Yesterday, Innocent invited us to Kibuye, where an overnight vigil and a Monday service would take place in commemoration of the events and loss fifteen years ago. Along the way, I could not help but think about how humble Innocent is given all that he has seen, experienced, and overcome to date. In school and among peers he is often called “Socrate” in reference to his philosophical influence like Socrates. He is a man of God and a believer in the powers of faith, and it makes complete sense when you come to learn that Innocent lost his parents and his brothers in Kibuye. Months ago, he mentioned that on his return to Kibuye for Christmas that people looked at him and friend/brother, Freddy Mutanguha, with eyes of disbelief. How could these two have survived what was a moment of complete chaos in Kibuye? Innocent attributes it to God, having stated on more than one occasion that he is blessed. If there is anything that transforms one into a deep-thinking philosopher among men, it is surely life-changing events and loss. I gain strength and wisdom from Innocent. His professional discipline shows me that if an individual wishes to excel, there is nothing that can serve to hinder when there is focus and determination. His presence and his perspective humbles me and calls me to question my own criticism of the world and to find a way to move forward with positive thinking in spite of man’s unceasing attempt to destroy one another. I state man, because typically it is the males who have waged the wars, recruited the children, and changed the laws, but I digress. Innocent has his own story that I hesitate to tell in detail for fear that it would neither due it justice nor bring the authenticity that is necessary. For now, let it suffice to say that you look upon a man who lives because he has purpose and deserves a broader venue to tell his story, especially to the youth of the world.
Once in Kibuye, Innocent stepped into a familiar leadership role. As he began coordinating crowd movements, Reynolds and I fell in line for a long procession to the Church through an unlit, muddied country road. We were fortunate enough to meet with a young journalist from The New Times named Yvonne, and her two sisters Kayihura and Claire. Yvonne welcomed me, walking hand-in-hand so not to fall into the mud, and explained what happened during the overnight vigil, while her sisters Kayihura and Claire translated testimonies and gave us their perspective this morning along the walk through one of Kibuye’s many hills. This ceremony was significant for them. Their family is from Kibuye. Their father, who is a friendly but visibly serious businessman, explained that this is his birthplace. As it turned out, he was one of the key speakers during the main event today. Kayihura pointed to the area between two hills where her father was raised and recalled visiting there years ago with siblings. She noted how her mother cried tears of joy after discovering that her children loved the place so much that they collected rocks for keepsake. There is no one to visit there now. It is abandoned. Family members have transitioned before their time, victims with others like Innocent’s family in the deadly showers of April. She said it is a place that you visit and upon which you may build, but only to build, not to live there, because you would be alone. This is the ultimate irony. When I look upon the majestic hills of Kibuye that overlook one of Africa’s most breathtaking lakes, all I can think is how incomparable is its beauty and how amazing it must be to live and wake to the scene each day. In her commentary, I’m reminded that home is more than the romantic place and the dream of freedom, but is the people who inhabit it. It is the people to whom we turn and for whom we make sacrifices in difficult times. Her family’s hill in Kibuye is now it’s own memorial, a place of somehow distant yet contemporary past. But still, the draw to the root brings these sisters, their father, Innocent, and many more home.
Freddy Mutanguha is another incredibly humble leader from Kibuye who has made many things possible for Reynolds and I in the past few weeks. When I first met him months ago, I did not realize the extent to which his influence reached within Rwanda until I photographed both his traditional and western weddings (in Rwanda, there are two). At the events, I quickly came to see that Freddy is a man well-regarded by many for his work and for his commitment to respectfully memorialize Rwanda’s history. Freddy’s story is well-known and may be found if one searches the internet. He was eighteen in 1994. He and his sister, Rogette, saw many things, including the death of their parents. They and Innocent are three youth survivors on their hill - serving now as a living testimony of the past and hope for regeneration. Freddy spoke during the events and was on hand as a national figurehead in genocide commemoration. He is a man with a light heart who invited us into his home weeks ago to break bread and to lend time, support, and an ear. To talk to him is to never assume that the man has traveled the world in a life commitment to peace and reconciliation and hosted dignitaries and leaders from near and far. To be in his presence has been a privilege.
A Night of Remembrance and the Fire Light
After reaching the Church where the events would be hosted, we found a group of community members from Kibuye around the fire. The log wood burned through the night as the community listened to a few short speeches, watched commemorative videos, and then came together in a circle as each individual offered respect and words of remembrance. Many times during the night, people said that they would not forget as if to forget was the worst offense. It makes me wonder whether the forgetfulness of those of us from the West for our own lineage and loss have performed such an offense. The singing in unison made....well, it made me think of how absolutely removed I was from the core of this pain. In hearing their voice I felt yet again that I could do nothing more than serve as a witness, in solidarity, to their healing and grievance. This private gathering amongst family and loved ones in that circle transitioned into a new scene where the impersonally formal process typical to Rwanda no longer existed. It was then amongst flames of hope that I realized how much stronger these people are than I currently am. Kayihura explained that the attendees in the circle were describing specific incidents of loss followed by collective redemption songs. The stories are real. There are neither cinematic editing nor exaggeration. The incidents and the people can speak for themselves. In fact, you can see one example for yourself if you please for Reynolds has done an effective job of bringing you the imagery.
What I can say is that in “bearing witness”, as Reynolds and I later came to reference this experience, I am now more than ever a firm believer in the necessity of communal healing processes. Beauty rests comfortably within unity. I see that people deserve an opportunity to reunite in the present, removed from the past physically, and to speak freely on those events. Each chant appeared like a breath of fresh air blown into an otherwise contaminated place. I see respect and dignity in honoring the past without a need to suppress it. The recognition in explicit detail seemed very much a way to return, to relive, and hopefully to leave the emotions in the fire. This experiences leaves me with a feeling that other peoples who have suffered significant loss (e.g., Cambodians, original peoples of the present-day Americas, Africans in the West and in Europe, members of the Jewish community, Azanians, Namibians, and Vietnamese) may find an effective example in Rwanda of a nation that is moving forward with an aim of incorporating healing into the equation for progress. This event was protected by the police, guarded by the military, and supported by members in all levels of society. It is not perfect, as most things aren’t, but it is at an attempt. There are many other examples where healing, remembrance, and forgiveness could not be mentioned in the same sentence.
The least of actions is greater than the noblest of intentions. Someone said that to me once, and this is a reminder of that.
Once in Kibuye, Innocent stepped into a familiar leadership role. As he began coordinating crowd movements, Reynolds and I fell in line for a long procession to the Church through an unlit, muddied country road. We were fortunate enough to meet with a young journalist from The New Times named Yvonne, and her two sisters Kayihura and Claire. Yvonne welcomed me, walking hand-in-hand so not to fall into the mud, and explained what happened during the overnight vigil, while her sisters Kayihura and Claire translated testimonies and gave us their perspective this morning along the walk through one of Kibuye’s many hills. This ceremony was significant for them. Their family is from Kibuye. Their father, who is a friendly but visibly serious businessman, explained that this is his birthplace. As it turned out, he was one of the key speakers during the main event today. Kayihura pointed to the area between two hills where her father was raised and recalled visiting there years ago with siblings. She noted how her mother cried tears of joy after discovering that her children loved the place so much that they collected rocks for keepsake. There is no one to visit there now. It is abandoned. Family members have transitioned before their time, victims with others like Innocent’s family in the deadly showers of April. She said it is a place that you visit and upon which you may build, but only to build, not to live there, because you would be alone. This is the ultimate irony. When I look upon the majestic hills of Kibuye that overlook one of Africa’s most breathtaking lakes, all I can think is how incomparable is its beauty and how amazing it must be to live and wake to the scene each day. In her commentary, I’m reminded that home is more than the romantic place and the dream of freedom, but is the people who inhabit it. It is the people to whom we turn and for whom we make sacrifices in difficult times. Her family’s hill in Kibuye is now it’s own memorial, a place of somehow distant yet contemporary past. But still, the draw to the root brings these sisters, their father, Innocent, and many more home.
Freddy Mutanguha is another incredibly humble leader from Kibuye who has made many things possible for Reynolds and I in the past few weeks. When I first met him months ago, I did not realize the extent to which his influence reached within Rwanda until I photographed both his traditional and western weddings (in Rwanda, there are two). At the events, I quickly came to see that Freddy is a man well-regarded by many for his work and for his commitment to respectfully memorialize Rwanda’s history. Freddy’s story is well-known and may be found if one searches the internet. He was eighteen in 1994. He and his sister, Rogette, saw many things, including the death of their parents. They and Innocent are three youth survivors on their hill - serving now as a living testimony of the past and hope for regeneration. Freddy spoke during the events and was on hand as a national figurehead in genocide commemoration. He is a man with a light heart who invited us into his home weeks ago to break bread and to lend time, support, and an ear. To talk to him is to never assume that the man has traveled the world in a life commitment to peace and reconciliation and hosted dignitaries and leaders from near and far. To be in his presence has been a privilege.
A Night of Remembrance and the Fire Light
After reaching the Church where the events would be hosted, we found a group of community members from Kibuye around the fire. The log wood burned through the night as the community listened to a few short speeches, watched commemorative videos, and then came together in a circle as each individual offered respect and words of remembrance. Many times during the night, people said that they would not forget as if to forget was the worst offense. It makes me wonder whether the forgetfulness of those of us from the West for our own lineage and loss have performed such an offense. The singing in unison made....well, it made me think of how absolutely removed I was from the core of this pain. In hearing their voice I felt yet again that I could do nothing more than serve as a witness, in solidarity, to their healing and grievance. This private gathering amongst family and loved ones in that circle transitioned into a new scene where the impersonally formal process typical to Rwanda no longer existed. It was then amongst flames of hope that I realized how much stronger these people are than I currently am. Kayihura explained that the attendees in the circle were describing specific incidents of loss followed by collective redemption songs. The stories are real. There are neither cinematic editing nor exaggeration. The incidents and the people can speak for themselves. In fact, you can see one example for yourself if you please for Reynolds has done an effective job of bringing you the imagery.
What I can say is that in “bearing witness”, as Reynolds and I later came to reference this experience, I am now more than ever a firm believer in the necessity of communal healing processes. Beauty rests comfortably within unity. I see that people deserve an opportunity to reunite in the present, removed from the past physically, and to speak freely on those events. Each chant appeared like a breath of fresh air blown into an otherwise contaminated place. I see respect and dignity in honoring the past without a need to suppress it. The recognition in explicit detail seemed very much a way to return, to relive, and hopefully to leave the emotions in the fire. This experiences leaves me with a feeling that other peoples who have suffered significant loss (e.g., Cambodians, original peoples of the present-day Americas, Africans in the West and in Europe, members of the Jewish community, Azanians, Namibians, and Vietnamese) may find an effective example in Rwanda of a nation that is moving forward with an aim of incorporating healing into the equation for progress. This event was protected by the police, guarded by the military, and supported by members in all levels of society. It is not perfect, as most things aren’t, but it is at an attempt. There are many other examples where healing, remembrance, and forgiveness could not be mentioned in the same sentence.
The least of actions is greater than the noblest of intentions. Someone said that to me once, and this is a reminder of that.
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