[ad_1]
Struck by extremist propaganda, Giheta residents – belonging to the Hutu ethnic majority – attacked their long-standing neighbors in Ruseke, belonging to the Tutsi minority.
The skulls of the victims of the Ntarama mbadacre during the 1994 genocide are lined up in the church of the Ntarama genocide memorial site in Nyamata, Rwanda. Picture: AFP.
RUSEKE – A stream of water flows from a green valley in Rwanda, the two villages on either side of the living source live peacefully together for years.
Then the horrors of the 1994 genocide changed all that. Those on one side of the valley in Giheta village turned against their neighbors in the village of Ruseke.
Gangs of men armed with machetes murdered their neighbors to death after the outbreak of inter-ethnic violence, a genocide in which more than 800,000 people, mostly Tutsis, were killed between April and July 1994, according to the report. # 39; UN.
Today, this source of water brings people together.
But 25 years ago, the peaceful valley, its rich farmland lined with banana, mango and avocado trees, about 40 kilometers west of Kigali, the capital of Rwanda, became a land murderer.
Struck by extremist propaganda, Giheta residents – belonging to the Hutu ethnic majority – attacked their long-standing neighbors in Ruseke, belonging to the Tutsi minority. Some 70 people were mbadacred.
"It was a shock for us," said Daphrosa Mukarubayiza, 57, whose husband and son were killed. "They were people we used to socialize with and drink. We shared everything. "
Community elders shared how people gathered to chat while waiting for their water cans to be filled, exchanging gossip and news, a peaceful place for everyone.
After the genocide, both villages still relied on water, but they used it in turn to avoid meeting each other as much as possible.
Fear and distraction
Jean-Claude Mutarindwa, 42, was a young man from Giheta village when the genocide took place. Unlike his brothers, he did not pick up a machete to kill and this helped to lay the foundation for a reconciliation.
"I told myself that since I was part of the village, I had the duty to participate in this act of love, asking them what we could do to forgive them", Mutarindwa said.
"The task was complicated."
In 2005, both villages relived the trauma of the killings in trials in community-run courts called "Gacaca".
That same year, the first concrete gestures of rapprochement also took place.
Mutarindwa convinced his neighbors in Giheta to go to Ruseke to help them exploit their fields.
"Asking for forgiveness was not easy at all: the first time we went through asking for forgiveness, we were about 100 people," Mutarindwa said. "Among us, people were scared."
But when they returned home safely, nearly 200 people came next time. On the third trip, the whole village of Giheta came to help.
Both parties held a deeply emotional reconciliation – and a big party – in the center of Ruseke.
For those in Ruseke, it was a good time to let go.
"I felt ready to forgive," said Mukarubayiza, who knew Mutarindwa since their meeting in the same church. "In a gesture of humanity, I told Jean-Claude to ask his people to come and ask for forgiveness."
After the reconciliation ceremony, the children of each village led the way. Soon, they made friends through the shared waters of the spring. Life has returned to its natural course.
However, not everyone shares this optimism. Josepha Mukaruzima, 70, from the village of Ruseke, says that those who have asked for forgiveness are not guilty of the crimes.
Reluctantly, she accepted the situation, but believes that true reconciliation requires more.
"It's far from enough," she said. "It's missing a lot, it's superficial."
[ad_2]
Source link
