Where Unity Points to Peace and When It's All a Choice

I’ve now discovered that there are two days of the year when Rwanda stays up all night: (1) New Year’s Eve, and (2) the night of the U-17 (Under 17) Africa Soccer Cup, which occurred in the nearby Amahoro Stadium this past Saturday. “Amahoro” (in Kinyarwanda) means “peace.” That’s important. Remember that.

People prepped me for New Year’s Eve. It was the hype for a long time, more so even than Christmas. My house overlooks a huge valley which seems to grow new lights at night with each passing day. It seemed (and was likely the case) that all the lights that exist in Kigali were on and shining from 8pm on the eve of 2011 till literally 10am the next morning. Loud noise – music, shouting, cheering – echoed across the valley and bounced off the hills right into our house – to the point where it felt like there were 6 parties in my room when I arrived home at 5am.

Same thing with the soccer match. Almost the whole of Kigali was there, screaming, cheering, jumping up and down. Barely a soul was out and about on the streets when it was happening. I was at the PFR office during the qualifying match a week prior, and the screams that came out of Geoffrey’s mouth (he’s the guy on the PFR staff who used to play for the Rwanda pro team) when Rwanda beat Cote d’Ivoire that day made me jump up and run outside as my heart skipped a beat. Geoffrey (see third pic) and so many others rally around the Rwanda team like nothing I’ve ever seen. Soccer is THE sport here, and it unites Rwandans together in a way that’s well worth mentioning.

There’s something that these two events have in common. You’ll find the word “Amahoro” (Peace) everywhere here. Painted on the sides of buildings, printed on the windows of matatu buses, adopted as people’s names. There’s an Amahoro Salon, Amahoro Saloon, Amahoro Island - an island right off the coast of Rwanda looking out at the Congo (the irony), Amahoro Stadium, Amahoro Restaurant, Amahoro Pharmacy, you name it. It’s even a greeting that’s interchangeable with “Hello.” Someone will tell you “Muraho” (Hello), and a common response is “Amahoro!”

Clamoring for peace, then, is everywhere. And the word "ubumwe" (unity) is equally prevalent. I’m learning how necessary, direct, and distinctive the connection is between unity and peace in Rwanda – and likely other post-conflict societies. That might sound like a “duh” statement, but think about what unity actually means. What is unity doing? What is it actually achieving? What does it look like? Rwandans are all about new beginnings – about another shot at peace – and of course, the ringing in of the New Year is a perfect symbolic occurrence for embracing this mentality. New Year’s here is a representation of reinstated peace achieved through unity. To people around the world, New Year’s Day marks the beginning of a second chance. People unite around the idea of a new beginning across the globe.

To have unity, you have to be unifying yourselves around something. What could that “something” be? I’m trying to identify what it is in Rwanda. People in Rwanda and in many parts of the world unite around sports (it makes sense – that’s one of the reasons why the Olympic Games exists), around music (singing and dancing is the substance of art/culture here), and around church (I’ll be talking specifically about the presence of church and, more broadly, Christianity in future posts). One thing’s for sure – whatever unifies the people of Rwanda after such furious disunity must be salient, conspicuous, and powerful. It must be a potent force, something that rallies people around itself in a visible way. Things like sports, music, and church might be the outgrowth of something more central. The heart of unification in Rwanda – and in any post-conflict society for that matter – might most probably be an idea - an ideology. In fact, I think it has to be. Perhaps, then, Rwandans are learning to unite around peace itself. Is that possible, or does it just become “talk?" Again, the Reconciliation Village attests to the possibility. People are actually venturing to live together in the wake of extreme hatred in order to discover the real meaning of unity, and closely following, the real meaning of peace. They don’t have to live together, but they choose to. They thirst to realize an idea.

This is a joyful thought – the idea that humanity, as broken as it may be, can unify around an idea. You don’t need to pay membership dues or build an office. You don’t need to be a member of a club or a clan or a clique. You just need to choose to adopt an idea, and then decide that you’ll tie yourself to others – people you know, and people you don’t even know at all – for the sake of this idea. You make a sacrifice, you give up a part of yourself, to achieve an idea greater than yourself. If this nation and this world are going to achieve peace, we are going to have to leave the dark room in which we so often live, in which we only sense ourselves, blind to what pulsates around us. We are going to have to give up the anxiety of saving ourselves – me, myself, and I – leave it in the dust, and run vigorously towards the bright light of an idea that can save mankind.

Here’s the last thing I want to say: We can’t be forced to do this. My government, my role models, my parents, my society, can’t force me to do this. I have to make the decision to do so on my own. Everywhere in Rwanda I see soldiers like the one shown in the second photo, fully-clad in either army attire or bright blue, perfectly-ironed uniforms. All of them carry rifles practically as long as they are tall. They stand on street corners, walk slowly in formation at night along the roads, pass you conspicuously, or stand frozen beside trees. Sometimes people will greet them, shake hands with them, laugh with them. People see what they are capable of doing – the rifles they carry are frankly ominous – and yet, they are appreciated. Their presence is a reminder that, yes, security is a good thing, but there is no such thing as security derived from fear. No matter how many UN troops we dispatch into the darkest corners of the world, those peacekeeping forces are going to be largely ineffective if people don’t actually choose peace for themselves. No matter how big the rifles in my face may be, I have to decide that I want peace for peace itself, not “peace” to save myself.

Photo Captions (from top):

(1) I learn African dancing from some good friends (kids and teens living on the street) who come to the PFR office three times a week.

(2) A Rwandese soldier.

(3) Geoffrey, PFR staff member and ex-pro soccer player on the Rwandan team.

(4) Musanze Reconciliation Village.

(5) Me and the PFR staff. Each of the members on staff is Rwandese (Prison Fellowship International operates so that all affiliate offices in 118 countries around the world are led by indigenous individuals), and all are a mix of once Hutu and Tutsi (unity put to action).