Chantelle
Age: 8
Favourite Sport: Jogging with her father
Favourite Drink: Milk
Favourite Food: Cake
Favourite Song: “Our Native Land which God Chose me For”
Cause of Death: Hacked by a machete.
My intention is not to be insensitive or just to shock people. These are just thoughts I’ve had, things I can’t get off my mind, and things I challenge you to think about also.
Here are just a few facts that stood with me after exiting the Kigali Genocide Memorial.
- some gruesome fates of named children (with personal facts similar to Chantelle’s, listed in their description) between the age of 9 months and 8 years included: “a grenade thrown in the shower” at two sisters, a toddler being “smashed against the wall,” a baby being “slashed by a machete in her mother’s arms,” and many being shot in the head, tortured to death, or burnt alive
- the number of foreign troops brought in to evacuate all visiting foreigners would have been enough to stop the genocide
- “Never Again” – a statement made after the Holocaust. One Rwandan man asks, “Did this mean only for some people?”
- in 1997 (a few years after the genocide) armed rebels entered a school and demanded that the children split the room into “Hutus” and “Tutsis.” The children responded with, “There are none here. Only Rwandans.” So they threw a grenade in the room, killing 6, and injuring 20.
Excuse my language, but what the f*#k is wrong the world? That’s how I felt leaving that place.
Have any of you seen the movie “Hotel Rwanda”? If you haven’t, go watch it right now – it’s based on a true story. Yes, there are a few fabrications and some descrepancy on how much of a hero this hotel manager was in real life, but it gives a pretty good representation of what Rwanda – across the nation – was experiencing in 1994. The movie takes place in Kigali – exactly where we are. Though the movie was filmed in South Africa (because it was too difficult to get the materials for filming to Rwanda) the hotel actually exists to this day, and runs here in the city. On our first night here, we visited that very place. We walked through the gates that would have divided streets of massacre to this somewhat “safe” haven, we strolled in next to the pool which became “guests'” (or should I say “refugees'”) cooking and drinking water, and looked up at suites that would have been raided by Hutu rebels… Don’t get me started on thinking about where Canada or the U.S were at this time. I’m not one to speak about politics…
I think of Chantelle, who was only 8 years old. Her favourite song, “Our Nation which God Chose [Her] For,” and how that nation betrayed her because of the lies fed to both Hutu and Tutsi peoples that the other group was too dangerous and unforgiveable to let live. I don’t have endless pages to give you an unbiased and detailed account of Rwanda’s history, but I encourage you to find one and read through it. I’m thankful to have had the opportunity to learn about the genocide in Rwanda in grade eight (who’d have thought I’d carry that knowledge for seven years to the nation itself) – but the majority of my team was unaware that something so huge had happened within their very life span…
Near the end of our visit to the “Hotel Rwanda” site we heard a live Rwandan jazz band playing by the tikki bar next to the pool. They sang worship songs like “How Great is Our God” and “You are my All in All” in English and then some in French. I had craaazy chills. I cannot believe the redemption that has taken place in this city, in the country. Of course, no plan for reconstruction is perfect, no funds endless, nor resources accessable everywhere in need. But considering such an atrocity happened only 21 years ago – more than a million people killed, thousands injured, thousands left as orphans, countless homes and places burned – there has been incredible peace, progress and there still remains so much potential for this nation.
That little story within my last bullet point hits me so hard. A few years after the genocide when remaining rebels threatened these students’ very lives, these young children refused to allow differences to kill them. They stood in resistance to fight for what was the same between each of them – they were Rwandan. Unity has been a continued process in this nation – the government does not recognize the names of “Hutu” and “Tutsi” any longer. Though this tangible divide has been erased present-day, the week of mourning each April keeps memories fresh – that this tragedy is something never to be repeated. I’ve met many people who lived through the genocide, or grew up as refugees in Uganda. When I look at my young Rwandan brothers of the host family we’re with, I struggle to imagine what sickness overcame other humans to slaughter such innocent beauties like them – like Chantelle.
So those are just some thoughts. I don’t know how to end this. I don’t have an answer, or brilliant conclusion. But…
Nope. That’s it.
