they clean the streets and exercise for a stipulated number of hours each week – but it looks creepy.

2.     Of all the countries we’ve visited so far, Rwanda has the fewest NGO billboards and beggars. Seems the western world has gotten over their guilt for doing nothing to stop the mass slaughter and fled in the face of renewed assassinations of political opponents. USAid and the UN are still there; we saw their cars parked at every lodge we visited.

3.     Rwanda gets good press. For years I believed their economy was booming and that they were the IT capital of Africa. For the first two weeks in the country I counted less than 10 cars in private ownership on the roads. Believe me, I counted. It was weird how few there were. There is little visible foreign investment in the country, except for MTN and the slow Internet sucks. Remarkably, I saw not one hardworking Chinese person in three weeks. Rwandans produce miniature bananas, the biggest crop in an economy in which agriculture is the biggest sector. They’re sweet and very cheap, but not likely to be sought after on export markets.

4.     Rwanda was just placed second in the ease of doing business in Africa index. The country has no addresses. If you can’t find a business how can you do business with it? Rwandans killed most of their educated and technically skilled people 20 years ago and put the intelligent psychotics who masterminded this behind bars. How can you do business with a nation stripped of technical skills and work experience? We found it hard to get the smallest things done while we were there.

5.     Since we left home, I’d found myself incredibly attached to countries as we departed and wondering whether we should stay longer. Zimbabwe and Rwanda are the only exceptions. During the drive to the Tanzanian border I noticed the glaring absence of cattle. The verdant hills had smoothed out a bit and the land looked perfect for the symbol of Tutsi wealth – Ankole cattle. It is completely understandable that Rwandans killed almost all their dogs and have not replaced them, they had fed on the bodies left rotting on the streets 20 years ago. But they haven’t replaced the hundreds of thousands of cattle killed by the Interahamwe, and that’s weird. A few metres across the border back into Tanzania we came across herds of long-horned cattle being driven by skinny boys and yellow dogs. Boy, was I glad to have Rwanda behind me.