An outdoor photo exhibition, funded by the Intercultural Museum (Interkulturelt Museum), is displayed on the grounds of the Grønland Church. It features a photo-essay on barber Freddy Larssen, who has catered to the Grønland community for fifty years.
For 50-years Freddy Larssen has been cutting hair at the same salon in Grønland (Oslo), Norway. Freddy has watched the neighborhood change over the years. Standing outside the salon is Muluken Tabor, who owns and operates a second-hand shop nextdoor. Muluken is indicative of the change the neighborhood has undergone since Freddy opened shop in 1971. “When I opened you didn’t see people of color in this area, nor elsewhere in Norway for that matter, stated Freddy,” who welcomed the diversity. Today that diversity is under threat because of gentrification.
An outdoor photo exhibition displaying these photographs will open on the grounds of the Grønland Church, across the street from Freddy’s salon – 13 April 2021.
All photos by © Ric Francis
World Day Against Child Labour, on June 12th, is an International Labour Organisation (ILO) sanctioned holiday aimed at raising awareness and activism to prevent child labour. The ILO, a United Nations organization, launched World Day Against Child Labour in 2002.
According to the ILO hundreds of millions of girls and boys worldwide are involved in work that prevents them from receiving an adequate education, healthcare, leisure time and basic freedoms.
Worldwide children play key roles in livelihood strategies of income for labour constrained households, consequently they often are prevented from attending school.
Obolokome Village (Agago District), Uganda – Nighty Akwero, 7, must work in a cassava field today instead of going to school because her mother is home with an injured foot.
La Toma, Colombia – Margie Cecilia, 11-years old, mines for gold with family members at an open-pit mine.
Codong Village, Uganda – Agnes Alimo, 10, left, returned home from school with her one-year old brother, Regan Kidaga, because he would not stop crying during her class. Her sister Vicky Auma, 7, center, and a neighborhood boy, Ogen, 6, had to stay home from school to crush groundnuts.
Kalongo Town Council, Uganda – During sunrise Phillips Oluoch, 12, left, who had to stop attending school because his family could not afford school fees, waits with his mother for several village women as they head for work in the field. “I want to be a doctor,” stated Phillips.
Obolokome Village, Uganda – Ben Okidi, 8, right, and Alfred Olanya, 10, center, along with two other brothers watch over the family’s herd of cattle; they stated that they regularly miss school because of chores.
A defining practice of Western governments is to construct groups of outsiders as Other to restrict immigration.
In Norway one such group – which has no ethnic or religious boundaries – defined as Other are paperless immigrants who have lost their asylum status. Individuals who make up this group remain in the country illegally after the government twice ruled against their asylum applications; the problem for many of them is that given the situations they fled it’s not possible or is dangerous to return to their homelands.
Najah Alnasrawi, 46, an Iraqi asylum seeker, waits for the brother of a friend to drive her to a location where she has some of her belongings stored.
From 2000 until 2010 such refugees openly lived and worked in Norway. However, in 2010 regulations were changed which made it illegal for twice rejected asylum seekers to remain in Norway. Increasingly, because of nationalism in Europe, and North America, governments are unwilling to deal with challenges posed by asylum seekers. In Norway this is evident by its policy of doing less for asylum seekers to establish that the country is not a good place to come. Asylum seekers as Other are a liability, a threat, don’t belong.
Najah Alnasrawi, a 46-year old Iraqi, arrived in Norway in October 2015 and received her second rejection for asylum two years later. Consequently, she like other twice rejected asylum seekers adopted a nomadic lifestyle to avoid arrest, deportation or becoming a burden to friends. She lived for several days at a time (a week or two if lucky) at the homes of friends she made while assigned to Norwegian refugee camps; these are friends who received asylum. “I never remain at one residence too long for fear of wearing out my welcome,” said Najah. While she had an assigned room at a refugee camp, she – like others in her situation – did not sleep there for fear the police would show up and arrest her. An official at a camp confirmed it isn’t unusual for the police to show up looking for someone who immigration authorities have decided it’s time to leave.
Najah gathers her belongings from behind the sofa while chatting with Majda Awad, 62, left, a Palestinian from Turkey and Hafida Bazi, 30, from Morocco; the three friends met at a refugee camp in Norway – only Majda has been granted asylum. Najah, since her second rejection (in October) for asylum in Norway, has taken on a nomadic lifestyle; she lives for several days – a week or two if she’s lucky – at a time with friends she made at refugee camps. Here she’s at the apartment of Majda, who permits her to sleep on the sofa, where she stores her belongings on its side and underside. Majda has family visiting for the holidays from Sweden and told Najah that she needs the space.
Officially it is not known how many rejected asylum seekers live in Norway. A representative with People in Limbo, a Norwegian NGO that works on behalf of rejected asylum seekers, indicated their numbers were estimated to be in the thousands and difficult to determine because of the underground existence of such people. Rejected asylum seekers are also referred to as “paperless” – lacking residence or work permits.
Najah an Iraqi asylum seeker, moves her belongings into the home of a friend for another temporary stay; the microwave was given to her by a concerned and supportive friend. Before her second asylum rejection Najah’s room, at a refugee camp, contained several household items. However, given her nomadic lifestyle she distributed everything to friends – on this day she gave away the microwave.
The paperless have no opportunity to integrate into Norwegian society for fear of being caught, so are denied access to jobs and health care. Najah interacted almost entirely with people from Arabic countries – people who provided a sense of community as well as a place to stay. Interestingly, she received a small monthly stipend from the Norwegian government as long as she remained in the asylum seeker system; she did so by signing a register at her assigned refugee camp once a month.
Najah attends a party with friends from several Arabic countries. Despite her inability to safely socialize outside the Arabic community, Najah makes the most of her situation by performing in a local theater and volunteering at cultural and pro-immigrant events that are sponsored by non-governmental organizations.
Protesters (Norwegians and rejected asylum seekers) gather outside the Parliament to demand the Norwegian government address the needs of refugees who live paperless (lacking a residence permit that entitles them to be in Norway); without a permit asylum seekers can neither work nor access health care.
Haudar Hammodi, 45, center, a twice rejected asylum seeker from Iraq, and other protesters gather outside the parliament to demand the Norwegian government address the needs of refugees who live paperless. Haudar has lived paperless in Norway since 2008.
According to Najah, the Norwegian government viewed her as having fled a problematic domestic situation (which she admits to) and did not believe her story. She told immigration officials that she’d been in an abusive 20-year marriage, and after demanding a divorce the abuse became unbearable with her ex-husband claiming she’d bought shame to his name. She stated that the physical beatings and threats were such that she took a one-year leave of absence from work to avoid going outside. Eventually after fleeing to Turkey, she was forced to again flee (February 2015) because its largely Muslim population viewed her as not being respectable because she left her husband. A family member who traveled illegally to Europe convinced Najah to do the same. However, she discovered that contrary to what she’d heard Norway was not a favorable environment for asylum seekers. Its center-right government won a historic re-election during September 2017. It became the first right-wing administration to gain two full terms; it’s the most right-wing elected administration in Norway’s history and has been advocating both anti-immigration rhetoric and policies. Given the unwelcoming nature of the government twice rejected asylum seekers’ lives are filled with fear and uncertainty. Najah longed for the financial security and professional stimulation she enjoyed in Iraq as a journalist. As a mother of four she missed her children – ages 8, 18, 22 and 24; two are studying on scholarships in Hong Kong and Canada. A third is a dentist in Iraq.
With knowledge that the government is closing the Hurdal Refugee Camp, Najah returned to her room to begin removing some much needed items. As a twice rejected asylum seeker she – like others in her situation – does not sleep at the camp for fear of arrest and deportation.
Najah keeps photographs of her children and a handmade sign with the letters FYMK (which stands for the first initial of her children’s names – Forqan, 24, Yaqeen, 22, Mohammad, 18, and Karkash, 8) in her room at the Hurdal Refugee Camp.
While contemplating the mess her life had become Najah recounted a conversation she had with an immigration official: “I’m an educated woman who was working on a Masters in psychological counseling in Iraq. I had a good job. Why am I here crying everyday for my daughter (8-years old) who is in Iraq. You’ll give me money to return ($2,000 USD plus a paid flight). My ex-husband wants to kill me. I can’t return yet you tell me to return. I’m not lying. I told the truth. Here in Norway I have no job, no family and no money – I miss my daughter. You think I prefer to be in Norway. Well, then I’m crazy since I don’t have a reason to stay. Why am I here? You think I like this weather?”
Najah waits at a bus stop, near Hurdal Refugee Camp, along with two asylum seeker friends from Afghanistan – both have been twice rejected. The three arrived and met at a Norwegian refugee camp in October 2015. The younger of the Afghans (left) is 18-years old. He’s planning to “escape” Norway and seek asylum elsewhere.
She considered leaving but said it was not feasible. “Some people had told me that Norway is better for asylum, but I’m thinking about leaving. Many other rejected people have done so but it’s difficult, very hard. Maybe it’s easier without friends, without money if you’re a man. I’m a woman. If I go I’m lost again,” she stated. “I don’t want to be so vulnerable again. I’m scared. It’s difficult for me to trust anyone,” she said referring to the ordeal she endured traveling from Turkey to Norway. From the outset the journey was dangerous she explained: in Turkey a small rubber boat, carrying 30 to 50 refugees, took on water and began to sink; they were headed for a small island off mainland Greece. They quickly returned to shore and several hours later boarded another small rubber boat. She would travel through seven additional countries before arriving in Norway.
Najah’s options for going elsewhere were bad because Norway seized her passport. A common practice with many European countries is to retain the passports of asylum seekers to prevent them from “asylum shopping” (being rejected one place and going to another).
Najah listens as an elderly Iraqi man (as she described him), with Norwegian citizenship, offers her a solution to her status as a paperless person: “Marry me”. He has a pacemaker and needs a caretaker. At this hastily arranged meeting in a cafe he assures her, in front of five of his Arabic friends, that theirs would be a friends only relationship based on her having a permanent place to live and being his caretaker – no touching, intimacy or sex. She refused because as a rejected asylum seeker she’s not eligible to marry in Norway.
Najah views the landscape outside her window as Jocelyn Houghton, an official at the Dikemark Refugee Camp responsible for an information program, stands nearby.
Dikemark is a former psychiatric hospital which once held 800 patients in a complex of 20 buildings; a section of it is used to house asylum seekers.
Najah breaks down in tears after settling into her room at Dikemark Refugee Camp. She was not happy with the overall state of the facility, particularly the shared bathroom and kitchen. “This is the fourth refugee camp I’ve been moved to since I arrived in Norway (October 2015); I want to be treated like a human being; it’s unfair,” stated Najah. Like many other twice rejected asylum seekers, she will not stay at the camp. To do so invites arrest from the police who occasionally go to camps to remove – for deportation – twice rejected asylum seekers. She has a roommate (they haven’t met) who’d already checked into the room but who also sleeps elsewhere.
After securing most of her belongings in her room at the the Dikemark Refugee Camp, Najah tearfully walks to a bus station to return to Oslo. There she will stay with a friend.
Najah reviews her asylum case with lawyer Ahmad Taha, a Norwegian born Iraqi; on this occasion she signed with him to represent her.
After a long day spent traveling to and from the Hurdal Refugee Camp, Najah falls asleep on the train to Oslo.
On Friday, 6 April 2018, at 4:00 a.m., two police officers used a key to enter Najah’s room, at a refugee camp, turned on the light and announced, “you’re under arrest.”
Two weeks before the arrest she lost her room at the Dikemark Refugee Camp, along with a monthly stipend from the government, because of her refusal to sleep at the camp. Shortly thereafter she was given a room at a different camp where the arrest took place three days after she moved in. Twenty-four hours after her capture she was placed on a flight to Iraq. However during a stopover in the Netherlands it was discovered that her paperwork wasn’t adequate to continue the journey, so she was returned to Trandum Detention Centre in Norway.
During the first five days of incarceration Najah was under the influence of valium, which was provided by a doctor at Trandum. The effects were evident as her speech was painfully slow and her facial appearance drowsy. After the shock of her arrest wore off she was able to decline use of the drug, and with a clear head reflect upon the uncertainty that had characterized 2-1/2 years of life in Norway: “It has been a hopeful yet painful experience. A return to Iraq means embracing – against my will – an environment that’s familiar, unwanted and dangerous.” Najah is now in Iraq.
Trandum where Najah was held before being deported.
Forty-eight hours after being arrested Najah (under the influence of valium) wearily shakes her head side-to-side in frustration inside the Trandum reception area.
Additional photos from Paperless: Living in Limbo can be viewed at http://www.ricfrancis.net.
The following photographs represent a continuation of the previous post “Other,” a series of images that represent simple moments in the lives of women, children and men who are often narrowly defined:
Lima, Peru – Peruvians position themselves to view the procession of Senor de los Milagros.
Nairobi, Kenya – Kenyan activists gathered at Uhuru Park’s Freedom Corner for a march to the parliament building, where they held a mock state burial and burnt 221 caskets, which represented each member of parliament. The mock burial symbolized the public’s rejection of hefty perks that the members of parliament were demanding.
Lapul – Ocwida village (Pader district), Uganda – Nodding Syndrome patient, John Kitanya, 16, waits outside for his name to be called at the Lapul – Ocwida Health Centre II.
Bor County (Kondai Village – Makuach Payam), South Sudan – Wal Garang Dhiek, 42, (background) uses a stick embedded with a stone to keep birds from feasting on his sorghum field, as his family relax (left-to-right: his mother Nyaroor Kok Ajok, 70, wife Ayen Nhial Piel, 25, holding their son Nhial Wal Garang, 7-months, a young neighbor and his son Bil Wal Adhik, 5).
Nairobi, Kenya – Pedestrians in the city center.
Nairobi, Kenya – A young boy waits for friends in the Mathare slums.
Nyakahama Village (Katoosa Parish), Uganda – After placing a pot of food under a flame, Rose Mbabazi, 20, sits quietly outside her kitchen with her children and a neighbor.
Tocana, Bolivia – A worn and faded hand-drawing, created by Dayana Rene Ballivian, 9, hangs outside her family’s home reads: “My mother is negro, my father is negro and so am I. I am proud.” In 2009, Afro-Bolivians won a moral victory when the Bolivian government – which had always denied their existence – formally acknowledged them.
Ntarama Sector, Bugesera District, Rwanda – Students read during class at Nyirarukobwa Primary School.
Nairobi, Kenya – Stephen Maina, 2-years-9 months, falls asleep during a baby class, while 3-year old Isaac Muriithi works; teacher Nancy Vivian Obanda, overhead, prepares to wake Stephen.
Adjumani district (Ayilo Refugee Camp), Uganda – Achiek Agok, 6, observes as his brothers play soccer. They are a family of 12 from Jonglei state (Bor town) in South Sudan. After being forced to flee because of the war the family arrived in Uganda in January 2014.
Esmeraldas, Ecuador – Ariana Renteria, 6, peers at partygoers while her sister Nahiffer Renteria, 9, dances to the music.
Worldwide the identities of women, children and men are constructed around lies associated with being “Other.” These lies call into question their humanity and eliminates the identity of the individual.
I grew up as Other in the United States and since my departure, in February 2009, I have felt far freer in foreign lands than I ever felt at home. Specifically, in East and Central Africa, I’m recognized as Other based on my country of origin as opposed to my dark skin. Hence, there are no adjectives associated with my existence when people view me; I’m a man as opposed to a black man. Before Africa, my journey took me to various countries in South America where the dynamics of being black can be problematic. However being American provided a measure of protection against being looked down upon.
In childhood my orientation as Other began when I was questioned and searched by two overzealous white cops in my hometown, Harlem, New York – it was an unpleasant and senseless experience; I was ten-years old but looked younger because I was very skinny. Little did I know then that as an adult I would be racially profiled while driving in every city I worked: New York, New Jersey, New Orleans and Los Angeles. On one such stop a white police officer, in response to my voice, asked with an incredulous tone, “did you go to college or something?”
As a pedestrian, on a couple of occasions, my presence caused drivers to lock their doors and roll-up windows, and white women to clutch their handbags. I looked at them and shook my head while marveling at the ability of such Americans to ignore a fact: historically it has been blacks who have had to fear whites – innocent blacks have suffered physical and psychological harm by white Americans and are brutally overpoliced.
In an era when political discourse is increasingly characterized by xenophobic policies and woeful ignorance, people whose humanity is challenged based on such otherness labels as refugee, immigrant, Muslim, transgender, black, Latino – nonwhite – are at odds to find acceptance. And why? Well, it has much to do with a failure of white people to police their fears. However, the true problem isn’t fearful and malicious conservatives, as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. articulated: “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” Thus, it cannot be overstated that to be silent in the face of how Others are demonized is to contribute to a lie.
The last eight-plus years have taught me how to comfortably embrace my otherness – the difference that I represent – and move beyond documenting stories that give credence to unchallenged mainstream opinions. The novelist Chimamanda Adichie gave a Ted Talk in which she warned, “if we hear only a single story about another person or country, we risk a critical misunderstanding.” Indeed, no people (or country) are one thing. It’s important to note, there’s a beauty to being Other when we appreciate differences and strive to be conscious of life’s complexities, and the situations Others are born into.
The following photographs are simple moments that characterize the daily lives of women, children and men who are often narrowly defined. These are wonderful individuals who permitted me to share in their lives:
Mutonya Village (Butiiti Parish – Kyenjojo District), Uganda – Kabahuma Esther, 18, plays with her son, Kazora Titaus, 8-months.
Nyakahama Village (Katoosa Parish), Uganda – Rose Mbabazi, 20, right, and her niece, Revecart Kengonzi, 12, peel cassava grown in their garden.
Adjumani district (Ayilo Resettlement Camp), Uganda – Three South Sudanese children stop along a road which runs parallel to a field of maize grown by their parents.
Debeka Village, Ethiopia – Gumi Ayantu, 45, brews freshly roasted Ethiopian coffee beans in a Jabena (a boiling pot made of pottery). On the right her grandchild is entertained by a family member.
Katooke Town Council (Kyenjojo District), Uganda – Imelda Gafabusa, 70, exhausted from working in her field, falls asleep near her front door while waiting for heavy rains to end.
Tocana, Bolivia – Juana Vasquez, 71, heads home after picking coca leaves in the lush hills of the Yungas Valley; a tiny community made up mostly of Afro-Bolivians.
Bagua province (north Amazon), Peru – Gilmer Ugkaju Intakea Edad, 20, bottom, an Awajun, ferries passengers across the Chiriaco river.
Langata (a suburb of Nairobi), Kenya – A rainbow paints the sky.
Ayachucho, Peru – Children enjoy lunch.
Adjumani district (Ayilo Resettlement Camp), Uganda – South Sudanese children play a game called “Father or Mother,” which involves hopping around a grid.
Adjumani district (Ayilo Resettlement Camp), Uganda – Helen Agok Ageri, 5, candidly strikes a pose bringing her family to laughter.
Adjumani district (Ayilo Resettlement Camp), Uganda – A group of South Sudanese girls play a game called “Sikadibaba,” that revolves around chasing and tagging.
Mutonya Village (Butiiti Parish – Kyenjojo District), Uganda – Angela Kabahenda, 21, prepares two of her children, Marian Nabbumba (six-years), right, and Junior Mayalla (four-years), left, for school.
La Toma, Colombia – Margie Cecilia, 11-years old, labors for gold with family members at an open-pit mine.
Nyanza district, Rwanda – After an extended peroid of walking and standing Gasaza Siliveri, 97, sits and rests before going out for a scheduled trip.
Nyakahama Village (Katoosa Parish), Uganda – Rose Mbabazi, 20, surveys her garden while picking carrots and sweet potatoes.
Tocana, Bolivia – An Afro-Bolivian girl washes her hair.
Tocana, Bolivia – An Afro-Bolivian man returns home from hunting.
El Carmen, Peru – Peruvians participate in a procession honoring Our Lord of Miracles (Senor de los Milagros). It’s a widely attended religious event.
Lima, Peru – Peruvians place flowers and clean their mother’s hard-to-reach burial sites, at The Angel Cemetery, on Mother’s Day.
Nairobi (Kilimani), Kenya – Muslims pray at a mosque.
Nairobi, Kenya – A Kenyan woman carries basins and buckets to collect water in the community of Mathare.
Obira Village (Nwoya District), Uganda – Timo, 9, (he has no last name because he has not been baptized yet) helps his mother, Joyce Pacoryema, 42, cover their family’s maize with a tarp; it’s about to start raining.
Yapatara, Peru – In the northern section of the country several Afro-Peruvian men play cards.
El Carmen, Peru – Neighbors relax in their communty.
See “Faces of Genocide:” http://www.ricfrancis.net
In 1995, the remains of more than 18,000 men, women and children were exhumed from mass graves at the Murambi Technical School, now known as the Murambi Genocide Memorial Centre in southern Rwanda. Although many bodies decomposed completely, the intense heat formed in the pits allowed some of the skeletal remains to be preserved. Most of these corpses were reburied in in common graves at the memorial centre. However, nearly one thousand corpses were further preserved in lime and placed in the school buildings where they were killed.
On the walls at the Murambi Genocide Memorial Centre are photographs of victims.
Ground workers depart the Murambi Technical School, which is now known as the Murambi Genocide Memorial Centre in southern Rwanda.
Clothing of genocide victims.
In remembrance of the estimated one million victims killed during the 1994 genocide hundreds of memorial sites are maintained throughout Rwanda. This documentation project covers four of the official national sites as well as the Kigali Genocide Memorial: Ntarama Genocide Memorial, Nyamata Genocide Memorial, Murambi Genocide Memorial and Nyarubuye Genocide Memorial.
“Over 800 bodies of Tutsis genocide victims were pulled from this mass grave,” said Musoni Protais, a site manager at the Murambi Technical School, which is now known as the Murambi Genocide Memorial Centre.
Visitors in the Children’s Room at the Kigali Genocide Museum where photographs and stories of a few of the thousands of children who were killed in the 1994 genocide are on view; below each photograph is a short bio about the children: Patrick, 5-years old, Favorite sport – Riding bicyle, Favorite food – Chips, meat and eggs, Best friend – Alliane, his sister, Behavior – A quiet and well-behaved boy, Cause of death – Hacked by machete. Uwamwezi, 7-years old, and Iréne Umutoni, 6-years old, Relationship – Sisters, Favorite toy – A doll they shared, Favorite food – Fresh fruit, Behavior – Daddy’s girls, Cause of death – A grenade thrown in their shower. Rwandan families donated photographs of their children for the memorial. The memorial museum honors the estimated 250,000 people buried on the site in mass graves.
The visuals provided at the national sites are thought provoking, unforgettable and haunting. Visitors (local and foreign) are strongly encouraged by the government to share in this unconscious chapter of Rwanda’s history.
The Rwanda Genocide was a slaughter of Tutsis and moderate Hutus by members of the Hutu majority. From April to July 1994 an estimated five hundred thousand to one million Rwandans were killed. The genocide grew out of an ongoing civil war between the then Hutu-led government and the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), which was largely composed of Tutsi refugees, whose families had fled to neighboring countries following earlier waves of Hutu violence against the Tutsi minority.
A collection of skulls from local victims of the 1994 genocide are displayed at the Nyarubuye Genocide Memorial site. Referred to as the Nyarubuye massacre, an estimated 2,000 Rwandans were killed on April 15, 1994 at the Nyarubuye Roman Catholic Church, where they sought refuge from Hutu attackers.
Today, ethnic identification has been banned by the Rwandan government: there are no Hutus and Tutsis – only Rwandans. What remains from the conflict are grenade damaged churches, mass graves, tattered clothing items, remnants of Tutsi identification cards, skulls, bones, mummified bodies and memories – painful memories.
Several local children loiter outside the Nyarubuye Roman Catholic Church. In April 1994, Tutsis from several communities gathered at the this church seeking refuge but instead met their deaths, at the hands of Hutu attackers armed with machetes, traditional/crafted weapons, guns and grenades.
The skulls of these genocide victims display signs of a bullet wound and a blow from a blunt object such as a club. They are displayed at the Ntarama Genocide Memorial.
The worn national identity card of a young woman, whose family name was Uwimana, is kept in a storage container on the grounds of the Ntarama Church, which is now the Ntarama Genocide Memorial. According to the memorial site manager Uwimana was killed on these grounds along with 5,000 other Tutsis on April 15, 1994. During that period national identity cards were marked to label the ethnicity of the bearer; after the genocide such ethnic classification was banned by the government.
Although 5,000 victims are said to be buried at the Ntarama Genocide Memorial mass grave, the memorial wall only lists 260 names. The memorial site manager stated this is due to the challenges of identification: Many families were killed leaving no one to identify remains. Also, many Tutsis seeking safety came to the Ntarama site from the surrounding area – because they didn’t live in Ntarama they were unknown.
A coffin containing the body of Annonciata Mukandoli, 32, is displayed along with skulls of genocide victims at the Nyamata Genocide Memorial. The memorial is at the site of Nyamata Parish Catholic Church, where according to site manager, Rachel Murekatete, 45,354 genocide victims are buried. “10,080 Tutsi died inside and outside the grounds of the church on April 13 -14, 1994. Ms. Mukandoli was chosen to represent all the women who like herself were raped by multiple assailants and viciously killed.”said Ms. Murekatete.
Visitors tour the burial grounds at the Kigali Genocide Museum where an estimated 250,000 victims, who were killed in the 1994 genocide, are buried in mass graves.
A visitor to the Kigali Genocide Museum views an exhibit of photographs of people who were killed during the 1994 genocide.
Ntarama Church displays signs of grenade damage that occurred on April 15, 1994.
A large sheet of white paper in the bible studies room, at the Ntarama Genocide Memorial, gives visitors an opportunity to write their thoughts.
To see more photographs by Ric Francis please visit http://www.ricfrancis.net.
Alex Niyungeko, 41, holds his son Samuel Rai,3, while seated with his wife, children and brother during a memorial service for his father.
Journalist Alex Niyungeko, 41, is one of tens of thousands of displaced Burundians living in Rwanda. His secretive departure from Burundi, he stated, was fueled by police attacks on his family. In January Mr. Niyungeko’s father, Ntirubuza Tharcisse, 79, died from natural causes in Burundi, and he was unable to return for the funeral; he held a memorial service in Kigali, Rwanda, and the church was packed with Burundian refugees.
Mr. Niyungeko is the chairman of the Union of Journalists of Burundi. In that capacity he ran afoul of the chief of police (Domitien Niyonkuru) for the capital of Bujumbura. Since April 2015, when the president, Pierre Nkurunziza, announced plans to run for a third term in office, sparking weeks of street protests by the opposition who said his bid was unconstitutional, protests have been banned. At the time Mr. Niyungeko said, “I told journalists to do their professional work and report on the protests.”
The next day the office of his union was raided by the police and closed. He stated, “I was roughly handled and several of my colleagues were beaten. On the scene I confronted the chief of police and asked him how could you as an educated man close our office? What crimes have we committed?” In describing the exchange Mr. Niyungeko conveyed what followed: “The chief became angry and said I have no explanation – I only have an order and you have humiliated me in front of my men.” Several of Mr. Niyungeko’s contacts within the police department told him that he would be killed. Nevertheless, he issued a public statement condemning the closing of his union’s office. He secured his family (wife and three children) at a location away from their home and went separately into hiding.
The police discovered the location of his family and twice attacked them with tear gas grenades, according to Mr. Niyungeko. After the second attack he put them on a flight to Rwanda. He feared it wasn’t possible for him to leave via the airport – because his name was on a watch list – so with the help of friends he crossed illegally into Rwanda via vehicle.
Additional photographs by Ric Francis may be viewed at http://www.ricfrancis.net.
