Rwanda: First Impressions of Post Genocide Rwanda

3/14/1995: Rwanda-Crossing the border from Uganda was interesting to say the least. Bullet holes outlined doors in a building at the border. I stepped on a dead or dying rat. Everything looked like it had been through a war.


After completing immigration, we drove up a winding mountainside at night. The driver's headlights were out so I stuck a flashlight out the side window so we could see where we were going. We were stopped every several miles by young soldiers (ages 13-20) with semi-automatic weapons who checked our luggage or asked about our plans. The country was in a complete state of devastation. Everyone I saw had faces filled with hate, rage, terror, and revenge. Slash marks identified those marked for death but had escaped somehow. The spiritual darkness was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I felt it and I could hardly breathe.


The first Rwandans I met were 4 children ages about 3-10 who shouted, “Musungu!” (white person). I couldn’t understand their Kinyarwandan language but I saw the hurt in their eyes as they motioned with their hands everything a machete can do to the human body. I realized that they were trying to tell me how their parents and siblings died. They witnessed the murder of their entire families. It broke my heart. I couldn’t help but cry.