Today marks an anniversary that both destroys me and inspires me.
7 April 1994
Twenty years is a long time,
to me.
Yet, on a history of the universe scale, twenty years is merely a glance by the world's peripherals.
I'm twenty, and though yes this is a young age, quite a lot has happened during this span of time.
Ups
Downs
More ups
More downs.
How were my parents to know that just two months after my birth, a tragedy would strike East Africa?
While colicky baby Kayla was screaming night after night, Rwanda was joining in with the endless cries.
Or rather, I was joining in with the endless cries of Rwanda.
From birth, my heart was in Africa.
Twenty years is a long time, yet twenty years is oh so incredibly short.
Murder.
Rape.
Mutilation.
Forgiveness?
The latter seems not to fit with the rest, yet with these beautiful people, it has found its place.
The church played a large role in the genocide.
Pastors and priests opened their doors in the name of sanctuary just to lock them behind the fleeing people.
The church was a place of death,
not life.
Twenty years ago racial tensions broke into organized violence at the sound of a radio signal.
Unsuspecting people were attacked.
The world heard of Rwanda, they saw the horrors on the television screen.
Yet, they did nothing.
Fear is a powerful agent.
Fear of the loss of life, loss of wealth, loss of support.
Fear kept people away.
Fear keeps people away.
When I was in Rwanda in 2012, I asked a woman what I should tell people when they ask of Rwanda.
She simply said, "Tell them to come"
I nodded because I understood the desire to be known for present truth and not for past problems.
"Tell them of our beauty, tell them of our love."
I would walk down the streets and children would leap from their houses to point and yell "Mazungu!"
"White person"
This is not an insult, rather a fact. I am white, the whitest of white.
These children, all born after 1994, had not seen a white person.
White people saw the news, they saw the evil.
They do not see now.
The news showed Rwanda when it was run by terror, but it fails now to show the country for its love.
Its beauty.
Its reconciliation.
Shikamoo, Rwanda.
I bow down and kiss your feet, Rwanda.
You amaze me.
Twenty years.
It's been twenty years and you have the faith that moves mountains.
You sing with your whole heart to praise the living God and thank Him for life.
You mourn the loss of loved ones with the acknowledgement that good can come from dust.
God makes things beautiful.
You, Rwanda, are beautiful.
I remember being with your widows, Rwanda.
We met and we praised God together.
I danced, we danced, we together praised our God.
It amazes me how you forgive.
It amazes me also how you forgive but you do not forget.
You remember, you mourn,
yet you do not hate.
What life can come from hate?
Rwanda, the world needs to know you.
I need to know you, to learn from you.
Twenty years and you can live among one another
those who killed
those who's loved ones were killed.
It has been almost 150 years since America's Civil War and we still have not forgiven.
Racial tensions still burn hot across my country.
Its flames still devour the innocent.
We could learn from you, Rwanda.
Rwanda
Twenty years ago we cried.
But Rwanda
Today, we sing.
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