All it takes is a butterfly.

(Note: Apologies in advance for the graphic details in what I’ve written below. It is what I’m experiencing here and I feel the need to share it, but realize it might not be suitable for everyone to read.)

I want to write about all of the amazingly enjoyable moments I’m having here; but I can’t. I want to write about how great I did on my first language simulation this morning; but I can’t. I want to write about how comical something as simple as attempting to eat at a restaurant in Rwanda is; but I can’t. Right now, the only thing I can even fathom writing about is one of the events that occurred in this country in 1994. It is quite easy to forget about Rwanda’s past, even while living here. Everyone smiles and laughs and goes about their business; life goes on. But then there are days like today; days that force me realize where I am and what occurred. We traveled down to Butare (about an hour south of Nyanza) to visit the Murambi genocide memorial. In April of 1994, about 50,000 people sought refuge at the Murambi technical school. They were told by government and church officials that they would be safe from the genocidaires there and be provided with food and water. But it was actually a calculated plan of extermination, as the genocidaires attacked and within four days everyone, men women and children, were slaughtered and interred in mass graves. Since 1995, around 30,000 bodies have been exhumed and 2,000 have been preserved with lime and laid in the same rooms of the technical school that they huddled together in for protection. Those are the facts, but nothing can prepare you for walking through such a place.

It was silent as we walked through each room, with only the sounds of quiet footsteps to cut the air. It was impossible to breathe; the stench, a mixture of decay and chemicals, permeated everywhere. Emaciated and mangled, the bodies were literally frozen in time; babies, children, women and men, many in the positions their bodies fell into as they were killed. Women still clutching babies, men defensively curled up into balls, a young boy with a hand outstretched towards a hole in his skull. In each room, a table held a bouquet of flowers. On one table a poem asked that the children be able to sleep in peace. I was face to face with the evidence of genocide and in a moment like that it is impossible to not react. It began with a tear and soon I was gasping for air as I held back sobs. I couldn’t stop the tears, though I didn’t want to. There are no words to express how I felt or what I was thinking, and I don’t think I could type them here even if I could find the words; but at that moment something happened. A Rwandan woman who works at the memorial grabbed my hand, pulled me from the room, and held me as I cried. It is inconceivable to me how this woman who was personally touched by the genocide was able and willing to comfort me, considering I was a world away when it occurred and in all honesty had no idea it was happening. She held my hand as we walked from room to room and I could literally feel her strength and her desire for me to feel it too. I will never forget her face or what she did for me today.

You know those moments when you feel the universe just gives you signs? I’ve been having several of those recently, and they’ve all involved a butterfly. I was incredibly close to my grandfather, and was severely affected when he passed away when I was in 8th grade. During his funeral there was a butterfly that landed on his urn and then fluttered over to my grandmother before flying away. I remember my parents telling me that my grandfather’s spirit was now in that butterfly and that whenever I needed him he’d be there. Throughout my life, butterflies have had a strange way of always showing up at the times when I need encouragement the most. Even things as simple as a picture of one will give me a sense of inner strength not there before. To say the past few weeks have been difficult and frustrating is an understatement, and two days ago I was badly in need of encouragement. We were walking back to our training center and all of a sudden what had to have been a hundred butterflies were suddenly flying over our heads. I’ve never seen anything like it, and probably never will again. All we could do was stop and stare at how incredibly odd and beautiful it was. But for me it was so much more; it was exactly what I needed at exactly the right moment.

Today, as I stood in a field where 16 years ago thousands of people had hid in hopes of survival, I was overcome with emotion. And at that moment, I saw it: a yellow butterfly. It flew past me, landed on the grass, paused a moment and then flew away. Sometimes that’s all it takes to remind me that I’m not alone; that this is where I’m supposed to be and that I have the strength and determination to do this. I just hope that during the next two years when the road is bumpy and I can’t find the good in things anymore that I will look up and see just one more butterfly.

Thank you for reading this, I know it’s difficult, but I want to share all of my experiences with you, good and bad, mundane or life changing. And thank you for all the comments and words of encouragement, and please keep them coming. You have no idea the positive effect they’ve had on me already during my time here. I’ll write of happier things soon, but until next time, I will just say “muri mumutima wanjye” (you are all in my heart).