Murambi

There was a warm, gentle breeze blowing when we arrived at Murambi Genocide Memorial Site. It’s just 2km from the main road and despite the group of people working at the entrance, it was very quiet and peaceful.

At the front door we were directed by a young man past the main building to a set of terraced brick buildings. He opened the door to the first one : inside were wooden benches piled high with preserved human remains, not much more than skeletons, covered with white powder. Someone had left a bouquet of flowers, now withered. The second and third doors revealed the same. It was only in the third room, where there were some larger bodies, that I realised that most of the remains were of children. There were obvious signs of damage on many bodies – holes in skulls, broken limbs. Murambi was built as a school but never used and has more than 20 such rooms. Between 40,000 and 50,000 people were killed here in the space of a few short days in 1994. They had gathered to seek protection from the killing which was going on around them.

For me, as I suspect most westerners, the only appropriate response in such surroundings is silence, or perhaps a few words in a hushed voice, but we were joined by one of the handful of people who survived the massacre. He now works at Murambi, telling his story to visitors. He has a dent in his head where the bullet entered. I have to admit I found his talking intrusive and distracting, but it did provide the only information on the events at Murambi. The memorial is stark in its simplicity and its portrayal of the extent of the genocide.

A large shed has several ropes on which hang the blood-stained clothes taken from the victims. On our way back to the car we were shown a large hole which served as the mass grave. Most of the remains had been exhumed form here. We signed the visitors’ book and left. It was about another 20 minutes before we spoke.