Pictures

I am continually adding pictures to my Picasa web album, so keep checking back for new additions!

www.picasaweb.google.com/sarahdoyle14

I'm working on getting more shots of my community, but because Rwandans are so private they tend to get nervous when you go to take pictures. The plan is to wake up very early at some point and run out into the street and start snapping away, but that's easier said than done at 6 AM when my bed is a lot more appealing then looking like the crazy American running around with a camera.

Reflections on a Week of National Mourning - Icyunamo

So icyunamo, the week of mourning to commemorate the Rwandan Genocide against the Tutsis, has come and gone and I’m sorry I haven’t taken the chance to comment on it sooner. Starting on April 7^th, the day after that the President’s plane was shot down in 1994, which many say was the signal for the start of the genocide, until the 13^th, every city, town, and village in Rwanda spent at least a couple hours every afternoon discussing issues surrounding the genocide and development in Rwanda since ’94. As I’m sure you all know, in 1994 800,000 Tutsis were killed by Hutus over a period of 100 days. Thousands of people were massacred by the machete-wielding hands of their neighbors, husbands, family, and other members of their community. Hutu husbands who had married Tutsi wives murdered the women and their children. Priests harbored Tutsis in churches throughout the country and then directed the interhamwe and Hutu militias to the churches to kill them all. French soldiers were supposed to be here as a humanitarian force, but instead checked the Rwandans’ identity cards and directed Tutsis towards their Hutu killers. It’s a tragic history, which I cannot begin to recount in this blog post, but if you have any questions, I’d be happy to direct you towards some excellent sources.

In Ruhuha, the town where I live, the genocide had a profound effect on the community, so there were many events that were unique to the community throughout the week. On the 7^th, all of the villages lined up at the top of the hill in town and marched to the Catholic Church where mass was said to remember the 700 Tutsis that were massacred in the church. The lone survivor (I was told she was the only survivor, but do not know how true that is) then stood and bravely told her story about militias searching the classrooms for people hiding in the ceiling and how they surrounded the church and killed everyone inside. The woman I was with pointed out the wife of the man who took charge of killing all the Tutsi children in the area, another woman who spent 12 years in prison for killing but was released when she started to tell authorities where they buried and threw bodies, a woman who was Tutsi and wasn’t killed because the militiamen thought she was beautiful and instead gang raped her every day-she now has full-blown AIDS, and an older man whose entire family was massacred. All of these people were coexisting together. Hutus sitting with Tutsis. Perpetrators sitting with survivors.

 It is difficult as an outsider to understand the reconciliation process, but somehow, at least publicly, ethnicity has been cast aside and everyone is Rwandan. Despite what is said, ethnicity is still present under the surface and Hutus and Tutsis still have strong opinions against one another. I have only been here for six months and do not want to comment on it too much, but as I acquire a better understanding of the continuing presence and dynamic of ethnicity in Rwanda, I will post about it.

From the church we all walked to the Genocide Memorial at the Ruhuha Sector office. I had been there the week before for umuganda when we worked to cut the grass, weed, and clean the memorial to prepare for the ceremonies. On umuganda Saturday, the memorial was open and I looked inside to see rows and rows of skulls. On the 7^th, I tried to get a figure for the number of people buried there and got estimates of 10-20 thousand. At the memorial, we listened to the President’s address to the nation. Then survivors along with all the religious leaders, the Mayor of Bugesera, and all local leaders placed flowers on the memorial and the day was over.

That was Thursday. On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday we had afternoon meetings in the village to discuss different issues like the history of the genocide and its definition, economic development since ’94, education and health care, and many other things. One thing that was missing was a discussion of ethnicity- the cause of the genocide and a continuing underlying problem in Rwanda. I understand why the government doesn’t want to continue discussing this issue – everyone is Rwandan – but based on side discussions, it appears that there is still deep resentment and many parents are passing their ethnic identities and ideas on to their children. Furthermore, ethnicity and the genocide cannot be discussed at schools, except for between a headmaster and a student. So nowhere in Rwanda has there been a continued discussion on ethnicity and the damage it can cause. While understanding why, I found this very frustrating along with the fact that in general there were no discussions about any of the issues. In every village, the government provided a text to be presented to the members of the village, so every day in every village in Rwanda, the same text was presented to the communities, but unfortunately in mine, the people accepted all of the information and no discussion took place. Granted, most of the info was pretty basic, but there was no deep interest in the issues or how it applied to Ruhuha. Critical thinking is a challenge for adults and children alike in Rwanda, but that is neither here nor there and I’m sure I’ll talk about it more in the future.

                On Sunday, I found out that on Monday there would be a burial of remains that had recently been recovered. Because of that, all night on Sunday, there was a traditional mourning period where everyone came together at the Sector offices at 8 PM and stayed until morning to remember those who had died. We watched videos of victims; people sang songs; and survivors told their stories as a bonfire blazed and people huddled together for warmth and comfort. One woman discussed how she was the only survivor from her family and had gone out into the streets after a couple of days to find food and no one would give her any food or water because she was Tutsi. Another talked about fleeing her family’s killers. The hardest part of the night was when one woman broke down while another woman told her story. The woman was young and had a baby in her lap, but something sparked a flashback to the traumatic events that she had experienced and she went crashing to the grown, sending the baby to the dirt. She howled blood-curdling screams – screams like I had never heard before and hope to never hear again. She was paralyzed by trauma. A woman took her baby and some men came and picked her up off the grown and helped her to a building. She couldn’t stand and her feet dragged behind her as she continued to scream. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I sat there shaking, not quite sure how to react. This breakdown sparked small outbursts from other people sitting around me. But together, everyone supported one another and the woman whose story sparked the flashback continued with her story. The woman’s screams could be heard from the building until an ambulance came to get her about an hour later. I eventually went home and digested everything I had heard and seen in preparation for what would come at the burial the following morning.

                Monday morning I went to the memorial where the burial ceremony would take place. In true Rwandan form, the ceremony that was supposed to start at 9 didn’t start until 11. It started with twelve men carrying out two coffins filled with the remains of twenty people. Tutsis were not simply murdered, many were butchered and the different pieces were often scattered so only small parts are usually recovered. The presentation of the coffins sparked a very strong and sobering emotional response from the thousands of people that had gathered. The families of those who were to be buried presented flowers and then the leaders of every religious denomination said a prayer. The pastor of ADEPR, the church where I used to leave, stood and told his story – I had no idea he was a survivor. He talked about fleeing Kigali before the massacres started and sleeping in banana fields and the murder of his father. He talked about running through the rain because that was the time when militias sought cover and the killings stopped for a bit. He talked about laying on the ground under the leaves and palm fronds and the killers stepping right over him. Finally, he talked about running through the valleys at night until he finally reached Burundi, where he stayed for many years. His wife, a teacher at my school, is also a survivor and she and her family were there to bury a member. The Catholic priest said their final rights and blessed the coffins with holy water before they were brought to the memorial and laid to rest. The choir sang a beautiful burial song in Kinyarwanda – I was told the lyrics, but I don’t remember. After the burial, many speeches were given and then we were all sent home. Again, the ceremony was marked by many breakdowns and the ambulance came about four or five times to take those who were traumatized to the health center. Many towns did not have burials – they did not recover any new bodies over the last year – but I feel lucky to have been able to experience not just the burial, but the mourning rituals the night before. After spending my senior year at Hopkins writing a thesis about France’s role in the Rwandan genocide, I am thankful to have been given the opportunity to experience icyunamo with my community in a very positive and peaceful manner – peace is not something that has been guaranteed in past years.

                I could tell more stories I heard about survivors and how some are still being psychologically tortured by their families’ killers (receiving notes saying it will soon be their turn to die, or people pounding on their walls at night to scare them), but I’d rather end this post with my thanks to my community. During a very difficult week of mourning and personal struggles, many people opened up to tell me their stories or to translate or just try their best in simple Kinyarwanda to explain what was going on. I feel very lucky to have a new community that really wants to include me as best they can and help me navigate not just icyunamo, but Rwandan life in general. If I have dirt on my clothes they try to wash it off immediately (it’s no good to have dirty clothes, no matter how poor you are). If I have peanuts in my teeth, they don’t hesitate to tell me (personal appearance is so important). If they know I like limes or green beans, they go to the farm and bring me some back. If they know I want a certain style outfit, they find me fabric and take me to the seamstress (I’ll have a new pants and tunic outfit next Friday). If they know I like sports, they ask me to go to the women’s community aerobics class to meet more women (first class is tomorrow so I’ll let you know how it goes). I am so happy in Ruhuha and thoroughly enjoy being considered an umunyarwanda kazi (Rwandan woman) by other community members and experiencing all of the happy and sad moments that come with that title.

Life as a Teacher - The Joys of Vacation

Who knew that teachers looked forward to vacation more than the students? Well, after twelve weeks of teaching, reviewing, testing, and grading, I am extremely happy to be on vacation for three weeks. I teach English to all of S1 and all of S2, which is the equivalent of teaching every student in grades 7 and 8, but with bigger classes. My S1 classes average about 65 students and S2 averages around 50, so in total I have nearly 500 students. Not only is grading homework compositions a pain, but grading a comprehensive term exam is the farthest thing from a cake-walk. Don’t get me wrong, I love teaching, but I have found it very difficult to get to know the students and form a positive relationship with them since I just pop in and out of their class 2 hours every week. Anyways, after a week of proctoring exams (and catching 3 students cheating) and grading, there was a week to fill out report cards and then we were free to relax. On the last day of the term, there was a ceremony with the parents where all the teachers introduced themselves and we announced the top 5 students in each class. From there, the administration took us to a restaurant and we celebrated the end of the term and had a constructive conversation about challenges and possible solutions in both the primary and secondary school.

                So now, the first week of vacation has just come to a close, during which I did a lot of nothing. I’ve really gotten sucked into The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo series, so after a week, I’m on the third book. I had a sleepover with the other girls from my group who live in Bugesera District, which was a nice break, but on Thursday, April 7^th, Genocide Memorial Week, or icyunamo in Kinyarwanda, started and every day since then has been occupied by various events and discussions. I do not want to devote too much time to Memorial week because I plan to write a whole blog post on it when it ends Wednesday, but for now I’ll say that I have been very impressed by how Rwanda has chosen to celebrate such a horrific event and rather than looking at what happened, they focus on all the progress that has been made since ’94. Expect a full post Tuesday or Wednesday about my thoughts on Memorial Week.

                Once Memorial Week ends, I will be venturing eastward for a couple of days to visit Akagera Park and go on a safari before heading all the way west to Kibuye, for one week of training with all the other PCVs from my group. I’m really looking forward to IST (in-service training) since I’ve only seen a handful of people since arriving at site. It’s also a time when we can all relax among Americans and just spend some time being “American” outside the microscopes that we live under at site. Though I love site and I’m slowly getting to know people in my new community, I am expected to abide by Rwandan cultural norms, which can sometimes pose a challenge for a young American girl. Unlike the guys, by 6:30 PM, when it gets dark, I have to be in my house for the night. I can’t be seen drinking alcohol. I’m a single girl living alone, which always leads to the “why don’t you take a Rwandan husband?” questions. So, after three months of being as Rwandan as I can, a week of training with 60-ish other Americans sounds like a good break. 

An Overdue Thank You

After much complaining and a few harassing emails from Mom, I have sat down this morning to fill you all in on what has been going on. But first, I must rectify an issue that has been raised: my not thanking my mother publicly for all of her help during my mini life crises a couple of months ago. Despite the fact that her solving my problems while abroad or traveling is nothing new, it was a minor miracle that she was able to replace all of my things as quickly as she did and ship them to my Country Director, who was home on vacation and was kind enough to bring as many things back as she could. The Director joked when I met her in Kigali that she’s having my mom pack for her next time because of the number of things that she was able to squeeze into every crevice of every package. This is nothing new for Mom. In high school I went off to Colorado with two left sneakers (they looked the same when I was packing!) and when I realized this it was the day before we were going white-water rafting, so sure enough Mom had to overnight me a right sneaker. Then there was the time in England when I threw my wallet away at a soccer field and she had to send me money. Then of course, let’s not forget the time when I went backpacking in Europe and went to make copies of my credit cards before we left and realized at the airport that I had left them on the copier at home. You guessed it, another overnight package was sent to my hostel in Paris. So as you all can see, I am not an easy daughter to send off on trips around the world, but luckily my mother just sighs when I say I’m off to a new destination and prepares for the worst. Well, the closest thing to the worst happened here in Rwanda and rather than dwelling on the crises at hand, the credit card was taken out and everything was replaced. So in summary, thanks Mom for all your help, but remember, it’s only been about 6 months…I have 21 more to go, so get excited J