One issue coming out of The Race Card blog is the blurred reality which many Barbadians have of life on the African continent. Some BU family members mentioned Rwanda and other African countries based on interpretations from books. Reading is a good activity to cultivate but when combined with first hand feedback, the power of cross fertilization makes the learning experience a powerful one.
Living in Barbados blogger who has worked many years on the African continent facilitated an exchange with his African friend who endured a horrible experience in Rwanda. BU believes the personal testimony quoted below may bring life to the reality for many living in Africa.
They killed my Children; I will not let them kill my soul too.
Kanyankore Rudasingwa Marcel
Denmark, 27 January 2003
I survived the Rwandese genocide through luck. I left Rwanda on a business trip on April 5th 1994. Twenty-four hours later the killings started. My family was trapped in the genocide. My wife survived but our five children did not. They were killed together with their grandmother, three cousins, an uncle an aunt and over 60 other people.
We learned from eyewitnesses that the carnage occurred on May 20th 1994. Our children: Paul, Edna, Christa, Emmanuella and Benjamin were 12, 10, 8, 6, and 4 when their lives were cut short. My wife and I have heard shocking accounts of what happened. We will never get to know the whole truth of what happened. Our main source of information was from people suspected of complicity or ashamed of doing nothing to avert the slaughter.
It all started in mid April when, more out of desperation than faith, some people gathered for sanctuary at the Central Rwanda Adventist Mission. On 20th May, the mission Treasurer called these people out of their hiding places to allegedly receive rations. They were gathered in my father-in-law’s backyard located at the entrance to the mission. As though on cue, a jeep full of armed gendarmes (police) sped into the compound as soon as all the people were gathered. To prevent the escape of the powerless group of children, women and mostly elderly men, some of the gendarmes brandished machine guns with bayonets menacingly clamped on them.
One aged Pastor sprung up from the crowd and tried to run. He was shot from the back. To frighten other escape attempts he was left to slowly die a few meters from the crowd.
At about three o’clock in the afternoon, the gendarmes commandeered a school truck from a college neighbouring the mission. About 70 people were huddled onto the truck and transported to their massacre 10 kilometres north of the mission. We are told that as the truck sped to the disastrous destination, meek and shaky voices sang church hymns until the truck stopped on the slopes of an isolated village called Gitovu.
The manner in which our children and the other people were killed was atrocious. One would have expected the gendarmes to shoot them, which would at least quickly end their commission and the victims’ anguish. On the contrary, we are told that the gendarmes incited the villagers gathered around the scene to strip the people and kill them with their machetes and clubs. The gendarmes supervised the butchery that followed. The people were then hastily buried in a shallow rift.
In July 1994 I went to the mission to try and find out what had happened. Ironically, it is the same Treasurer that drove me to the site where our children and the other people were killed. Strong evidence was later established and he was arrested in September 1994. He is still in prison awaiting trial. Almost 10 years after, we are still waiting for some justice to be done. I say some justice because the mission Treasurer is only one of the suspects. Other suspects are on the run. We expect that through the case of the Treasurer we will know who else was involved.
Tonight, I thank the organisers of this event for the opportunity to share the story of my family. Telling their story is the most significant memorial for them and other victims. Memorials are so that people do not remain ignorant of a tragedy. When people know what happened, they will want to understand why it happened. Trying to understand why genocides happen may yield more questions than answers.
Despite the frustration of too many questions and not enough answers, the search for truth and justice remains for me an inspiration in life. Succumbing to the pangs of my tragedy would be the delight of the perpetrators of the Rwandese genocide. They killed my children; I will not let them kill my soul too.
The blogmaster invites you to join the discussion.