On the 16th of February 2024, I visited the Kigali Genocide Memorial in Rwanda.
While children are allowed to enter the memorial site including the café, restaurant and the beautiful grounds, they are understandably restricted from the main exhibition rooms. I did the tour alone and although I knew it was going to be an emotional exhibit, I underestimated just how impactful it would be.
What I read, heard and saw will stay with me forever. I penned my experience of the Genocide Memorial whilst on the tour, I don’t think it would have had the same impact if I wrote several days or even months later.
I hope my story encourages you too to visit Kigali and to learn about the legacy of Genocide and the impact it has on a country and its people.
A Day of refelection
Nestled amidst the hills of Gisozi, in Rwanda’s capital city of Kigali, stands the Kigali Genocide Memorial -where more than 250,000 victims of the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi are buried.
Built in 1999, the site is protected by armed guards and is one of the more than 250 registered memorials in Rwanda dedicated to those who lost their lives.
As we were ordered out of the taxi for a full vehicle search, the security officers ushered us to a booth for a stringent look into our bags and a full body scan. I instantly noticed how well secured the memorial was.
On entering the site my gaze fixed on how clean, conserved and beautiful the grounds were. It was the most fitting tribute to honour the memory of the estimated more than one million total Rwandans killed in 1994.
There was plenty of open space for visitors and survivors to take a seat, reflect on the lives of their loved ones, to grieve and to pay their respects. A rosebush garden bloomed with vibrant flowers all shades of pink. It’s now a place of serenity and remembrance but also one of hope and optimism.
My first few steps into the gallery were taken nervously. Inside the first room hung more than a thousand photographs. Individual portraits. Family portraits. Carefree children with beaming smiles on their youthful faces. As our eyes met, my heart ached for their pain and tears filled my eyes. I looked around and I noticed that I was not alone in my moment of grief.
Imagine what it was like for those innocent children to see their parents tortured, slaughtered, beaten and killed right in front of them. Many parents became separated from their children during the killing spree that lasted for around 100 days, and hundreds of thousands of children were orphaned as a result. I stood there for some time, fixated on the sheer volume of children caught up in this atrocity. My head felt heavy. This was real.
A large glass unit showcased several clothing items: a T-shirt that read Ottawa Canada, a child’s waist coat, most suitable for a toddler, a colourful stripped worn-out sweater- the colours drained, the fabric torn, dirty and completely soiled. These items were symbolic of the innocent children of Rwanda’s future whose lives were torn apart.
Another unit displayed a tracksuit bearing a fashionable and well-known brand. Nothing looked dated, a reminder of just how recent this genocide was. A pair of men’s trousers in tear and tatters hung near a knitted jumper with two large and roughly torn holes, as if they had caught on something in the horrific moment of savagery and prised apart. The pain of loss was excruciating and was evidentially felt in the hearts of the many visitors who surrounded me.
As the weeping gallery wiped their tears away a palpable atmosphere of deep sorrow filled the air. All I heard was sniffling, and then whispering, and then more sniffling. The woman who stood next to me slumped down. This was no easy viewing.
The next exhibit featured a silky pair of original black striped adidas bottoms. I envisioned that they belonged to a young man or boy who roamed the streets comfortable in his casual attire. An ordinary person. Living an ordinary life. Later caught up in the most extraordinary circumstances. He could have been a student, a father, a husband. Who knows? He was a son for sure, and his life was cruelly taken away.
As I ambled to the next gallery the viewing intensified. The atmosphere was eerier and the sight of exposed human skulls sent shivers down my spine. rested in rows of four. Well organised and contrasting, all exposed some teeth and hollow eye sockets. Some small others large. They appeared fragile, some with cracks and others with well-rounded holes, rested and well preserved. Noticeably many of the front teeth were missing.
Bones in their thousands were arranged vertically. They measured approximately 30 to 40 centimetres in length, some smaller and thinner than others. Some personal possessions were scattered around the skulls in one of the cabinets.
A little child’s white leather loafer shoe worn and leaned. The tassels curled. No life in them at all. It was the right foot. I wondered if the left foot was ever found. The keys for a diesel engine oil vehicle were positioned nearby two bangles, a coin and a blue ink biro pen. A black cracked leather wallet was rested by a smoking pipe. A symbol of faith was evident in the resting of three rusty catholic rosemary beads tangled together. Damaged Identification cards were unreadable but remained in one piece, held together in laminated plastic. These were ordinary belongings anyone could relate to. Everything looked so modern making the emotional impact even more powerful.
One of the final exhibits was the children’s memorial dedicated to the memory of the children whose lives were cut short cruelly and intentionally. It shows how a generation of dreams were stolen by genocide and remembers the thousands of children and infants slaughtered. It was uncomfortable to view but felt necessary to complete my experience as a visitor. Most touching of all was a handwritten post it notes pinned beside one of the children’s photographs that read: ‘RIP I love you and I miss you’ popios’.
Read more about the Genocide against the Tutsi
