The Rwandan Genocide Memorial in Kigali

This is the second entry about my trip to Rwanda. You may want to start at the beginning.

I woke up early, bought a raincoat (it rains in the rainforest, go figure), had some breakfast, and then took a moto to the Kigali genocide memorial. They sent me downstairs first, to an exhibit on the Rwandan genocide.

I've written a bit about how the genocide occurred and France's involvement in it, so I'll focus on the museum instead. It's a beautiful building, with glass stele inscribed with relevant quotes, understated décor, and stained glass windows so well-placed to catch the sun that you don't even notice at first that they portray piles of skulls. The downstairs exhibit, about the Rwandan genocide, is very well done. I held it together until I reached the part that showcased people who had sheltered Tutsis during the genocide. There was also a hall where families that lost people were invited to place photos of their relatives. The museum uses a lot of video, either projected on the walls or on display screens.

The second floor was a series of exhibits on other genocides -- the genocide of the Namibian Hereros by the Germans, the Armenian genocide by the Turks, the Holocaust, Cambodia, and Yugoslavia. (Cambodia is the odd one out since the horrors of the Khmer Rouge probably don't constitute genocide.) There was also a hall of photos of Rwandan children who had been killed in the genocide and little fact sheets about them -- things like "Favorite toy: a doll. Cause of death: machete." A staircase from the second floor led to the gardens. Amidst the gardens were mass graves (the photo at the top is of a mass grave).

On the outside of the building were little plaques with quotations from children. In case the picture is too small, here's what this one says:

In my search for a hideout, I found Jerome, his legs were cut off. I could not leave him in this state. I tried to lift up Jerome so that we could leave together, but the car of the commune stopped near me. It was full of machetes and other instruments of death. I lay Jerome down on the ground and ran because a man got out of the burgomaster's car to kill me. He finished Jerome off. I saw this when I looked back to see if anyone had followed me. I will never forget the way Jerome's face was filled with desperation. Whenever I think about it, I cry all day long. -- Eric, 13.

So that was the memorial. At the time, my only similar experience was visiting Tuol Sleng, the misnamed Cambodian genocide museum, but this is very different. Tuol Sleng was a death camp and torture center and was converted into a museum by the Vietnamese for propaganda purposes. The Rwandan memorial was a purpose-built museum designed to inform, not to shock and anger. Tuol Sleng was perhaps more powerful because it's the actual site where horrors occurred, but this museum was far more informative and honest.

I walked most of the way back to the hotel. The walk back was a little surreal -- I know I keep harping on how beautiful this city is, but I was especially struck by it on the walk back to town. I guess the incongruity poses a bit of a challenge. As usual, there weren't many white people in this part of town, so I got a lot of attention. I was a bit morose when I came out of the memorial, but the squad of children that formed around me when I reached the road brightened my mood pretty quickly.

A few days later I visited the Murambi Memorial, which was a very different experience. I'll post about that soon.

You can go on to the next entry, which has some good photos of volcanoes and no depressing stuff at all.