IDEA

[gladu12]

Trapped...

That time… When our heat pulled us closer Like two candles next to each other And we started burning together Remember that song… We sang as we melted in unison From the flames on top of our heads Making our own little sun Lighting up a whole new universe In a world filled with darkness…. Remember the fresh new scents As our bodies slowly liquefied Under the bright colors of our souls on fire… Hot big drops spilling over Forming one thick flowing river Always moving towards the center For the sun kept on sinking deeper Curving our flesh even further Until we completely lost our initial shapes Do you remember how it felt… When we merged into one and the same Right before the magic started to fade We stayed still like a sculpture As if we waiting for an epic rupture But whatever we were trying to capture It never came… We regained a little strength and structure And emerged a brand new creature But still we were trapped…

With our essences forever combined In struggling to keep the flame alive Remember all that? Do you recall anything after that fact? Tell me have we won the fight? Or are we just frozen in time? We don’t make the fire The flame keeps us alive So trapped we shall remain Until we melt again

[nelsongashagaza]

#Kwibuka21

7 avril 2015. C’est un matin clair et calme. Il y a peu de motos ou de voitures, et il y a encore moins de moins de monde dans les rues. Ce matin me rappelle le 7 avril 1994 à Kimihurura et cet étrange vide dans les rues. Ce matin-là où à la maison on refusa de nous laisser aller jouer dehors. Nous cuisinions dans la maison, et assis, nous écoutions la radio volume bas bien sûr, de peur d’attirer l’attention sur nous. Mes grands-parents ne se doutaient pas alors que la liste des Tutsi à tuer était déjà prête. Tout à coup dans l’après-midi, un groupe d’hommes munis de machettes, gourdins, couteaux, et petites armes à feu ont enfoncé le portail de notre maison, chantant fort et violemment. Nous avons été pris de court. La première réaction de mes parents était de nous cacher, nous, les enfants. Mais où se cacher dans une maison entourée d’hommes assoiffés de sang? Nous nous sommes cachés sous le lit ; du moins le maximum de personnes possible. Quelques minutes plus tard ils cassaient les portes de la maison. Aujourd’hui encore, je ressens le désespoir et la peur de ce matin-là. Sous le lit, nous nous serions les uns contre les autres, espérant que peut-être ‘ils ne nous verront pas’. Mais en vain. Ils sont entrés dans la chambre et , la peur et la terreur se sont emparées de nous. Il n’y avait plus d’issue. L’espoir s’était envolé et la mort frappait à notre porte. Deux miliciens interahamwe ont dit en regardant ma sœur, «reka duhere kuri uyu turebe nimba ubwiza biratana bumukiza », ou « commençons par celle-ci et nous verrons si sa beauté lui sera d’un quelconque secours ». Elle fût massacré alors à la machette. J’étais le plus jeune dans cette chambre. Par conséquent, tout le monde s’était assuré que j’étais le mieux caché, du moins, quelque part où ils espéraient pouvoir me protéger. Mais à ce moment précis, ils ne pouvaient rien faire pour moi. La mort était parmi nous et seule la prière était au rendez-vous, accompagnée d’un sentiment de la résignation. À la fin de ce massacre, j’étais couvert de sang. Ils ont pensé que j’étais mort. Après avoir versé tout ce sang, ils étaient pris d’une telle folie qu’ils ne remarquèrent pas que j’étais toujours en vie. Ils se ruèrent dehors pour d’autres tueries. Ma sœur, dans son dernier souffle, rampa jusqu’à moi, essayant de dire quelque chose. Elle est morte ainsi, sa main posée sur mon bras. Sa bravoure était telle que même jusqu’à son dernier souffle, elle voulait que je sois sauf. 7 avril 2015. Nous sommes trois dans les rues. Au 7 avril 1994. Nous avons été que trois à avoir survécu dans une maison qui abritait jadis 18 personnes. La seule différence étant qu’hier j’allais à mon bureau – chose que je fais depuis des années. En effet, durant la semaine de la commémoration, je travaille dur pour échapper à mes souvenirs. Pendant des années j’ai fait comme si je n’étais pas affecté par ce qui m’était arrivé - essayé de feindre l’insensibilité. Hier, j’ai pleuré en écoutant le discours du Président Kagame. J’ai réalisé que je me trompais - lorsque je l’ai entendu dire que se commémorer est une obligation, et que personne ne nous rappelle de le faire. Chaque année, j’essayé de taire mes émotions et bloquer mes souvenirs. Aujourd’hui je me sens fatigué, très fatigué d’avoir passé la nuit à revisiter tous mes souvenirs. 7 avril 1994, je n’étais qu’un enfant de cinq ans. Vingt-et-un plus tard, je suis un adulte avec un emploi (et j’espère ne pas me faire renvoyer au moment où j’écris ces mots). Mon travail est de préserver la mémoire du génocide et de créer les outils pour partager ce qui s’est déroulé ici. J’espère bien faire mon travail parce que ma sœur mérite ces derniers mots, ces mots qu’elle n’a jamais pu dire. Elle mérite de vivre dans nos souvenirs, digne et courageuse. De la même manière qu’elle est morte il y a vingt-et-un ans. #Kwibuka21. 

[nelsongashagaza]

Here We Are - Kwibuka

In the stillness of the night, Loneliness stuck me; I look into the stars, Only to be reminded again. I find solace into my memories. You were young, we laughed, we played and we were loved by our parents. How can I forget?

In the middle of the day - Hunters enjoying hunt. We kids dipping with fear, shaking like leaves in the wind. “You are beautiful’ they said - begging for her life but in vain. Mother swimming in a pool of blood with pain, just to take a last look at her baby. Priceless was a blessing of instead death, while condemned to short life. Call it Irony; I call it reality when none cares.

Rwanda in your darkness hour, you were abandoned. But again to whom we would have cried for? The one who divided Rwandans into ‘Us’ and 'Them’? The one who encourage the ideology of superiority? The arms and machetes seller?

In days of darkness, blindness, ignorance and Dallaire shaking the hands of the evil. Ordinary people choose to care and take a stand saving lives at the extent of loosing theirs. These people make me believe again in Ubumuntu - Humanity.

We are left to tell, left to heal, left to live a better life. We are here to be the witness of the horror, to choose peace and love. We are here to remember and to forgive - a better way to heal. We are here to unite and reconcile - for a brighter Rwanda.

We are here in defiance to those who still want history to repeat and to see us trapped in sorrow - Tell them that they will fail. We are generation agaciro driven by change, powered by our conviction and determination to be Rwandans with dignity. We seek truth, we stand for what is right and strive to be fair. We are resilient, we mean “never again” because we have to be better for those loved one who are not with us and to protect others.

Visit www.genocidearchiverwanda.org.rw for testimonies.

[gladu12]

Be Proud

It is time for me to wake up from my long sleep as a blogger. First because I miss blogging, and also because something unusual happened to me recently;then something magical happened, followed by something shocking, that was followed by something… Alright, enough with the something’s, I’ll just cut to the chase.

I was at this dinner event when this beautiful young lady I had never met came and started chatting with another lady at my table. They seemed to know each other very well, but I didn’t know any of them before that afternoon. They had been talking and laughing for a while when the first lady (the one that was not initially at my table) confessed to me that she had been observing me…because she found me very beautiful! That’s unusual, right? I mean, I have had such compliments from other girls before, but never from a girl that I had just met. Usually these things are said by men trying to get into my pants. The rare times I get it from another woman is after we have known each other for a while, but that’s just me. I found her very beautiful herself and, her friend was even more beautiful than the both of us combined. I pointed that out to her, to which she responded that they were in- laws so it didn’t count. (! Red flag! Is she hitting on me or something?) She insisted that I was really beautiful with beautiful natural hair ;and that, had some mystical effect on me…I blushed, I felt good, like flying to the moon, it was magical! But then she went on explaining how it’s so rare to see such beauty from a dark skin girl, “we are used to see beautiful light skin but not much from the dark skin” she said…I was not sure if I heard her correctly from up there where I was, but she repeated it… this moment felt like a free fall from the moon back to the hard, cold, harsh reality of this Earth, where sometimes people fight battles that are not theirs… I did not have any parachute, I was not ready for this, I was shocked! (Is she for real? Is she really going to bring up that everlasting colorism debate to this table right now?) But I smiled and I said “thank you” because that’s what I always do, I wasn’t going to let her ruin the evening for me.

Okay, let me back up a little bit here: this girl is African, just like me; grew up back home in Rwanda, like me. She probably was taught the same traditions and values as my own parents taught me. She could be my unknown cousin, my sister from another mother; we were as close to each other as two people who had just met in a country that is not their own could ever be. And yet she was here talking about the colorism issue in a way I can never relate to. I mean I always see these #darkskin versus #lightskin debates online and I always ignore them because I just think they are simply stupid and a complete waste of my energy; but I have been seeing more and more African sisters posting selfies with captions like #teamlightskin and that makes me want to say something about it. Where I come from, In Africa there is lots of different forms of discrimination, but skin color is just not one of them. In Africa there is no such thing as light skin privilege, we are all simply African. Now, in America and in Asia, it’s a whole different story. Light skins in America are supposedly “superior” because they might have some white blood in them, this comes from way back in slavery times where the masters will favor the children they had with their female slaves; I can understand that. I can understand it, but I still say that it is stupid to think that every light skin person has white race blood in their veins, because well…that’s just not true; and besides, we are not in slavery times anymore. In Asia, a lighter skin was synonymous to a higher class in society but again, that’s ancient history. I personally do not participate in colorism debates online because I do not feel concerned. It is their history, not mine. So I guess I am trying to understand why my African people would even begin to think that this is something they should concern themselves with. I can’t help but wonder if they know what they are really insinuating. I mean don’t you have more serious issues to deal with, Issues that directly resulted from your own African heritage? I get that we are all here in this big new western world trying to fit in; acting like their dreams are our dreams, making their problems our own, but some things are just not for us. It might be true that life is easier on lighter skin tones in America, maybe Americans truly believe that light skin people are more beautiful and smarter than people with darker skin tones …But these same Americans also think that descendants of former slaves are the only ‘Black People’. I do not fit in their definition of blackness, my new friend from the dinner party does not fit in their definition of blackness, and neither does Akon , K’naan or Barack Obama’s father; some of them get really surprised when I tell them that there are actually people in Africa that have skin tones as light as the banana peel, and that they are absolutely not biracial. To them, we are just Africans;I think this should persuade anyone that we, Africans from Africa, are not included in their colorism debate. So why do we do that? Why are Africans still bleaching? Nobody in Africa has ever been refused a job, just because they had a dark skin, as far as I know. What makes some people insist so much on their “chocolate” skin as if it’s some kind of superpower? I don’t know, I don’t get it, It makes me roll my eyes every time I see it online, I am rolling my eyes right now as I write this hahaha.

By the way, the young lady was also a dark skin tone, I thought she was beautiful and really lovely but I feel bad when I think of what she might think of herself…I think I am black, dark and beautiful, I have never been in a situation where my darkness was an obstacle to my well being, and as far as I’m concerned, nobody has ever resisted my smile. ☺ LOL this is where I am supposed to stop. I am just saying, I am not going to pretend that I’m miserable just to prove a point. I am glad I am back at blogging, Just like the prince’s kiss, this little episode brought me back to the blogging life; so thank you beautiful stranger, and please be proud of who you are. ✌

[thesoulfunkybrother]

Portraits of Reconciliation : 20 Years after the genocide in Rwanda,

reconciliation still happens on encounter at a time.

Photo by Pieter Hugo .

[nelsongashagaza]

Reconciliation story through lens

[thediaryofhealing]

KWIBUKA

Kwibuka is to remember To remember what we had and lost To remember the tears cried that were never wiped To remember the cries that were never heard To remember the breaths that were taken away To remember the moments that we will never share.

Kwibuka is to remember Remember the nights so dark without them around Remember the sunny days so cold without their laughter Remember the happiness not so happy without them to share it Remember the sorrow so heavy without them to help carry it.

Kwibuka is to remember To remember our loved ones taken from us And to cherish their memory To keep the flame of their fire alive.

Kwibuka is to remember Remember to educate so that what happened will not repeat itself Remember to educate about the meaning of love, of unity and of Turi Umwe Remember to educate about the true value of “Gukunda igihugu n'abagituye” Remember to educate about the gravity of the scars Remember to educate those who say that we should stop remembering, that after 21 years we should be over it Remember to remind them that after 21 years we did not forget and that we will never stop “Kwibuka no Kubaka”

Kwibuka is to Remember Remember to Protect. Remember to protect the legacy they left behind Remember to build the dreams they had Remember to protect the beautiful plans they had and implement them Remember to protect those they left behind Remember to protect “Umurage w'urukundo badusigiye” Remember to protect our country from everything and everyone that would try to erase our history and turn us against each other.

Kwibuka is to Remember Remember to not forget Remember to remember

Kwibuka ko tugomba kwiyubaka Tugasigasira igihugu cyacu Tukakirinda abagikomeretsa, bagikoma mu nkokora Tukarinda abacu uwabahungabanya

Kwibuka ko tugomba gushima Uwiteka Tukamushimira aho yadukuye naho atugejeje Tukibuka kumuragiza iguhugu cyacu, ngo akigoteshe amababa ye, akirindishe ingabo ze kandi agihundagazemo amahoro, umutekano, ibyishimo ndetse n'imigisha.

Kwibuka is to Remember. 21 years later We Remember.

~J~

[nelsongashagaza]

Don't miss Rose and Co. Natural Body and Hair Product Pop Up Sale tomorrow at Discover Rwanda Hostel, Kacyiru. 2pm to 6pm. SEE YOU!

[nelsongashagaza]

Rose and Co. Natural Body and Hair Product Pop Up Sale tomorrow at Discover Rwanda Hostel. 2pm to 6pm. SEE YOU!! @lidealist

[youneversoul]

Stuck between i wanna get my shit together. and life's too short so fuck it ima do whatever.

[nelsongashagaza]

Don't try get it together- live the present

[zerogravitylullabies-deactivate]

Amazing digital collages by Folasade Adeoso

[nelsongashagaza]

Awesome Digital collages by Filasade Adeoso @bobmugaba

[dynamicafrica]

[dynamicafrica]

In Photos: “Signares” by Fabrice Monteiro.

Exploring history and fashion along the west coast of Africa, for his series ‘Signares' Belgian-Beninese photographer Fabrice Monteiro recalls a time in history where distinct cultures collided.

As European traders and explorers began to ascend on Africa’s west coast around the 15th and 16th century, as these men where forbidden from bringing their families and wives from their home countries, they began to intermingle and intermarry with African women in the Senegambia region. As a result of these relations, many of these women began to orchestrate business dealings to their benefits “using these partnerships to bolster their socioeconomic standing and personal trading enterprises”. One signare in the 1770s from St Louis, Senegal, is noted to have been a property owner and dealer as she bought and sold property in Saint-Domingue, while “five other signares in Gorée signed a petition against a poorly run French company that had been awarded an exclusive contract with the island”. 

Although these relations were not at first recognized by colonial and European authorities, it later became acceptable for Europeans living in Senegal to marry and have their descendants profit from these unions through heritage rights. Most of these women were considered to be of a high class and often married “middle-class executives or French and English aristocrats”. Naturally, a new sense of fashion was born as the women combined their own traditional styles with European attire at the time.

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All Africa, All the time.

[nelsongashagaza]

To count the blessings in life, believing abundance abounds #IWD

To all of you, my sister and friends:

To wake up in the morning, knowing you’re still alive, To know you have a choice each day, starting afresh, To find joy in everyday, acknowledging simple pleasures, To live in the present moment, engaging your awareness, To count the blessings in life, believing abundance abounds, To enjoy the work you do, following your passion, To make a little difference, adding to the universe, To be what you are, listening to your inner being, To give away love, rejoicing in the chance to give, To receive love with gratitude, feeling good about it, To smile at strangers, seeing how infectious it can be, To speak words of kindness, spreading a little warmth, To understand with compassion, opening up your mind, To play with children, nurturing your inner child, To appreciate the nature, soaking up all the beauty, To feel the warmth of the sun, glowing upon your skin, To listen to the falling rain, pattering on the grounds To taste the richness of food, sliding down your throat, To smell the freshness of air, filling up your lungs, To see the falling night, concluding a well-lived day, That’s life, that’s living, That’s the core of what really matters… And if I’ve missed out anything, Please let love make up for all of it.

HAPPY WOMEN’S DAY!!

[youngparis]

Took a minute to gather a collection of some paintings for y’all from Loyiso Mkize ART.. The Detail is Incredible! #proud

[nelsongashagaza]

Impressive visuals-

[nelsongashagaza]

Every time i step into my office i get reminded that there is NO such thing as NEVER AGAIN when it comes to genocide; the only thing possible is to PREVENT. Preventing is an all time job without assurance- you can only hope that you did your best. prevention doesn't require only convinction but also commitment that's the tricky part. i will fight against the genocide, till i moon walk mugabe Age and Maybe break the Internet for a good fight!

[nelsongashagaza]

Stereotypes

So we live in a society where parents and friends promotes stereotypes.

Parents tell their daughter don’t surrender to the pressure of boys’ when she starts to date. It is a generalisation that lead to danger.

A boy can not tell to his girlfriend or friends that he is not ready/ doesn’t want to have sex. Because He fears to be called a ‘Pussy’

A girl can not have a meaningless sex and talk about it or be proud of it- for fear to be called a ‘Slot or hole’

We live in a society where parts who are supposed to protect indirectly cause harm. A parent catch or get told that his/her child have condom. First thing the parent does is to yell at THE child instead of saying ‘child thank you for protecting yourself- abstinence is better’

The social construction of our society needs some reflection

[nelsongashagaza]

The New Student Safety Bus #Win #Rwot

[nelsongashagaza]

To Serve. To Strive. To seek Truth.