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Pushing My Love over the Borderline

Today I departed Rwanda earlier than originally planned.  I had intended to head south to check out the Blue Marble Dreams Ice Cream shop and university town of Butare. There’s apparently also a church where they’ve left the bodies of genocide victims, preserved in lye where they died.

But I don’t need or want to see that anymore. The last few nights I’ve had strange nightmares, the odd likes of which I haven’t had since taking a Holocaust class in college. I plan to read more about the Rwandan genocide, but spending as much time as I do alone, right now I need to keep moving.

Seeing the horror and failing to understand even remotely lingers with you. I keep thinking of those words “Never Again” on so many carefully coordinated bouquets atop the gargantuan concrete coffins concealing more than 200,000 bodies that brutally had the life hacked from them. But it will happen again.

All of this amid clean, sterile Kigali is too much for me right now and I’ve now returned by 10-hour bus back to Kampala to see friends and wrap up these four months in Africa. The photo at top was taken alongside my creepy, quiet, cotton-fog walk across the no man’s land distinguishing Uganda from Rwanda.


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