Bernadine and Chesa write:

"Our time in Rwanda is moving way too fast for us to keep a detailed account of everything we are seeing and doing. Even if we could find time to write about it, there is no way our words could do justice to the intensity of what we are experiencing.

Since we last wrote to you, we have visited the Murambe genocide site, the National University of Rwanda at Butare, the Kigali bar association, the Commission on Unity and Reconciliation, visited a widows’ survivor organization Avega, went to the Kigali Court of 1st instance, and perhaps most shockingly, went to Central Prison 1930.

But for now, we will write about yesterday’s visit to Central Prison.

The prison is a five minute drive from our hotel, a large brick compound built by the Belgians in 1930. It is, like all prisons here, barely minimum security by US standsards, being imposing in the front, but open to the hills and the Kigali neighborhoods in the back. There were a few dozen guards, some with rifles, some with billy clubs, and over 7,000 prisoners – apparently a majority genocidaires. Presumably the vast majority of prisoners were Hutu and we went in with our Tutsi guides and interpreters several of whom are survivors who had never before been in a Rwandan prison.

We walked through the men’s section, the juvenile section and the women’s building. There is no way we can adequately describe what we saw and felt. All the male prisoners in Rwanda have pink uniforms – strange to our eyes. Many of them are outside the main compound and go out to work on community maintenance projects every day. The prison is paid for their labor, but they are not. The outer perimeter is “secured” by a few gates, some of which are sealed with a thin rope, others with nothing, not even a guard. We asked prisoners who spoke English why they do not try to escape, and one said, “Only petty thieves would try to escape.” A confessed genocidaire told us that he would hurt his family if he escaped, that he deserved to be in prison (“I belong to prison” he said), he trusted the new government and God, and he would be caught. There is allegedly a culture of obedience in Rwanda that may contribute to this.

Our tendency, both of us, was to identify with prisoners and their humanity, and it became more intense when we walked through large crowded courtyards packed with thousands of people, and looked into their living quarters which resembled slave ships. Five beds high, row after row without any space in between, each bed was too small for one person, each bed had two people in it during the day and presumably two more in each during the night. Each prisoner has just over 1 sq foot. We peered down a long corridor and saw two heads in each cot. Most prisoners seemed eager to shake hands, say hello, look us over curiously (“muzungu” or white person), but others were understandably upset with our voyeuristic invasion of their already infinitely-invaded privacy. It was overwhelming to see how many people, many of them hateful, brutal killers, fathers, sons, brothers, and no doubt much more, were crammed into a tiny space. Heads and arms and legs kept appearing. It was absolutely overwhelming. The people were crushed into small spaces everywhere, and we could hardly breathe.

The woman head-prisoner told us “We are very sick”. HIV/AIDs I asked? Yes and malaria, TB, cholera, dysentery – there is a large clinic apparently operated by the Hutu doctors who are prisoners. The people looked relatively healthy – not emaciated, not with the oozing eyes and running open sores of prisoners we have seen in South Africa. But the possibilities of disease in these conditions is incomprehensible.

All of a sudden we were out of the men’s housing section in burning hot sunlight, face to face with a mass of juvenile offenders crammed tightly behind a thin rope. Some adult males followed us and we all stood there talking to them in small groups, looking at the kids pressed tightly together, listening to the sweet singing coming from the prison chapel next door. Then as we entered the chapel, we walked along the line of juveniles greeting them with Muraho, Bonjour, Hello, Ca Va, and Amakuro and shaking as many outreached hands – so many that it was often two small hands in our one – making eye contact with as many people as possible. Supposedly they were in transit to a juvenile reformatory but who knows how long they will be stuck there.

Even our Tutsi hosts, many survivers, were outraged by the conditions. When we came out on the other side of the chapel, we were on the outskirts of the prison compound with nothing separating us from the shanties of families living “on the street” going down the hill – in the shadow of the prison with prisoners in pink walking thru their back yards freely. In the near distance, was a gorgeous lush green valley between two steep rolling hills – a typical Rwandan skyline.

Some of the male inmates were still following us and we stopped to talk to one of them who spoke fine English, still in view of the crowded benches of the chapel.

This man was one of the few hundred genocidaires who had confessed just last September 2003, although he had been in prison here for nine years. He was a second lieutenant in the Rwandan Army and he confessed to killing five people in Gisenyi– specifying their names, the method of killing, their families, his remorse. He told us that he felt that he had confessed to the victims, the community and to God. I asked whether he killed in his role as soldier and he said yes but he touched his head with his hands and said “we all went crazy”. He also told me walking along that there were other massacres after the genocide, did I know about those? This he said out of the hearing of our Rwandan guides (Tutsi).

Another prisoner confessed to having been part of an Interhamwe militia that took part in the massacres, after which he fled to Zaire where he stayed in a refugee camp for two years. When he returned to Rwanda in 1997, he was accused and incarcerated. He has been in prison since, teaching English to other prisoners. Both of the confessed genocidaires we spoke with hope to get out (perhaps as part of a mass comutation at the anniversary?) but don’t seem highly anxious about it. They said they sometimes receive visits from family, but they are only allowed 3 visits per week, for 3 minutes each.
We did watch the “visiting room” for a while. It is a series of long low wooden benches outside the prison gates, with prisoners on one side and visitors on another. There did not seem to be any security procedure for incoming visitors.

One of our Tutsi hosts, Emmanuel – who is a survivor whose entire family was killed – said that he believed the confessions because they had to confess in front of a large group and so although they then receive a reduced sentence, because it is so public they have decided to actually tell the truth and clear their heart.

The women’s section was smaller than the men’s but equally crowded. There were very old women as well as young women and 27 children who were still living with their mothers. They were sewing, many, on old treadle Singer sewing machines, singing and praying. One wore a T-shirt, a donation no doubt, that said in huge letters: Kill Them All. The children eagerly approached us. One boy latched onto Chesa’s hand and wouldn’t let go.

There were several times when we came close to breaking down in tears: listening to confessions, holding hands, seeing the living conditions, holding the young boy, and thinking about the massive numbers of lives destroyed. Of course it reminded us of Cook County Jail, also holding 7,000 people under dehumanizing conditions. In addition to the security distinction, the other dramatic feature of Central Prison was the relative quiet and calm. Compared to the din of US prisons and jails, it was striking. They also denied that there is significant violence among the prisoners, and it seemed that there was not. The Rwandan prisons are certainly prisoner-managed.

We left to go to the court of 1st impression, where we met a fantastic presiding judge named Fred. But that’s another story."