On April 6, 1994, in a tiny country in the heart of East Africa, all Hell suddenly broke loose.
At 8:20PM, there was an explosion at the Kigali International Airport. A plane had crashed, killing all the passengers inside, including Rwandan president Juvenal Habyarimana. The aircraft had been shot down by a rocket.
Within an hour, a dark shadow befell the entire nation. Roadblocks were erected everywhere, manned by ordinary civilians armed with guns and machetes, who demanded to see ID cards from any passers-by. Meanwhile, just as people were settling into their beds for the night, a series of home invasions began to occur. Again, those responsible were plainclothes Rwandas with weapons.
Who were they? Members of the Interahamwe, an extremist militia whose named meant "Those Who Kill Together".
Their mission? To systematically exterminated every single Tutsi living in Rwanda.
During the month that followed, an estimated 800,000 Tutsis lost their lives. Many of them suffered unimaginably horrific deaths. The rest of the world, meanwhile, turned a blind eye.
The UN, who already had a small task force in Rwanda, proved its ineptitude beyond any reasonable doubt. Mission Commander Romeo Dallaire, who recognized what was happening, pleaded with his senior bureaucrats in New York for more troops to help curb the violence, but his cries fell on deaf ears and were only met with skepticism.
The Belgians, who lost 10 peacekeepers at the hands of the Interahamwe, pulled all their men out.
The French sent in a small army, though only to oversee the safe evacuation of all French nationals in the country.
The Americans, who were perhaps in the best position to help, spend the entire month arguing internally over whether or not "genocide" was a suitable term to apply to the atrocities. In the end, congress deemed that it was only "ethnic tension" and decided to do nothing. (Though to be fair, the Americans had just suffered a humiliating defeat in Somalia and weren't too keen on shipping men back to Africa).
So the Tutsis were left to die. And they probably all would have died, had it not been for the Rwandan Patriotic Front, a rebel army of previously-exiled Tutsis led by Paul Kagame, who captured Kigali in May of '94 and put an end to the slaughter.
...
It's now 13 years later, and I am in Rwanda. What shocks me the most about the place is that, from my perspective, things seem pretty normal. There are stray goats, busy markets, honking horns, women selling mangoes, men yelling at the TV while watching football, and children playing with old tires. Nothing amiss there. But that said, it isn't hard to realize that many of these people have been through Hell. And to understand their plight a bit more, I made a pilgrimage to the Genocide Memorial Centre in Kigali.
The GMC was set up by the government and is meant to show the world what they missed seeing the first time. Admission is free. The visit starts with a video documentary that highlights the genocide from beginning to end. There were many grisly images, though for me what was more difficult to stomach were the interviews with Clinton and Annan - people who could have done something, but didn't. Boy, is hindsight ever 20/20.
Next, you have a chance to learn about the history of Rwanda up until the time of the genocide. You discover that "Hutu" and "Tutsi" do not have racial denotations; before the Belgians arrived in 1923, Rwanda had 18 tribal clans, and Hutu and Tutsi were terms used to describe one's socio-economic status within their own clan. By introducing identity cards, the Belgians consolidated Rwanda into two clans, and thus racially divided the nation, with the Tutsis becoming the rich minority. The Catholic Church, which had an active role in the country at the time, fully supported this new system. The seeds of genocide were planted by foreigners.
Soon, you reach the exhibition detailing the genocide itself. It is horrific. The Tutsis were not just killed. They were beaten. They were mutilated. They were crucified on trees. They were thrown into pits and stoned. They were drowned in septic tanks.
Women were raped by Hutu men who knowingly had HIV.
Husbands were forced to kill their own wives.
Children were murdered so that the next generation of Rwandans would be 100% Hutu.
At the GMC, you get to see all of this. There are silent photos of kids with gangrenous wounds, recorded interviews with Tutsis who had watched their loved ones get killed, and piles of rusty machetes used in the massacre.
In one room there are clothes on display, worn by the victims on the day they died. One of the t-shirts said "Ottawa Senators" on the front, and had a blood-stained slash across the chest. That shirt would have fit me when I was 5.
In another room you see the faces of the actual victims: over 1000 photos of people who had been killed, their innocent eyes staring at you as you try to comprehend the potential magnitude of the evil inherent to humans.
Still feel like more?
If at this point you haven't got the message, then it's the last room that truly puts your heart in a vise.
In this last room are photos of children. Life-sized photos, taken from when the kids were happy and full of life, before they were stolen from this world by monsters. Each photo has an inscription with the child's name, as well as a few other pertinent details. An example:
Mami MPINGANZIMA
Age: 12
Enjoyed: Chips with mayo
Favourite Song: The Beauty of Women
Last Words: "Mom, where can I run to?"
Cause of Death: Shot dead
Sadly, this kid was probably lucky. Here are a few more.
Patrick Gashugi SHIMIRWA
Age: 5
Favourite Sport: Riding his bike
Best Friend: Alliane, his sister
Behaviour: A quiet, well-behaved boy
CoD: Hacked with machete
Ariane UMUTONI
Age: 4
Favourite Food: Cake
Enjoyed: Singing and dancing
Behaviour: A neat little girl
CoD: Stabbed in her eyes
Irene UMOTONI and Uwamwezi UMUTONI
Relationship: Sisters
Favourite Toy: A doll they shared
Behaviour: Daddy's little girls
CoD: Grenade thrown into their shower
Fillette UWASI
Age: 2
Favourite Food: Rice and chips
Best friend: Her Dad
CoD: Smashed against a wall
Aurore KIRIZI
Age: 2
Behaviour: Very talkative
Favourite Drink: Cow's milk
Favourite Game: Hide and go seek
CoD: Burnt alive
To conclude, I'll go back to what I said earlier: Rwanda, now, is pretty normal. To the average tourist, there is hardly any difference between here and Tanzania or Malawi. But beneath the surface, Rwandans still have the scars from what happened. There are still women here who have HIV from being raped. There are still children here whose parents were killed. There are still men here who did the killing, and will have to live with it forever.
As will all the people who saw what was happening and ignored it.
The world really sucks sometimes.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Thursday, December 6, 2007
$33 Beer
Boy, am I ever glad that I'm a Canadian. My country is excellent. We have no history of violence. There is no racial strife, no abject poverty. The crime rate is low, the health care generally good, and the people are nice. We're also not belligerent idiots on the world stage. Yep, suffice to say that Canada is A-1.
That said, there are many other countries on Earth that I wouldn't mind being from. It might be nice to be Norwegian. It sure would be swell to come from Holland. I'd even hazard to say that to be a New Zealander wouldn't be awful.
Bad sadly, there are also many countries that I'm positively ecstatic NOT to be from. Countries where civil wars leave thousands dead. Countries that get plundered by imperial Superpowers in the name of "freedom". Countries where the life expectancy barely exceeds 35. Which countries are these? Well, there are lots, but today we're going to keep it to one: The Democratic Republic of Congo.
The Congolese people haven't exactly had a lot to cheer about. Belgium began plundering their land in the 1800s, and King Leopold III treated the place like his own personal stomping ground.
Next came perennial asshole despot President Mabutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu Waza Banda, whose name meant "the fearless warrior who will go from strength to strength leaving fire in his wake". A more suitable name might have been "the good-for-nothing klepto who spirited away all the country's money to spend on himself"; the man was a serious tool.
Congo is rich in prized natural resources such as gold, diamonds and rubber, and has therefore made some of its neighbouring countries rather jealous. After Mabutu's ousting by Laurent Kabila, there followed a great deal of political infighting, and 9 other African nations joined the fray, all looking for their own piece of the spoils. Sitting at the pole position was Robert Mugabe, who gained control of the Gecamines mineral deposit and pocketed himself a few hundred million. A civil war erupted in 1998, and over 3,000,000 Congolese lost their lives in the next 5 years.
These days things are on the mend, though there's still a lot of work to be done. Joseph Kabila won the presidency in 2005 after a series of democratic (?) elections, but rebels continue to cause problems in the Northeast. Most of the rebels are former Interahamwe, the Hutu militia that was responsible for the Rwandan genocide. Recent turmoil has produced a few million refugees, poorly timed because tourists were just beginning to trickle back into the country. These days, the only foreigners you're likely to find in the DR Congo are UN soldiers.
And me.
Well I'm sorry, but the lure of visiting the Congo was simply too great to resist. From Gisenyi in Rwanda, it's a short hop, skip and a jump to Goma on the Congo side, which makes for an easy day-trip. I took a moto-taxi to the border, paid for the visa, and walked in.
Was I ever nervous. But then again, having convoys of UN armoured vehicles pass you by can do that to you. I didn't enter the Congo to witness a humanitarian crisis first-hand though. My interest in the place was more geolicial than anything else, since Goma was buried by an eruption from the Nyiragongo volcano in 2002.
Aside from the fact that the roads were littered in pyroclastic material, Goma struck me as being pretty normal. That's impressive considering a civil war was taking place in the bush a few hours to the North. The town is a hive of activity, full of colourful people, minibuses and young men transporting petrol drums on wooden pushcarts that look like the predecessor of the American Chopper.
I walked around for a few hours - quickly, so as to appear as if I was on a mission and not to be disturbed. The trick worked a charm, and for the most part the Gomans ignored me, except for this one crippled guy who kept yelling "Whassssssup, my nig*a?????" whenever I passed. Even the Congo has comedians.
I exchanged a few USD for Congolese Francs, and used some to buy a wooden mask from a local artisan. Yes, the ubiquitous African mask... they're all over the continent, but if you're going to own one then it might as well be from the Congo, because this country is famous for them.
When I finally tired to walking, I escaped to one of the posh hotels that line the shores of Lake Kivu, and made directly for the bar. I ordered the biggest, frostiest beer in the cooler, and spent the next 90 minutes sitting at a table, sipping away and watching the sunlight as it danced on the water. I also took the time to read the 8x11" certificate you get when you go through Congolese immigration: a unique souvenir.
Now before you all start reading me the riot act, know this: under NO circumstances would I ever have ventured into the DRC if I hadn't been certain that things were safe. I've no desire to become the innocent victim of a crossfire, and I sought plenty of local information on the Rwandan side before entering.
I'm glad I went. When I arrived, the border official said "Karibu" (you are welcome), and it was an enjoyable experience from then on in. There is definitely an air of uncertainty about the place, but it's the same dark cloud that has been hanging over the Congolese people for more than 100 years. They really deserve better.
All told, the visa cost me $30 and the beer $3. Hence, $33 beer.
"It's not that democratic, it's barely a republic, but it is Congo." -The Lonely Planet
That said, there are many other countries on Earth that I wouldn't mind being from. It might be nice to be Norwegian. It sure would be swell to come from Holland. I'd even hazard to say that to be a New Zealander wouldn't be awful.
Bad sadly, there are also many countries that I'm positively ecstatic NOT to be from. Countries where civil wars leave thousands dead. Countries that get plundered by imperial Superpowers in the name of "freedom". Countries where the life expectancy barely exceeds 35. Which countries are these? Well, there are lots, but today we're going to keep it to one: The Democratic Republic of Congo.
The Congolese people haven't exactly had a lot to cheer about. Belgium began plundering their land in the 1800s, and King Leopold III treated the place like his own personal stomping ground.
Next came perennial asshole despot President Mabutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu Waza Banda, whose name meant "the fearless warrior who will go from strength to strength leaving fire in his wake". A more suitable name might have been "the good-for-nothing klepto who spirited away all the country's money to spend on himself"; the man was a serious tool.
Congo is rich in prized natural resources such as gold, diamonds and rubber, and has therefore made some of its neighbouring countries rather jealous. After Mabutu's ousting by Laurent Kabila, there followed a great deal of political infighting, and 9 other African nations joined the fray, all looking for their own piece of the spoils. Sitting at the pole position was Robert Mugabe, who gained control of the Gecamines mineral deposit and pocketed himself a few hundred million. A civil war erupted in 1998, and over 3,000,000 Congolese lost their lives in the next 5 years.
These days things are on the mend, though there's still a lot of work to be done. Joseph Kabila won the presidency in 2005 after a series of democratic (?) elections, but rebels continue to cause problems in the Northeast. Most of the rebels are former Interahamwe, the Hutu militia that was responsible for the Rwandan genocide. Recent turmoil has produced a few million refugees, poorly timed because tourists were just beginning to trickle back into the country. These days, the only foreigners you're likely to find in the DR Congo are UN soldiers.
And me.
Well I'm sorry, but the lure of visiting the Congo was simply too great to resist. From Gisenyi in Rwanda, it's a short hop, skip and a jump to Goma on the Congo side, which makes for an easy day-trip. I took a moto-taxi to the border, paid for the visa, and walked in.
Was I ever nervous. But then again, having convoys of UN armoured vehicles pass you by can do that to you. I didn't enter the Congo to witness a humanitarian crisis first-hand though. My interest in the place was more geolicial than anything else, since Goma was buried by an eruption from the Nyiragongo volcano in 2002.
Aside from the fact that the roads were littered in pyroclastic material, Goma struck me as being pretty normal. That's impressive considering a civil war was taking place in the bush a few hours to the North. The town is a hive of activity, full of colourful people, minibuses and young men transporting petrol drums on wooden pushcarts that look like the predecessor of the American Chopper.
I walked around for a few hours - quickly, so as to appear as if I was on a mission and not to be disturbed. The trick worked a charm, and for the most part the Gomans ignored me, except for this one crippled guy who kept yelling "Whassssssup, my nig*a?????" whenever I passed. Even the Congo has comedians.
I exchanged a few USD for Congolese Francs, and used some to buy a wooden mask from a local artisan. Yes, the ubiquitous African mask... they're all over the continent, but if you're going to own one then it might as well be from the Congo, because this country is famous for them.
When I finally tired to walking, I escaped to one of the posh hotels that line the shores of Lake Kivu, and made directly for the bar. I ordered the biggest, frostiest beer in the cooler, and spent the next 90 minutes sitting at a table, sipping away and watching the sunlight as it danced on the water. I also took the time to read the 8x11" certificate you get when you go through Congolese immigration: a unique souvenir.
Now before you all start reading me the riot act, know this: under NO circumstances would I ever have ventured into the DRC if I hadn't been certain that things were safe. I've no desire to become the innocent victim of a crossfire, and I sought plenty of local information on the Rwandan side before entering.
I'm glad I went. When I arrived, the border official said "Karibu" (you are welcome), and it was an enjoyable experience from then on in. There is definitely an air of uncertainty about the place, but it's the same dark cloud that has been hanging over the Congolese people for more than 100 years. They really deserve better.
All told, the visa cost me $30 and the beer $3. Hence, $33 beer.
"It's not that democratic, it's barely a republic, but it is Congo." -The Lonely Planet
Monday, December 3, 2007
Gorillas In My Midst
Part of the reason that travel so enthralls me is that not every moment can be memorable. Some days just plain stink, and are totally unfit for the highlight reel.
Maybe you get stuck in a butt-ugly place.
Maybe you shell out a lot of money for an unforgettable activity which winds up being totally forgettable.
Maybe you decline to participate in an activity on account of being too tired, only to find out later that you missed out on having a blast.
Fortunately, it's the great moments - the ones where the highlight reel nearly runs out of tape - that make this business of solo travelling worthwhile. And for me, tracking the gorillas in Rwanda's Parc National des Volcans was perhaps one of the greatest moments yet.
A small helping of background info on mountain gorillas (Gorilla gorilla beringei):
-They can only be found on a small volcanic ridge that straddles Uganda, Rwanda and DR Congo
-There are only 720 living specimens, making them one of the most endangered species in the world
-They share 97% of their biological make-up with humans (and 99% with my Gr.8 math teacher Mrs. Case)
-They live in groups consisting of one dominant male (the silverback), several females and their offspring
-They were made famous by the late scientist Dian Fossey, who was played by Sigourney Weaver in Gorillas In The Mist
-To track the gorillas, you must purchase a permit from the country they reside in
Getting a permit is no easy task. There are only 108 available each day in the 3 countries combined, and given that the DR Congo is currently off-limits, that number is down to 72. They also come with a whopping 500 dollar ticket price, which is what I normally budget for one month of African travel. But some opportunities are too good to pass up.
I hardly slept the night before. At 6AM, I was picked up from my hotel in Ruhengeri and taken to the Park headquarters in Kiringi. The Park itself is gorgeous - 5 towering volcanoes covered in electric green vegetation.
At the HQ, tourists are divided into groups of 5-8 people, and each cluster of people visits one family of gorillas. I pulled some strings (meaning: got the Aussie girl I was hanging out with to bat her eyelashes at the group coordinator) and secured a chance to see the Hirwa family, which purportedly had many young gorillas. Then we set off.
It begins with a ride in a 4WD up the World's Worst Road to the base of the Muside volcano. Once there, you are met by your guide, as well as 2 soldiers from the Rwandan Army.
Perhaps I should account for the presence of the G.I. Joes: Gorillas, being extremely rare, are highly coveted on the international black market, and are therefore subject to illegal poaching. Poachers mean business. In 1999, 8 tourists and their guide caught some poachers in the act while tracking the gorillas in Uganda, and were subsequently kidnapped and murdered. Nowadays, no one hits the mountain without an armed escort.
And so the ascent begins. It can take up to 4 hours to reach the gorillas, though at this time of year they are fairly low, due to the snow at the summit. We reached them in 1 hour, and thank God for that, because the hike was no picnic. There is no path; you simply follow the guide as he slashes his way through the foliage with a machete, and to make matters worse you're slogging through foot-devouring mud filled with stinging nettles and army ants. But nothing Nature could throw at us was going to ruin this.
Finally, we arrived to within a few hundred feet. We received our final instructions ("Don't point at the gorillas or they might get nervous and kick your ass"), and then trudged through a last bit of bush and into a clearing.
[Insert words that may accurately describe the magnitude of my awe]. Fact is, there aren't any. Gorillas are one of the most majestic beasts on Earth, and here I was, seeing them in their own house.
My first sighting was of a female and her baby. Upon seeing us, the young one stood up, batted its chest, then promptly lost its balance and fell over backwards.
Then I saw HIM - the silverback. He was less than 6 feet away, sitting on a rock between a pair of palm trees, watching us with his crimson eyes. I fully expected him to roar, but instead he chose to roll on to his back, stick his feet in the air and sigh. "Bugger off, I'm tired."
For the next hour (because that's all you get), we all sat and watched gorilla TV. Gorillas are gentle and (thankfully) vegetarian creatures and are quite content to go about their routines despite the gallery of spectators. The females in the family spent their time munching away on bamboo shoots and wild celery. The young ones thrashed about, climbing trees, doing somersaults and generally causing a ruckus. The silverback, meanwhile, policed the area, charging us once to establish superiority, though all he did when he got close was rip a fart that was likely heard on the Congo side of the hill. I preferred that to the alternative of a physical encounter, because the old boy was 6ft tall and 200kg.
Then, in 2 minutes, the hour was up. Back down the muddy slopes, 500 dollars poorer but richer for the experience. In fact, having now visited them once, I'd pay twice that to do it again.
Just wait till you see the photos.
Maybe you get stuck in a butt-ugly place.
Maybe you shell out a lot of money for an unforgettable activity which winds up being totally forgettable.
Maybe you decline to participate in an activity on account of being too tired, only to find out later that you missed out on having a blast.
Fortunately, it's the great moments - the ones where the highlight reel nearly runs out of tape - that make this business of solo travelling worthwhile. And for me, tracking the gorillas in Rwanda's Parc National des Volcans was perhaps one of the greatest moments yet.
A small helping of background info on mountain gorillas (Gorilla gorilla beringei):
-They can only be found on a small volcanic ridge that straddles Uganda, Rwanda and DR Congo
-There are only 720 living specimens, making them one of the most endangered species in the world
-They share 97% of their biological make-up with humans (and 99% with my Gr.8 math teacher Mrs. Case)
-They live in groups consisting of one dominant male (the silverback), several females and their offspring
-They were made famous by the late scientist Dian Fossey, who was played by Sigourney Weaver in Gorillas In The Mist
-To track the gorillas, you must purchase a permit from the country they reside in
Getting a permit is no easy task. There are only 108 available each day in the 3 countries combined, and given that the DR Congo is currently off-limits, that number is down to 72. They also come with a whopping 500 dollar ticket price, which is what I normally budget for one month of African travel. But some opportunities are too good to pass up.
I hardly slept the night before. At 6AM, I was picked up from my hotel in Ruhengeri and taken to the Park headquarters in Kiringi. The Park itself is gorgeous - 5 towering volcanoes covered in electric green vegetation.
At the HQ, tourists are divided into groups of 5-8 people, and each cluster of people visits one family of gorillas. I pulled some strings (meaning: got the Aussie girl I was hanging out with to bat her eyelashes at the group coordinator) and secured a chance to see the Hirwa family, which purportedly had many young gorillas. Then we set off.
It begins with a ride in a 4WD up the World's Worst Road to the base of the Muside volcano. Once there, you are met by your guide, as well as 2 soldiers from the Rwandan Army.
Perhaps I should account for the presence of the G.I. Joes: Gorillas, being extremely rare, are highly coveted on the international black market, and are therefore subject to illegal poaching. Poachers mean business. In 1999, 8 tourists and their guide caught some poachers in the act while tracking the gorillas in Uganda, and were subsequently kidnapped and murdered. Nowadays, no one hits the mountain without an armed escort.
And so the ascent begins. It can take up to 4 hours to reach the gorillas, though at this time of year they are fairly low, due to the snow at the summit. We reached them in 1 hour, and thank God for that, because the hike was no picnic. There is no path; you simply follow the guide as he slashes his way through the foliage with a machete, and to make matters worse you're slogging through foot-devouring mud filled with stinging nettles and army ants. But nothing Nature could throw at us was going to ruin this.
Finally, we arrived to within a few hundred feet. We received our final instructions ("Don't point at the gorillas or they might get nervous and kick your ass"), and then trudged through a last bit of bush and into a clearing.
[Insert words that may accurately describe the magnitude of my awe]. Fact is, there aren't any. Gorillas are one of the most majestic beasts on Earth, and here I was, seeing them in their own house.
My first sighting was of a female and her baby. Upon seeing us, the young one stood up, batted its chest, then promptly lost its balance and fell over backwards.
Then I saw HIM - the silverback. He was less than 6 feet away, sitting on a rock between a pair of palm trees, watching us with his crimson eyes. I fully expected him to roar, but instead he chose to roll on to his back, stick his feet in the air and sigh. "Bugger off, I'm tired."
For the next hour (because that's all you get), we all sat and watched gorilla TV. Gorillas are gentle and (thankfully) vegetarian creatures and are quite content to go about their routines despite the gallery of spectators. The females in the family spent their time munching away on bamboo shoots and wild celery. The young ones thrashed about, climbing trees, doing somersaults and generally causing a ruckus. The silverback, meanwhile, policed the area, charging us once to establish superiority, though all he did when he got close was rip a fart that was likely heard on the Congo side of the hill. I preferred that to the alternative of a physical encounter, because the old boy was 6ft tall and 200kg.
Then, in 2 minutes, the hour was up. Back down the muddy slopes, 500 dollars poorer but richer for the experience. In fact, having now visited them once, I'd pay twice that to do it again.
Just wait till you see the photos.
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