In 2021, while studying at Mount Kenya University Rwanda (MKUR) in one of the course- introductions to print media, we were tasked to trace the history of magazines in Rwanda. Upon researching, I stumbled on the Kangura and Kanguka publications and their role in the 1994 genocide. The latter was an RPF response to the MRND publications. And oh my, with every reading surged feelings of guilt for my once precarious judgements. Everything started to make sense.
The following year, some friends exploring Rwanda asked me to tag along as they planned to visit the Kigali Genocide Memorial. Despite feeling reserved about the matter and a heart that wanted to decline, this was the last piece of the puzzle after countless articles I had read. I had a strong desire to understand everything through my very own eyes. This is famously known as a trait that seems to run through Africans.
To my surprise, the place from the outside looked serene. I had imagined a picture close to a dark forest. Something similar to what we see in horror movies. However, this wasn’t the case. The receptionist was very welcoming, and the environment was quiet to my liking-introverted demons.
She explained that there was no need to pay a single penny to visit the memorial but that, if we wished to, we could leave some donations. The same applied to guiding headsets, whose pricing depended on your profession and country of origin. Being a student and from the East African region, I didn’t pay.
We were then ushered into a small theatre adjacent to the reception to watch testimonies from different survivors. The ambience here was one befitting of a theatre, completed by the widescreen plugged into the wall. “Not bad”, I thought to myself. A statement I withdrew once the screen started playing.
A total of three survivors narrated their story, recounting how life was in their homes before the genocide, to watching their parents and siblings killed by those they called friends. The short film gave ‘Life’ to what I had read from the articles, the magnitude of the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi.
We moved on to the next room, where a large painting stuck on a wall with what looked like a female head covered in blood-like splashes and a ‘Jenoside’ writing at the bottom welcomed us.
In there, taking photos was prohibited, but we were allowed to stay in long enough to
read and internalize everything.
The first wall, with a ‘Before the Genocide’ text written on it, told Rwanda’s story before the tragedy that happened 30 years ago. A nation with people speaking one language and living in total peace and harmony. The pictures of men drumming, mothers breastfeeding, and countless others full of laughter said it all.
This tranquility was eroded by the coming of the Germans in 1895-1916, all through to when the Belgians came to the country, regarded Rwandans as an alien race and classified them as Tutsi, Hutu and Twa. They also introduced Identity cards in 1932 and ranked the Tutsi–any one with ten cows and more–as superior to the other two groups.
Tables turned in 1950 with the introduction of the ‘Hutu Manifesto’ that portrayed the Tutsi as an obstacle to the development of the HUTU, which further divided the country into two: Two nations in a single state.
Although the highlight is on the period from 7th April to July 1994, these walls trace back the Genocide against the Tutsi to 1960, when thousands of Tutsis were relocated to Bugesera, separating them from the rest of the population.
In 1990, the Interahamwe, a HUTU Militia perfected the Genocide ideology, and in 1992, the first genocide was rehearsed in Bugesera-Eastern Rwanda. Reading all this is one thing, but seeing pictures and watching videos of survivors explaining how it all went down is another.
Not to mention the hung weapons below the writings and photos: hoes, guns, axes, and spears, among others that were used during the genocide. It’s too much for one to take in at a go and
more than enough for whoever needs to comprehend and appreciate Rwanda’s resilience.
As you move on, it doesn’t get any better, ‘disturbing’ pictures of women, children, dead bodies, and men holding skulls glued on the walls are all you see. I paced my speed up, hoping to escape from the ‘nightmare’, but alas, the rooms ahead contained human remains exhumed from mass graves, alongside the victims’ belongings: rosaries, wallets, papers with notes written on and keys.
“They might have belonged to men, I thought. They’re the ones who walk with written notes in their wallets.” I couldn’t help thinking of whether they were with their families by the time the perpetrators attacked them or if they were on their way back home to find them. Whatever it was, they didn’t deserve the fate that befell them.
May their souls rest in eternal peace, I whispered as tears rolled down my eyes, remembering the testimony of one of the survivors in the small theatre: the one whose dad was a teacher and the mom a nurse. To him, the Kigali Genocide Memorial is like a home. Because a home is
where your loved ones are.
The Kigali Genocide Memorial (KGM) stands as a solemn testament to the darkest chapter in Rwandan and human history. One that didn’t exclude innocent children less than a year old. And it serves to honor their memory in a room with their photos and detailed information about their names, ages, likes, hobbies, and dreams.
In church, we are always told to forgive, just like how our Father in heaven forgave us, to love one another, even those who hurt us (Romans 12:14). And as a person who’s always said ‘Impossible’, witnessing the immense hurt and sorrows at the memorial site, I couldn’t help but recognize the strength of Rwandans.
Despite all that the nation went through, peace and forgiveness are paramount. A feat preached around the country for unity, reconciliation, and hope in the future and appreciation for the present. Today, survivors share their stories, stressing that what happened should never happen again.
Walking out, I was convinced that KGM is more than a school but a ‘Holy’ place. One that not only teaches you about Rwanda’s history but life as a whole. While there, you learn to appreciate life in all its forms, the value of family and what’s more, its fragility; things can change in just a blink of an eye. Not to mention that if forgiving comes hard for you, the stories of survivors will impart you a lesson or two.
KGM portrays the true definition of light at the end of the tunnel. After all the atrocities displayed in the museum, when you get out, a fresh breeze of air sweeps your face as your eyes feed on the roses from the garden and birds chirping sweet melodies to your ears. Everything one needs after a sorrowful tour.
In addition, there’s a coffee shop with Wi-Fi and a gift shop named ‘Ubuntu’, where you can
buy yourself books to read more about the 1994 genocide and survivors’ testimonies,
among other things.
