24….. And Grateful!

So, I just turned 24! Yaaay :)

The truth is, I’ve never been more utterly and completely terrified. It seems like life has been playing cruel practical joke without an end in sight. Things I had been struggling with erupted into full-blown depression early last year, and it’s been a bumpy ride, to say the least. My inability to open up about it has affected several aspects of my life and led to disastrous consequences.

The more I try to imagine a future for myself, the more afraid I am of what I see. I really could do with fewer panic attacks, and therapy doesn’t seem to be working. I also recently had to come to terms with the fact that I’ve become disillusioned with God, and the last shred of hope I had clung on to for years that things would eventually get better flew out the window.

The truth is that in the past few days I’ve increasingly felt like I had no reason to celebrate today. But I’m refusing to listen to those voices. I figure I’ve done enough obsessing about everything wrong, and I’d like to try and look for some sort of silver lining buried in this mess for a change! So today, I’ll share what I’m grateful for:

I’m grateful for my mother!

This woman y’all! She is a living embodiment of strength, resilience and fierce love. No one has ever been more in my corner than her. Widowed and forced into single motherhood months before I was even born, she promised herself that I would never need for nothing, and she delivered! She did everything, from night shifts at her own clinic to holding down multiple jobs. We were not what one would consider rich, but her many sacrifices sent me to some of the best private schools, put food on the table, beautiful clothes on my back, and much more. Sure, we have had our own shares of problems over the years, but the more I realize to what lengths she has gone to give me a good life, the more grateful I am that SHE is my mother. I can only hope to repay even the smallest portion of what she’s done for me.

Thank you, Mom! I love you

I’m grateful for my friends.

I truly have the best friends I could ever hope for. Especially since I have failed to be an ideal one myself; on several occasions. But these guys keep showing me the meaning of unconditional love. They have stuck with me even when I’ve disappointed them. They’ve been patient and understanding when I was reluctant to open up to them, they’ve reminded me of my self-worth when I failed to see it, and they have – each in their own way – found a way to pull me back when I found myself in a downward spiral.

Special mention goes to Wivine, Rosine, Amandine, Yannick, Joyce, Sandra, Mignonne, Angelo & Jocelyne. I don’t know what my life would be without you guys in it. I want you to know that I’m deeply grateful to you and that I love you very much.

I’m grateful for my mentors.

iDebate has in many ways been sort of a second family for me. More than shaping a huge part of my thinking process, it has given me amazing people to look up to. People who are genuinely interested in my growth (personally, professionally…). Five of them, in particular, have made a huge impact on my life. I haven’t always been the best mentee. In fact, I’ve let them down many times. But for some reason, they’ve kept doing their best to help me become a better person, and for that I’m eternally grateful.

Jean-Michel, Dadi, Ivan, Ekisa & Emma; thank you guys for everything.

I’m grateful for being alive.

From a hilarious childhood incident involving a nail to the temple and some quality first aid aided by duct tape (it gets crazier, but it’s a story for another time😂) to an almost botched minor surgery, to 7 accidents with varying degrees of injuries; I’ve come close to death’s door many times. But I’m still around to joke about them. That’s definitely something to celebrate!

I’m not sure what this new year holds in store for me. But performing this exercise has reminded me that not everything has been bleak, that I have a lot of good things going for me despite everything else. I’m gonna be holding on to that, and I declare that I’m going to have a 24^th year full of wonders because I have an incredible support team by my side every step of the way. I also know I've hurt people along the way. I am deeply sorry to and I promise you, I am working on myself. I am working on my flaws in order to become the friend and colleague that you deserve.

On Adulting: A friendly reminder :)

image from soworthloving.com

Let me begin by saying this: If you're a writer, if you keep a journal or have a blog; please develop a habit of periodically going back to read your pieces. You have no idea what gems you'll discover there, and how much your bits of wisdom from the past will talk to your heart in the moment.

See, I have a very close friend of mine, and over the years we've developed a habit of sharing our thoughts to each in our journals and periodically exchanging them (don't even think about judging, I know you most definitely have a peculiar habit too lol). Well, in one of her journal entries to me a few years ago, she had expressed anguish at not being ready to be thrown into the world and take on the many new responsibilities that entailed. Yesterday night, I was reading through my entries and fell upon my response to her. Little did I know how much reading it would lift a huge weight off of my back. I've decided to share it here, in hopes that it will help someone else who needs it:

"Dear ................

In a few of your letters, you've told me about how much it scares you that in a few months you'll be facing the outside world and adult life. Well, here's the thing! The step you're taking is a big one, It is arguably one of the most important transitions one has to make in the course of their life. And you won't always know how to go about it. In fact, most times you won't have the slightest clue about what you're doing. But you know what? THAT'S FINE!

It's fine not to know. It's fine to make mistakes every now and then because that is how you learn and grow. It's not as if when you hit 18, someone magically hands you The Beginner's Guide on How To Adult (it would be extremely helpful though, just saying...).

Here's another thing. It is in these moments of insecurity, of fumbling and mistakes that you will learn the importance of family and of true friends who will be there for you with every step, lending you their ears and shoulders, sharing their advice, and helping to guide you as best they can. And I promise you that I will always be one of those.

Sincerely,

Bruce"

In Search Of An Answer

So April is back. Or rather, it’s on its way out, really. But, as with every April month since quite a while now, a question that for most of the year whispers from the back of my mind comes running to the front: How do I keep alive the memory of those I lost in the Genocide?

On the surface, the question seems pretty simple. And people always have answers. They have them many, ready and pretty straightforward. Almost rehearsed:

- You have to remember them.
- You have to make them proud
- Be the man they’d want you to be….

Well here's the thing. I’m part of a generation that’s being called the “Post-Genocide Generation”. That means my peers and I were either very young during the genocide, or born after it. Now, people assume this pretty much solves it for us: It’s not our place to remember. We were lucky enough to not be around, and that should be the end of it.

But Genocide does not work like that. It is evil, insidious, and makes sure its aftershocks are still felt long after the deed itself has been done. Imagine growing up seeing the house always full of guests at various occasions, like Christmas, but where not nearly enough of them are relatives; growing up without ever seeing any of your grandparents; or every year in April, seeing those few relatives seem to withdraw to a far off place where you can't reach them; or seeing them suddenly start crying out of the blue, because the smallest detail: your laugh, your eyes, or the new haircut you got reminded them of a brother, a parent, an aunt who’s no longer there.

And when you finally learn the truth, you feel the shock of it in your very bones. You lost more than 80 relatives because of something as trivial as the shape of a nose. Your mother had both parents and 7 siblings, but she is now left with one sister. The sister had a husband and a bunch of children but is now widowed, with only two children remaining. Suddenly the testimony of the massacres in the churches is no longer just a story to your ears: you know that that cousin you’ve lived with for the past few years barely made it out of one. You find yourself trying to imagine how he must have felt when he got separated from his mother and only saw her again in a Burundian makeshift camp.

You find yourself wondering where you would be today, had you been born just a few months before; would you even still be alive? You find yourself thinking about all those relatives you will never know: Would they have liked you? Would you have liked them? At those occasions where your house is full of people, you start visualizing one relative or other: maybe Noheli would have been that uncle who always drinks a little too much and talks a little too loud? Maybe Beatrice would have been that aunt who’s always got wind of some intrigue or other like she’s the neighborhood NSA?

But those thoughts vanish as quickly as they came, and you're left to wrap your mind around one cold, hard fact: You will never know. You will never know these people you have come to love. They will never be able to share your highest or lowest moments. They will never be part of your greatest achievements. You will not see them at your graduation, or at your wedding. They won’t be there when you welcome your first child into the world. All because someone decided for them that their lives weren’t worth a thing.

Look my point is, being born after the genocide doesn’t shield us from its ugliness. All that stuff I mentioned has shaken me to my core, but I know it’s NOTHING compared to what some of my friends have gone through. So when it comes to the duty to remember loved ones, to keep their memory alive, we too feel concerned.

Now the problem, at least for me, is that I don’t know the first thing about them. I have no shared memories of them to hold on to. I don’t even know what most of them looked like since so few pictures survived. Most of the surviving relatives find it hard to talk about them, and I can’t really blame them. On more than one occasion I realized that the memory of their death is more vivid than that of their life. No one wants to awaken that monster.

So in the end, my question remains unanswered. I love the people I lost. I don’t know them, but I love them, deeply. I don’t want them to simply fall into oblivion once my elders are gone or once I’m gone. I know of course that living the best life for me, a life of purpose and impact will go a long way to honor them. But I also want something more intimate, more personal. And for me, having vigils every once a year and reading names off a list doesn’t quite cut it.

I wrote this because I’m hoping I’m not alone. And I’m hoping that maybe someone with an answer will end up reading this post. If you happen to be that someone, well, I’m hoping you won’t just keep scrolling.

Peace,

Bruce

Why

Why do we remember?

We  remember to remind ourselves that we forgot

Forgot the bond that made us one

The same culture, the same language

The same blood coursing through our veins

We forgot our pride and independence

And yielded to teachings of differences

And really, what differences?

The shape of a nose? The length of our legs?

We learned to fear and to hate

Our brotherhood became obsolete

We forgot who we were

Created our own hell

We remember to remind ourselves

To never ever forget again

Why do we remember?

We remember those lives that were not lived

We remember the dreams that a bullet shattered

We remember the hopes by death wrongly robbed

We remember the names that are no longer called

We remember families we no longer have

We remember to remind ourselves

That for them we have to live

And as we remember the ones we lost

Those who were and went too soon

Those whom we never came to know

We'll  unite with a common goal

Together as one we'll say: No more

And from the ruins will rise a new realm

The accomplishment of a long lost dream

We will remake the one true bond

And face the world with newlyfound strength

We will revive the fraternal love

We will break the chains of hate

And from the snowy peak of Kalisimbi

To the swirling streams of Akanyaru

From the peaceful banks of Kivu

To the roaring falls of Akagera

From the vast plains of Bugarama

To the cattle ranches of Umutara

A booming voice shall be heard

The sons and daughters of the Motherland

Finally standing hand in hand

Rephrasing that old Negro Spiritual,

Only with a few words replaced

Saying: United at last, united at last

Thank God Almighty

We are united at last.

Learning to be thankful

I don't know exactly why but for the past few months, one recurrent thought has been on my mind. It is something I had never thought of before, until one late October night talk with my friends (and new shrinks, lol) Angela and Harmonie. And what I've been thinking about is what Dirk Gently would call "The fundamental interconnectedness of all things", or in my own words: How everything that has happened in our lives and in our world to this moment, is the reason we are who we are today, or even the reason that we are, quite simply. 

You know, things happen to us. And in the moment that they do, we're not able to fully appreciate them, because we don't fully understand them. They become (in our eyes) our moments of failure, our deepest regrets, the things we wish we could change if given the chance. And we also feel like this about things that don't directly happen to us but end up affecting our lives. Sometimes we wonder why they happen, sometimes we get angry at the universe. And those of us who believe in God increasingly feel that maybe He's not as powerful as He is said to be, or maybe He's just a sadistic Being who enjoys watching our blunders and our suffering without so much as lifting the little finger.

I was one of those people for quite a long time (I'm still learning how not to be anymore but I'll get to that in a while). But lately I've forced myself to look back on my life and a new truth has dawned on me: that the best version of myself right now and the best things I've gotten out of life were all a product of every single moment and event that has taken place since times I cannot even begin to fathom. I realize this is extremely cliché and not exactly a new discovery, but it is both new and very true for me. 

For example, I've realized that despite having grown up without knowing a significant number of relatives from both my immediate and extended family who lost their lives during the genocide, I wouldn't exist in the first place were it not for that dark chapter in my country's history. My dad was born in exile. For more than 20 years he lived without a country to call his own, and that void in his heart led to him entering the RPA, becoming an officer, and finding himself in Rwanda by the early 90s. My mother's troubled schooling as a result of discrimination led her to study nursing. Somehow by April 1994 she was in Kigali, and as the genocide raged on, God led her to find refuge in the Parliament Building (CND) where she used her skills to care for wounded soldiers and survivors. That is how she met my father, fell in love, and they got married at the end of the genocide. And even though he died in a car crash only a few months after their marriage, on Christmas Eve 1994, I was already on the way. I would be born six months later.

See my point? I was deeply-albeit indirectly-affected by the genocide. Hardly a day passes that I don't think about all those relatives whom I'll never know, who will never be there to share my successes and comfort me in my moments of failure and disappointment. I often find myself thinking about all those shattered ambitions, hopes, and dreams. But I also realize that I am alive and here because of that. I could cry about growing up fatherless (and believe me, it's frustrating) but I know this has made me appreciate the full extent of my mother's strength, resilience and incredible love for me; and I love her more and more with each passing day.

There is more. My best and biggest 2016 moments are the two and a half months I just spent touring the USA as part of iDebate Rwanda. I had a one of a kind experience seeing new places, meeting people from all walks of life (the whole diversity spectrum), challenging them and being challenged in return on a constant basis, seeing firsthand lives being changed by our message, crying and laughing so much it was exhausting, and KAYAKING yaaay 🙌!! These are memories I'm not likely to forget anytime soon, but you know what? They are the products of a colossal mistake I made five years ago; a mistake that I considered my biggest regret for a long time.

Back in 2011, I was preparing to enter high school. I had just finished Junior High at one of the best schools in the country (GSO Butare) and had been admitted to yet another school among the best (Lycée de Kigali) for a History-Economics-Geography combination. I chose instead to stay at GSO Butare and do sciences (Physics-Chemistry-Biology). My mother strongly advised me against that decision but I was stubborn as a donkey. But by the end of the year, having struggled to stay above the 50% mark in physics and with a fail mention in chemistry, I realized too late that sciences weren't meant for me, and that I should change the combination. The next year I tried to enroll at the school I had refused and they returned the favor. I ended up going to APE Rugunga, a school with a not-so-rosy reputation. I also had to retake the year because I would be studying in a new combination.

I was ashamed, feeling like a disappointment, and extremely angry at myself. But let me tell you what happened: I flourished at that school. I became Editor-in-chief of the school magazine and held leadership positions in various student organizations. But most importantly it was there that I met Jean-Michel Habineza, a man who has become the single most influential figure in my life, and the best freaking mentor anyone could ask for. He introduced me to debate, an activity that made me discover my passion for words and made me understand their power. I quickly fell in love with it. He saw potential in me and challenged me to see it too, entrusted me with projects and pushed me to heights I had never even thought I could reach. He believed in me in moments when I didn't believe in myself, and he still does, even when I give him every reason not to. And thanks to him I went from debating to judging, to coaching, to coordinating the Kigali Debate League, to moderating panel discussions with some of the most influential people in Rwanda, to touring the US and debating some of the best teams there, to having rooms full of undergraduate and graduate students at some of the best universities there listen to what I had to say, when I myself had barely finished my first year in college. ALL THAT from a five-year-old mistake!

I look back at all of this, and so, so much more, and I realize that God is faithful. His Word reads in Romans 8:28 " And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God." I'm not sure I fit the description when I read " them that love God". I surely don't act like I do most of the time. But he has made it so that every happy moment and every sad one, every triumph and every failure, every tear of joy and every tear of sadness, every bit and aspect of my existence has woven itself into a labyrinth that has taken me to the place I'm in right now. And even though I know I still have a long way to go, I sure am proud of this place.

So yeah, I am learning to be thankful. And if you're reading this, I challenge you to look back on your own journey, think about every significant moment you can remember, every memory good or bad. Try and reflect on how each of those moments has shaped who you are today. And if you like what you see, be thankful too. And if you don't believe in a Higher Power, it's okay. Just try and learn to better appreciate life; and when those gloomy or troubled moments arrive, be patient and eagerly wait for that blessing that comes afterwards.

The Airplane Experience

[Written on the night of September 9th, 2016]

First off, let me just put it out there that I removed my shoes three times while still in Kigali’s airport. I didn’t like it one bit. But let’s begin from the beginning.

 Well, I didn’t sleep Wednesday night, I spent the whole night pressing my clothes and getting ready. I didn’t sleep on Thursday either because I spent the whole night obsessing over what might go wrong, what thing I might forget and all that; and let me just say, as a guy who forgot his passport on the day of his Visa interview, my fears weren’t that unfounded (yeah I know, I’m not proud of that particular feat). What I’m very proud of on the other end is the fact that I’m gonna spend almost three months on the road with just a carry on yo. Some of you must find it easy, but for someone who is going for that long and all over the place for the first time, I ain’t gonna let anyone mess the deep sense of accomplishment I’m feeling right now.

So yeah I got to the airport and met with the teammates and family and friends who had come to see us off and we prayed and got in. Now let’s go back to the moment after I had had my bag sniffed by dogs, x-rayed, hand searched (I don’t know what they expected to find), x-rayed again, x-rayed yet again, at which point I removed my shoes for the third time. We waited for a few minutes after that and then Gate 3 opened for us to board; and that is when the Airplane Experience begins, from my perspective of course.

The first element of the airplane experience is, of course, the mandatory selfie inthe airport lounge that you then post all over social media with a caption that I dub “The Ultimate Brag”. Case in point: check this out

View this post on Instagram

Finallyyyy 🙌🙌. 10 States, 16 cities, 17 universities 😎😎😎 say whattt?? @idebaterwanda #USTour2016 #grateful2God

A post shared by Bruce Intwali (@intwalibruce) on Sep 9, 2016 at 6:07am PDT

This is of course followed by one with the plane in the background, and we took some pretty neat ones. Then follows entering the plane, settling in and waiting for stage two of the Experience: Take Off. This is what they say about take-off: It gives you the fright of your life. What I got to see is that this statement is both false and true. False because instead of being frightened I was exhilarated. There are probably few physical sensations I love more than the little jump your stomach does when a car moving at high speed suddenly starts descending on a bit of steep slope, and today I got to learn that with a plane the sensation is 10 times more vivid. But the statement is also true for some, I learned it the hard way, with one of the teammates’ nails inches deep in the skin of my arm (and this wasn’t her first flight).

Stage three of the Airplane Experience is food: the unending stream of things to put in your mouth, some of them heavenly and some of them not (sorry Qatar Airways but that salad was horrible). Oh I almost forgot to talk about the flight attendants. One word: on fleek! Maybe it’s because this is my first flight, but I’m impressed. There’s this one guy, you would think he owns the plane. He just exudes self-confidence and assurance with his gait and easy, unforced smile, it took me a while to realize he was one of the people serving us. I’ll probably strike a conversation with him before I get off.

Now to Stage four of the Airplane Experience: the lavatory. The ultra small cabinet that’s occupied 90% of the time you wanna go there, so you just stand there waiting, and end up having a lively conversation with an Indian guy (I thought he was Indian, or maybe Bangladeshi or something… he was definitely from the Indian subcontinent) about the distance from Lagos to Kigali.

Now of course no Airplane Experience would be complete without Stage five: good old Turbulence. This son of a *** surely gives the creeps yo. It’s funny how the gentle voice of the captain telling you to buckle up, sets off screaming little monsters running amok in your brain. You keep telling yourself “It’s nothing man, you’re gonna be fine, most times it’s nothing right?”; then you hear that Gollum-like voice saying something like “Maybe this is one of those ssssometimes!”. Fortunately for us, it was one of those most times.

We get now to the sixth and last Stage of the Airplane Experience: sleep; or rather the absence thereof for me. Right now everyone around me is asleep and I’m here all bundled up in my blanket writing this post because I can’t close my eyes. Let’s hope by the time you read this tomorrow I’ll have slept on the Doha-JFK flight because if not then I’m screwed big time. To end this post, I’ll say this. I’m having a FREAKIIIING BLAAAST!!! That’s it from me folks. More posts will be coming in for the next 10 weeks. In the meantime check out these awesome photos me and Sharon have been taking

 

 

 

 

Confused

I don't know what to feel anymore. I don't know how to feel. You'll excuse me if by the end of this post you feel offended, hurt, attacked or something like that, but at this time I cannot afford to care about pleasing anyone's delicate sensibilities. I am speaking from the heart, and my heart is pretty messed up.

I am supposed to visit around 15 American universities from September to November as part of the team going for iDebate Rwanda's 3rd annual US Tour. This tour, the US Tour is supposed to be a journey. A journey in which we will share our story, a story of rebirth, a story of reconstruction, a story of how a group of youngsters is working to move past the adversity of their parents' generation and the terrible tragedy that arose from it. A story of how we are contributing to building a nation in which we and the generations after us are judged by the content of our character and not the ethnic group we were born in. This tour is supposed to be a journey in which we can inspire those with whom we interact to see our way, to do the same.

Lord knows how excited I was in January when I was selected. Lord knows the enthusiasm, the sheer joy, the anticipation that was bubbling in me these past months. And Lord knows, how in the space of 12 days all my hopes are now shattered. Lord knows, how confused and stricken I feel as I write this.

On June 26, I watched Jesse Williams deliver his moving speech denouncing racial inequality and police brutality as he accepted the Humanitarian Award, a speech in which he mentioned it would've been Tamir Rice's 14th birthday the previous day. The next day a petition was created to fire him from Grey's Anatomy, which now has 23,000 supporters. Part of the petition reads "Jesse Williams spewed a racist, hate speech against law enforcement and white people at the BET awards. If this was a white person making the same speech about an African American, they would have been fired and globally chastised, as they should be, but there have been no consequences to Williams' actions."

Barely a week later, Jesse has been proven right.

Now to the 4500 idiots who petitioned to have him fired from Grey's Anatomy, do you see his point??https://t.co/BPQ8HDbjmI

— Mwene Murangira (@IntwaliBruce) July 7, 2016

On July 5, Alton Sterling was shot 5 times in the chest and back after having been pinned on the ground by two cops. On July 6, Philando Castile was shot by a cop four times in the driver side of his car, with his girlfriend in the passenger seat and her daughter watching from the backseat. He died from his wounds later. And as always, a whole legion of people is now defending both homicides. In Alton's case, criminal records have been pulled out, people countlessly repeating that he had threatened someone earlier, that he was carrying a gun (in an open-carry state, hmm!). But is that the point though, because from my perspective, the point is that he had been subdued. The point is that two videos amply show he wasn't reaching for his gun which an officer pulled from his pocket after he was shot. The point is that he was shot at as close a range as close range can get and the officer had multiple choices of non-fatal places to shoot at, the arms for example. The point is that he chose to point the gun at the chest and shoot twice, wait a few seconds, then shoot again three times. And what of Castile? is the point that he had a gun? Or that he was reaching for his pockets? Or is the point that he had informed the cop that he WAS carrying a gun (for which he had a permit by the way) and that he wanted to retrieve his ID, which the officer had just asked?

This tour is supposed to be about teaching and learning. But how do you talk to someone who doesn't want to listen, how do you teach someone who doesn't want learn? How am I supposed to feel when a petition to fire someone for pointing out the very same things that happened in the last three days has increased in supporters from 23,216 when I started writing this post to 23,262 in the minutes it took me to write these lines? What is the purpose of me going, if it will all have been in vain?

There is no lesson or moral to this post, those are for you to find or not. I am just pouring my heart out. I am crying for those lost souls. And if you are asking yourself why two dead African-Americans would matter so much to an African, ask yourself what prompted you to be Charlie, to pray for Paris, and to cry for Brussels.