Spoken Word In Kigali Reveals The Deep Connection Between Rwanda And Burundi

In Kigali, Rwandan artists and poets gather for cultural healing in solidarity with Burundian refugees.

Photo taken by the author at Spoken Word Rwanda's #StandForBurundi event in Kigali.

A visit to Kigali’s National Genocide Memorial draws an eerie resemblance to modern day Burundi. From the coded hate speech of public officials, to politically charged cartoons, to the photos of bodies in the street—the terrifying reality is Kigali 20 years ago looks like Bujumbura today.

On the evening of December 30th, Spoken Word Rwanda held their monthly show at Pili-Pili Lounge in Kibagabaga with #StandForBurundi as the theme. Proceeds from the event were donated to the Mahama refugee camp in Eastern Rwanda where thousands of Burundian refugees have relocated to since violence engulfed the country last spring.

“Think about all the people, whether it’s your family, relatives, friends, and people you don’t even know and what it must feel like for people in Burundi right now,” said Diana Mpyisi, founder of Spoken Word Rwanda and co-MC of the event as she opened up the night.

Rwandans share more than a history of colonization, enforced ethnic divisions, distrust and violence. They also share similar food, dance, language, resilience, and consequently empathy. An empathy it seems the international community finds itself incapable of in order to save lives.

Under the thatched roof of Pili-Pili lounge, poets, singers, painters, Rwandans, Burundians, Africans, family, friends, natives and refugees practice healing through the arts. The lounge is a sister establishment to the well-known Bora Bora lounge on Lac Tanganyika in Bujumbura. The obvious choice of this venue for the monthly event was to provide a home away from home for those close to the conflict. On the second floor’s seating area, guests were treated to the sight of Kigali’s twinkling city lights.

“I have a dream that we will soon celebrate Burundi’s recovery and resilience. Look there, the beautiful lights, 20 years ago, they were filled with blood,” offered Samantha Teta, a first-time performer. Teta’s words of hope especially resonated with those, like me—those of the Burundian diaspora.

My family has yearned for two decades to return to our country where our home, neighborhood, family, friends, and memories wait for us to return. For a long time, it was never a question of if we would return but when it would be safe to. No place in the world could replace our beautiful, tiny country, even if it went through cyclic waves of violence.

“I didn’t plan on doing this but he talked about hell and fire is one of my biggest fears so, here I am. I have to speak,” said Teta as she stood before the crowd in a vibrant red African print shirt, tightly buttoned at the collar. Though her voice quaked, she continued to speak.

Photo taken by the author at Spoken Word Rwanda's #StandForBurundi event in Kigali.

In a confidential memo written by the UN’s Department of Peacekeeping Operations (DPKO) outlining the scenarios in Burundi and possible UN responses, the DPKO worryingly cautioned that all the peacekeeping possibilities it presented to the Security Council "offer limited scope" to prevent atrocities because of logistical complications. In any scenario, "these options also highlight strategic gaps that the United Nations in unsuited to fill," said the document, adding that despite being charged with civilian protection, the UN would be unprepared to handle a genocide-type environment.

The international community’s unwillingness to properly plan and respond is a sign we’ve all seen before. In this lounge, I hold no hope of rescue for my small country. As systemic rapes, arbitrary arrests of hundreds of young men, and training camps in remote areas of the country continue to grow, the inevitable seems to approach.

“Dear Africa, we are more than just friends, we are family. Dear world, we are more than just friends, we are humanity. So stand for Burundi, stop impunity because, seriously, all Burundian lives matter, too,” said Cynthia Nivyabandi in her performance, one of many to call out the hypocrisy and the delay of the international community’s response to the crisis in Burundi.

My mother told me to pray for peace to break the awkward silences that inevitably fill any conversation about the safety of those back home. Prayer has always worked miracles for my mother but I cannot help but grimace at the notion. Imagine using the tool of the church implicit in the colonization and enforcement of the ethnic tensions that lie at the root of the cyclical violence that we’ve all endured. It’s a strange cycle, but it’s the only comfort we can afford.

Performances at Spoken Word Rwanda continued to vary. Without a single utterance, Willy Karekezi, a local Rwandese painter, stepped on stage with a blank canvas, an assistant, and several bottles of paint. The DJ played KRS-One’s “Step into a World” and Willy got to work. By the end of the song, Willy had completed a full 3x2 foot painting of an intore dancer/warrior.

The inadequate responses from the international community leave a terribly vacant spot for a Burundian-led rebellion to put an end to the conflict, similar to the Rwandan Patriotic Front that put an end to the 1994 genocide. Reports of rebel forces being formed in Rwandan refugee camps aided by the Rwandan government have been adamantly denied by President Kagame.

“I think Rwanda is similar to Burundi, so I decided to use this. What’s happening in Burundi is not good, it is like the end of the world,” said Karekezi. Karekezi explained that intores were originally warriors in pre-colonial Rwanda, before they became dancers for the king in times of peace.

Both Kagame and Nkurunziza were the first to lead their countries after both countries were broken by violence. Nkurunziza led Burundi to a decade of relative peace after the signing of the Arusha Accord in 2005 ending a ten-year civil war, as Kagame led the RPF into Rwanda to end the genocide.

Both leaders have sought third-terms this past year, but through very different avenues. Rwanda offered a referendum voting option to citizens to allow an amendment to the constitution to enable the president to run for a third-term. Burundi saw mass protest and backlash to Nkurunziza’s announced run for a third-term. Kagame answered the answers of his country, while Nkurunziza, ignored the requests of his people to answer the call of his political party. The stark difference in leadership styles of the two presidents have ultimately both been met with the disapproval of the U.S. despite the stark differences in the democratic and dictatorial approaches.

Many of the performers, as well as the crowd, were young professionals and students, the typical crowd for any spoken-word venue. The special dedication of the event to the people of Burundi brought out an even more eclectic group, as many self-identified Burundians of all ages proudly presented themselves by hand when asked by the MC. One couldn’t help but to think that this is also the prime demographic targeted by police forces and the Imbonerakure militia in their reign of terror these past months.

Seeing faces that are familiar and knowing they see themselves or their loved ones in my features is to feel at home. To hear my mother’s tongue spoken by friends, strangers, taxi drivers, someone other than my mother, gives my body a sweet rush only known to those displaced. Something about hearing my name being pronounced properly warms me, wonderfully.

Before the final performance, the organizers gathered the crowd for a small vigil and moment of silence for all of the lives lost in Burundi. As candles were distributed throughout the crowd, a voice asked, “Can everyone stand up? Find a moment in your heart to say a short prayer for them, and let’s just remember that we are here in solidarity. Small gestures like this can go a long way.”

Photo courtesy of Sam Soko.

Interview: Sam Soko is the Kenyan Director Behind Sundance Hit, 'Softie'

We meet filmmaker Sam Soko who has made a stirring documentary about the Kenyan protest leader Boniface Mwangi

Filmmaker Sam Soko didn't intend on making a documentary about Kenyan photojournalist-turned-politician Boniface Mwangi.

The original idea he had was to make a manual of sorts, a short video guide, on how to protest, the do's and don't's. Soko, himself an activist artist who cut his teeth convincing friends to let him create political music videos for their apolitical songs, knew Mwangi's experience on the streets both photographing protests and staging them meant he had a lot to share with others.

But then came the blood. A thousand litres of it, to be precise. And the pigs. Dozens of them, with words like MPigs written on them. Like the graphic photos Mwangi had become known for taking—it was a sight you couldn't look away from. It was a protest Mwangi organized, in 2013, to decry corrupt members of the Kenyan parliament who had decided to increase their salaries, 2 months after taking office. And at his side, through the thick red liquid of it all, was Mwangi's wife, Njere, ready to be arrested with him.

"Once I was witness to his relationship, I started seeing him as a family man," Soko tells OkayAfrica. "Because he's planning a protest and all, but when you look at the footage, you start seeing the kids and you start seeing Njere. That's when it started hitting me, in the sense, that she was with him in such a crazy space."

Soko formed a creative and activist hub, called PAWA 254, with Mwangi, as they became part of the groundswell demanding democratic reforms in a country still left scarred from the division sewed between Kikuyu and Luo people by British colonizers. "We had a new Constitution at the time, and there was this hope that we finally could picket without being tear-gassed or being beaten, Like, our civil liberties could be held up." Instead, the government strengthened its police force into a notorious organization condemned by human rights activists. "That's very salient in the film," says Soko. "If you see how the police dress, for instance, at the beginning, it's very different; they become more militant towards the end."

Soko's debut feature-length documentary, Softie, which became the first Kenyan film to ever premiere at the Sundance Film Festival, earlier this year, is at once a love story between Mwangi and his wife and their three children, but also between Mwangi and his beloved Kenya, under president Uhuru Kenyatta. Central to the film is the tussle between how these different loves bump up against each other: what comes first — love of country or love of family?

We spoke to the Nairobi-based director about making the film, which opens in virtual cinemas, starting this Friday, September 18th.

Boniface Mwangi with his wife Photo courtesy of Sam Soko

OA: Early on in the film, we learn how steadfast Boniface Mwangi is — he talks about being willing to die for the ideals he believes in, which made me think of Nelson Mandela and his Rivonia Treason Trial speech. Boniface is someone in the present day who still shares this belief?

When we were working on the edit, and kind of crafting and thinking about what the story was going to be, something that we found that was really, really interesting is, with a lot of the stories, like the story of Nelson Mandela, you'd never see the other side. That's something we see later, up ahead, as a retrospective. We'd hear about Martin Luther King and then we'd read about Coretta Scott in, I think, 1990, like, 'Oh, this his was her struggle.' That sort of thing. But for me, Boniface and Njere represented a present day reality struggle that showcases what Mandela was going through, what Martin Luther was going through. That was kind of like unravelling the curtain; when you see Martin Luther marching, Coretta's at home, trying to help their kids do their homework. And this is the reality.

OA: And the film poses that question of love for your country versus love for your family, and which one should come first?

Exactly. They see it in different ways. Boniface sees it that if you improve the country, you improve the lives of those who you love. Njere's like, you have to have your family's back first. And that means everything else comes second. And she's right; she's not wrong. And he's not wrong.

OA: The film really is privy to some really private moments in Mwangi's life — how did you gain his trust?

When we started filming the short video, he was really involved with the protests, and we started doing the protests with him. So we were—quote, unquote—in the trenches with him in the protests, and somehow that's how he kind of welcomed us to his home. When you've been with someone in the streets, and you're tear-gassed together more than once, you already have a common bond. But then I started developing a relationship with him that was beyond the streets. Just checking up on him and asking, what's going on, what's taking place? That sort of thing. I think it took a while. And I think even from Njere, we kind of developed a kind of camaraderie that was separate from my relationship with Boniface, because I would actually be like, 'Hey, he said that, how does that make you feel?' And not necessarily on camera. But over time, he kind of accepted us to be there with a camera. At some point, I kind of felt like they were talking to me, and not necessarily the camera; like, the camera is kind of this thing that's there, but not there. That kind of trust, again, was built on a respect that I have for them and their values and what they're doing. I think that's something they saw. It made them trust me with their story and trust me with their family.

You're the director of the film, but you're also producer, writer and cinematographer. Did Boniface's own style as a photojournalist influence you in any way?

The film has three cinematographers, and a lot of my cinematography is within the intimate moments, because that's when they would only engage with someone they trust. But him being a photographer actually, to a point, made the work a bit hard because he's constantly looking at how you're doing it. He's in your face about the angle. He's like, 'Hey, why are you standing there, you should be there.' But in some places he did help 'cause he's been filming in the streets and filming protests for a very long time. So when you're there filming, he'll easily tell you, 'Dude, don't stand there. They're about to start tear-gassing. Go to the other side.' And it's weird, when you're on the other side and you're filming, and all of a sudden you see tear gas, you wonder, 'How the hell did he know?' You do that 234 times and you start knowing yourself, 'Oh, this is how,' and he was really helpful in that sense.

I can imagine that filming during the protests must have been one of the big challenges of making this film but what else did you struggle with? There were death threats for Mwangi, did that happen to you as well?

It's so funny, when you're filming and when you're in the protests, it's adrenaline talking. So you're not really thinking about whether you're going to be okay. This one time, I got arrested because the cop said I was a spy for the protesters. [We had everything] from cameras breaking to sound equipment messing up, but when it became a more political story, with death threats, it became scary even for editing the film. Because you don't know who's watching you. This one time, I was with him in the car, filming, and we were being followed. So we kind of had to be very careful who we are telling about the story. It was a very deep secret that we were making this film and there are people who are watching it now asking, 'How could you keep this from us from all these years?' Because we had to do that. Especially when the family was in the US. We had to do that for the sake of safety for him, Boniface, for his family but also the film team. I remember doing the pitches with different names. But then we were also lucky that we had our co-producing partner in Canada, Eye Steel Film, so they were able to house the edit there. I went to Canada to edit and that kind of also gives you a kind of freedom to think and work and create. That was the reality, and now I think we have PTSD from the film. I can't film another protest. I'm sorry. I'm out. Like, it tapped me out.

There are similarities to the Black Lives Matter protests here in the US, against police brutality and violence but the slogan takes on a different resonance in places like Kenya, where the police force is particularly heavy-handed. How do you see these protests as being similar but also different?

There are two things that you learn with the film. One, our voices can never be silenced. They will try, but I think humanity is like a pressure cooker. The more you boil us, the more you put that heat, the more explosive we become. And through people like Boniface's life, you see that there are human beings who exist, who do extraordinary things.

The other thing is the idea of activism doesn't necessarily just speak to the person who's on the street. It doesn't necessarily speak to the person who's holding the placard. An activist is someone like Njere and her life, and her family. And Khadija [Mohamed, Mwangi's campaign manager]. She's such a strong and powerful activist in her own right. She was Boniface's campaign manager for free. The work they did was so powerful. And you have these other people in the background who are doing such incredible things. The sum total of what they've done is [to] instigate… We have an election next year, but I am so sure that we are going to have so many candidates who are going to be like, 'We want you to donate to our campaign. We have these values and beliefs; this is what we want to do.' That is how we need to go about change or add on to the conversations of change.

The same thing that's happening with the Black Lives Matters movement. Yes, there are people going to the street and we should keep going to the street. But we need to push people to engage in policy and make sure these policy changes are made.

We need to stand for what we believe in, as filmmakers in spaces where we feel oppression exists. Like the rules that have come out with the Academy Awards, these are rules that should be celebrated because they add on to that conversation of diversity and representation. All these things—that sum total—is what makes the difference. It's going beyond the streets and going beyond our Tweets, going beyond our Facebook messages, making films and sharing films. We just need to keep pumping up the volume, keeping the heat up, keep pushing. It's gonna take a while, but we'll get there.

Photojournalist-turned-politician Boniface Mwangi during a protest in Nairobi, Kenya Photo courtesy of Sam Soko

That's where you as a filmmaker come in—this film was the first Kenyan film to get into Sundance, where it won a special editing prize.

There's another film I'm producing and, and, yes, I had my film at Sundance, that's great. But there's this other filmmaker who's making another film, and it's so cool, and this is the thing—we need to keep bouncing off this energy and this light and this vibe, and just keep pushing and making sure that the wheels keep turning. That's what we're all about.

How do you renew your strength, as a filmmaker but also as a Kenyan and as an African?

Being a Kenyan is hard. I think being an African is hard. Like, it's hard. There's a line I heard Boniface say once: 'I love my country, but I am afraid of my government.' But the way in which, personally, I find energy is when I meet new filmmakers, or you know, people who are like starting out and they want to make films that sound totally crazy. And they believe that they can do it. And I'm like, 'yes, yes, keep going!' We are planning to do a premiere. We have not confirmed the date yet but we're thinking it's around going to be early October in Kenya, because Kenyans haven't watched it. The government gave us an adult rating. They're putting us on the same level as porn.

This is the same government that banned Wanuri Kahiu's Rafiki because of its homosexual theme…

Exactly, that's what we're getting but the lemonade that we've made out of all this is, 'Guess what? This is cinema!' We're going to take it to a cinema. People are going to come to watch it in a cinema or watch it at home or watch it in the best way possible. And the people who've watched it have appreciated it as a film and a story, and their story. They've seen a reflection of themselves. That gives me so much joy because the Kenyans who've watched it, when they give you feedback, they say, this is truth; this is our truth. And they don't see just an activist. They see a couple struggling with love. They see our history in the last 10 years. And they're like, 'What the hell, we lived this?' and they see the things that are unresolved — and many things are unresolved. Seeing that reaction gives me so much strength and hope. But it's hard. It's very hard. Because, you know, you have to wake up and see the policeman getting a bribe. And you're like, 'Homie??'

"SOFTIE" Movie Poster

Watch the trailer for Softie here.

Softie | Official Trailer | A film by Sam Soko

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