The beginning of an extensive blog update. Back to Good Friday. Chantal drove me to the Genocide Museum in Kigali. It takes at least 1.5 hours to do a proper tour, but we only had 45. The guide was quite conversant in English so it was great to hear the language flow easily again. (While English is the official language, it only became so after the Genocide, hence the learning curve is still very high.) Chantal could not bare to go thru the museum, for it is just too painful. She has done it once, that that is the most she intends to do. It was important for her to have me spend time beginning to understand, but proceeding beyond the lobby is more than her heart can bare. The experience of the museum is incredible. I am bringing home a small book that tells the story. It explains the foundation that lead to the hatred. It explains the back and forth struggles as well as a very close up look at what genocide really means. Whoever came up with the word Ethnic Cleansing clearly has never see it close up. There is nothing clean about it. Yes the word describes the end goal of wiping people so clearly from the face of the earth that they is no clean trace of them. But there is nothing clean about the process. It is wicked. It is deadly. It is incomprehensible. Who For me, the most moving parts were 14 2 x 3 foot photos of individual children. Under each of the photos was a 5x7 plaque with a bit of each child’s story etched into it. Their name, favorite sports, favorite food, favorite drink, best friend, last words (if someone lived to tell the story) & then how they were killed…machete, head slammed into wall etc. My heart split open at that point. A chill filled my soul. Next was a wall of simple lines of wire (much like the ones they sell at Pottery Barn) There were about 15 wires stacked on top of each other per section. Individual photos were then clipped on each wire. Each line was filled. It reminded me of visiting ground zero just 1.5 months after the attack when all the photos were strung in a row. Each photo here showed a loved one lost. Behind the photo was a real life. They each have a story and are innocent. The senseless violence of the genocide is beyond comprehension. Importantly the museum features a section which contains other genocides around the world over time. I remember reading the sign in a concentration camp that I visited with my parents. A sign read “ Those who chose to ignore the past are destined to repeat it.” Dear God may we never forget. May we stop the killing the is currently under way in various parts of the world. Outside the museum are buried 250,000+ people in mass graves. Some are buried 12 to a coffin. More are added as they are STILL being found throughout the country. The vision of the Hutus was to wipe the Tutsis off the face of the country and remove any trace of them, hence the graves are the still be unearthed. About 1 million people lost their lives. We walked past grieving people who had come to pay respects to someone who was buried there. It was a gathering of about 25 beautifully dressed people. They layed a wreath down before them. I hung my head in shame as I respectfully walked by them. How could the US have said that it wasn’t happening? How could we have stood by and watched while so many people died. How could we have supported the UN decision to withdraw? Sure Clinton says it was one of the biggest mistakes of his presidency….but how does an American express that when walking by these people. I said nothing. Feeling so much shame for this nation. The dark rain clouds seemed fitting for such an experience and for Good Friday. We drove by a catholic Church that is near the Hotel Rwanda hotel….1000 people were killed inside when they ran there for protection. The priest and church offered none. In fact, in many cases, the priests has bought into the propaganda and aided the mass killings in the church. Row by row amidst locked doors. Now my heart broke for my strong roots in Catholicism. I must find a way to make a difference. When I returned to the car where Chantal had sat patiently waiting, she saw the look in my eyes and was glad that I had “begun” to understand. From there were headed over to pick up my Easter dress. I tried my best to brighten my spirit. Chantal One of the ladies at the small shop showed us how to do the headpiece. We all laughed at the experience. There were about 6 sewing machines and tailors in a space about the size of my kitchen. They told Chantal it was sad that I didn’t know any Kenyawranda. She said…”oh, but she does”. “Show them Donna”. Out came my small notebook from Target which contains my ever expanding vocabulary. I started at the top and worked my way through it. Page after page. Each time I struggled to get each word earnestly out of my mouth they cheered me on at the effort! I would take a deep breath, then start to make an oooo or geee sound until I finally got “my version’ of the word out. Hooray/Bravo! They told Chantal they really liked me and thought I was great fun. My tailor George wants to come back to America to make all of my clothes. I had Chantal tell him I would be honored to have such a fine tailor in America. We settled on some photos of our time together. Since there is no address to send the photos in Rwanda, I will send them to Chantal who will deliver them. Chantal laughed until she was in tears at our time at the shop. She told the tailors to stand by the door to listen to the cat calls from the crowds…Moozoomgoo, Moozoomgoo…white person. I was dressed so finely that they insisted that I were my snazzy new dress down the street. It’s a long skirt with a flare at the bottom. The top is short sleeved with a slight v neck. Then comes the huge piece of fabric, triple folded and wrapped into a master piece atop my head. I think I got about 30 dates outta the deal…I’m not sure. But lots and lots of thumbs up and beautiful lady from the crowd. Chantal said “thank you for coming to see us, I am having so much fun with you”. It’s remarkable the range of experiences within a 2 hour window. We made our way up the dirt road to The Home. Unfortunately the rain had made it quite challenging. We were stuck behind a huge truck that was sliding all over the road trying to stay out of the ditch. Eventually we both came to a dead stop for about 30 mins while they tried to get the parked cars moved. Not passable without moving them. The gift of patience. It’s a mandatory here. With nothing better to do, the word has spread that there was a Moozoomgoo in the car all dressed up. Many waved or stopped by the car to say hi as they made their way carrying things to their homes. Walking. The primary mode of transportation here. It’s an endless stream of people walking with everything on their head from lettuce, bananas, sugar cane…you name it. I even saw a women with a sewing machine atop her head. Yesterday a young boy was carrying a HUGE door. He stopped to say hi and chat before continuing his climb up a big hill. There is an endless stream of people carrying yellow plastic buckets or jugs. They make the long journey down the hill to get water and then lug it back up. The water for the most part is VERY dirty. Most people don’t boil it because they can’t afford the charcoal to create the heat. They lucky ones have an OLD bike to which they attached the jugs. The most I have seen is 5. The jugs are left over from when they buy cooking oil. The kids and adults all seem to share the responsibility of this task. It is a struggle to get them up the hills when they have a bunch on a bike. We passed a missionary who had grown up in Prior Lake Minnesota who had just moved to Rwanda with his wife and kids from Uganda after things got rough there. Please could the Minnesota connections be more unreal. I’d say they were staged if I knew it was not true. We returned home to the glee of the workers on the road at home who thought my outfit was wonderful. Quite a sight. At home some people gathered to sing and praise God this Good Friday. We celebrated for about 1:30 hours. The kids sat so well behaved listening to the songs. As another day in paradise comes to an end. I sent a text message to Denise that all is well. I hope to access email tomorrow after I visit a Compassion sight.