The Woman at Kibeho

The shy woman at Kibeho

I left that sacred space with an intense feeling of love and God in my chest. As I walked down the narrow hall I saw a woman. She was ironing the old fashioned way, alternating two irons heating over coals. She was ironing priest’s clothes – the kinds of things they wear in church. When she looked up at me she smiled a shy smile. There was another one of those moments of contact I’ve had here that sort of thrill me – warm me – reach the deepest place in me. She reached out her hand in the kind of traditional handshake. It is a show of respect. She held out her right hand and clasped her right forearm with her left hand. We held hands longer than people usually do, maybe thirty seconds. When we let go our hands slid apart slowly, our fingertips lingering. It’s hard to describe what happened. When I read over what I have written it seems feeble. We sort of thanked each other in our own languages and I slipped outside. I wanted to get her picture but I was too shy to ask her. As I went outside and spoke with the others, I saw her peeking around the corner. We were all holding cameras. I think she wanted me to take her photograph. I walked over to her and motioned the question. She stood erect, smoothed out her blouse and ran her fingers back through her shining black hair. She smiled faintly. I don’t remember ever looking into the eyes of a more beautiful woman. There was a connection there I will never be able to explain. We did not understand each other’s spoken language at all. But there was something deeper. Maybe it is because it is such a spiritual place or because of Immaculee and her spirit. The air was holy. The rocks on the ground, the black and white birds and the simple building. The sounds of school kids and the cawing of crows and the hoeing of the fields nearby with the constant chunk, chunk, chunk of steel in earth. It was all holy and somehow filled with God’s presence.