Love each other

Today we visited two more genocide memorials. Each site has been more horrifying than the last.

This first site was a small church. Tutsis gathered there, seeking refuge from the Hutus who were pursuing them. 5,000 people were murdered in and around the church buildings. As we walked into the main church, I involuntarily wrapped my arms around myself, as if I could hold myself together. On the back walls were shelves of skulls and bones. Hanging in the rafters and on the walls were the clothes of everyone who had died here. The bodies had been left to rot, but when there were only bones left, the bones were collected and buried or set on display, and the clothing was left for us to see. The walls had big holes that were from grenades. I found myself trying to picture a room packed with screaming people, as parents, siblings and friends were slaughtered. Only ten people survived, they hid under the bodies of the dead until the attackers thought the job was finished. Behind the main church was a Sunday school classroom that still had a big blood stain on the wall. The small building next to it was filled with debris. Only the bones had been removed after the people had been burnt to death. Making my way around the room I kept spotting little things like a piece of a mattress, a shoe polishing brush. I wonder about the lives of each person killed. I wonder who they would be today.

We drove a few minutes to another church. This one was a lot bigger. It was brand new when the genocide happened. The lady to spoke to us outside about what we would see was one of the ten survivors from the other site. I can't imagine reliving it every day. We walked in to see rows of pews piled high with clothing. For a while the bodies had been left of the floor and visitors had to walk on the pews to get around the church, but they had decided to collect the bones and bury them, and just leave the clothing for us to see. At this site, 10,000 people were killed. The walls were stained where babies were repeatedly smashed against the walls until they died. The cloth covering the altar was stained with blood from the pregnant mothers that were killed on it. There were steps down to a burial chamber for one woman who was raped and then impaled with a stick that was shoved from her private parts up through her mouth. She was buried in memory of all the women who we killed in such a way. There was a hole in the wall where a man hid his head for three days so that he would look like one of the dead. We sat down and reflected on what we were seeing until we were ushered to the back.

Behind the church we saw the concrete covers of the mass graves. There was a grave for an Italian missionary who had lived nearby. She had tried to get the world to notice what was happening by speaking on the radio and writing letters, but the Rwandan found out and killed her. There were stairs leading into the tombs so we went down to check them out. The first one was filled with caskets stacked up over our heads and just a little path for walking. I went down into the second tomb and it was like walking into a nightmare. I went cold with shock and fear. As I descended and turned to the right, I walked down a pathway lined with shelves of skulls and bones. I've seen skulls on the discovery channel or in school, but there is no comparison to being in a dark tomb surrounded by the crushed and burnt skulls of thousands of innocent people who were brutally murdered. People who would still be alive today, if it wasn't for hatred and discrimination. Once again, we were all quiet on the ride home. I was really surprised at myself for not crying. Tears were just beneath the surface, but for some reason they wouldn't come out. I think the reason I wasn't able to cry today was because (as Susan pointed out), I have never experienced this kind of emotion before. I was sad, but I was also absolutely horrified, confused and not wanting to believe that it really happened. I think crying would help me feel better, so I hope that once I have processed all of this I will be able to.

I think it is important for people to visit memorials like these, even if they are so disturbing. It was such a good reminder to love one another. Don't let differences divide neighbors from each other. Genocides like these don't just happen, their roots are deep. It always starts somewhere. Let's all do a better job of appreciating each other, and celebrating differences. Let's practice love, so that this kind of tragedy doesn't happen again.