An Easter tale of two Rwandas

We’ve all been able to enjoy a rather long weekend because of the crucifixion, death and apparent resurrection of a Nazarene more than 2,000 years ago. I will not go into the semantics of it all because I’m not sure that today is an appropriate time to start casting doubt about the entire story. However, I can say with all honesty, I don’t know whether a man died and rose again in three days and released us all from the original sin. My logic dictates that once a person is dead, that’s the end of that. But, to say that it would be impossible is a fallacy as well; I simply don’t know even a bit of what goes on in this vast universe of ours. But I digress. Easter falls at a time when, just 17 years ago, this nation was rocked to its very foundations. The streets were running with the blood of innocents and dogs gorged themselves on human flesh. I can remember, as a youngster in primary school in Uganda, reading about bodies floating into Lake Victoria. I remember going to catholic mass every morning and hearing the priest praying for the lives lost in a situation we all couldn’t understand. As one of the few Rwandans in school I was taken to task about these events. “Why are your people poisoning our fish”, I was asked. I really couldn’t come up with an answer. I was ashamed to call myself Rwandan. Fast forward 17 years. I kept in touch with the boy who put me on the spot all those years back and when I travelled to Kampala recently I was able to share a drink with him. The conversation turned to the state of Rwanda and he expressed his admiration for what the nation had achieved. The Rwanda of 1994 and the one of today share nothing in common except the geography. Where once we (the nation and its citizens) were either unknown or derided, we are now respected. From a time when we were insular and afraid, we now show our worth to the world. We have troops in war zones acting as peacekeepers, we have policemen and women enforcing the law in Haiti and now we have Dr. Richard Sezibera serving at the highest pinnacle of East African politics, and indeed many more in Africa and on the world stage. As we celebrate the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth, I cannot help but see similarity to his and our triumph. Betrayed by his own, with the aid of a foreign power, he was put to death. For two long days and nights, he was mourned and spoken about in the hushed tones of remembrance. Those that killed him celebrated his demise, while those that loved him wondered what would become of them. Lo and behold, the plans of man came undone because on the third day he proved to be, not dead, but alive. From those that loved him came a joyous cry while to those who wished him ill came a gnashing of teeth. The same befell this beautiful home of mine. Evil men and women hatched up a plan to make this country a wasteland by killing a section of those living in it. This cost the lives of more than a million people and also contributed to a mass exodus of people to foreign lands. The government that tried to turn the fortunes of the country around found empty coffers, looted offices and a broken and traumatized people. They could have read the script that the entire world had written for them and proceeded to be another Somalia but they didn’t. Slowly the country built up its strength; it repatriated its people, built its institutions, educated its people, enacted a new constitution and made itself the most business-friendly place. And after years in the pits of Hades Rwanda prevailed: strong, resilient and very much alive. Those that had mourned our passing have broken out in joyous song, while our detractors scratch their heads in disbelief and howl in anger. sunny_ntayombya@hotmail.com