helen weld public health

Trails of tears. . .

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not marks of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief…and unspeakable love.” Washington Irving

It’s been two weeks since I have been home, but the images of being in Rwanda remain fresh and the friends/colleagues left behind are close to my heart.

The last weekend I was in Rwanda Alli and I went to Nyamata about 35 km. from Kigali where there is a Catholic church that is now a genocide memorial. This was intended to be a refuge for 5,000 Tutsis and “moderate” Hutus, but instead all but five were slaughtered on April 10, 1994. This is not a museum by any means, the “displays” are just there, almost as though the event happened in the recent past (although 18 years ago still seems too recent).

At the back of the modest brick church racks of stacked skulls, scapulae and femurs are housed. Bloodied garments are heaped in piles on either side of the concrete pews. Machetes and crude clubs riddled with nails are in piles near the altar. Remnants of people’s belongings are in a heap…shoes, a plastic yellow Gerry can for water, an identity card, a Bic pen and notebook. In the Sunday school area there is a brick wall that has been discoloured by the blood of hundreds of smashed infants’ skulls. Sorry to be so graphic, but this is a historic event that many people just choose to remain oblivious to or ignore. Those spaces felt as though there were thick veils of pain and suffering suspended in the air.

The reality of the genocide is closer as we now have friends who were directly affected. Both of us sat holding each other in the meditation garden at the memorial and wept which was therapeutic, but after spending the time there, we were both limp and drained. Haggling with the moto driver for the price of the return trip to Kigali seemed pointless, in fact after that morning every aspect of my “every day life” seems inconsequential.

When I am surrounded by the serene and bucolic beauty here, it’s harder to reflect on the challenges in Rwanda. I also find it disturbing that I am able to switch into the track of my “other” life almost too easily. I have been staying close to home enjoying the company of family and friends and taking long daily swims. Two minutes of the pre-Christmas mall scene for a very quick errand in Cairns was totally odious.

I just wish that I could converse easily and in depth in Kinyarwanda. At this point in my life, it just feels impossible that I could ever master this language enough to have real conversations and help people with their individual life journeys. Rwandan English speakers who have shared their stories with me, continually impress me with their ongoing sensitivity, wisdom and gratitude for life.

Leaving the extraordinary Gardens for Health community was an absolute heart wrench for me. I was deeply touched by everyone’s expressions of love and gratitude. I hope what I have tried to give and teach these resilient individuals will at least be equal to what I have received and learned from them. Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to return in 2012.

May we always remember to count our blessings. Here’s to a healthy and peaceful 2012 for all.

"Ambulance" in Kinyarwanda... a linguistic challenge for an aging brain

Helen's last Gikomero mama support group

Marie Therese, an extraordinary women with courage, resilience and compassion

A fun and special Sunday outing with some of my favourite women friends

'Heren' is touched by sweet love

Helen's airport sendoff

Counting daily blessings in Lake Eacham