Even though Kigali wasn't exactly what I had hoped it would be, I'm glad I went. I know Rwanda has much more to offer than what I found in the capital city, but I'm reaching the end of my funds and gorilla tracking will have to wait. I've decided to appreciate this city for what it is. It's clean, organized, safe. I even walked the 10 minute distance from my hotel to Bourbon Cafe last night. Anywhere else that would be considered ballsy - if not suicidal. But in Kigali, I get few hassles. And with the amount of heavily armed police patrolling the streets who don't have the same corrupt reputation as others in East Africa, I was in good hands. Rwanda is making a clear effort to change their image, and it really shows.Kigali isn't hiding the fact that just over a decade ago a genocide was sweeping Rwanda. They're dedicated to educating locals and visitors alike on the realities of their history to ensure that it never happens again. The Kigali Memorial Center has three moving exhibits which are emotional, uncensored and honest. The first exhibit provides a timeline of Rwanda's history -from colonisation to genocide to the aftermath. The exhibit provides photos, interviews and historical facts to show that the genocide wasn't a spontaneous event, but the result of over a century of tension. The second exhibit is a collection of photos of children who were killed along with a description - their name, age, favourite food, favourite song, best friends names and last words. The last exhibit detailed genocides around the world from the last century - in Cambodia, Armenia and the Holocaust, among others. It shows that all of us are capable of destruction. The genocide in Rwanda wasn't simply Rwandans killing Rwandans, but people killing people. It is a harsh reminder of what human beings are cabable of.
Sites where mass acts of genocide were carried out have been turned into memorials as well. I went to a church in Ntarama, about 30 km
outside of Kigali where in 1995, 5000 people were murdered. Bones of the victims line the shelves at the church entrance, their skulls exposed to show how each person was killed. Their clothing decorates the church walls and the few possessions they brought are gathered in a corner next to their coffins - glasses, tea thermoses, BIC pens, jelly shoes.Jelly shoes. That's what made it real for me. I relate bones to natural history museums and ancient civilizations; coffins to unidentifiable people who have passed away. But jelly shoes relate to my childhood. I was 8 years old in 1995. I was playing tag at the Ecole Tuxedo Park playground, running as fast as my jelly shoes would allow as I desperately tried to escape the person who was "it." At the same time, there was a girl my age wearing the same jelly shoes, running to escape something much more fatal, where hiding and cries of "TO" would not save her. It wasn't the stories or the skulls that brought tears to my eyes. It was the jelly shoes.
Kigali is dedicated to preserving the stories of the victims; dedicated to ensuring that, through education, the promise of "never again" will be respected. You can't turn a corner in Kigali without seeing a "never again" billboard or T-shirt. So even though my 2 nights in Kigali brought a bit of frustration, I left with a great deal of respect for a city that, despite its gruesome past, is making a huge step towards change.
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