The Girl in the Road

The roads were mostly good. The dust was low. The temperature was not too hot yet. We passed by many large farm cooperatives growing sugar cane The view in the distant valley was dotted with plumes of smoke. Burning off the cane. While we were driving the traffic stopped suddenly. We thought there must have been a wreck. A few car lengths ahead of us a girl of about 13 or 14 lay in the road sprawled on the pavement. Her flip flops lay in the road next to her. A few people were standing around but it didn’t seem that anyone was doing anything to help her. We got out and approached. We heard “Mzunga” (sp?) among the people around us. It is not an altogether endearing term meaning loosely “crazy white people”. It was really scary. Strange. Surreal. The girl had foamy spit around her mouth and nose. The people in the nearby road crew kept on working. No one moved to touch her. Richard spoke to the people around her. Brandon and I kept back, near the car. When he came back he told us that she had had these spells before. It was a seizure. She was laying front down in the road, her face to the side. Richard explained that “these people” believed that a person with this sickness was contagious and that if you touched her while she was unconscious you would contract what she had (which I read as DEMONS). As bizarre as it sounds he said to get in the car and drive on. What could we do? I felt totally helpless. I wasn’t in a position to act. Still, driving away, leaving her on the hot roadbed was numbing. I felt guilty. Richard said that she would be alright. The people said to Richard that this had happened to her a lot of times. We drove about a half mile and Richard talked to two police to let them know so that they could keep her safe. There was some relief in that. All of this happened before we got to Ntarama.

Going to Ntarama

When we left this morning for the Ntarama Genocide Memorial we started out pretty light hearted. It was Richard, Shaboni (the driver), Brandon and me. We stopped at a traffic light behind a van with a huge GOD IS LOVE sign completely covering the back window. It wouldn’t be legal in the States. A smaller sign below had Richard's last name. He said that it is the name of a town in Rwanda. I don’t want to make more of this than it actually was but the juxtaposition of those words while we were on our way to a church where 5,000 people were killed. A church similar to where Richard’s own family was killed, where they had gone for refuge. GOD IS LOVE… RICHARD...NTARAMA.

Veranda Reflection

Midori, Nancy, Portia, Brandon, Tina, Immaculee,

me, Cindy and Tim - All Inspi(red)

I’m sitting on the veranda where I have sat many times over the past two weeks. My American friends are all in their rooms. There are kids in the pool below. They are speaking Kinyrwanda but they are also speaking the lovely universal language of children. Laughing, chasing, screaming. Their happiness is so immediate. So complete. Reflecting on this day is hard. For one thing we will not all be together again. We have become a unit somehow. In so many ways we are all so very different, but have all come to love and respect each other despite our differences. After tomorrow we will never be together in the same room. Most of us will probably never see each other again. This bonding has been strange. Thrown together by chance, experiencing the reality and harshness and grace of this faraway place has brought us together in a way that nothing else ever could. Sitting here with a cold glass of water and the sounds of children and birds in this perfect temperature by myself surrounded by people speaking French, Swahili, Kinyrwanda and English. This is so unbelievable. So surreal. I could cry but I am not alone enough.

Saying No

A couple of miscellaneous thoughts, events. When we were in the car yesterday, Brandon jokingly said, “No” to Cindy about something. It wasn’t a big deal but he refused to do something she had asked of him. Richard spoke, “In this country you don’t ever say no to your parents. Never. When you are asked to do something you do it without question. The only time you can say no is when you have a family of your own.” Another little scene. One of our group of Americans gave money to a poor person. We were driving off and she thought it would be okay since we wouldn’t be mobbed by others. Richard cautioned that it may have done more harm than good. “If you gave that person 5,000 francs and the others have nothing and they are hungry… Think of what you have done to that one now.” It’s so complex. It is right to help people individually but Richard is right. You could actually put someone in danger. On the other hand when you donate to an organization there is waste. Greed. Resources may be used for useless, unrealistic projects. Salaries of workers, advertisements, phone banks. It’s hard to know the right thing to do.

Poverty

Poverty in Rwanda seems different that the US. Poverty in America is something beyond lack of material possessions. There seems to be a feeling of hopelessness of oppression. Helplessness. I do not sense that in Rwanda. Mostly, even among the poorest, I see happiness. Not that people wouldn’t want electricity, or running water or a more comfortable place to live. I’m sure they do. But they seem grateful for what they do have. They work hard for everything – even their water – even the wood they use to boil their water and to cook. Here if you give the equivalent of a dollar to a poor woman she looks you in the eye and blesses you from her soul to yours. Of course there is evil here. But there is also hope, humility, gratitude, self-reliance that do not seem so present in the US. Hard work is expected here. People do not complain. Right now a man is washing the tiles on this veranda. They look like the tiles on our kitchen floor. He is washing this very large floor on his hands and knees. Soapy water from a bucket. A rag. He stands, works the kinks out of his back and then gets back to work. Every single tile washed by hand on his hands and knees.

Back From Akagera 2

Here are some more of the sights and sounds from our trip to Akagera and back to Kigali. In many ways these long journies through the country have been as important as the destinations. Seeing the wild animals at Virunga and Akagera was fun but seeing thousands of people do what they do daily was essential to understanding this beautiful country.

A little one with a lacrosse club tee shirt down to his knees. Walking, walking, walking. Washing clothes in a bucket, washing children from a bucket. A mother goat tied dangerously close to the side of the road nursing its kid. A lovely young Rwandan mother, breast feeding her new baby, sitting in a tiny flower garden near her mud home. Carrying, carrying, carrying. Boys on bicycles coasting down steep hills, walking up.

Longing

Friday, July 16, 2007 6:30 AM

It’s hard to believe that we have been apart for two weeks. That can’t happen ever again. My longing to be with you has come in waves. Now that I’ll only be Rwanda for another thirty-six hours it is rushing back over me. Knowing that I’ll be getting on a plane tomorrow night heading home to you brings such feelings of relief and joy. Loss too. I can’t explain it but being here with these people in this place… My eyes have been opened. I think – I hope that when I return home I’ll be different. Better. If you can ever manage to read this far I hope that you understand that I have changed. Grown. Not that I will have grown past you in any way. You have always been the kindest, most generous person I have ever known. My hope is that I will be more like you. My hope is that I will be more grateful every day for the many rich blessings in my life. That I will be worthy of the goodness – the God all around me. Most of all worthy of you.

People

One of the best parts of this trip for me has been seeing how people in this very different part of the world live. On the paved road from Musanze to Akagera we traveled about 80 kilometers per hour. People walk constantly on both sides of the road REALLY close to traffic. Even toddlers are on the highway, little kids, all ages, all day. Walking, walking, walking. They are carrying stuff or going to get something to carry. There are school kids in uniforms, older people carrying bundles. You wouldn’t believe how much time and effort go into getting water. Women carrying big jugs of water in their heads, kids with water jugs strapped to their bikes, little ones struggling with water containers which seem almost as big as they are. Usually water is carried in large (about 5 gallon) yellow plastic jugs. Richard said that these may have come from refugee camps or are reused after buying large amounts of cooking oil. One way to make life a lot easier for a lot of people would be to help them to get access to clean water. When they get it to their homes they must boil it using wood scavenged or bought or bartered for. Water. Such a simple luxury for us and so desperately complex and challenging for Rwandans. Sometimes they pump water from a communal well. Sometimes villages have a communal spigot they share. There is a lot of cool social time around the wells. As we were driving to Akagera Richard said during the genocide that this part of the country was under the protection of the RPF and so many people tried to get here. Refugees flooded this part of the country. It’s amazing how different this area of the country is from the volcanoes and gorillas to the north and east. There it was wet and tropical. As we drove over here it became much drier, far different from the tropical rain forest of the gorillas. From mountain gorillas to baboons, from air so damp that it made my shirt cling to my back to air so dry and dusty that it stung my throat and made my nose bleed. There are many more cows in this area. Dangerous looking horns, much thinner than American cows. Still there are people working the land relentlessly with hoes. Tall banana trees everywhere. Little kids standing by the highway selling bags of limes, eggs, avocados. Lots of people carrying firewood in bundles on their heads, much of it tied with the stem of a fibrous plant. Wood for cooking maize, corn potatoes, African tea, coffee. Occasionally you see “a police” or somebody from the military wearing a beret and carrying an AK47 or a shotgun. After two weeks being here that still freaks me out a little. Not as much as it did when we first arrived. Bob Marley on the car stereo. Most people who have a music system still listen to tapes here. Richard loves reggae (“Don’t worry, every little thing is gonna be all right!”). He sings along loudly, off key, but with gusto. Women strolling along carrying large colorful umbrellas in the bright sunshine. Boys riding or pushing bikes with huge sacks of produce (potatoes, beans, carrots) or large bundles of green bananas. Most people wear sandals or go bare footed. Two old men, white hair, one with a staff and a battered old fedora hat, both wearing tattered suits walking up the mountain holding hands. They are each other’s best friends. You can see that. Imagine all that they have been through together. Tiny little mud brick or just mud houses with dirt floors. Yet, often you see a colorful little flower garden. The poor may understand beauty even more than the rich. And there IS beauty here. An old woman, bent, leaning on her staff. A young man driving a motorcycle with an old man on the back (his father?) and a baby in his lap (his son?). Sunlight through banana leaves, dirty yellow water jugs, windowless huts, multi-colored scarves, sweat-stained shirts, people smiling – laughing – talking – teasing – primping – posing at the village pump. “Kirkwood High School Tennis Club” t-shirt on a radiant shining faced teenage girl. She’s riding on the back of a bike pedaled by a handsome boy of about the same age. They are laughing. White teeth. Joy. They aren’t wearing shoes but they are wearing happiness. Beautiful intricate braids, ebony skin. A day of dust. Freshly made mud bricks drying in rows and columns in the hot afternoon sun. Clothes drying on bushes. A primary school girl wearing her sweater on her head, dancing and clapping to her own inner music. Makeshift wheelbarrows made from found wood and a tire and axle. Nothing is thrown away if it can be used again. A group of women threshing grain in the slow breeze with baskets, large and round-patterned. They have made these baskets themselves with grasses they have picked. They thresh the grain they have grown to feed their hungry families in homes they have made themselves from materials they have fashioned from the very earth around them. A man planing wooden planks by hand from a tree he has cut and sawed into boards. It’s 12:15 and I can barely keep my eyes open. Before I sleep I will hold you in my heart. I hope I dream of you. I love you.

Writing to You

Sunrise in Akagera

It’s funny. I don’t think I’ve ever NOT read so much for two weeks. I did read the local paper a couple of times as well as the booklets from the Memorial, but nothing in a book. Instead, for these two weeks, writing has taken up that space for me. I couldn’t write much yesterday (except for the little red notebook) and I missed it. Mostly, because it is a way for me to communicate with you, Heidi. I don’t know if you’ll ever get this far in this little composition notebook, but if you do I want you to know that when I sit down to write this, it is as if I am speaking to you. All these late evenings and very early mornings while you were half a world away – warm in the comfort of our boys and our lovely spot on earth – I have been with you through this trip and this little notebook. If you get this far, know that I have been looking into your beautiful eyes in these pictures I have with me and I have never loved you harder, held you closer to my heart. It took a lot of trust and love for you to free up our resources. It’s been tough in a lot of ways but a learning and growing experience like no other. I am forever grateful. I can’t tell you how much I love you.

Akagera

The trip to Akagera was great, although it had its ups and downs. After not sleeping for more than an hour last night, it was a little hard to take the jolting 4-5 hours in the car to the park. Then we had about a two and half hour trip back to the hotel. The animals, (video - Akagera, Rwanda) the countryside, the sites we passed along the way were all awesome. I don’t even know the names of all the different creatures we saw. There were many small insects (including some wicked biting flies which plagued us for a few hours of the drive). It was really hot and extremely dry. So there was red dust in the air constantly as we were following the other car and they kicked up clouds.

Here are a few highlights from the park. After driving for about twenty minutes inside the park we saw some impala, big deer with long sharp horns. They were the exact color of the brush so I did not really see them until we were pretty close. We saw some tiny gazelles called reedy bucks (sp?). The dust was not so bad while we were in the brush. It struck me how very different the eastern part of the country is from the area where we saw the gorillas in the west. Even though Rwanda is small, the geography is extremely different from one side to the other. From gorillas and cool rain forest to the hot savanna with giraffes and elephants and hippos.

We saw two different kinds of eagles. One was quite like our bald eagle except its breast and shoulders were white. There was another kind of eagle we saw sort of posing on a log, tearing into some small animal it had caught which our guide kept calling WRONG CRESTED EAGLE. After probably too much consideration (remember I really didn’t sleep last night) I figured it was a LONG CRESTED EAGLE. Both were large beautiful birds.

Then we saw a bunch of zebras. We spotted them from very far away at first. Like the gorillas in Virunga, I thought we would not be able to get near them. We edged closer and closer in the cars until we were within forty feet. There were eight of them. So beautiful against the tawny colored grasses behind. We took lots of pictures. Shabani and Callixte (the drivers) really enjoyed this as well. Neither they nor Richard had ever been to this part of the country before.

There were many termite mounds the color of red brick and just as hard. Some were low and wide like giant fire ant mounds, Some were over five feet tall and almost cylindrical with rounded tops. Some were shaped exactly like tall cones.

We had some VERY close encounters with baboons. These were a little spooky. They are fearless, agile and, we were told, incredibly strong for their size. They approached the car and came quite close when we had gotten out.

We were also able to get very close to a male giraffe. We kept a reasonable distance and it was very willing to let us hang out with it for a while. We saw different kinds of antelopes, egrets and other water birds I couldn’t identify. There were some round birds that looked like guinea hens and many hippos in the water where we stopped in our quest to find elephants.

While it was a great adventure, the dust and dry heat made it a little uncomfortable. Because we were in the trailing car, the dust coated us. It was too hot to keep the windows closed and when they were open, we were driving in a red cloud. We spent about three and a half hours driving out to see elephants and they had already gone off into the bush.

This was a once in a lifetime trip, so I’m glad we went, although if/when I return to Rwanda, I might pass on this. The lodge in Akagera was very nice. There was no hot water in the room. When I asked Richard if he had hot water in his apartment he just laughed. “No one in Rwanda has hot water. The vast majority must carry their water in jugs unless they live in Kigali.” Another lesson in how much I take for granted.

The Women's Guild

As we were leaving the Women’s guild leaders this morning (Peace, Agness, Peggy, Blandine, Claudine) they were so very proud of their beadwork and seemed extremely appreciative of our help to get themstarted on what may become a profitable enterprise. This was all Nancy’s genius. They blessed us over and over. They insisted that we have a prayer circle before we left yesterday and they prayed for our safe passage, blessings for our families, for our future happiness, that we might return to Rwanda one day, etc. I did feel blessed – and I DO feel blessed.

I was waiting for Joy to stop by the guest house to sign the permission form (for me to use the children’s photographs from Sonrise). I told the women in the Guild that I had to hurry back to the guest house, that Joy said that she would be there in ten minutes. “You don’t understand Rwanda time yet do you?” asked on of the women (Blandine?).

“What do you mean?”

“If Joy said 10 minutes it will be 30 minutes… at least. If she said 30 minutes it will be at least an hour. That’s the way it is in Rwanda.”

Callixte

Callixte in the Genocide Memorial in Kigali

Our driver, Callixte (cal eest) is a sweet, quiet man. He doesn’t speak English so communication is ultra simple and accompanied by simple, universal sign language. I think he would just as soon stay quiet and let us chatter on without trying to understand us. We bought him dinner and tipped him very well when he left us to go home today. Tall, dark skin, shaved head, long fingers, big smile. He brought no bags along on our trip to Musanze. Just the clothes he had on. This morning when I got up at the guest house his clothes were drying on the hood of the car. He must have washed them out in his room last night. He ate with us nearly every meal and we made sure that he had water and snacks on the road. He has never asked a thing of us. Not a bathroom break, not food, not water, nothing. He smiles and nods and never says a word. He spent three nights away from his home with us. Three nights away from his home and his babies. He’s been with us for three days and I don’t even know what his voice sounds like.

But when we sit down to eat, all of us chattering away like monkeys, he bows his head and folds his hands and prays inside his head. Unashamed and unselfconscious. For minutes at a time. Then he looks up as if coming out of a trance. And smiles! We can learn so much from Rwanda.

Extremes

The view from the veranda at The Serena Hotel

So we come back to this four star hotel. Swimming pool, cable TV, WiFi, etc. And it seems wrong somehow. I’m looking into the hills at unbelievably poor, simple, poor homes from my air-conditioned room. In a little while I’ll eat the best food in the country. They will eat what they have grown or what they could buy with what little money they could make from a tiny shop or selling something in the street. This is a country of such paradoxes, such extreme opposites. The few rich. The many poor. But they all look out at the same beautiful sunset. They all enjoy this lovely breeze. There is such a peaceful feeling here. It’s difficult to imagine that just thirteen years ago this country was torn apart. Rwanda

Farewell to Sonrise

Another full day so far. We got up and intended to leave around 11:00 for Kigali but ended up going back to Sonrise one last time. I bought a large skin drum for the church. The one they had was very worn out. The money I spent for the drum went to the Mother’s Guild. We stopped on the way and Cindy bought a pretty nice stereo for the school as well. Midori and Portia bought another drum so we took them up to the school. I was thinking we were just going to drop them off. Joy, the business manager, asked us to come in to the school to “receive thanks”. It was break time so the kids lined up and listened while the principal extolled our virtues. It was a little uncomfortable but we did have more informal time with the kids. That feels amazing. Everyone wants to make contact. Shaking hands, hugs, fists, high fives. We helped them set up the stereo in the dining hall and listened to “Love Can Build A Bridge”. It was nice to know that we left something that they will use and appreciate and enjoy. We also left them a bunch of money just for their general needs. Joy was warm and very appreciative and I’m sure she will see to it that the money is spent wisely and well.

I saw little Sophia again. We sort of sought each other out. She blessed me and wished me safe travels. She blessed you and our boys and said that she would pray for me “in Jesus’ name”. I have her name and student number and I would like to write to her when I get back. She introduced me to lots of her classmates and her best friend, Sonia. They were so sweet together. They held hands when we were chatting and their arms were around each other’s waists when they walked away. I shall always remember them just that way. Holding hands is a common and lovely sight here. Everyone holds hands (man-man, woman-woman, and especially children). Brandon got a picture of two soldiers walking down the street, large guns slung over their shoulders, holding hands.

Sophia/Hope

I connected with some beautiful children at Sonrise. One little girl named Sophia touched me deeply. I’m not sure if she has a sponsor or not. She may have a group sponsorship. I think sponsoring one of these beautiful children would be an important part of our tithing. She sat near me in church on Sunday and came up to me yesterday and today and began a conversation. She didn’t ask me to sponsor her. I’m sure they are told not to ask, but there is a real sense of self-worth associated with personal sponsors. I asked Sophia to sign my little notebook so I could remember her name. She passed it around and many children signed. She asked before we left if she could have my pen (again, I’m sure they are told not to ask). I said “sure” and she slipped it out of sight in a second. These children at Sonrise represent the hope of this country. Three languages by the time they leave, among the highest test scores in the country, computer knowledge, etc. When we were walking up to the chapel from the school there were about twenty workers making gravel from large rocks. With hammers. Their arms swung methodically and tiny chips flew from the big rocks. It was to create a gravel road bed. Making little rocks from big rocks. No glasses, gloves or masks. Just swinging a heavy sledge all day long. That is so Rwanda. Sophia was walking by my side. She insisted on carrying my guitar. It was big for her. It banged heavily against her little legs. “That looks like really hard work,” I said as we walked from the school to the sanctuary where Cindy and I planned to do our singing and dancing with the kids. “That is why I am going to school,” she said. “So I don’t have to do that kind of work.” The big rocks had been dumped by the entrance to the school. It was perhaps a kilometer away. Uphill. Women were carrying the big rocks on pads their heads up the hill to where the men were breaking them. Rwanda. The eyes of Sophia shined. She held her head up high as she lugged my guitar case. This little girl will make a difference in Rwanda. So will the others at Sonrise.

Downtown

Brandon and I walked around in the downtown area of this little town. It was bustling. I took a bunch of pictures to remember the feeling. Lots of people are OK with you taking their picture. I always ask permission if it’s a portrait. School kids enjoy it if you show them what their image looks like in the camera viewer. This little town (near Sonrise and the Cathedral) seems pretty typical. Tiny shops. Busy people walking carrying stuff on their heads from boards for construction projects to reeds to water containers. Many people riding bikes. Some vehicles. The trucks and cars are mostly old but nothing is ever broken beyond repair here. We went to an open air market where they sold everything from vegetables and fruits to clothes and small appliances.

The Old Woman at Sonrise

Getting together with the children at Sonrise.

At 4:00 we went back to Sonrise. As soon as we got there we divided up into groups again and began working and playing with the kids. Cindy and I worked/played with the same group of kids as yesterday. We did some of the same praise and worship songs and dances with great participation. You wouldn’t believe the harmonies and, again, how quickly they learned the songs. They sang “Love Can Build a Bridge” and did the sign language to the chorus flawlessly. They sang it while we were saying good bye about 45 minutes later. Cindy left them a CD of many of the songs we sang and danced to together. A few children came up and gushed about what great songs these are. “These are the best songs we ever knew in English,” one said to me. These seem like little seeds we left behind. It was hard to say good bye. We connected so easily. They seemed so happy that we came. Some of that music will live on here. It will probably grow and change over time like a humpback whale song. But I think it will live on. Whenever we sing any of these songs at church I will remember this time in Rwanda. Her hug was beautiful, a reminder of why we had come to Rwanda. As we were leaving the chapel a very old woman was sort of wandering around inside. She was talking to herself. I thought she was praying. One of the teachers told me (loud enough for the old woman to hear) that she was crazy and that sometimes she came in and wouldn’t leave the church. She came up to me after the children had gone back to their school and we were packing up. She spoke to me in Kinyrwanda. The adults from the school said that she doesn’t make any sense. The teachers seemed nervous, as if she might be offending me or putting me off. They wanted her out so they could lock up. I stuck out my hand for a handshake and she looked surprised. She hesitated but then she took my hand warmly. I gave the kind of handshake that signals respect. She immediately fell into an embrace with me. She was so incredibly thin, Heidi. She hadn’t bathed in a long time. She seemed so fragile, almost brittle. She hugged me fiercely. I asked the people from the school, who were clearly uncomfortable, if I could give her some money. They reluctantly said it would be all right. I gave her 5,000 francs (about $9.00). It felt like the best money I ever spent. I sort of put my arm around her waist and we walked out together. I was another of those special moments that I will always treasure. It was God.

Nancy's Jewelry

Nancy Strachan and Cindy Charles with our

new friends in the

gazebo at the Bishop's house.

Nancy’s jewelry idea worked out wonderfully. She brought suitcases full of beads and jewelry making supplies with her. Today we met with six women to show them the craft and leave the beads with them. We all had a blast! Cindy videotaped all of the instructions for putting on the ends and fasteners, how to bend the wire, how to measure and cut, etc. and left the tape with them. These were women from the church including a woman named Beatrice (The Bishops secretary /assistant). The women sang songs and laughed and teased and were so gracious to us.

After a little while of getting comfortable with the materials, one of the women began to sing. Within seconds all were singing beautifully. It was a lovely feeling to be in the gazebo on this pretty day, making jewelry and knowing that this is a project that could spin out and help many people. It was an easy and friendly time. And the singing and fellowship made Rwanda feel more like visiting the home of close friends.

While I’m here my mind never strays too far from the genocide but during that time my thoughts of death were suspended. These women were happy and grateful and leaving these materials and information behind seems like the kind of idea that will make a difference.

We didn’t get the chance to go to the bush hospital as we had planned because of Immaculee’s schedule changes. But by chance we met this American Doctor who has devoted his life to the healthcare of Rwandans. He and his wife have four kids and run a very earthy and simple medical facility not far from here. It’s called Shyira Hospital. [Shyira is the town where one of the “practice genocides” occurred. This area of the country was one of the worst outside of the city (Kigali) for violence during the genocide.] We did end up donating a bunch of money and stuffed toys for children and clothes. It was a happy coincidence that we ran into the Doctor.

My Prayers

Monday 7/9/07 7:00 AM I woke up early. About 5:00. The birds here are really loud at this time. Mainly these huge white-breasted crows and plenty of roosters. The last two evenings Cindy and Brandon and I have hung out while the others went to bed pretty early. We debriefed about the day, the trip, the people we are traveling with. We talk music, politics, religion – all of the things you are not supposed to talk about with new friends. I woke up this morning to my little morning prayers. When I have said, “Bless those less fortunate than us,” in the past it was sort of rote. Not that it wasn’t sincere, it was. But I didn’t really know what I was talking about. Now I see a little Rwandan girl wearing a tattered dress and nothing else, standing in the cold mud while her mother toils away hoeing a vast field with a baby on her back. When I, “Bless those who are victims of violence and oppression,” now I think of an old insane woman who stayed at Mother Teresa’s orphanage with only one arm, or a man at the market with machete scars across his head, or Richard’s parents and sisters who died in a church or his brother who was murdered in front of him and him feeling helpless to do anything. Before I prayed for pictures on TV or in the newspaper or stories like Immaculee’s or The Bishop’s. Now I pray for Rwanda. My prayers of gratitude are also stronger – better informed. Now when I get in my car to drive to work or to the store I will think of those lucky people here who have bikes to carry their heavy crops and wares. And those who must walk great differences every day to carry enough water on their heads to wash and cook. When I go to the grocery store and spend hundreds of dollars on food I will think of those whose food comes from the earth they till and of the hours of hard physical labor it takes to get the potatoes and beans they eat every day and are so grateful for. When I wake up to you each morning and smell your hair and touch your skin I will think of those who lost everyone they loved and had the strength and will to survive, go on with life and, especially those who can forgive. When I pray I will ask that the world may be more like Rwanda. It’s 1:30 in the morning where you are. I woke up two hours and twenty minutes ago. Again, I can see you and the boys in your beds dreaming peacefully with full bellies, comfortable and warm. I miss you more than I can put into words. My prayers of gratitude are for you.

Being White and Being Different

Being here and being white makes me ultra aware of being different. We have pretty much stayed together wherever we have gone. Portia is an African American but she looks different especially with her dreads. Most of the expressions are curious. Some, as when we were in the city center in Kigali, are not kind. I understand. We are so privileged. Most here are so poor. We have taken many pictures. That also makes us stand out. I try to be as unobtrusive as possible when the signs tell me. We are a group of pinkies in a sea of black.

At sunrise and at church being so different doesn’t have a negative feel but when we are out the stares feel mixed. Some kind, some curious, some menacing. This has helped me to empathize with minorities in majority situations. I want to remember this feeling.