I was given a hard time about my most recent (and shortest) blog post. So in order to give you the most thorough update possible, I thought I would share excerpts from my journal...Enjoy!

6/25/07

A couple nights ago a group of us went to a new club called Cadillac. The African guys couldn't believe I could dance. One of my Rwandan friends came up to me. He can't pronounce the g's in my name so he yelled, "Madgy! You can dance!" Two men told me I was beautiful, another Rwandan man whispered to me "I like the way you dance". It is odd and very uncomfortable for me to hold so much sway over men. What have I gotten myself into? When you're so unaware of your sexuality, it's overwhelming when it is thrust into your face. My dad was right - here in Africa there are 3 sexes: men, women, and white women.

Here in Rwanda, touching does not imply sexual interst of sexaul affection. People are much more openly affectionate to one another here than anywhere else I've visited. Walking down the street men often hold hands with eachother, or women, or both. People hug as they wait for a light to change. I love it. I love the physical manifestation of one's concern, kindness, and love for another. My first day in Rwanda, while I was walking down the street with Pasi, he grabbed my hand. My initial reaction was, "Wow, people are very forward here." But then I saw that everyone was holding hands around us. It will be hard for me to keep my hands at my sides when back in the U.S.


6/26/07

Tonight we are in Nyamata (place of milk), about an hour South of Kigali. We stopped at a church on the way into town. Five thousand people were murdered there in a single day - April 15, 1994. The perpetrators used hammers, clubs, and machetes to kill. Only 10 survived to recount the horrifying atrocities.

Inside the church were shelves of skulls and bones. Rows and rows of skulls and bones. The hardest ones to see were the small skulls of children. It is only chance privlege that gives me this vantage point. Along the walls hung clothing of the victims. They are all dirty now - and blood stained.

Yitgadal, v'yit kadash...

People saught refuge in a church hoping for thier G-d to protect them. But G-d did not stop the grenades from opening the doors for the killers. Do I believe in G-d? I keep asking myslef again and again on this trip. I believe in the human spirit. The strenght and the beauty of the human spirit. I believe it is that beauty which some label G-d and the strength that others call the spirit.

Leaving the church, I was drained and feeling guilty. How could Jews turn their backs in '94? And still today? But before my thoughts had time to settle, a band of school children came marching by. What perfect timing. As we left he ghosts of the past, we were greeted by the hope of the future. I know it sounds cliche, but my heart was truly strengthened.

After lunch we went to another church. Here 10,000 were massacred. The ceiling is spotted with holes from the shrapnel of grenades and the stains of bodies. The cloth on the altar is the same one that lay there that day.

In the basement of this church is a glass case full of skulls. Below the case is the coffin of a woman who was raped by men, sticks and poles, evenutally leading to her death. Her coffin stands as a tribute to her character.

Behind the church are two mass graves. You can walk below, among the coffins, but I chose not to. How many skulls can I see in one day? How can I walk among the dead so willingly?

On my way out, I signed zachor (remember) int eh guest book. Waiting beyond the gates, right on cue was a large group of young students. A coincidence? Perhaps. But either way, the juxtaposition was beautiful.

Walking back to our guesthouse, many kids kept us company. One little girl kept her eyes on my feet trying to match me step for step. It doesn't bother me being different here. Genuine curiostiy only leads ot genuine understanding. So I let kids pinch me to see that I'm real, or pat my hair and shake my hand. Each day we discover more and more of eachother's humanity.