We spent our last night at the Gisakura Lodge, confirmed our bus with the local manager and headed out after breakfast. We had been told to be outside at 7.30am sharp to catch the bus to Butare. The manager actually sat next to us the entire time in the breakfast room and while we were already outside waiting, he slowly came up to us saying we had missed our bus. Not quite getting it, he said the bus had passed, but left with two empty seats as we were late. Both him and the boss had confirmed a time of 7.30am to stand outside for the bus. We had booked the 7am bus from Cyangugu which would take about an hour to get to Gisakura. So instead of being late, we were actually early. The management changed their story and things got worse: we were supposed to pay for those lost tickets and pay double for new ones. I had made the reservation through the office but the boss said we were supposed to pay the driver directly. Now they claimed they’d paid for us and we had to pay them back.
I got so angry that I took my bags and walked out, refusing to pay. Brittany was very upset and broke out in tears, saying she was sick of people messing up and us having to pay for it all the time. She was more than right. People here think all muzungus are rich, they charge you tons of money for crap service and make you pay for every mistake they make. I refused to pay, but she did give some money. The young manager who said he was going to help us just took the money and left. So much for help.
Hitchhiking to Butare
Not really knowing what I was doing or where I was going with two very heavy bags, I started walking towards the forest. Whatever truck came along, cattle or no cattle, I was on it to Butare. I always go for a walk when I’m frustrated, just to get some air and calm down. Brittany soon came running after me and just as we passed the tea estate, a jeep came towards us. A couple of army guys were driving a pick-up towards Butare and although they were heavy loaded with luggage, boxes, bananas and other stuff, they left us on. So there we were once again, hitching a ride, but now all the way to Butare. It was actually more comfortable than the bus. Of course, once again we had everybody staring at us in disbelief.
After four hours, we reached Butare where we were dropped off and enjoyed a very nice lunch at Ibis Hotel. It must be one of the oldest Ibis Hotels in the world, guessing from the almost vintage certificate on the wall. We checked-in at the Mont Huye Motel around the corner and bought a busticket to Gikongoro, 29km from Butare.
Murambi Genocide Memorial
In Gikongoro we visited the Murambi Genocide Memorial, which is allegedly the most overwhelming memorial in Rwanda. It has 1800 preserved bodies from people who were massacred during the genocide, ranging from adults to young children and babies. The bodies were exhumed from a massgrave and already decomposing, but the once at the bottom of the massgrave were better preserved. The government officials decided to preserve some of these bodies to remind people events like these can never happen again. That is how far I get the idea behind all this, but quite frankly, I was not so much impressed by the bodies.
At Murambi, there are around 14 chambers with bodies lying on wooden beds. To stop the decomposition process, they used limestone to preserve the bodies. Still there was an aweful smell hanging around, assuming the bodies were still decomposing somehow. By showing these real bodies, they wanted to show the impact of weapons used and how people tried to protect themselves from the blows by holding up their arms. Unfortunately we didn’t even get the time to stroll around at our own pace and try to take it all in. The guide wanted to rush us through the museum, which used to be a technical school. We got to see six of the chambers but weren’t allowed to go into the others ‘as they’re all the same anyway’. Well, excuse me Mr Guide, but for us, this is already beyond comprehension and these bodies are definitely not the same. It’s very hard to believe that these mummies were once real people, running around, talking and laughing, making jokes, holding their babies, doing their hair… Each and everyone of them had a story, but we weren’t allowed to actually try to put this puzzle together.
The bodies were taken out of their context and put ‘asleep’ next to eachother, clothes had been taken off and the damage done to their bodies was probably not from the actual massacre but from the weight of all other bodies on top of them in the grave and the later actual exhumination. I actually didn’t need to see the bodies to know what had happened to these people. Seeing the bullet holes and blood stains at Camp Kigali or Nyamata Church had more impact on me than a couple of unreal mummies lined up. Not to be disrespectful towards these people, moreover, I feel they deserve a proper burial as I wouldn’t want to be laid out like that after such a cruel death.
After visiting the chambers, we went to a field behind the school where thousands of Tutsis were dumped in three big massgraves after being killed. Those people had actually been told by district officials to gather at the school in order to be safe. They would get military support and protection, but in fact they were locked up and slaughtered during a four day raid. According to the CNLG-guide, the French government was highly involved and actually participated in the genocide. Their vote in the UN-council made the UN unable to take action and actually withdraw their troops from this region. Not only did they safeguard the Congolose border to let Rwandan officials escape, they also tool Tutsi prisoners, tied them up and threw them from helicopters above Nyungwe Forest. Out here in the field, they build a volleyball pitch over the massgraves, clearly not interested or caring at all.
I have heard a lot about the French involvement, but haven’t read anything upon it yet. I definitely didn’t know. So after visiting this memorial, I sort of left with a bad taste in my mouth, not sure what to think of it. I think the Gisozi Memorial in Kigali is much more interesting and has a bigger impact, since it portrays the dead people how they used to be: with a picture, a name, their family history and even favourite colour or meal. Not sure about the latter part, but still, it says more than a mummyfied body.
We headed back to Butare and reflected a bit upon this, but not for too long. Brittany’s birthday was coming up and had invited me, Charles and Andie – whom we met in Nyungwe – for a birthday dinner at a chinese restaurant called ‘The Chinese Restaurant’.
Sunday, May 8th – Butare
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