Purple Bows, White Flags and Ribbons

It was 8:30am when the five of us loaded into the motorcar. The fog was out on this morning and the sun was hiding. The ride was something of an hour. We let time pass with nervous chatter; none of us knew where exactly we were going.
When we arrived at the first church we all eagerly walked in. We wanted to bear witness. We wanted to be educated on Rwanda’s past. In fact, this was why we were visiting the country.

 

The memorial guide explained that the people in the village of the Tutsi decent fled to the church. They sought out sanctuary in their God and in their community that was gathering there. The building looked in tact from the outside… then we ventured in.
The benches for the congregation were covered in piles clothing. It was the clothes that 10,008 people were wearing then they came to the church. They were not preserved in anyway, just piled in rows as to show the vast numbers that were in the 5 acre area.
When we turned around, we could see the area in front of the door where the Hutu’s had detonated grenades in order to make way into the building. The original gates were still there; mangled and rusted. As we walked towards the alter I turned around. I felt as though I could feel the fear that was in the eyes of those we had huddled in the back corner.

As the Hutu’s entered, they shot the building to pieces. Suddenly, the bullet holes in the walls were much more noticeable. The sunlight that felt warm against my skin while I was inside was there due to dark hatred. Someone had climbed to the top of the church and lit dynamite to collapse part of the ceiling. I then had chills.

We could see blood stains that remained on the cloth on the alter, and against the walls. There was one large crimson area that we were led to. This was the place where the children were hiding. Weapons were valuable that February in 1994; people were told that brick walls worked as extermination tool for the future generation. They lined the children up so that they could watch what would soon be their fate. The gruesome images that they last endured were flooding my mind. I moved over and turned my head while the guide kept explaining. Then she told us that where I was standing is where they piled the bodies. I walked outside.

This was to no prevail. We then went down into a mass grave. The first was to show us different ways that people were killed. This was done by looking at different skull fractures. They were grouped into categories: machete, grenade, hippo-hide hammer, spears, sticks, walls, stones, and gun fire. There was one woman who had been killed through sexual assault. They then placed her child back in her arms and pierced them together with a spear. They had a special casket for them. Their bodies remain intact.
We came up for about three breaths of fresh air. Then we descended into the depths again. This time, it was one of two holes in the ground holding a total of 45,276 people’s remains. I had one look and turned around and walk back up the stairs. I was greeted by purple bows, white flags, and ribbons blowing in the breeze. They were the small comfort I had to hold onto while I waited for the others to return.

Then we went to another church. The facts were the same and the statistics were just as astounding. I was just as shocked to hear the figures again. Desensitization was the last thing I was feeling.

 

We then drove to the Kigali Genocide Memorial. On the way, I found myself searching for traces of conflict; buildings dismantled and such. But I didn’t see this. Instead I noticed that the roads were smoother than in Kampala and that the rolling hills of Rwanda were beautiful. I also noticed that the people of the country had not forgotten the events of genocide, but were working to move past it. I noticed that the government had worked hard to repair infrastructure and even harder to portray a wonderful image of itself to the East African community.

I also felt shame. Shame for searching for conflict while others were trying to keep it in the back of their minds. It also made me feel like our news reports in America capture nothing. Yes, I was impacted when I have watched past reports of the genocide. But I believe that in every conflict and natural disaster, we are hearing numbers and statistics. Not seeing gruesome images and hearing family’s stories. These testimonies need to be made more available to the international public. They also need more follow-up. Americans need to be reminded of travesty; or else we will put these things in the back of our minds. But unlike the Rwandans, we will have nothing to cause us to recall the horrific events.

The memorial was something that I am blessed to be a witness of. The stories, footage, and photos were the raw information that the world needs. They also had an exhibit for the other genocides around the world. I admit that these are something that I myself don’t allow myself to recall often enough.

The amount of lives that were taken from this earth during that month made me question something that I never thought I would.

That belief was this: people are innately good. Is that true? Those who took part in the slaughtering were neighbors with one another. They were friends and even relatives. How could one line over a radio trigger such a physiological change in these people’s beings?

“…we must cut the tall trees.”

As I have now had time to process these thoughts, I realize that I still believe that people are good. I believe that evil is some that swells in the belly of a beast who rejects the good in his/her life and ignores the beauty that shines through the world daily. When these people obtain power, they have the ability to use propaganda and buzz media to close the eyes of others as well. Also, I believe that in the end, the good people that stand for their beliefs is a much more powerful statement than any radio broadcast or poster could ever make.
 
Post from CU Denver Student Veronica Tuerffs
Source: http://veronicatuerffs.tumblr.com/post/10686986117/purple-bows-white-flags-and-ribons

Adopted at the Grocery Store

I learned a very important lesson today.  No matter how small the errand is, I should never leave home without a book mark.  For those of you who don’t know, my mom taught me how to make book marks by hand out of little glass beads.  So when I decided to go to China, I set about making as many of them as I could to give to people as presents.  My American friends helped me by eating altoids.  Since the beads are glass, they are breakable, so I wanted to put them into altoid tins to protect them.  Then my I commissioned my good friend Anja to paint the tins so that they would be pretty.  I have about 20 of them, and I brought the beads to make more.

Today I decided I needed to go to the Merry Mart.  The Merry Mart is the largest store near campus.  Its very close, across the street from the northern gate of campus.  There is even a bridge so pedestrians can cross the busy street without worrying about traffic.  Trust me, that’s something to be worried about in Beijing.  So I had a list, in my head of everything I needed, shampoo, conditioner, a blanket (so that when nights start getting cold I’ll still be able to sleep), an umbrella, yogurt, juice, instant noodles, jello, a pair of scissors and a pair of slippers.  The shoes are to wear in my room.  I am slowly understanding why people here think the ground is dirty.  That’s cause the ground is dirty.  I’ve noticed I track in a fair amount of dirt when I walk into my dorm room.  I’m not the only one with this problem, one of the ICB professors, named Enoch, leaves his shoes out in the hallway so that he doesn’t track dirt into the room.  I had started taking my shoes off, but then if there is any dirt in my room, it gets in my bed when I go to bed.  So….I decided to buy some slip on shoes so that when I am in my room I can not only keep my feet clean, but keep the floor clean.  These shoes aren’t leaving the room.

I have been to the Merry Mart a few times now, but this was my first time alone.  I sorta learned the layout of the place, and I brought along my visual dictionary, cause I wasn’t certain I would be able to figure out the shampoo and conditioner (I never found the conditioner, but I got the shampoo which is more important to me), without it.  I also emptied out my back pack so that I could put most the groceries in it for the walk back, and headed out.

When I was looking for the blanket, I must have looked very lost. I was in the correct section, scanning the shelves seeing if I could find them, and a sales lady came up and asked (in Chinese) if she could help me find what I was looking for.  So…I have 3 cats, and one of them is named Tanzerin, which is German and means dancer (this is relevant to the story I promise).  So Tanzerin sounds like 毯子人 (tanziren), and the first two characters tanzi mean blanket.  I would never have remembered that word (cause it was in the supplemental vocabulary), except it reminded me of my kitty.  So I told her what I was looking for, and although I used the wrong tone (she corrected me), she understood.  She asked me what size I was looking for, and what color.  She showed me where they were, and climbed up the most unstable looking ladder I have ever seen (I told her 小心/Be careful!), to find a purple blanket for me.  I went to hold the ladder for her, and she thought I was going to try to climb it, and told me that she would climb it.  It was held together with wire.  I really appreciated her help, and it was really cool cause I understood everything that she said, and I’m pretty sure she understood everything I said.  Happy day.

So the rest of shopping was pretty uneventful, I got just about everything I was looking for and I go through check out.  So the cashier asked me if I had a card.  I thought he was asking me if I was paying with a credit card, so I responded no.  And that’s when I was adopted by a Chinese grandma.  As I’m packing my backpack up with the stuff that the cashier had already scanned, this cute old lady comes up to me and hands me a card with Merry Mart written on it in Chinese.  So I handed it to the cashier.  I’m not sure exactly what it did.  I looked at the receipt and I don’t see anything pertaining to a card on it.  The cashier scanned it and handed it back to the old lady.  Maybe it made my bill cheaper, maybe it just gave her credit for my purchases (cause I paid in cash, it wasn’t a credit card).  When I asked the guy for a bag (cause my backpack was full) the lady repeated me, louder and with the correct tones, and made sure I got my bag.  Then she escorted me out of the store (picking up two merry mart ads, one for herself one for me), and pushed my cart for me.  She argued with two of the Merry Mart clerks when we got to the parking lot, because she wanted me to be able to take the cart out of the lot.  She kept saying my bags were too heavy.  I kept trying to explain that there was no need for her to worry, that although I didn’t have a car, I lived close, on the campus across the street.  She showed me where the bus station was, and I finally got through to her that I could walk back without any problems.  She pulled down the sleeves on my hoodie because it was cold outside, and I thanked her for her help.

This is where I get to the sad part of the story.  When I was leaving my room this morning, I had considered grabbing a couple of the tins on my way out.  But I assumed that it would just be a quick stop to the store, and I would not get lost, nor need any help, so I didn’t grab any.  The situation I encountered I had never considered.  Imagine at King Soopers, a little old lady helping a young Chinese girl go through the check out line.  I am pretty sure that wouldn’t happen.  Most people wouldn’t help a random foreigner out like that.  Also it felt very weird that this old woman was pushing my cart around for me.  I had the fight the part of my brain that was screaming hey you’re the young kid, help the lady out.  So now I know, no matter how small the errand is, I am always going to have a bookmark on me. 

 

 

Post from CU Denver student Kelsey Evans

Source: Pink Hair in Beijing