RWANDA-A journey withiN

Rwanda

Walking into Hotel des Mille Collines in Rwanda was a trip back in history. As the world watched the genocide of 1994 and as one million people died one kind man Paul Rusesabagina kept some thousand odd people safe in this hotel. A slice of history came my way- Hotel Rwanda or Hotel des Mille Collines

Treading in different parts of the hotel my curiosity was awakened and I quickly browsed the movies and documentaries made on the genocide and my best pick was a documentary called Trees of peace.

It made me sit up and think about the resilience of people especially women who saved themselves, from getting butchered in the genocide. Being holed up in the basement of an apartment for almost 90 odd days, makes an impressive human story and also made me wonder about these steely women of Rwanda who steered through many travails during the tough times.

I was curious for more. I headed towards the genocide museum. It had me sobbing; my head swam when I actually understood what had happened. It was a mine of information by way of pictures, documentaries, clippings, and handwritten records. A beehive of emotions got kicked off in the auditorium at the butchery, for each one had a story to tell, a tale of horror and tragedy. I experienced a coldness that made me numb, especially going to a patch of green outside the museum, dedicated to the victims. It is like a shrine where the visitors offer their respects and kind thoughts.

Interacting with people who faced the onslaught of the genocide, I realized how women survived tales of torture; listened to stories of isolation and hiding for three-four months in tiny spaces with just one another, sharing one another’s ordeal-scarcity of food and water, personal sufferings, emotional flab and other grievances in relationships and families, thereby counseling and helping one another. They enabled a channeling of emotions thereby changing that into a source of strength. To navigate any clouding emotions with purpose can be enabling for both the parties and probably this helped them to sustain isolation. Ably sustained by the story in Trees of peace where a young girl, a matronly woman, and a middle order bunch had so much to lend and borrow from one another in very tough time, which also gets us to an interesting factor, that a woman can be a woman’s best friend. They inspire each other to talk share confess and discard the emotional blockades.

I somehow felt that women have been the epitome of strength and forbearance in Rwanda and still carry this tradition of resolve, temperance, even today. Strong and invincible they walk around with a shiny smile as the babies are strapped on their backs.

Endowed with elegance and grace and equipped with a brisk pace, a typical Kigali morning scene is that of women rushing from one end to the other holding their children’s wrist with an iron grip, bags slung over their shoulders. The young ones are tied behind their back in a fabric that cuddles and secures the baby. This incredible magnetism is apparent in their steady gaze. There is grace and confidence, no female docility and subservience.

It was overwhelming to see men and women busy setting up shops and stalls to sell their wares, hurrying small children to school and carrying big wares and gigantic bundles on their slender cycles. The children prance with joy and the mother's Rwandan voice drips aloud in affection and a typical candour.

No lazy mornings for them.

The air conveys a promise, a scent of prosperity that can’t be missed. It feels empowering. It feels healthy. It feels free. It is Rwanda of today.

Known as the land of thousand hills it has stunning scenery beautiful undulating landscapes an extraordinary biodiversity incredible wildlife volcanoes rainforests tea plantation that are sweeping lush velvety plains. Top it up with mountain gorilla trekking nature walks hiking and makes an ideal spot for the tourists.

The tea belt is a lush green velvety cover, that seems to wipe away human woes and miseries. The sight is such.

Elegant hardworking women are seen running about their everyday chores from domesticity to their professional centers, either carrying big loads on their heads or plucking tea leaves and lugging them in big baskets, ferrying them on their backs. 

Do you allow your girl child to study?

‘Yes, sure we do, we don’t marry them young.’

‘And domestic abuse?’, couldn’t help asking

‘No not at all. We don’t have much money to buy alcohol and create problems at home. We work hard and treat one another with dignity’, said Michael Mugabe

Rwanda is a low-income economy, a place of equality and magnanimity as men and women have roles designed that believe in participativeness and equality. The post genocide constitution allows men and women to have equal rights and the Rwandan women hold a large percentage of governing roles. They play an important role in community building.

There are rules and you have to abide by them. One day a week is cleaning Kigali day and if you are found loitering then you have to clean it as well. Plastic use can lead to arrests. Civic sense is high. Crime rate is low, and Kigali is one of the cleanest cities of modern times.

As I enter a small creche house out of curiosity, where working mother's leave their small children whilst they work, a pair of anxious eyes greet me with a nose resting on cute thick lips. Wide eyed and curious, shaking free of the daze and me freeing myself of the intruding presence, I hold my hand forward as she hides behind the chair with a smile that could beat the morning light. I couldn’t ignore some small hesitant, outstretched hands and returned the handshakes The mother smiled, wrapped the baby yet again in warmth, behind her strong back with a woollen fabric that felt resilient, strong, and so reassuring. The school had given over. I went back in time when motherhood was simple and energizing.

‘My daughter likes you’, she said in broken English.

‘So, do I’, I replied.  

‘Come walk with us.’ 

I dutifully walked by their side not taking my eyes from the small little girl who by this time wanted to be held by me. The mother got her to stand next to me and I held her hand.

I walked back with them chatting till she reached her home. The heat of the sun poured sweat on my face, followed by the equatorial showers around 4pm also called the convectional rainfall and then finally cold whiff of the evening air and intermittent showers.

‘Such frequent changes tire me out’, I heard myself say to my new friend.

‘Oh, don’t worry have a good meal good sleep you will wake up fresh, ‘

“My name is Keza Iradukunda.”

She took me by surprise, and I grabbed this offer of intimacy and warmth.

“Oh yes, I wanted to ask, but I wasn’t sure if you’d like me asking the same. Thanks. What does your name mean?”

“Keza in Rwandan language means pretty”, she blushed “and so it is, you are so true to your name. “I replied.

 I was invited to join in for supper and I happily agreed. Smell of food wafted through the air. A quickly rustled up corn- maize isombe, a stew made from cassava leaves and peanuts; fried plantains akabenz, ugali a doughy thing Ibihaza a pumpkin dish.

We parted happily made promises of friendship over emails and contact numbers. I hugged little Kimmy as she was called.

Walking back, I saw the stalls were being taken down, shops and kiosks being shut, children being escorted back home from creches and schools. Notwithstanding sleet or shine working ten hours then retiring with family and doing it all over again the following day infused me with a new energy.

It completed my overwhelming canvas.

There was a real joy to be a part of this community, the most genuine kind, and hardworking people you could ever wish to meet. Their history has made their aspirations stronger and has filled them with new hope and energy, a new fire. The phoenix rises again.

If only we could bottle up this strength with an air of purpose and spread it around this world, it would be magic.

Like a resurgence.

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