National Heroes Day

Today, my first full day in Rwanda, was National Heroes Day, a holiday that seems a bit similar to Veteran’s Day except that the heroes don’t have to be veterans. Yesterday I was informed that everyone in town was expected to go to the football (soccer) stadium at 7 a.m.! That meant that we had to get up at 5:30 to get ready, eat breakfast, and walk over there with about a dozen of the kids from the home. I thought getting up that early might be hard, but roosters start crowing around 4:30, so waking up wasn’t a problem.

After a very small breakfast, we set out for the stadium. The day was beautiful, and everyone was up and walking to the stadium, so it was easy to forget how early it was. As we left our small street and turned onto the main street that leads to the stadium, we saw that indeed, the whole town was turning out for the National Heroes Day celebration, which was to feature a speech by Rwanda’s president, Paul Kagame. Most noticeable was a long line four people wide of girls from a local Muslim school wearing identical blue skirts, white blouses, and white head scarves. I was surprised because I thought the vast majority of Rwanda was Christian (mostly Catholic). Etienne, the “technician” from the home, was walking with me and explained that most of the girls aren’t Muslim, it’s just that the school is run by Muslims, and the skirts, blouses, and head scarves were their school uniform.

As we got closer to the stadium, the size of the crowd became evident. Even more evident was that we would have to stand in a long, slow line to get into the stadium. A small number of police officers stood at the entrance, frisking the men and children and using handheld metal detectors on the women. It was a slow process to inspect each person; we stood in line for well over an hour. The crowd experience was intense and somewhat uncomfortable—we were packed together and people were pushing to get in.

We finally did get in, and took seats on the cement bleachers. Asking people to arrive early was part of the crowd management plan; we waited 2 to 3 hours before the festivities began. I had a bottle of water but drank little of it because I didn’t want to have to attempt to wade through the huge crowd to get to the dubious looking “toilettes publique.” So we baked in the sun and chatted until things started happening.

The soccer stadium is huge. The crowd of “regular” people (that would be us) sat on the side with the cement bleachers. The other side, smaller, had a cover that kept the sun out. Government dignitaries and other “big” people, as one of the boys called them, sat over there. I’m not good at crowd-size estimates, but I wondered if 100,000 were there. Later I asked Micaela (the other person who’s managing the children’s home with me) how many people she thought were there, and she said 100,000, so between the two of us, maybe we have a good estimate. I counted five muzungus, for a total of seven including Micaela and me. I thought I’d see a few more, but it’s still a little unusual to see white people in Rwanda other than in Kigali, the capital.

Various groups filed onto the soccer field, including acrobats, dancers, singers, drummers, and a marching band complete with black and red uniforms, tubas, the whole nine yards. They were a good distance away, and a little hard to see because they performed facing the relatively small group of dignitaries, rather than the huge mass of people who came to see their president.

Apparently, for security purposes, no one knew exactly when the president was to arrive. You could tell once he had arrived outside the stadium because men in business suits were running around looking busy, important, and somewhat frantic. He arrived in a black Mercedes preceded and followed by two grey SUVs. He sat with his wife, the Supreme Court chief justice, the minister of sport and culture, and other dignitaries. [As I’m writing, I’m watching the event again on Rwandan television—one of the two channels we get here.] The others spoke first, the drummers played again, then Paul Kagame spoke. Of course, I didn’t understand any of it, but Patrick, one of the older boys, sat next to me and provided an abbreviated version. He talked about ordinary heroes and of Rwanda’s need for heroes. He said that you don’t have to be in the military to earn hero status, but that small acts can be considered heroic. After he finished speaking, he walked around the stadium, past all of the “regular” people so they could see their president. Apparently people see him as very accessible, and he’s very popular. Anyone can request an audience with him, and he periodically goes to events like the one today, so people can see him, which makes sense in a country where most people don’t have TV. The fence separating him from the crowd was flimsy, and I thought they’d push right through it, but a significant police presence kept that from happening.

We were hot, hungry, and thirsty, but we got to see the president of Rwanda. It was worth the discomfort.