Genocide Memorial I wanted to visit the Genocide Memorial. The 1994 Rwandan genocide was imprinted in my head during my childhood. I remember the blood flowing rivers from TV and the hundred thousands of people on the run fleeing into other countries. On the contrary, my mom didn’t know this tragedy. The night before Nausicaa’s mom had told her, her own genocide story.  She couldn’t believe that this country was once a place of genocide. We enter the Genocide Memorial museum which has free entrance but counts on free donations. The money goes to survivors and the museum. We learn about the German and then Belgian colonalisation. The evils created by the anthropologist missionaries from the Catholic Church. In detail we learn how many years before the genocide, the basis for extreme hatred was spread. All Tutsis should be killed. The ten commandants for Hutus said that if they had a Tutsi wife or child. He should kill them and vice versa. Your Tutsi neighbors are not your neighbors, they are cockroaches to be killed. During Belgian colonization, Hutus and Tutsis were defined. The issue of race was created. According to their definition, the Hutus were Indigenous and the Tutsis were from Ethiopia. The intruder should be killed and their dead bodies thrown into the major river so they could flow back to where they came from. You have to know that before the Belgian colonization Hutus and Tutsis lived in peace and married among each other. It was more of a social status nothing to do with race. In Rwanda, you have clans and Hutus & Tutsis can be found in 1 clan but now they had to kill each other. I saw the pictures of church, slaughtering and stadium slaughtering. I saw the skulls and bones from the victims. The skulls were broken. You could see some were smashed. No Tutsi was safe. Some tried to flee to the islands in Lake Kivu but yet Hutu killers came to find them. They were motivated to complete the ethnic cleansing of their own kind I must add. I was told that no one really talks about genocide or their personal story. This is not true. Most Rwandan people I have met in the hotel, have all openly told me their genocide story. Some even showed me the scars, awful souvenirs on their body. Every genocide survivor had a traumatic experience and yet no psychological counseling. Although, through talking and the many peace and reconciliation programs, Rwanda healed. The gacacha courts, local village courts who are supposed to punish those involved in the killings. The federal courts punished those who were part of the genocide masterplan. Believe me, they were many. Killers and survivors now live together as Rwandans. Those who took revenge on the killers after genocide were imprisoned and severely punished. The revengers were no different. This vicious cycle had to stop. If not, Rwanda would become like Sudan or Somolia. Inside the museum, my mom started having horrible flashbacks to her childhood. The Biafra War from the seventies in Nigeria mainly Port Harcourt, where she is from. During Biafra war all Igbo’s should be killed. My mom is an Igbo and so is my late grandmother. They were all supposed to be killed. My mom was forced to change her name to her grandfathers and hide throughout the war. Her family was wanted, just as those Rwandan families. I never knew this story. Genocides are real. In the museum, you can see pictures of Armenian Genocide, Cambodia Genocide, Nazism, Balkan crises and other genocides I wasn’t aware of. Sickening. What a sick world people have created. All on the basis of race. This reminds me how in Belgium, they have created a definition for someone of foreign origin - one of the parents of foreign origin or someone born in a different country. The word is allochtoon and taken up in a dictionary and databases were created. I remember when I received the letter, I objected to be included in the database. My Belgian grandfather was born in the Netherlands, Amersfoort as his parents were military refugees from Belgium during the First World War. At 90 he had also received the same letter. All of sudden this Belgian'man was allochtoon. I had explained him the definition and he also realised that this was not good. Society dividing people, labelling people, creating racial divides can not be good. It is a basis for hatred, possible genocide and civil war. The hatred for foreigners within Europe is growing and I hope it will never come to this point. Nigeria is another place where another genocide could take place. The current government is Muslim and the oil is in Igbo hands. Boko Haram is already doing a good job of de-stabilising the country. The genocide in Rwanda, makes my mom realise that another Biafra could come her way. All my thoughts are with the families of Rwanda and Nausicaa whom lost a lot of family members during the genocide but also all other genocide survivors out there. Rwanda will succeed as they have security and peace first. Someone in my hotel now visits the killer of his parents in an effort to reconcile. He didn’t want revenge, he wanted peace. Through gachacha he came to understand the killer’s motivation and how he got to that point. The man I am speaking of was a mix of Belgium, Congolese and Rwandan. His mother was a Tutsi and therefore he should be killed. They killed his mom but let him and his dad live because his dad claimed to be half French half Congolese instead of Belgium. The French government supported the Hutu government and so they could live. If the father had said he was Half Belgian, he would have been killed and also thrown in the latrine pit. Now they all live in peace as Rwandans. They now aim for a united Africa. Rwanda is a beautiful country with an amazing story of peace, development and reconciliation.

Climbing Bisoke Volcano After a weekend in the Serena hotel in Gisenyi, enjoying the morning sun above lake Kivu; my holiday journey through Rwanda was starting. I had invited my mom to come along on this trip. The first day I had planned to climb the Bisoke volcano while mom would be boarding her plane to Kigali. At 5 AM I head out for National Volcanoes Parc. The view of the 5 volcanoes is magnificent. I have never experienced such beauty in Africa. We arrive at the volcanoes national Parc and Western tourists are swarming the place. All of them were planning to do the Gorilla Trekking, I was the only one planned to climb the Bisoke Volcano today. I receive a park guide, who was rather obese and we were going to climb Bisoke together. I was told that climbing Bisoke would take about 7 hours. The park guide looks at me and told me that the trek would depend on my speed. He was basically insinuating that I would take forever. I thought to myself; ‘please go ahead underestimate me’… We’ll see who will lag behind. The game was on for me. My competitive spirit always troubles me. I receive 5 military men, 1 porter and the park guide. The military comes along as in the volcano rainforest, there are wild animals. Buffalo’s, gorillas, etc.., according to the park guide also elephants. I didn’t believe this. The trails are tiny, close to impossible I can not imagine for an elephant to climb so steep towards the volcano top. I later checked with  and indeed there are  elephants up there… So we began the hike, my porter was named Augustin and had chosen to accompany me. Porters stand in line near the volcanoes and then they choose which tourist they’d like to accompany. Augustin fluent in French and an amazing smile was my porter man. He must have been in his fifties but the man was strong as steel. I followed the pace of the military men which was incredibly fast but I wasn’t going to give up. We had lost our park guide due to our high speed hiking. We waited for him at the first peak. He tells me that he has allergies caused by the rain season. Bullsh*t I thought; you can’t keep the pace. The joke is on you now. He told me that because of his allergies, he will climb alone and I was now part of the military team together with my porter. Ohhhh goshhhh, what did I get myself into? The pace went faster and faster because the military said a storm was coming. It started to rain and the trail became muddy and almost impossible. The porter began to help me, drag me up and I started seeing stars. I had eaten a lot in the morning and all of a sudden I was hungry. My stomach was growling. The blackouts became more frequent but my body supported by the porter continued the pace. I grabbed my packed lunch by Inzu Lodge and ate 2 bananas. This wasn’t enough, I needed a quick boost of energy. The porter told me while holding my hand firmly that we were 30 minutes away from the volcano top. My lips were blue, I was freezing. I couldn’t believe Africa would be this cold! The last 30 minutes climbing the mountain felt like hours, I wasn’t going to make it. I was too courageous and now I was going to embarrass the military by fainting. Luckily, I had an orange. I bit with my teeth the orange in two and started sucking on it, till nothing was left. Slowly I felt better. 10 minutes the porter said, only 10. At this point I wasn’t sure whether this was a tactic or it was the truth. Augustin, the old porter throws his arms around me lifts up my upper body. I close my eyes and let him lift me; we have finally arrived on the volcano top. I, we made it!!! I look into the crater lake of the volcano but I can’t see anything. The mist is impossible, the same setting as Gorilla in the mist by Diane Fossey. This was beautiful! While climbing up the mountain, I saw the beauty of the rainforest, the faeces of wild animals without seeing the animals. While walking up the volcano, many feelings went through my body. Love, hate, pain, persistence, gratefulness … You name it; but one thing went through my head again. This place was blessed; it’s unbelievable. I quickly search in my bag for another sweater in order to put it on, I had to remove some other layers. There I was -5 degrees in a t-shirt. I was shaking, my fingers frozen trying to put on these clothes.  I unwrapped my chicken sandwich and ate quickly like an animal. I needed energy fast to make it back down again. I show my hands to the porter, he said my god and he gave me his 2 pair of gloves. We needed to get out of there. My body temperate was dropping too fast. Who do we see? The park guide! He had made it up the volcano. He tells me now it is too cold we have to go. The running down the volcano starts. I slip, slide, fall at least fifty times. My legs were like spaghetti and the heavy rain flooded the trails. I was surprised to notice that my Timberland boots were impeccably waterproof. Nice buy Francine, nice buy :) Augustin supported me. Many times I thought I was sleep walking or dreaming because I have no idea how I descended through the second peak. The speed was just too fast. I didn’t want to rest or drink anymore. All I could think of was reaching down and seeing my mom. She was now flying. The faster I would be down, the faster I could leave for Kigali. Half way we stop and the park guide tells me no stopping because the sun is shining so the thunder will come. What? I know rain season, again he was just making up things. He wanted to go home. I check my packed lunch again and there are fresh carrots in it. Little did I know that these were going to be life saviours. I felt better, I began chewing on the carrots while running down. The second part was dryer. The heavy rains were on the highest peak. I could do this. I want to arrive before 2 PM. The carrots distracted me from my exhaustion and I just rolled down. The second descent was long, I didn’t remember it being so long when walking up but the carrots had me on a roll. At exactly 2pm I had made it back. This fast? This is not possible. Yes it is!    The park guide tells me I am a great hiker. Aha, you shall never underestimate anyone but my competitiveness had killed me. I still had a 4,5 hour drive to Kigali after this. I was hungry and  stopped to eat at Diane Fossey favourite place Muhabara Hotel. My body was shaking and I suffered a severe headache. Silly me I can’t lose. Later the park guide was reported for not staying with me and letting the military take the responsibility. The military is for safety but not for guiding me on the volcano. Off to Kigali to see my mom.