By Nuzhat Shahzadi
It was a bumpy ride to Kigali––a two hour flight from Nairobi.
The small aircraft dived straight into the heart of turbulence as it entered the Rwandan air space. It seemed it was falling off from the sky. The window seat was occupied by a white woman. We said “hi” when I took the aisle seat beside her. She said she was a UN consultant.
“It happens every time on this route. I’m petrified,” she grabbed my hand in panic as the aircraft suddenly lost height . . . I will be honest––I was terrified as well. We sat huddled together, our hands clasped till the plane landed in one piece.
I travelled about eighty percent of my time when I worked with Unicef-ESARO, Nairobi. Sometimes I would transit via Nairobi while on travel as my missions were back to back. This was my first trip to Rwanda––exactly three years after the genocide. I was invited by Unicef-Rwanda to train a group of our staff, government and NGO partners on psychosocial life skills building.
The country was still recovering from the tragic100 days of massacre––April 7th to 15th July 1994. About a million people died in the systematic mass killing, 250,000 to 500,000 girls and women were raped. The ethnic violence shocked the world, shook human conscience . . .
Right after landing I had my initial meeting with the office. Then I went to the hotel. As we drove my mind kept conjuring images of the bloody-baths the streets had witnessed; the houses, kiosks and trees and the sky had watched, in silence. I could smell the pain in the air, felt a strange connection. In my adolescence I had survived a horrific genocide, which I could never leave behind . . .
In the evening, my Rwandan-friend and colleague came to have dinner with me. We became friends when I did a short assignment with the Regional Office, late 1994. (I am calling him Mr. T for anonymity). I could detect the traces of deep mourning on his face, his voice.
“It still haunts me. I know you understand. Your country’s history is no different from mine . . . but it’s geographically separated from the murderers. We have to live with them . . . and pretend all is well,” Mr. T said. He walked me through the horrors of the 100 days.
It took many years to bring the perpetrators to justice––ten years after the genocide about 86% of the Hutus (approximately, 800,000) were convicted for the massacre of over a million Tutsis and moderate Hutus. I remember what my Kenyan Project Assistant Eunice had shared with me. She was sent to Kigali for three months to support the office right after the genocide. One night, one of our expat officers went berserk. He screamed and threw beer bottles on the wall. He had to be restrained and evacuated right afterwards for PTSD.
Next day, we travelled to Butare, to the workshop venue. The countryside was lush green. The emerald-hilly slopes and streams held many secrets––so much happened there. The soul of Rwanda touched mine!
After each day’s sessions, I sat with some participants to listen to their stories––of sorrow and resilience. I learned about an adolescent girl who watched her entire family being brutally killed. After the genocide she was taken in by an NGO run shelter. Outwardly she seemed to be coping okay but at any mention of the tragedy she would start screaming and continued for hours . . .
On the way back after the workshop was over, we stopped to offer our respect to the victims of campus killing at the Butare University. Students mainly. Kids. The simple monument spoke volumes in its solemn silence.
As we were about to enter Kigali I noticed lots of men in pink clothes working on the grounds. Mr. T informed me that they were prisoners, waiting for conviction for their roles in the genocide.
“Now I want to make you laugh,” he said. He told me that the genocide and prosecutions had created a scarcity of men especially around far-flung rural areas. Men from other regions of the country have entered into a bizarre profession. They were touring around visiting women headed households/widows and provided them sexual services. Women pampered them, paid them and gratefully accepted their “services.”
HIV/AIDS prevalence rates were quite high. The genocide further aggravated the situation. One in four victims of rape became HIV positive. “But the war is behind them . . . they have survived, rebuilt their lives . . . who can stop these amazing women now?” Mr. T added.
He made me smile.
Back at my hotel room I wrote a poem that night. The rain splashed against my windows––cleansing the very last, lost remnants of bloodstains, possibly––from the streets of Rwanda:
“Make me a song for my sorrow
Make me a rainbow for tomorrow . . .”
- can’t remember what else I wrote.
It's impossible to find words. I think your poem expresses it. Thanks for another dramatic story.
ReplyDeleteDear Nuzhat,
ReplyDeleteI have greatly appreciated your story about Rwanda – "enjoyed" doesn't seem appropriate, somehow…
It so happens that I know well the British investigative journalist Linda Melvern, who for 27 years has been researching and writing about the genocide of the Tutsi.
You may be familiar with some of her work, but might like to consult her website : https://lindamelvern.com , which inter alia describes the 3 books she has written about it. The last, Intent to Deceive , was published this year and is very timely, dealing as it does with the business of denial which is if anything becoming increasingly and disturbingly widespread.
Incidentally, you write that in adolescence you "survived a horrific genocide". Would you be so kind and tell me where that was?
Kind regards
Peter Greaves
Dear Peter,
Deletegreetings. Many thanks for your appreciation for my column on Rwanda. The Rwanda case is a sad lesson–– how the west and the UN failed! But do
we learn from history? I was aware of Linda Melvern's book but never got the opportunity to read it. Possibly, I didn't and don't have the courage to read it.
In my adolescence, West Pakistani forces launched a genocide against its own citizens in East Pakistan of the Bengalee race. Approximately 3 million people were butchered, 100,000-500,000 women and girls were raped, millions fled to India as refugees. Though the number of actual victims are disputed in the absence of proper documentation, it's unanimously accepted that it was high– killing and rape. The genocide was planned well ahead by the west Pakistani army and their political leaders. The western countries watched the killings, allowed it to happen. In fact, US was ready to send its 7th Feet to aid Pakistan.
I am a Bengalee. Family friends and relatives were slaughtered. My dad, a Military doctor in the Pakistan army was arrested in December, 1971 in Lahore where he was posted at the time and served as a POW for over 3 years. Our house in Lahore cantonment was looted under the command of a Pakistani military officer as my dad watched. Dad was a man of courage and wisdom. He had sent my mom and us–siblings back to Dhaka in Aug 1971. We stayed in our grandparents' village home and escaped much of the horrors. I have given you a full account . . .
Take care.
With warm wishes,
Nuzhat
Dear Nuzhat,
DeleteThank you for your "full account” of your family’s horrendous experiences in East Pakistan and your father’s in Lahore. In December 1972 I joined the UNICEF regional office in New Delhi, which had supported some of the refugees in India. I suppose you call yourselves Bangladeshis now?
I had forwarded your Rwandan column to Linda Melvern, who thanks you for sharing it , and said she found it very moving. You ask whether we learn from history. This question is addressed partly by Linda in her latest book Intent to Deceive, which you could look up on her web-site. Incidentally, I wrongly said it was published “this year”; in fact it was in 2020. I’m sure you would enjoy it.
Warmest best wishes,
Peter.