The taxi ride turned out to be as equally eventful as the van ride with Willy the night before, albeit for slightly different reasons. George firstly drove very slowly peering intently over the steering wheel. His intense concentration was clearly driven by his diminished ability to see very far ahead. The thought that they might hit something due to his poor vision was reassuringly tempered by the fact that there could be little damage, given the speed he drove at. The slowness of the travel had another positive: it minimised some of similarities with Willy’s van. The Mazda had, like Willy’s van, little by way of effective shock absorbers and tended to bounce and sway at the slightest unevenness in the road. However, at the slow speed, the bouncing was not as vigorous or as nauseating as it had been in Willy’s van.
The genocide memorial they found up a dusty winding road on the side of the hill. Lining the road on either side were small earthen huts. The majority were made from orange sun-dried mud bricks, rendered as a plaster finish by another layer of brownish mud. Roof tiles of hardened dried mud had become a faded pale orange, thanks to the hot African sun. On either side of the central door facing the road were two small windows. The design reminded Christian of the drawings of some of the very young patients in the paediatric wards. To their drawings, they had consistently added smoke from a chimney, now also coming from most of the Rwandan houses. Smiling faces, which children also consistently drew, were the only things missing from the windows.
George drove the Mazda slowly into the car park and parked in one corner. Along one side of the car park was a dark grey granite wall onto which thousands of names were etched, a stark commemoration to those who had violently died in the genocide. Each name was a memory of someone who had been hacked to death. Climbing out of the taxi, they all stretched and stood for a moment just looking at the wall and feeling the enormous sense of tragedy that it projected. It was such an overwhelming feeling that no one felt able to speak. The thousands upon thousands of names, all senselessly dead, many buried beneath their feet. They walked in silence towards the main entrance as George pointed out open graves to their left. Bodies were being laid in neat rows, more victims who had been recently discovered.
Inside the memorial building, the genocide had been recreated in vivid detail. Large poster-style pictures of decapitation immediately attacked all senses and produced a feeling of revulsion. Holograms and other gruesome pictures drove home the horror of wanton killing. Nearly 1,000,000 people were senselessly hacked to death, many of them young children, while the world stood idly by. The scale of the killing and its graphic nature was nauseating. However, it was the videos in which children talked about watching their parents being hacked to death, which were the most heart wrenching and emotionally draining. No wonder the sheer scale and depravity of the slaughter had produced universal guilt, and then an attempt to assuage some of that guilt with overwhelming aid.
After an hour and a half, they slowly and quietly made their way back to the entrance. They were emotionally drained, sitting in silence for quite some time, each trying to comprehend the extent of man’s inhumanity to man, woman, and children. Christian, as he sat, wondered if the memorial was made compulsory viewing for every human being, would it decrease the chance of it ever recurring anywhere else in the world. Given man’s capacity to inflict grotesque mayhem on his fellow man and the history of Germany and Bosnia, it was a wishful thought. Primal bloodletting once unleashed ignores basic, let alone sophisticated, emotional restraints.
The trip back to the hotel failed to stir them out of their sombre mood. George managing to avoid all the major potholes was one small consolation. His driving, however, was not flawless for he did manage to find at least two judder bars, which caused them to brace themselves for the inevitable hard landing and chassis scraping on the other side. They experienced a momentary distraction from the emotional sadness that they were all feeling.
Arriving back at the hotel, Rafael suggested a cold beer almost as soon as they climbed out of George’s taxi. However, no one seemed enthusiastic about taking up his offer and no one seemed to want to talk about the experience of the memorial. As they walked into the hotel, Cindy hooked her arm through Donna’s as her act of emotional solidarity. Christian was about to head to his room when he noticed Willy standing next to the reception desk. The contrast to their mood could not have been greater. Willy was not just smiling as he usually did; he was beaming his smile that penetrating their collective sea of darkness.
“I thought you might like to talk about the memorial,” he said. “People usually come back from that visit very depressed.”
“I’m not sure that we are ready to do that just yet,” Christian said, looking at the others to see whether there was any dissent. “I think we just need to take in what we saw, the enormity of the genocide. Perhaps we can talk about that tomorrow.”
“I would like to pray for you, so that you are not contaminated by the spirit of death from the genocide memorial. That can contaminate your spirits and give you weird dreams.”
Christian looked at Willy; clearly, he was on a mission. Spiritual exuberance he could see radiated from every pore. He was as charged up as a twelve-volt battery. Then Christian remembered it was Sunday. Willy, being the fervent worshipper that he was, would have had four hours of charismatic Christianity channelling. He would be so infused with God’s love he would believe that everything could be and should be dealt with prayer.
“I would like you to do that,” Cindy said without looking at any of the others.
Willy’s smile took on lighthouse proportions. No shadow in the room was safe.
Christian looked at both Donna and Rafael. Neither of them appeared convinced that this was the antidote. Christian was equivocal but curious. Having Willy pray for him, he could not imagine it would do any harm and it would give him insight into the Rwandan people, or at least Willy.
“You can pray for me, Willy,” Christian said as Donna and Rafael shook their heads and headed off upstairs to their rooms.
Willy directed them to a small table in the dining room. Although it was close to dinner time, there were no others in the room. Willy seemed to have organized exclusive access through Albert, his spiritual partner in crime. Christian held the chair for Cindy as the beaming Willy stood and waited for them both to be seated. For a moment, nothing happened. Willy stood in front of them, eyes closed murmuring to himself. Cindy looked at Christian and raised her eyebrows indicating that she thought it was going to be more than just a silent prayer. Christian shrugged his shoulders just as Willy opened his eyes and said to them.
“Do you believe in Jesus?”
Cindy nodded quickly while Christian did not respond. He had been through the religious challenge many times and not come to any scientific conclusions. There was no such doubt in Willy. He believed he had the answer and he could see in Willy’s eyes that he was desperate for some affirmation. Christian shortly wondered with his lack of spiritual belief, whether he should make a declaration and possibly exclude himself. He had almost made up his mind to get up and leave Cindy to whatever was about to happen, when Willy looked at him with such kindness and expectation, he could not abjure. He nodded to Willy.
Christian lost count in the next fifteen minutes of how many times he heard the name Jesus. Giving Willy permission to pray he imagined was going to be the easy part. Stopping him before midnight would be the greater challenge. As he sat there, he learnt about Jesus the Saviour, Jesus the Redeemer, Jesus the Shepherd, but mostly Jesus who died on the cross, and spilled his blood for all humankind. Certainly more cheeses than he had ever heard in his life before. Willy then moved on, prayerfully washing them with the blood of Jesus, cleansing them, he said, of the spirit of death that might have clung to them from the memorial. After invoking the Holy Spirit to be with them, he walked around the small table placing his hand firstly on Cindy’s head and then on Christian’s.
“Father God, by the power that you have invested in me, I releas
e them from any spirits that may have rested on them. By the blood of Jesus, I command you to protect them.”
Silence followed for what must have been at least a minute but seemed like five. Willy sat down on the spare chair at the table, seemingly exhausted from all the exhortation. Christian wondered whether he was waiting for God to respond and give further instructions and whether this was an opportune time to take his leave. Christian looked across at Cindy, he could see her eyes were tightly closed, and there were tears streaming down her face. Clearly, Willy had had some effect on her.
“Are you okay?” Christian whispered across the table. Cindy nodded without opening her eyes.
Willy then started to pray again before Christian could get up.
“Father, forgive them for what they have done. They know not what they do. Forgive my neighbour who killed my brother and sister. Forgive the nuns who sheltered my family in a church and betrayed them to the Hutus. Forgive the Hutus at Ruhengeri who slaughtered my cousins in their church. Forgive those who killed 5000 children at Butare.”
Willy then took a deep breath and paused before saying, “And thank you, Jesus, that you have brought Cindy and Christian here to help my people.”
Christian watched as Willy then closed his eyes again making the sign of the cross before telling them the spirit of death had been lifted. Willy’s prayer did not have the same effect on Christian that it had on Cindy, whose hand Willy was now holding, while he murmured to himself. Although the prayer had not had an impact Christian realised he was starting to understand a little more of the people in the country he had come to work in. Contriteness and forgiveness excessively expressed as compensation for blatant disregard of the cornerstone Christian belief of that shalt not kill.
Ongoing enmity and unforgivingness had the potential to destroy Rwanda as a nation. Mandela had healed wounds in South Africa using a similar principle through the truth and reconciliation commission. The creation in Rwanda of centres for forgiveness and rehabilitation was an admirable concept; however, it would only work if the majority believed strongly in forgiveness. It was clearly a way forward for Rwanda and a great example of developing harmony through abject despair. Christian did wonder if the rivers of blood returned whether the principle of forgiveness would survive. If Willy represented the greater majority the possibility at least existed. While, he was not certain that the spirit of death that ever been part of their company, Willy’s prayer in many ways had contributed to an understanding of Rwanda beyond the memorial.
“Thank you, Willy,” Cindy said as she got up wiping her eyes and kissing him gently on the cheek.
“Thank you, Willy,” said Christian, not knowing what else to add, feeling that any other words would not enhance what he had just experienced.
“God can do amazing things, Dr. Chris,” Willy said standing up. “I will see you in the morning. The bus for Garanyi and the hospital leaves at 12:30 PM and I will take you down there. I am sure you will have no nightmares tonight.”
Chapter 10
As he walked down the steps to reception, Christian wondered how Willy would get their entire luggage into his van without the floor collapsing. From the top of the steps, he could see Cindy, Donna, and Rafael’s luggage; there was no way they could even get it all into the van, irrespective of the state of the floor. Willy, however, was leaning on the reception desk, chatting amiably to Albert and looking completely non-plussed about the pending problem.
“Good morning, Dr. Chris. You look very relaxed. It must have been that cleansing prayer from last night,” beamed Willy.
“Thank you, Willy. Yes, I did sleep well and I will let you take some of the credit as I did not dream about any of those horrific killings.”
“Neither did I.” Rafael chipped in. “But I think my good sleep was down to the spirit of Mutzig, not the Holy Spirit that Willy dispenses.”
Willy for a moment looked crestfallen before realising that Rafael was teasing him, and after a few seconds smiled broadly again.
“I do not think we’re going to get all our bags in your van, Willy. Even if we can, your exhaust pipe is too dangerous. I think we should get two taxis.”
“Don’t worry, Dr. Chris. I have fixed the holes in the floor and my friend has fixed the exhaust.”
Christian looked at Cindy and Donna, hoping that they might insist on a taxi. They just looked at him and then shrugged their shoulders, as if to say it was fine with them to go with Willy; that was the only sign to Willy and Albert. They quickly walked down the steps and started to put all the bags besides the van. Christian followed them down the steps, carrying his own bags. He turned and waited at the bottom for Cindy and Donna, watching as Albert started handing bags to Willy inside the van. As the bags started to disappear into the van, Christian put his rucksack down and knelt down on the ground. He gazed underneath the van, and amazingly, there were no bags visible through the floor; Willy had repaired the floor with planks of wood. Christian looked inside the van and saw that Willy had also placed folded blankets over the springs in the seats.
“That looks great, Willy! Where did you get the planks from?”
“God provided,” Willy said beaming.
“So they just appeared out of the night and ended up on the floor of your van all neatly cut?” Rafael said, struggling to hide his scepticism.
“I was talking to the pastor of my church and he said that they had a number of old pews that I could use. Therefore, that’s still God providing,” he said, concerned that Rafael did not fully appreciate what he considered a small miracle.
“That’s fantastic, Willy,” Cindy said which encouraged Willy’s widest smile of the morning.
Christian looked in the back of the van and had to admit that Willy and Albert had done a great job of getting the entire luggage in, although they had used part of the backseat. Christian sat with his rucksack resting on his knee in the middle seat while Cindy and Donna took the backseat alongside the luggage. Rafael quite unconcernedly climbed in the front seat. Considering previous experiences of driving with Willy, Christian would have been tempted to have called it the suicide seat. Once they were all in, Willy slid the van door closed. There were shouts of goodbye to Albert through Willy’s open window as they drove off. Willy started more slowly with his large load and took a route which avoided the busy city centre roundabout. Fortunately, on the route that Willy had chosen, there were no judder bars and few motorcycles. Willy, once he had the van up to speed, informed them that the driver of the bus they were taking was a friend of his called John, and he had reserved special seats for them.
Fifteen minutes later, as they descended out of the main section of Kigali, Christian spotted several buses at the bottom of the hill. Thousands of people surrounded the buses for the bus stop was at the local market. Willy pointed to a bus at the far end of the stalls. Christian looked in the direction that Willy had pointed and saw a faded yellow mud-splattered old bus with certain similarities to Willy’s van. The advertising on the side of the bus appeared to be its most modern and best-kept feature. There was a picture of the president of Rwanda with gleaming white teeth painted along the side of the bus. The only other section free of mud had a large safe sex banner complete with outsized condom. The images were sufficiently graphic so that the medical advice in Kinyarwanda alongside needed no translation to understand its message.
The queue waiting was twice as long as the bus itself. Christian could not imagine how the people, let alone their luggage, were going to fit in. The queue was mostly Rwandan woman and their children, returning from a day’s shopping in Kigali. Many had large bags of rice balanced delicately on their heads; others had old suitcases stuffed with shopping alongside. It was a scene of great colour. Rwandan women, whatever their financial circumstances, had an instinct for fashionably bright, beautiful African colours: vibrant ecstatic colours, bright yellows, dark reds, light greens, set mostly against a black background. A spectacular ocean of colour was offset with Elysian jew
ellery. Earring hoops the size of softballs, golden neck chains with large religious crosses, and golden bracelets from wrist to elbow were some of the most favoured. And despite the practical issues of walking, long dresses predominated. It was a unique alfresco fashion display, the likes of which he had never seen anywhere in Africa before.
The second thing, which caught Christian’s interest, was that each of those queuing had numerous additional earthly attachments. Mostly it was luggage; old faded brown fabric suitcases dominated, many of which were struggling to constrain their contents. Several were under such duress that rope had been tied around them to prevent their contents discharging onto the road. For some of the suitcases, that was still not enough; socks, scarves, T-shirts, food packages, and even the occasional bra poked through the gaps between the ropes. Children ran uninhibited in the gaps between parents, live chickens, and the occasional goat. The children in their enthusiasm were treating the line of would-be passengers as an adventure playground; seemingly unconcerned, they frequently knocked over the cans of water or upset the chickens and the melancholy goat.
Willy pulled his van over in the normal fashion using the curb to slow the van down; although this time, he miscalculated slightly, bumping the goat in the queue as he came to a stop. Fortunately the goat seemed to take little notice. Willy then jumped out of the van, remembering to put the rock under the front wheel, before he waved vigorously in the direction of the yellow bus and John the driver. He made his way over to the bus. Christian could see that they were good friends; there were lots of hugs and enthusiastic handshakes. After a few minutes, having exhausted their greetings, Willy returned to the van holding the bus driver’s hand. Willy introduced John, explaining that he attended the same church as Willy and wanted to be a pastor. The last part was obvious given John had on the same Jesus Saves T-shirt that Willy had been wearing the previous night. After shaking all their hands and blessing them, John returned to his bus queue where he walked up and down the queue checking small pieces of paper. Looking at the tickets, John then rearranged some people in the queue; Willy explained they were the ones who would have a seat. They had paid a little bit more for their tickets; the others would have to stand for the entire three-hour journey to Rhuengeri, their first stop. Christian was pleased to see that when John got to the end of the queue, there was no change in the goat’s position.
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