is it....

normal that one of the things I miss at the moment is central heating?

a disabled genocide

I spent part of this week going through transcripts, trying to create a factual summary of the case against the accused in the trial I am working on. Creating a factual summary is a time consuming task, often thankless in terms of time and energy, for any small interruption can mean having to start all over, so you can allow yourself to "get back into it." “Getting into it” is not something that makes me want to get out of bed in the morning. Even for a minimum of $10,000! Sorry Naomi! Attempting to understand how Rwanda came to find itself at this juncture in its short life as an independent state is. However spending 10 hours a day attempting to "get into it" is taxing my soul and by Friday evening, my nerves are racked. Totally understandable why this Tribunal would make the perfect place for the AA and NA to combine forces and set up their headquarters. I am sure they would a USAID grant! Hee hee hee!

Something struck me this week. Actually a lot of issues, but this one came first! Why is it that considering the massacres, considering the weapon of choice, I have not seen a single physically disabled witness of this genocide since I got here? Seems bizarre that in view of the manner in which the Hutus sought to exterminate, none of the witnesses bear these physical scars! Well at least not that I have seen give evidence.

This 100 day massacre took the lives of hundreds of thousands a day! Imagine that. We have all seen the pictures of the fields of bodies, displays of human skulls lined up and piled high, shining, as if for sale in Nakumatt (Kenyan upmarket supermarket), rivers bursting with limbs and decaying bodies. Left to their own devises, the country would have annihilated all Tutsi and their so called “sympathisers” in a matter of months! This is a country where those left behind bear the scars: physically, mentally, emotionally, and not least, spiritually.

This blog is about those physically disabled. I know the other scars, the internal invisible damage exist. I see it everyday and this is post is in no way meant to belittle what those not physically marked have been through. That is the subject of another post.

We know that survivors exist. We see them on a daily basis. Millions still live in Rwanda. But the plight of those physically disabled by this 100 day genocide remain, to me, invisible to the public eye. The treatment of the disabled in Rwanda displayed the “highest degree of human bestially, brutality and intolerance” suffered, possibly more than any other group of persons. Thousands were massacred early on as they were easy targets. Although very few disabled persons survived during the genocide, we cannot forget that they were not all hacked to death. If not blessed with the peace of death, their disability was magnified. Hundreds were simply abandoned. This number was exponentially increased by the thousands that were maimed and left for dead, those who will always carry their missing limbs as a permanent reminder of the genocide. Women who had their arms hacked off and left for dead. Others will display the stumps, from the mutilation of fingers, toes, ears, cut off as punishment of being Tutsi or a "sympathiser."

At one point the media, NGOs, foreign governments took tonnes of pictures of these people, to publicise their fate. We all saw those pictures as the horror of the genocide was given celebrity celluloid status, as the Oxfams and Christian Aids of our global village competed for our pennies and cents to bring apparently assist those physically disabled for life by this war, as western governments attempted to appease their conscience and sickened voters by paying for certain individuals to act as the public relations stunt and be filmed receiving a new prosthetic limb. You would be hard pushed to find any of those pictures now. In addition, the same groups that documented the atrocities in Rwanda, the human rights groups, marginalised them. Tell me, of all the hundreds of reports, in how many did you read about the plight of the disabled?

As I sit here and read my designated transcripts and regurgitate evidence into a palatable form for the public to read in an indecipherable judgement – sometimes even to those who work in this area of law - a year, 2 years from now, I wonder: would the sight of a young man, his face unrecognisable due to machete scars, a woman gesticulating with an arm, she feels yet no longer exists, be something this or any tribunal cannot handle? Maybe these are things we need to see. To remember it is not only the fit and healthy that were killed. AND that the victims of this genocide take on all shapes and guises. Young and old disabled Rwandese litter the streets of Kigali. Forgotten, by the world and this tribunal, it seems. Only the seemingly healthy get flown in to tell "their story." Is it because we cannot look upon such victims, when we sit in judgment of ALL the atrocities those accused men and women are charged with having committed?

This is not the last genocide that we shall witness in Africa. I have to accept that, albeit reluctantly. You only need to look from Sudan to Ivory Coast, from Liberia to Sierra Leone, from Northern Uganda to DRC to Somalia. From religious conflicts in Nigeria to tribal and politically motivated clashes that dominate the African scene, those disabled tend to be forgotten. And yet each conflict creates more, be it at the hand of a machete, a shotgun, or a land mine. The creation of a new and identifiable class of the marginalised in Africa! I digress. That is possibly a topic for another day.

But I cannot help but question, how many cases involving this group of persons have been/are being handled by the traditional court systems in Rwanda or even by this Tribunal on Rwandan genocide. Surely disabled persons deserve justice, fairness and an unambiguous assurance that what they went through would be a thing of the past as do all Rwandese? What support does the international community give Rwanda in re-intergrating those who were previously disabled as well as those who find themselves disabled as a result of the genocide? As one of the greatest victims of the genocide, how and to what extent are persons with disabilities involved in the peace and reconciliation processes and efforts going in Rwanda? Shouldn’t they also represented on the Rwandan Peace and Reconciliation Commission? Questions I am finding it difficult to get satisfying answers to.

An explanation

for the absence of any "snapshots of arusha" in the last month.

The next few blogs may be slightly different from what you are used to getting from me. To those that came to New Orleans with me, where my life as a blogger was conceived and thrived, you watched/read as blogging became a pleasurable highly addictive drug. Arusha is not the same and should this disappoint you, stop reading NOW!

The lack of daily antidotes has been simply because I did not want you to think that my experiences here were all negative. I wanted to share an experience with you that would not lead you down the same path of insomnia that has become an acceptable fate! (Anyone know where I can score some Valium? Only kidding!) The last 5 weeks have been turbulent to say the least as I grapple with the loss of friends, my urban family being very far away (plus a sense of hopeless frustration at not being able to do anything for those not very happy), encountering head on my family’s very complicated and recently acquired dysfunctional behaviour, accepting certain indigestible truths about the current status of my love life, “living-breathing-sleeping” genocide, dealing with a civil service run by ‘relas,’ feeling constantly paranoid at work (unwelcome, unwanted and incomprehensible feeling!) and rather uncharacteristically asking “What the F! am I doing with my life!” on a daily basis. I think all higher beings have now transferred my calls directly to voice mail!

However it has been brought to my attention several times in the last two days that, uncharacteristic though it may be, it is still an experience. Life apparently is not always going to be fun, entertaining, stimulating or interesting…..DAMN! The only reason I feel nostalgic for the past, and in particular the most recent, is because I have been blessed with the most amazing experiences (professionally and personally) of my life over the last 10 years. This should not prevent me from sharing, simply because it may not be agreeable to my “readers” or even to myself. And anyway, it is no longer just for my mother. In any case, she gets blow by blow feedback in person on a fortnightly basis! So you have been warned. Posts from henceforth may not make sense, may seem terribly angry or comfortably fit into the “slit my wrist now with a blunt spoon” category (or even, if I am on really good form......all of the above!)

But before I re-kindle my long overdue relationship with this very friendly keyboard, I must stress - I am OK! It is "just a phase I am going through!" ;-)

17th June 2005

I have dedicated today to publicising my friends unashamedly and to that end asking you to part with your hard earned cash!

Below you will find two posts that in effect detail what each woman does. The plus side is .... they both have direct and potentially highly rewarding selfish dividends. They will both make you feel very good. The only ever so slightly down aspect is that you part with a small amount of cash....

To those who brave it and seek love in the arms of a lawyer, please let us know the outcome, especially to those of us who will be living our lives vicariously through you. ;-)

In the interests of justice...honest! Read on....

Legal E&SE presents:

MAGIC THURSDAY at MEDICINE

PROFESSIONALS SINGLES NIGHT

OPEN TO LAWYERS & LAW ENFORCEMENT PROFESSIONALS OF ALL AGES

DATE: THURSDAY 23rd JUNE 2005 - 6 p.m. to 10 p.m.
VENUE: Downstairs at the Medicine Bar, 89 Great Eastern St, Shoreditch – near Old Street Station
AIMED AT: Barristers, Solicitors, Government Lawyers, Court Service, Police, Fire Brigades
COST: £15 includes welcome drink and free entry to ‘The Summer Melt’ R&B Club night

at 10 p.m.
REGISTER NOW: email Hemma at magicthursdays@hotmail.co.uk

or call 0207 692 4355

------------------------------------------------------------------

AND BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND:

SPEEDDATING

Downstairs at the Melton Mowbray, 18 Holborn, near Chancery Lane Station
BOOK EARLY TO AVOID DISAPPOINTMENT
TUESDAY 28th JUNE 2005 at 6.30 p.m. – aged 22 - 40
THURSDAY 30th JUNE 2005 at 6.30 p.m. – aged 35 +
Cost: £20 including food and welcome drink

For more information or to register email Hemma at speed-dating@hotmail.com

or call 0207 692 4355

PS: The lack of graphics is all my fault as I have no idea how to put them on

PPS: I can swear by the organiser - puts on very good events!

Belize Challenge 2005

A dear friend and constant source of inspiration, is venturing back to Belize.

In brief, for 3 months last year, she packed her bags, left "sunny" Leicester and the love of her life to begin a project in Belize redrafting discrimination legislation affecting older persons in Belize. This period of service was unfortunately cut short due to a lack of funds.

Click to read more about Belize 2004 and Belize 2005 or the button on the right hand of this screen.

However, being the amazing woman that she is, she is going back. To finish what she started and ensure that the Bill is not only drafted, but put before Parliament and, if I know Kui, passed. She is truly her mother's daughter (for those of you who know Dr Kihoro!)

So this is my pledge to all who read this (and a wee bit of emotional blackmail to those who love me ;-)) buy her stuff if you can or donate whatever you can afford. If not financially possible (yes this includes you Ollie), place her button on your website/blog/whatever and/or copy this and send out an email to everyone you know.

She is going out to do amazing work - I am in such awe and so humbled - and I figured needs as much support, in whatever form, from those she knows and those she doesn't.

Thank you...

Much love,

Wxxx

Obituary - Hamilton Naki

Hamilton Naki, an unrecognised surgical pioneer, died on May 29th, aged 78

June 9th 2005, The Economist Print Edition

ON DECEMBER 3rd, 1967, the body of a young woman was brought to Hamilton Naki for dissection. She had been knocked down by a car as she went to buy a cake on a street in Cape Town, in South Africa. Her head injuries were so severe that she had been pronounced brain-dead at the hospital, but her heart, uninjured, had gone on furiously pumping. Mr Naki was not meant to touch this body.

The young woman, Denise Darvall, was white, and he was black. The rules of the hospital, and indeed the apartheid laws of the land, forbade him to enter a white operating theatre, cut white flesh, or have dealings with white blood. For Mr Naki, however, the Groote Schuur hospital had made a secret exception. This black man, with his steady, dexterous hands and razor-sharp mind, was simply too good at the delicate, bloody work of organ transplantation. The chief transplant surgeon, the young, handsome, famously temperamental Christiaan Barnard, had asked to have him on his team. So the hospital had agreed, saying, as Mr Naki remembered, “Look, we are allowing you to do this, but you must know that you are black and that's the blood of the white. Nobody must know what you are doing.” Nobody, indeed, knew.

On that December day, in one part of the operating suite, Barnard in a blaze of publicity prepared Louis Washkansky, the world's first recipient of a transplanted human heart. Fifteen metres away, behind a glass panel, Mr Naki's skilled black hands plucked the white heart from the white corpse and, for hours, hosed every trace of blood from it, replacing it with Washkansky's. The heart, set pumping again with electrodes, was passed to the other side of the screen, and Mr Barnard became, overnight, the most celebrated doctor in the world. In some of the post-operation photographs Mr Naki inadvertently appeared, smiling broadly in his white coat, at Barnard's side. He was a cleaner, the hospital explained, or a gardener. Hospital records listed him that way, though his pay, a few hundred dollars a month, was actually that of a senior lab technician. It was the most they could give, officials later explained, to someone who had no diploma. There had never been any question of diplomas.

Mr Naki, born in the village of Ngcangane in the windswept Eastern Cape, had been pulled out of school at 14, when his family could no longer afford it. His life seemed likely to be cattle-herding, barefoot and in sheepskins, like many of his contemporaries. Instead, he hitch-hiked to Cape Town to find work, and managed to land a job tending lawns and rolling tennis courts at the University of Cape Town Medical School. A black—even one as clever as he was, and as immaculately dressed, in a clean shirt, tie and Homburg hat even to work in the gardens—could not expect to get much further.

But a lucky break came when, in 1954, the head of the animal research lab at the Medical School asked him for help. Robert Goetz needed a strong young man to hold down a giraffe while he dissected its neck to see why giraffes did not faint when they drank. Mr Naki coped admirably, and was taken on: at first to clean cages, then to hold and anaesthetise the animals, then to operate on them.

Stealing with his eyes

The lab was busy, with constant transplant operations on pigs and dogs to train doctors, eventually, for work on humans. Mr Naki never learned the techniques formally; as he put it, “I stole with my eyes”. But he became an expert at liver transplants, far trickier than heart transplants, and was soon teaching others.

Over 40 years he instructed several thousand trainee surgeons, several of whom moved on to become heads of departments. Barnard admitted—though not until 2001, just before he died—that Mr Naki was probably technically better than he was, and certainly defter at stitching up afterwards. Unsung, though not unappreciated, Mr Naki continued to work at the Medical School until 1991. When he retired, he drew a gardener's pension: 760 rand, or about $275, a month.

He exploited his medical contacts to raise funds for a rural school and a mobile clinic in the Eastern Cape, but never thought of money for himself. As a result, he could pay for only one of his five children to stay to the end of high school.

Recognition, with the National Order of Mapungubwe and an honorary degree in medicine from the University of Cape Town, came only a few years before his death, and long after South Africa's return to black rule. He took it well. Bitterness was not in his nature, and he had had years of training to accept his life as apartheid had made it. On that December day in 1967, for example, as Barnard played host to the world's adoring press, Mr Naki, as usual, caught the bus home. Strikes, riots and road blocks often delayed it in those days. When it came, it carried him—in his carefully pressed suit, with his well-shined shoes—to his one-room shack in the township of Langa. Because he was sending most of his pay to his wife and family, left behind in Transkei, he could not afford electricity or running water. But he would always buy a daily newspaper; and there, the next day, he could read in banner headlines of what he had done, secretly, with his black hands, with a white heart.

The Machete

"A Machete, and a Barteaux in particular, is the best bang for the buck in the knife world."

-M. Willson Offutt

According to the Wikipedia encyclopedia, the machete "is a cleaver-like tool that looks like a very large bread knife" with a blade typically 50-60 cm long. It is often bought with one one side ground down to an edge. Some, however, are made so cheaply that the purchaser is expected to finish the sharpening.

Today I saw someone walking down the street with a machete in his hand. As I stood waiting for a matatu (dhala in Arusha) I watched him as he came and entered the same matutu as I. He sat next to me. We took off down towards what I term as the uneasy co-existence of decadent UN lifestyle and local culture.

Now to those from Africa, this is not an abnormal scene. Boy is on his way to cut something down, or farm - it is a tool of his trade/livelihood. Perfectly acceptable.

However, I began to smile at first.... Let me explain.

Being the sad woman I am, I began to mentally visualise how I would explain this to a judge in a Magistrates Court (or if I am lucky - Crown Court!), as my client stood charged for possession of an offensive weapon. The line of argument would probably go along the similar lines of those arrested for carrying flick knives who undoubtedly will profess that they are part and parcel of their current 'employment'. More often than not, these individuals are "painters and decorators" on their way to a job or from a job, which they are loath to tell the court - ofcourse - because they are supposed to be unemployed and it was a quick job for a mate! So translate that to a court in Arusha. Cause to smile! The court is not likely to be amused and the level of abuse hurled at me, would be, to say the very least, interesting.

However, my job at the moment daily dwells on what human beings did with that seemingly innocent steel blade with rough wooden handle.

It was at this point that the man sitting next to me with that stained and well used blade held loosely between his legs no longer held a humorous context. I recall previous research on machetes, the fact that you can purchase two types - heavy duty or economy. The heavy duty machete reserved for more heavy duty jobs. The economy designed for less rigorous use. So, which one would you use to hack someone's head off, I think? Would that be a heavy duty job or less rigorous considering the apparent softness of the human's neck veterbrae? Or would one pick and choose their machete, in the same way one would choose a gun - depending on whether the intention is to blow the motherf*&^%'s head off or just the kneecaps?

So picture it, one takes this so called "large bread knife" having believed that that a certain ethnic group is not worth living. In his mind, they have been reduced to the status of cockroaches (and quite obviously not that of the revered status of those in New Orleans!) and deserve to be terminated. There is no need to call in the exterminators. This is a job that has to be given personal attention. One's neighbour, childhood sweetheart, business associate will take that personally sharpened tool and use it on this 'vermin,' these 'snakes.'

Slaughter is personal. Intimate. Proximate. One hacks at the individual as you would a field of sugar cane. This farming tool is used to destroy women and men in ways previously unimaginable to me, sometimes after being raped/beaten/abused - take your pick. Tell me which one would anyone advise effectively does its duty? Heavy duty or economy? I look at photos later of dead bodies, some hacked into unidentifiable pieces, children's feet lying several feet from the bloody body, churches filled with just a mass of flesh and blood. I read transcript after transcript of what apparently was a justifiable attempt to rid the planet of "a stench", garbage, a cancer. Most of it carried out by 'Joe Bloggs,' not the military, with a machete in his hand.

This once innocuous tool, takes on different meaning. I know it was used in the Cuban War of Independence and a weapon of choice for the Haitian Tonton Macoute. I know it is used in armed robberies in many African countries. I know all of this. However, I wonder, how do Rwandese survivors get over what I presume would be a life long phobia of such an instrument? An instrument that uniquely symbolises the massacre of hundreds of thousands of people? And what happened to all those thousands of machetes that were imported and distributed? Are they still in circulation? Can you buy them in the local market as you would second hand items in Gikomba? How does a person who has witnessed the use of that simple farming device on themselves, their family, friends, strangers, then pick one up again and use it to farm, to cut vegetation, re-use it in everyday chores after it has being involved in so much horror? How? I don't know. I don't know.

I begin to feel uncomfortable. Very warm despite the fact it is relatively cold. Clammy. Claustrophobic. I get off at the next stop. It is raining. I wait for the next dhala.

Sick Humour

I know - very cruel, but I was laughing so hard I had to share. This is dedicated to Thinker's lastest post.

Blogger's Block

Like those greats who have gone before me...Guess, Ms K, MJY, to mention a few, I have been afflicted by the very dreaded disease that can be colloquially termed as "BB" - not to be confused with human guinea pigs enclosed in a glass shell, daily tormented by Mary, apparently "everyone's favourite white witch". Is there a favourite "black" witch? MJY, care to educate? ;-)

I sincerely hope that it is a phase, a blip, soon to be examined in the near future as a growing experience, a time to reflect, to eventually herald a rejuvenated return, full of energy and hopefully an inciteful and humorous snapshot of this incredible place.

Bear with me.... but in the mean time, please browse my daily reading on the right, in particular Thinker who is on particularly good form!

(Yes I am over compensating above for the lack of enthusiasm to write!)

Visitation Rights

Just a small reminder. If you want to visit, please let me know soon-ish! I am only here till mid September but will only have free accommodation for you until 16th August 2005. My calendar will let you know where I am and when (dangerous I know ;-) but...)

It would be great to have visitors and there is so much to do! And yes Wangare, certain family members get priority ;-)

PS: learning to drive - this is going to be great: me, 4x wheel drive, nature!

Calendar

Loss of brain cells is such a drag. However, as a result, I find I am forgetting appointments, birthdays, anniversaries, etc. To counteract this apparently "natural" development in my life, I have developed a calendar on this site to remind me of both trivial and important events. Please let me know if there is anything I should put on there. Examples include birthdays, dates you would like to come and visit or visa versa, dates of conception (immaculate or otherwise) and so forth.... Any other categories are very welcome ;-) Anything pretty much that you feel I should really remember if not only for this year, but for years to come.

While all forms of delivering such messages is acceptable, please note that messages sent by any sort of feathered creature is slightly problematic and should be avoided. As I have had reason to discover today, although receipt is usually punctual and definitely unique, the poor birds find it difficult to engineer their way out of my office, causing major anxiety to both myself and them.

Dates can ofcourse be left in the conventional manner using the "Comment Box" below or by sending an email to wambui.mwangi@gmail.com.