Peace

This morning, I woke to the sound of silence, when the flittering of a moth could overpower a wildebeest stampede. Indeed, even now, the hum of a computer fan incessantly pounds my senses. Most mornings, the administration building hums with the daily tedium of accounting, printing, signing, and deciding. So why is today so serene? It's not entirely due to the soldiers I passed on my way to the hospital this morning. You may ask why soldiers armed with assault rifles patrol the streets on a national day of mourning. The answer to that query lies in the nature of our sadness. Today, we remember the genocide, and the soldiers stand their ground to ensure peace remains.

Two groups of people, the Hutus and the Tutsis, had vied for power for decades. After a civil war between the Tutsi-led RPF and the Hutu regime, the government decided to eliminate the Tutsis (who comprised of about 15% of the populous) and therefore eradicate the opposition. The atrocities began with the elimination of the Hutu president by his fellow Hutus. The assassins felt the president was trying to make peace with the Tutsis and couldn't accept this. Almost immediately extremist Hutus began to execute their plan, execute their countrymen. Many moderate Hutus were given a choice, kill their Tutsi neighbors or suffer the same fate. Finally, after three months, the tides turned and relative peace once again reigned.





Although this happened 17 years ago, the reminders still resonate today. Every day, I see a memorial to locals who lost their lives. Every time I travel to Kigali, I pass at least five monuments to the same tragedy. Like many Westerners, I still struggle to understand how hatred could motivate such actions. I fail to comprehend how those of us who claim to preserve life could have abandoned them and our peacekeeping mission. But I also see the efforts to overcome evil. The current president, Paul Kagame, has promoted peace despite being one of the tribe the Hutus tried to annihilate. I see integration of all people in all aspects of life. I see the respect everyone exhibits for the memorials commemorating those lost.

No longer are labels of Hutu or Tutsi applied. Whether tall or short, rich or poor, light-skinned or dark, we are Rwandans. Today, the towers of pine, mango, and eucalyptus bow their crowns in remembrance of the evils they witnessed yet utter not a word. The thunder roars and wails for its absent audience. The clouds weep their tears for the children who never jumped in the puddles. The rain washes away the auburn stains of the clay. Although we grieve tremendous loss, we can look forward. Why? Because today is a day of forgiveness.