6.15.2005

I feel drained and tired. Every sound is reverberating through my brain with uncommon clarity and volume. It is nearly 7:00 p.m. and I hear a cow mooing, cars beeping, children crying, someone banging on a piece of cement and a woman speaking in a language I am only slightly familiar with. I am on overload and this is my opportunity to try to make sense of the things I have seen today. But all I keep thinking about is the genocide. Every sound I hear I am relating to the war. The child crying outside my window now in my imagination has become the one about to be slaughtered with a machete. The cow mooing represents the animals that were left in the barns because their owners laid dead in the yard. And the banging on cement, well, I can not help but imagine the sound of all the people being cut down with dull farming instruments or being thrown into a latrine alive to then be stoned to death. It is a bloody nightmare. And one that every Rwandan person hears in their terror filled sleep. The sound of the woman I hear haunts me. The language cries out and echoes in my spirit, “This is what I know…they will find me and kill me.”

We visited the genocide memorial today. It has been “prettied up” quite well. I can’t even say that I sensed evil in the place. Nearly all of the skulls that I had an opportunity to see and record last year have been replaced with pictures, and television clips, etc. Maybe it was too harsh before. Who knows? I had trouble breathing the whole way through. I remember feeling that way last year. The memorial contained a very museum-like quality. Very western. But I will never be able to shut out the images and story of little Ariene. There is an entire area designated for the children lost. Ariene’s 3 x 4 foot picture hangs on a dusty yellow wall in the upstairs portion of the memorial. Ariene wears a white frilly dress and her eyes sparkle regardless of a rather casual photo. She has eyes that are so large you could get lost in them and beautiful curled lashes that frame them and draw you in. Her lips form a slight pucker that looks soft and warm as if she has just kissed her daddy. And her hair is shiney and black with loose curls framing her round healthy face. She is the perfect Rwandan child. Any mother would be proud to show that picture. On the bottom of her photo is a list of her favorite food, “cake” and her best friend which was “her daddy”. Then how she was killed in May of 1994: “Stabbed in the eyes and head”.

Those words introduced a story in the Chicago Tribune a few weeks ago except then I had not had the opportunity to see her picture. She was a nameless face. How could this happen? What would possess someone to take the life away from those gorgeous eyes? I know I can not wrap my brain around it. But I am still asking the question.

Two thirds of the population of 8 million people were displaced in Rwanda. Not to mention one million men, women, and children killed. Also 300,000 orphans left and 85,000 children were left to be heads of households. And they say 500,000 women were raped which has now brought about an AIDS epidemic in this country. I want to just be finished today. It is too much. I feel overwhelmed with the difficulties these people face. How can one person make a difference in this mess? And this is a MESS. No matter how hard the country tries to recover, my best friends here can barely speak of their pain. It has only been 10 years now. Ten years ago, I was pregnant with Michael and I can remember it like it was yesterday. His nine years have flown by. I can picture and remember the feel of his curly brown hair that I let grow two inches below his ears. I can even remember the house we lived in and all its details; from the blue carpet to the wallpapered hallway. I can remember the smell of the pancakes I cooked in an electric skillet. If I can recall the details of those rather insignificant things, how much more clearly would something so traumatic be etched into the minds of our families here? In Rwanda, the people have come up with a saying in regards to the genocide. They say, “It is over, is has been done. I must live now.”

This is depressing. I want to shake myself out of this troubled place. After all, it is done. People’s lives are going on. But part of me knows that my friends have seen things that no human being can endure without being traumatized. And now I feel angry that they have to constantly be reminded of the trauma by facing the reality of AIDS and dying a slow death. We found out this week that three of our families are infected for certain. Others are likely to be also and we need to deal with this. But I honestly feel just plain stunned again by this whole thing. I can’t think straight. I can’t plan or prepare. When I got home I began organizing things. Just putting things away and trying to do something mindless, but I am having a hard time shaking this feeling.

I want to sleep. I think I will. Angela had a hard time today too. She was shaken as I was. The men were also because we had Cyprien and Vianney with us who personally experienced murder and they were so sad. Cyprien cried and Vianney just put his hands on his shaking head. It brings up so many terrorizing memories for them. Of course, we told them that they could stay in the car, but they wanted to come with us.

The last thing I have to say is that while every one of those mass graves are full, I know that on a mountainside 60 miles from here there are almost two thousand people who have a reason to believe things can be better for them. Life is going on and I have to keep my focus on the truth that God has me here for His purpose and that I can make a difference even though I feel very weighed down.

It is with a heavy heart and a prayer that I close with.

God, give me the strength to trust You. Give me supernatural power to endure. I pray for the nation and people of Rwanda that you would heal them. That word seems so petty for the job that has to be done here. Bring Your will to fruition and help me to rest in You. Help Rwanda to find peace and freedom from their troubles. It is in Your name I pray. Amen.