Blog April 7, 2008
National Day of Mourning
Fourteen years ago today, unspeakable horrors flooded the lives of common people in Rwanda. Violence erupted on a scale unknown to many who live comfortably in the rich nations of the world. A complete breqkdown of humanity led to a hell that raged for months, In the end, the streets were empty, except for the corpses, and the dogs that fed on them.
This morning, the streets are empty again: eerily empty in a way we have not seen since we arrived here more than a month ago. The usual rage of trafic is muted. For once, there are more moto-drivers than people. The din of construction is gone. The few dogs that remain are silent, and hungry.
The timid, cautious looks of the few people we meet on our morning wallk suggest that the quiet is not peaceful. It is roiling with memories that cannot be spoken out-loud. The memories drown out the words that might have surfaced. And so, it is mainly the birds who speak today in caws and chirrups and whistles.
In this land of many hills, the nuances of altitude and elevation are everywhere. The next hilltop seems a straight shot away. Yet, there may be swamps in the valley that seperate this hilltop from the next. To cross the swamps is difficult and dangerous, and so we take the long way around. We stay above the fray, travelling along one contour of elevation to reach our destination.
The hill crest is the surest route to follow. The best roads hug the crest, keeping one safely above the murky surface below. Today, the surface is quiet. People take the surest routes. Thankfully, these routes have been paved and the sidewalks have been laid. And thankfully, the sidewalks are far, far enough, away from the swamps to keep the common people safe.
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