Don't let the flame burn out

Fifteen years ago this week, former Rwandan President Habyarimana's plane was shot down by Hutu extremists as he flew into Kigali. Two hours later, Hutu extremists systematically began massacring Hutu moderates, and the next day began a genocidal campaign against the Tutsi population in Rwanda.

For those of us who remain relatively informed about international politics, you know how this story plays out. In the course of six weeks, 800,000 people were slaughtered in such a way that one cannot begin to fathom where humanity played into anything.

To remember the genocide, Rwanda commenced its week of mourning this Tuesday. In the morning, we went to the commemoration at Nyanza, the site where a UNAMIR ( the UN Peackeeping Force in Rwanada ) contingent was stationed, and where consequently some Tutsi had taken refuge in the days leading to the genocide, hoping to be protected. Instead, on April 11, three days into the genocide, with the refugees surrounded by Interhamewe Militia and the EX-FAR, UNAMIR withdrew and thousands were massacred along the road leading the way to Nyanza. The morning memorial was more a diplomatic event, attended by Cheri Blair (Tony Blair's wife) among other notables, with speeches from various ministers, songs sung by different groups from Rwanda and the broader East African community, and finally, a word from the President of Rwanda. It is clear that though moving forward is the proclaimed ultimate objective, anger and resentment remain crippling. I suppose as one would expect.

In the evening, we attended the memorial event at the Stadium,a ten minute walk from my house. The event started two hours late, but it was one of those moments where you realize you are involved with a moment in history. Technicians created an enourmous flame and the word "hope" spelled out in Kinyarwanda, French and English out of candles, which were lit by the President, other diplomatic representatives, and survivors of the genocide.

It is impossible to fully capture the feeling in the stadium that night. When a young girl who had been born in that stadium during the genocide and who's family had been slaughtered began to tell her tale, human wailing echoed throughout the stadium as red cross workers pulled people suffering flashbacks and repeated trauma out of the crowds. Messages from leaders including Desmund Tutu and Ban Ki Moon came in as candles lit up the arena. One young girl who had been sitting by herself in the row below me slowly made her way up to my side and burst into tears. She had lit a candle, and as I put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her, she crawled into my lap, shoved the candle into my hand, and began to sob. Red Cross workers came to speak with her to see if she needed to be removed, but she said she wanted to stay with me, so she stayed. And all I could focus on was keeping that candle lit in the wind-a small but symbolic gesture that allowed me to keep my calm and focus on being present for the survivors.

The next day, all UN workers in Rwanda met at our compound, the compound where Romeo Dallaire ran his crippled operations, to commemorate our fallen commerades.

There is too much to share in one post. The politically sensative nature of the week makes some of my observations difficult to post. I'm emotionally exhausted and having a coffee with my roomate, trying to focus on the weeks ahead.