If you remember one thing when heading to Rwanda, make it this little bit of wisdom from the Wu-Tang Clan. Cash Rules Everything Around Me. Although Kigali is a lively East African capital city, you will be getting no where with a foreign Visa card. Unfortunately none of us in the group I traveled with this past weekend read through the Lonely Planet section on Rwanda thoroughly enough to pick up 'ATMs in Rwanda are not hooked up internationally, so bring cash.'
The bus ride to get to Rwanda wasn't miserable, but it certainly wasn't the best way to travel. While there was ample leg room and the seats were nice, the windows didn't close all the way and the temperature could change from unbearably hot to freezing cold in 30 minutes. There was music playing through all 22 hours, which made it difficult to sleep, but was almost worth it when I got to wake up to "Rains Down In Africa" by Toto, cranked up to 11, somewhere around 1 am in Uganda. That brief moment of consciousness, a 3 am meal of rice, ugali and two very suspect pieces of meat in a bus station parking lot in Kampala, and a $50 passport stamp just to drive through, is all I got to experience of Uganda. 10 hours later we rolled through the hills of Rwanda and into Kigali.
From the bus station we walked uphill for 45 minutes to get to the city center, where we could see most of Kigali. It is a very beautiful city, I was very surprised. At some points walking around the well maintained, tree lined streets it felt like I was in southern California. After catching our breath at the top of the main hill we set off to find the tourist center to get some ideas of where to stay, what to see, how much it would all cost etc... but it was closed when we got there. Turns out we were there on Liberation Day weekend. Soldiering on, still unaware of the troubles we would soon face, we walked to a bank to use the ATM, since we traveled light on cash. The first card didn't work, then the second and the third and the fourth. Eh, must be the ATM. We tried another, and another, and another... then we started to realize we had a problem that was explained when we re-read the Lonely Planet section. We found some Americans and asked them if they had any idea what we could do to get some money, they suggested we go to a bank and get a cash advance on our credit cards, it would be expensive, but it was an option. If that was the only way, we were ready to do it, but of course banks aren't open on Liberation Day. Someone told us that the following day one specific bank would be open. That meant if we exchanged all the USD we had brought for the return visa costs through Uganda we could have a place to stay and some money for food until the following day when we would get everything squared away. We could get the money for the return bus tickets and the visas and everything would be good and we could still catch the return bus 5 am Monday morning. Then someone's ATM card got eaten by a machine. In our frustration we were repeatedly trying our cards, convinced that if there was a 1 in a million shot of it working we should try one million times, forgetting that ATMs will confiscate cards that repeatedly fail. Defeated, we sat down under the ATM bank and ate peanut butter sandwiches, brainstorming and ultimately realizing we would be stuck in Kigali until at least Monday when we could get the card back and try to catch a bus, getting back to Nairobi on Wednesday at the earliest.
Accepting that it was out of our hands, we exchanged our USD and decided to make the best of the day. We each contributed the what we had brought for the visas and found some guys on the street who were exchanging money. We negotiated a rate the best we could, it actually ended up being better than the actual, and walked out with all the money we would have for the weekend, and set our sights on the Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre. In the tradition of always getting ripped off by the first taxi you take in any country we spent 5000rwf to get there, only to find out it was closed. I guess we forgot that it was Liberation Day. This is where we could only laugh and try to find a cheap place to stay. We walked around Kigali for 3 hours checking everywhere the budget section of LP recommended, finding that all of the establishments had closed or doubled their rates since publication. We did manage to find one that was still as cheap as advertised in the travel guide, Hotel Gloria, but it was not much more than an open floor on top of some shops, with walls put up to make rooms that had no running water or electricity. We ended up going to one of the nicer establishments and bargaining the price for 2 nights down to an amount about half of our total funds. Finally feeling like we succeeded at something we went to get a cheap dinner, and to load up on peanut butter and bread, our only sustenance for the remaining days. We got some beer too, it had been too long since we drank anything beside Tusker.
Day 2
Woke up late, and went to check more banks. Maybe one forgot it was Sunday and opened up on accident, and then decided they might as well install that brand new international ATM? Nope. We got a budgeted ride to the Genocide Memorial on the back of some motorbike taxis, a thrilling ride through the hills, and arrived completely unprepared for the emotionally crushing experience in front of us. The Kigali Genocide Memorial was built shortly after the 100 day period in 1994 when around one million Rwandans were murdered because of their tribe. It consists of three different sections. First is the one focused on the Rwandan Genocide. You walk through and read the walls that teach about the history of Rwanda, how Tutsi and Hutu were once ascribed, impermanent, class distinctions and that both groups coexisted peacefully. The exhibit shows how the European colonists exploited the differences between the two groups to create resentment to further their own goals, and how the favors they gave to the Tutsis bred resentment among the Hutus until finally the tension broke and resulted in civil wars and then genocide. The walls were covered with pictures and survivors' accounts of the violence. Glass cases contained machetes, clubs, rocks, chains, examples of the weapons used. Across the hall way another glass case contained skulls, some with chunks smashed out from clubs or hashed from multiple machete strikes. When you see the children's skulls in this condition is when it gets hard to keep moving through. A couple of walls at the end are dedicated to the rehabilitation process, how justice is being sought and how Rwanda is healing herself. The second exhibit's focus is on genocides that have occurred throughout history. It tells the horrors of genocides from the Herero genocide in Namibia at the start of the 20th century to the genocide in Kosovo at the end. There was a quote at the end of the exhibit that said something along the lines of: the Holocaust wasn't six million Jews being killed, nor was the Rwandan genocide one million Tutsi being killed. It was one Tutsi being killed, and then another, and another, a million times over, that gave me a new perspective on the killings. The last exhibit was prefaced by a wall that read 'One of these children could have been our next national hero'. It was an exhibit dedicated to the children of the genocide. The walls were covered with pictures of children and cards underneath that detailed their age, their dreams, their personalities, favorite foods, best friends, and then last words and cause of death. Scattered around were also testimonies from children, some talking about how they couldn't understand why their neighbor who used to watch them while their mother was at work, or would come and have dinner with them, one day came to kill them. Walking out of the museum was a relief, the center opened up into a balcony with an amazing view of Kigali and looking across a valley at the now beautiful city center you realize how far the country has come in 15 years. Then you look down and see massive concrete tombs where 250,000 people have been laid to rest.
Short on cash we walked back into the city to catch a taxi to Nyamata, a small village about 30 minutes out in the countryside that has preserved a church where were several thousand were killed. The drive out to the village through the Rwandan countryside was breathtaking. When we got to the church it was decked out in purple and white for Liberation Day and we hesitantly approached the gate. We walked in and the pews were stacked with clothes from the people who were slain there and the roof is specked with holes from grenades that were thrown into the crowds. A man approached us and after apologizing for his english, which was fine, started to guide us around the church. He explained how the people were packed in here, so tight that they couldn't move, hiding from the Interahamwe who were coming to kill them. He told us about how scared everyone was when they heard them approach on all sides and yell and joke and laugh about what they were going to do. He explained that they used a grenade to rip through the front doors of the church and told us how people spilled out of the church, running. Those who were running got shot in the legs. If you wanted to die by gun you had to pay for the bullet they'd use to kill you, he said. Fighting back tears, he explained, in great detail, the horrible, contemptible things that happened to men, women and children, his family and neighbors, over the course of several days in the church. And then he showed us where, when he was eight years old, he hid under dead bodies for five days to be one of four survivors. It was almost funny when he said we should feel free to ask him anything, while we were all entirely, actually speechless. After a minute or two we did began to ask questions, but what do you ask someone who's been through that? All I wanted to know is how he could stick around. 'I would like to leave, every day I want to leave, but Rwanda is my country and this village is where my home is, where my grandma, who also survived is. I cannot leave.' is what he told us. He also said that sometimes he still sees some of the genocidaires, and while he cannot stand to look at them, he holds no hard feelings towards their children, showing the commitment of those involved not to burden the next generation with this tragedy. While in the church he showed us some of the weapons they recovered from the scene and an old ID card marked 'Tutsi'. He also led us to the cellar that had one coffin in a glass case 6 feet below the floor and he recounted to us the gruesome story of this woman's death and why she is in a solo grave, apart from the rest. Then he took us to the rest, in mass graves in the back. Like at the memorial there were huge concrete tombs, filled with the bodies or parts of the dead. Continuing to surprise us, he opened up one of the doors and led us down. We climbed about 12 feet down a ladder into a concrete bunker and were faced with stacks and stacks of coffins going off to the left. Coffins were for those who were identified. To the right were shelves of skulls of those who were not identified, again, with several prominently displaying, through holes and gashes, evidence of how that person was killed. Needless to say, it was difficult to stay down there long. We looked around for a while, trying to comprehend how many dead there were in just this one grave, and climbed out. After thanking the man for the tour, and for the courage and strength he must have to relive it like that, we took off for another village and another church.
The second church was much smaller, and I can't remember the name of it. A woman met us out front to guide us through, but she spoke very little english. Everything we gathered about what happened here was from a mix of broken English and charades. Again, there was a church full of clothes of the killed, there were also shoes were stacked in the front. Maybe a little desensitized from the first church, I was less apprehensive to look around on my own. A wall was clearly blown out by a grenade where the Interahamwe entered. In the back was a kitchen where the woman told us the women were forced to cook for the killers, and then were locked in, and the building was burnt. Next to that was the Sunday school. In one corner was a sick stain up the wall where the children were thrown or smashed against it. Once again, I found myself wondering what could push people to a level that they could do that? How could the rest of the world stand by and let this happen? How can we ensure that nothing like this again ever happens? Apparently we can't. Another quote from the memorial, "When they said "Never Again" after the Holocaust, did that only apply to some people and not others?"
Emotionally drained, we piled into the cab back, the driver put on some Lil Wayne and we cruised back to Kigali. After what we had seen all day I couldn't shake the reality that anyone we saw who was our age or older likely remembered the genocide, and therefore probably either participated of was victimized by it. We tried to pay the taxi driver but there was a disagreement over the price. While we thought we had agreed to fifteen thousand francs, and paid him twenty, he thought we had agreed to fifty thousand francs and only got twenty. We didn't even have fifty thousand francs between us. The driver didn't speak English, so we went to some German guys hoping they could help us out by speaking French, but they ended up arguing for us in Kiswahili. We ended up leaving having paid 33,000. Probably more than we should have according to the Germans, but less than the 50 he wanted. We made the short walk over to the Hotel Rwanda (Hotel Des Mille Collines) as the sun set, and the man at the front desk let us in to take pictures. Once we had explored to our content we left to go back to the hotel, drink some Mutzig, and eat peanut butter sandwiches while watching the Wimbledon finals.
The interview of Federer after Wimbledon was hilarious, by the way. With Andy Roddick right there, Federer said something like "It's great to win, I was here and lost last year but came back to win it, so don't feel too bad Andy..." then someone shouted "But you had already won five!" and Federer said "Yah, ha, I had five already." Then they cut to Roddick's face and it was hilaaaaarious.
Monday morning came and we returned the empty bottles for a little money to purchase enough internet time to let my parents and the people at work know I would be stuck in Rwanda an extra day. Then we started scheming on how to get money, find a bus, catch a bus, etc... to get back to Nairobi. Less stressed over it all after seeing how trivial our money problems were, compared to what some people in the city have been through. In the end my friend Ashley and I decided that we wouldn't mind paying a little extra to catch a one hour flight back that day, rather than wait a day for a 24 hour bus ride back. Two hours before the flight left, we bought our tickets and rushed to the airport, with the taxi costing all our remaining money, to the franc, and requiring substantial begging. We made the flight, it was great, they served lunch that was not a peanut butter sandwich, and we got back to Nairobi a day early. Right out of the gate I gave an international ATM a big bear hug.
I wish our trip would have gone more smoothly and we had been able to get out and explore some of the national parks, or go with some Brits we met to cross into DRC for 30 minutes just to get the passport stamp and bragging rights, but I am grateful for the little bit of Rwanda I did get to see.
What a nice fountain in the city centre, eh?
Representing
Walking around, looking for a hotel
Motorbike taxis
Kigali city centre as seen from the memorial
Mass graves at memorial
Driving to Nyamata
The exterior of the church
Interior of the church
Hotel Des Milles Collines
Airport
Some friends I made
Ashley and I, stoked that we get to walk on the tarmac
Our ticket out
