I finally have some pictures from the trip... check them out at:
Initial detour:
Holland & Belgium
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Last days, final thoughts
I’m writing this on the airplane, as I complete my journey home. The last part of my trip has been an eye opening experience. Each night I meant to post the day’s events on my blog, but just never got around to it…
On Saturday we visited Prisca and her family. Before 1994, Prisca led a comfortable life in the city. But after her husband was killed in the genocide, Prisca was barely able to take care of her family. Not only was she illiterate and thus unable to find a job, but being gang raped in front of her children along with the death of her husband had left her with deep emotional wounds, physical disabilities, and HIV. Several years after the genocide, Prisca walked her five children down to the lake, told them to stay put, and wandered off with some rope to try to find a place to hang herself. Along the way, she came across a World Vision staff member. They began talking and for the first time, Prisca felt hope for the future. Since then, World Vision has helped her family by building them a home, providing them food as needed, and trying to help Prisca find income generating activities that are possible with her disabilities.
Prisca’s family was our “day in the life” family. A few people in the group stayed behind to cook lunch. Others went to collect firewood. I went to fetch water with two of Prisca’s children. We marched off from the house a bunch of naïve Westerners, excited for the cultural experience… we didn’t know how much we were going to be changed. In their community, the water is turned on only twice per week. A few neighbours have running water and collect is in reservoirs when it is turned on. These neighbours then sell the water to the rest of the community. So, we went to the first neighbour. No water. The second neighbour. No water. The third. None. By this time, we had turned into quite a large group of people with empty water buckets growing more desperate by the minute. Keep in mind that there was a language barrier, so the Canadians were very confused by what was happening. Fortunately, a teenager with great English skills joined our group and we were caught up on the situation. There is often no water. Most of the time, Prisca’s family just goes to the swamp for water, which is two kilometres each way, three times per day.
After an hour and a half of searching, we finally found water. We were jubilant as we watched the jerry cans fill up. That was short lived. We then had to carry the jugs home. They were so heavy! We tried carrying them on our heads; after about a minute, we felt as though our heads and necks would explode. It took us about 45 minutes to drag the water back. When we finally got back to the house, we were exhausted. I can’t believe that the children do this three times everyday. In fact, we found out afterwards that water is sometimes one of the reasons that children can’t go to school… spending two to three hours fetching water thrice daily hardly leaves enough time for education. We all swore that we would never take running water for granted again. So, friends and family, please hold me to it!
The World Vision staff had Sunday off, so we spent a relaxing day at a local lake (bottled water in tow). That night we went out for dinner and ran into some young street children. Peter must be only seven or eight, and his brother couldn’t have been that much older. We asked where their parents were, and the only reply we got was their eyes glazing over in both fear and sadness. They weren’t allowed in the restaurant, but we ordered them some food. We intended to bring it out to them ourselves, but the waitress misunderstood and brought it out to them. So, we never saw them again. When we exited the restaurant, we noticed sidewalk chalk drawings where the boys had been waiting. As we examined their artwork, it began to sink in with me that these were just children. I feel like we failed them. I think Peter might always haunt me.
On Monday morning, I went to visit Aline’s family (Michael and Sarah’s sponsor child). Living in a mud shack with almost no fertile land, they are one of the poorest families we visited. Aline (6) is a quite and sweet girl. She has a mother, a father, a sister (7), and a brother (1). I recorded all of their names in my notebook, but my luggage is currently in a police station in Paris (long story), so I will have to update this later. Aline seems healthy enough, but her sister looked withdrawn and her brother looked ill. I inquired about their health, and the sister is going deaf. In Canada, this is a disability which can be overcome; in Africa it seems like a death sentence. She is already having trouble following along in school. If she can’t continue, what will become of her? The brother’s eyes were glazed over, and his belly is swollen. After I got back to the World Vision office, I asked Cascius to follow up on them. One thing I’m beginning to realize here is that you can’t save everyone, but you must save those you know about. So, we must make sure the little boy is taken care of, and that the little girl has every opportunity to live her life to the fullest.
Later that day we went to the jobsite. One of our team mates – Cathy – was always on the lookout for different ways to help. There were often many children at the site, so this day she wanted to make sure they got some juice and a healthy snack. We had the children line up, and some mothers carrying their babies also joined in. As I handed a juice bottle to one woman, I noticed the baby on her back wasn’t moving, and his eyes were rolled into the back of his head. For a moment, I thought her baby had died and she hadn’t yet noticed. Fortunately, the child moved (barely), giving me a small sign of life. I asked one of the World Vision staff members to find out what was happening.
The baby had been sick for two weeks. The father is in prison, and the mother is having a hard time supporting her three small children. The national health insurance program is $2 per year, which is unaffordable for the family. That day, we were able to help. We arranged for the family to be registered, and took the mother and baby to the hospital. But there are so many we didn’t help. I hate that a child almost died for a lack of $2… and I can’t accept that many actually do die. In Rwanda, the infant mortality rate is one in five.
The next day we saw the mother at the site, and were surprised to see that she had the baby with her. I couldn’t believe the difference. We were never able to figure out exactly what was wrong with him, but he was a far cry from the limp figure we had seen just the day before.
Tuesday was our last day and we had a celebration with the World Vision staff in the afternoon. We were entertained by a group of dancers and singers, who we found out afterwards were a peer education group who teach others about HIV prevention, testing, and stigmatisation.
It was hard to say goodbye to Rwanda and the friends we had made. We all left saying that we would come back. Whether we said this because it made the farewells easier or whether it is actually the case is yet to be determined. The people of Rwanda are magnetic. To leave without any intention of returning would have been impossible.
On Saturday we visited Prisca and her family. Before 1994, Prisca led a comfortable life in the city. But after her husband was killed in the genocide, Prisca was barely able to take care of her family. Not only was she illiterate and thus unable to find a job, but being gang raped in front of her children along with the death of her husband had left her with deep emotional wounds, physical disabilities, and HIV. Several years after the genocide, Prisca walked her five children down to the lake, told them to stay put, and wandered off with some rope to try to find a place to hang herself. Along the way, she came across a World Vision staff member. They began talking and for the first time, Prisca felt hope for the future. Since then, World Vision has helped her family by building them a home, providing them food as needed, and trying to help Prisca find income generating activities that are possible with her disabilities.
Prisca’s family was our “day in the life” family. A few people in the group stayed behind to cook lunch. Others went to collect firewood. I went to fetch water with two of Prisca’s children. We marched off from the house a bunch of naïve Westerners, excited for the cultural experience… we didn’t know how much we were going to be changed. In their community, the water is turned on only twice per week. A few neighbours have running water and collect is in reservoirs when it is turned on. These neighbours then sell the water to the rest of the community. So, we went to the first neighbour. No water. The second neighbour. No water. The third. None. By this time, we had turned into quite a large group of people with empty water buckets growing more desperate by the minute. Keep in mind that there was a language barrier, so the Canadians were very confused by what was happening. Fortunately, a teenager with great English skills joined our group and we were caught up on the situation. There is often no water. Most of the time, Prisca’s family just goes to the swamp for water, which is two kilometres each way, three times per day.
After an hour and a half of searching, we finally found water. We were jubilant as we watched the jerry cans fill up. That was short lived. We then had to carry the jugs home. They were so heavy! We tried carrying them on our heads; after about a minute, we felt as though our heads and necks would explode. It took us about 45 minutes to drag the water back. When we finally got back to the house, we were exhausted. I can’t believe that the children do this three times everyday. In fact, we found out afterwards that water is sometimes one of the reasons that children can’t go to school… spending two to three hours fetching water thrice daily hardly leaves enough time for education. We all swore that we would never take running water for granted again. So, friends and family, please hold me to it!
The World Vision staff had Sunday off, so we spent a relaxing day at a local lake (bottled water in tow). That night we went out for dinner and ran into some young street children. Peter must be only seven or eight, and his brother couldn’t have been that much older. We asked where their parents were, and the only reply we got was their eyes glazing over in both fear and sadness. They weren’t allowed in the restaurant, but we ordered them some food. We intended to bring it out to them ourselves, but the waitress misunderstood and brought it out to them. So, we never saw them again. When we exited the restaurant, we noticed sidewalk chalk drawings where the boys had been waiting. As we examined their artwork, it began to sink in with me that these were just children. I feel like we failed them. I think Peter might always haunt me.
On Monday morning, I went to visit Aline’s family (Michael and Sarah’s sponsor child). Living in a mud shack with almost no fertile land, they are one of the poorest families we visited. Aline (6) is a quite and sweet girl. She has a mother, a father, a sister (7), and a brother (1). I recorded all of their names in my notebook, but my luggage is currently in a police station in Paris (long story), so I will have to update this later. Aline seems healthy enough, but her sister looked withdrawn and her brother looked ill. I inquired about their health, and the sister is going deaf. In Canada, this is a disability which can be overcome; in Africa it seems like a death sentence. She is already having trouble following along in school. If she can’t continue, what will become of her? The brother’s eyes were glazed over, and his belly is swollen. After I got back to the World Vision office, I asked Cascius to follow up on them. One thing I’m beginning to realize here is that you can’t save everyone, but you must save those you know about. So, we must make sure the little boy is taken care of, and that the little girl has every opportunity to live her life to the fullest.
Later that day we went to the jobsite. One of our team mates – Cathy – was always on the lookout for different ways to help. There were often many children at the site, so this day she wanted to make sure they got some juice and a healthy snack. We had the children line up, and some mothers carrying their babies also joined in. As I handed a juice bottle to one woman, I noticed the baby on her back wasn’t moving, and his eyes were rolled into the back of his head. For a moment, I thought her baby had died and she hadn’t yet noticed. Fortunately, the child moved (barely), giving me a small sign of life. I asked one of the World Vision staff members to find out what was happening.
The baby had been sick for two weeks. The father is in prison, and the mother is having a hard time supporting her three small children. The national health insurance program is $2 per year, which is unaffordable for the family. That day, we were able to help. We arranged for the family to be registered, and took the mother and baby to the hospital. But there are so many we didn’t help. I hate that a child almost died for a lack of $2… and I can’t accept that many actually do die. In Rwanda, the infant mortality rate is one in five.
The next day we saw the mother at the site, and were surprised to see that she had the baby with her. I couldn’t believe the difference. We were never able to figure out exactly what was wrong with him, but he was a far cry from the limp figure we had seen just the day before.
Tuesday was our last day and we had a celebration with the World Vision staff in the afternoon. We were entertained by a group of dancers and singers, who we found out afterwards were a peer education group who teach others about HIV prevention, testing, and stigmatisation.
It was hard to say goodbye to Rwanda and the friends we had made. We all left saying that we would come back. Whether we said this because it made the farewells easier or whether it is actually the case is yet to be determined. The people of Rwanda are magnetic. To leave without any intention of returning would have been impossible.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Building Capasenga's house
If any of you have been emailing me, sorry for not responding. Although the Internet is now available in Kigali, my email server at home has apparently “experienced a catastrophic failure”. It should be up and running soon, but it may have lost the last bunch of emails sent to me.
On Wednesday, we began working on the house we are building. In the morning, we met with Capasenga (16), Aline (15), and Elfancine (13). Their father was killed in the genocide, and their mother died in 2003. The girls have been on their own ever since. They were evicted from their home (basically a mud hut with no running water) two years ago because they couldn’t pay the rent. A nearby landowner offered them a temporary home on his land: a 10x10 mud hut with no kitchen area or latrine. The home is not secure and has been broken into several times. Earlier this year, World Vision gave the family a mattress, some chickens, and school uniforms for the two youngest… they all were stolen shortly after. Who would do such a thing? They have been taken advantage of in other ways too. Desperate for food, the girls hauled heavy bricks at construction sites for just 10 cents a day. Now the younger girls go to school, while Capasenga walks to Kigali to sell firewood. For us, the drive is about 45 minutes, so I can’t imagine how long it must take her to walk.
But, life is beginning to finally turn around for these girls! In two or three months, they will have a three-room cement home, complete with a kitchen area and latrine. The two youngest with be continuing with school. And Capasenga will be quitting the firewood business to become a sewing/ seamstress apprentice. One of our team members is buying her a sewing machine, which will literally change her life.
Homebuilding is crazy here!!! The foundation is made up of stones of all sizes. Bricks are made onsite, using the land available. The men (paid workers) begin by chipping away at the dirt in the centre of the yard with a hoe. Once the land is broken, they add water to make mud. They then add straw to hold the bricks together. Then, we beginning rolling the balls of mud, and throwing them down the assembly line, to the men working at the brick forms. We have neighbourhood children coming by and upon seeing what we are doing, they climb into the mud pit and begin to help themselves. Mostly the kids make the mud balls. Sounds easy, but I can tell you that it isn’t! You have to remember that the consistency is made so the mud sticks to itself. Hard work!
At the job site, I was playing with a baby that had come on the back of his sister, and a man (the father, I assumed) asked me if I liked the baby. When I said yes, he tried to convince me to take the baby back home to Canada so he could grow to be “nice and fat”.
As we worked, someone asked Capasenga to sign a song. She and six of her friends climbed into the mud pit and began to dance and since a song which welcomes Canada and “ muzungues” (white people) who have come to help them. Many of the people who knew the family before commented on how they seemed happier than ever before.
On Thursday, Nyamata (the town we are working in) had Gacaca, so we weren’t allowed into the village. The court system was overburdened dealing with genocide criminals, so they decided to implement an ancient community tribunal called Gacaca. The entire community must show up, and criminals within the community are brought forward to plead their case. The community then decides whether they will accept the criminal back, or sent him back to jail.
So, we used the day to go for a hike of Mont Kigali. Some of the more breathtaking views you have ever seen, but it was a brutal hike! I’m still sore!
Today we did more building. The market was supposed to be open today, and I still had to get Assumpta and Jean D’Amore their goats from their sponsor family. Well, there were no goats at the market today! Fortunately, someone got the message to Assumpta’s family, but poor Jean D’Amore and his aunt walked for two hours to come pick up their goat. Instead, we invited them in for lunch, and then Jean D’Amore played soccer for about an hour with one of the guys in our group. Fortunately, we were able to give them a ride home as well. The goats should be delivered on Sunday, but I’m beginning to see that in Rwanda, things never happen when they are supposed to.
Well, there is more, by I am literally falling asleep as I write this. Bye for now!
On Wednesday, we began working on the house we are building. In the morning, we met with Capasenga (16), Aline (15), and Elfancine (13). Their father was killed in the genocide, and their mother died in 2003. The girls have been on their own ever since. They were evicted from their home (basically a mud hut with no running water) two years ago because they couldn’t pay the rent. A nearby landowner offered them a temporary home on his land: a 10x10 mud hut with no kitchen area or latrine. The home is not secure and has been broken into several times. Earlier this year, World Vision gave the family a mattress, some chickens, and school uniforms for the two youngest… they all were stolen shortly after. Who would do such a thing? They have been taken advantage of in other ways too. Desperate for food, the girls hauled heavy bricks at construction sites for just 10 cents a day. Now the younger girls go to school, while Capasenga walks to Kigali to sell firewood. For us, the drive is about 45 minutes, so I can’t imagine how long it must take her to walk.
But, life is beginning to finally turn around for these girls! In two or three months, they will have a three-room cement home, complete with a kitchen area and latrine. The two youngest with be continuing with school. And Capasenga will be quitting the firewood business to become a sewing/ seamstress apprentice. One of our team members is buying her a sewing machine, which will literally change her life.
Homebuilding is crazy here!!! The foundation is made up of stones of all sizes. Bricks are made onsite, using the land available. The men (paid workers) begin by chipping away at the dirt in the centre of the yard with a hoe. Once the land is broken, they add water to make mud. They then add straw to hold the bricks together. Then, we beginning rolling the balls of mud, and throwing them down the assembly line, to the men working at the brick forms. We have neighbourhood children coming by and upon seeing what we are doing, they climb into the mud pit and begin to help themselves. Mostly the kids make the mud balls. Sounds easy, but I can tell you that it isn’t! You have to remember that the consistency is made so the mud sticks to itself. Hard work!
At the job site, I was playing with a baby that had come on the back of his sister, and a man (the father, I assumed) asked me if I liked the baby. When I said yes, he tried to convince me to take the baby back home to Canada so he could grow to be “nice and fat”.
As we worked, someone asked Capasenga to sign a song. She and six of her friends climbed into the mud pit and began to dance and since a song which welcomes Canada and “ muzungues” (white people) who have come to help them. Many of the people who knew the family before commented on how they seemed happier than ever before.
On Thursday, Nyamata (the town we are working in) had Gacaca, so we weren’t allowed into the village. The court system was overburdened dealing with genocide criminals, so they decided to implement an ancient community tribunal called Gacaca. The entire community must show up, and criminals within the community are brought forward to plead their case. The community then decides whether they will accept the criminal back, or sent him back to jail.
So, we used the day to go for a hike of Mont Kigali. Some of the more breathtaking views you have ever seen, but it was a brutal hike! I’m still sore!
Today we did more building. The market was supposed to be open today, and I still had to get Assumpta and Jean D’Amore their goats from their sponsor family. Well, there were no goats at the market today! Fortunately, someone got the message to Assumpta’s family, but poor Jean D’Amore and his aunt walked for two hours to come pick up their goat. Instead, we invited them in for lunch, and then Jean D’Amore played soccer for about an hour with one of the guys in our group. Fortunately, we were able to give them a ride home as well. The goats should be delivered on Sunday, but I’m beginning to see that in Rwanda, things never happen when they are supposed to.
Well, there is more, by I am literally falling asleep as I write this. Bye for now!
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Today I drank unpasteurised milk in a remote village
The Health Centre
Today, we went to the Nyamata Health Education Centre. Women bring their malnourished children there to learn about nutrition. As we walked into the room, the women began to sing a song of welcome, inviting us to sit down.
Volunteers and community leaders are taught to identify malnourished children within the communities. The mothers are then told that they must enrol in a three-month, once-per-week nutrition education program which was designed by UNICEF and is supported by World Vision. Some women refuse, and the children are then taken by force.
The women must bring porridge to feed their children (who come with them) in the morning. They then spend time learning about health, nutrition, clean water, and hygiene. Then comes a cooking class, and which ends by eating the lesson for lunch. After long periods of malnutrition, the children cease to be hungry, so as they eat they are made to sit in a circle facing one another. Apparently watching another child eat increases their appetite.
After the end of the three-month program, the woman are expected to educate other women in their community about the signs of malnutrition and how to feed their children properly.
After the presentation, I asked if Rwanda still has children die of malnutrition. The answer is no. Although malnutrition is widespread, it never reaches that level of severity. If a child does die of malnutrition, the community leaders can be imprisoned, as the death of that child is considered to be on their shoulders.
The kids at the centre were so beautiful. They are in different stages of recovery, so some were still weak, but most were excited to have an audience. One little guy (I’d guess he’s about three) spent the entire time waving and smiling at us. When the woman sang us a farewell song, he and his friend danced along with a baby who looked like he was taking his first steps. So cute!
The Cooperative
We also visited Mama Sifa’s Cooperative Association. It is a cooperative of women (not all widows) who get together to weave baskets and care for cows. Mama Sifa’s house is next door to the Ntamara church (where 5000 people were killed). Her husband was killed in the genocide. He was an important man in the community, and you can tell that before the war, their house was impressive compared to the rest in the village. Mama Sifa is very proud that one cow has started producing milk. She offered us a yogurt drink from the cow… it had been boiled, and then left to cure for 24 hours. I’m proud to report that I was one of the few in our group who were brave/ polite enough to accept, but I have to say that I was praying the whole time that I wouldn’t throw up or gag in front of them. Let’s just say that it wasn’t quite to North American tastes or food safety practises.
I was delighted to see Agnus (Jean Pierre and Assumpta’s mother) at the cooperative. I kept hoping that one of the children would show up, but they didn’t. It’s not like she could have just called them from a cell phone.
The cooperative faces three main challenges:
They need sewing machines.
Their inventory doesn’t turn over quickly in the local markets.
The women are unable to show up regularly.
I’m happy to say that two people in our group looked after the first problem today. I also plan on investigating some solutions to the second problem once I return.
The Mentorship Program
Lastly, we met with the Orphans’ Mentorship Program. For some strange reason, we met with them in a primary school yard just as classes were ended… what a zoo!
Last year, World Vision began to identify orphans living on their own in the community and began to work with them to solve their most pressing problems. The worst thing for the orphans was that they felt like they were living in isolation. So, World Vision sent them out to observe their community and select a few people who they thought would make good mentors. The potential mentors were informed of this request and asked if they would accept. They now watch out for the orphans, assist them in finding work during holidays, give them advise, help them with home repairs, and other things that a parent might do.
We were surprised to see that Emanuel Blue is a mentor. Some people in our group were amazed that the forgiveness extends to such a point that he is now trusted with children. Others were upset and believed it was wrong for him to be in such a position. I struggle with it. Really, because I’ve never been in their situation, how can I judge whether the set-up is right or wrong?
Today, we went to the Nyamata Health Education Centre. Women bring their malnourished children there to learn about nutrition. As we walked into the room, the women began to sing a song of welcome, inviting us to sit down.
Volunteers and community leaders are taught to identify malnourished children within the communities. The mothers are then told that they must enrol in a three-month, once-per-week nutrition education program which was designed by UNICEF and is supported by World Vision. Some women refuse, and the children are then taken by force.
The women must bring porridge to feed their children (who come with them) in the morning. They then spend time learning about health, nutrition, clean water, and hygiene. Then comes a cooking class, and which ends by eating the lesson for lunch. After long periods of malnutrition, the children cease to be hungry, so as they eat they are made to sit in a circle facing one another. Apparently watching another child eat increases their appetite.
After the end of the three-month program, the woman are expected to educate other women in their community about the signs of malnutrition and how to feed their children properly.
After the presentation, I asked if Rwanda still has children die of malnutrition. The answer is no. Although malnutrition is widespread, it never reaches that level of severity. If a child does die of malnutrition, the community leaders can be imprisoned, as the death of that child is considered to be on their shoulders.
The kids at the centre were so beautiful. They are in different stages of recovery, so some were still weak, but most were excited to have an audience. One little guy (I’d guess he’s about three) spent the entire time waving and smiling at us. When the woman sang us a farewell song, he and his friend danced along with a baby who looked like he was taking his first steps. So cute!
The Cooperative
We also visited Mama Sifa’s Cooperative Association. It is a cooperative of women (not all widows) who get together to weave baskets and care for cows. Mama Sifa’s house is next door to the Ntamara church (where 5000 people were killed). Her husband was killed in the genocide. He was an important man in the community, and you can tell that before the war, their house was impressive compared to the rest in the village. Mama Sifa is very proud that one cow has started producing milk. She offered us a yogurt drink from the cow… it had been boiled, and then left to cure for 24 hours. I’m proud to report that I was one of the few in our group who were brave/ polite enough to accept, but I have to say that I was praying the whole time that I wouldn’t throw up or gag in front of them. Let’s just say that it wasn’t quite to North American tastes or food safety practises.
I was delighted to see Agnus (Jean Pierre and Assumpta’s mother) at the cooperative. I kept hoping that one of the children would show up, but they didn’t. It’s not like she could have just called them from a cell phone.
The cooperative faces three main challenges:
They need sewing machines.
Their inventory doesn’t turn over quickly in the local markets.
The women are unable to show up regularly.
I’m happy to say that two people in our group looked after the first problem today. I also plan on investigating some solutions to the second problem once I return.
The Mentorship Program
Lastly, we met with the Orphans’ Mentorship Program. For some strange reason, we met with them in a primary school yard just as classes were ended… what a zoo!
Last year, World Vision began to identify orphans living on their own in the community and began to work with them to solve their most pressing problems. The worst thing for the orphans was that they felt like they were living in isolation. So, World Vision sent them out to observe their community and select a few people who they thought would make good mentors. The potential mentors were informed of this request and asked if they would accept. They now watch out for the orphans, assist them in finding work during holidays, give them advise, help them with home repairs, and other things that a parent might do.
We were surprised to see that Emanuel Blue is a mentor. Some people in our group were amazed that the forgiveness extends to such a point that he is now trusted with children. Others were upset and believed it was wrong for him to be in such a position. I struggle with it. Really, because I’ve never been in their situation, how can I judge whether the set-up is right or wrong?
And another thing
The internet is down quite often, so although it's 1:00am in Rwanda, I'm taking advantage of having access! (You may notice that my posts are dated pretty frequently, but I'm playing around with the dates so that they reflect the day and time when I'm actually writing them offline. I post when I'm lucky enough to get a signal.)
Just some interesting things...
In Rwanda, when they mean 'yes', they shake their head 'no'. But they mean 'no problem'. So, they really mean 'yes'. But, when they mean 'no', they say "oh ya". Very confusing! Also, when you wave you hand 'goodbye' by bending your fingers down (like you would with a young child), it means 'come here'. This is why so many children have been chasing our van as we drive through the villages! If you rest your hands on your head, it means your parents have died.
Also, they say "sorry" if something uncomfortable is happening to you. I have come back from the market with several heavy bags of rice, and as the hotel security guard helped me to my room, he repeated "sorry" with each step up the stairs. Apparently, he was sorry that I was carrying bags as well.
Also, if a man leaves his family for three months, he will be imprisoned for six months. But, if a woman leaves her family for one and a half months, she will be imprisoned for a year because "the mother is the heart of the family."
Although they are Christian, Rwandans keep somewhat kosher. They will never mix the milk of an animal with the meat of an animal. For example, beef with cow's milk is taboo. So is chicken with egg. But, beef with goat's milk would be somewhat alright. Essentially, it's disrespectful to drink the cow's milk and also eat her child.
The number one thing that children beg for is "agachupa", or 'water bottle'. They know "muzungoes" ('white people') only drink out of bottles, so they ask for the empties to reuse. As we drive down the more remote roads, child chase us screaming "agachupa, agachupa, agachupa".
So, now you know some interesting things about Rwanda!
Just some interesting things...
In Rwanda, when they mean 'yes', they shake their head 'no'. But they mean 'no problem'. So, they really mean 'yes'. But, when they mean 'no', they say "oh ya". Very confusing! Also, when you wave you hand 'goodbye' by bending your fingers down (like you would with a young child), it means 'come here'. This is why so many children have been chasing our van as we drive through the villages! If you rest your hands on your head, it means your parents have died.
Also, they say "sorry" if something uncomfortable is happening to you. I have come back from the market with several heavy bags of rice, and as the hotel security guard helped me to my room, he repeated "sorry" with each step up the stairs. Apparently, he was sorry that I was carrying bags as well.
Also, if a man leaves his family for three months, he will be imprisoned for six months. But, if a woman leaves her family for one and a half months, she will be imprisoned for a year because "the mother is the heart of the family."
Although they are Christian, Rwandans keep somewhat kosher. They will never mix the milk of an animal with the meat of an animal. For example, beef with cow's milk is taboo. So is chicken with egg. But, beef with goat's milk would be somewhat alright. Essentially, it's disrespectful to drink the cow's milk and also eat her child.
The number one thing that children beg for is "agachupa", or 'water bottle'. They know "muzungoes" ('white people') only drink out of bottles, so they ask for the empties to reuse. As we drive down the more remote roads, child chase us screaming "agachupa, agachupa, agachupa".
So, now you know some interesting things about Rwanda!
Monday, August 20, 2007
Today I saw the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen
Yesterday we went to the Acagara game park, where we drove around for six hours, and saw many zebras, the ears and eyes of many hippos, a few impalas, and some cow-like creatures (I can’t remember their name). We saw no lions, giraffes, rhinos, or elephants. To tell you the truth, by the end of the drive, I was half wishing for our own “when elephants attack” story, just to throw some adventure into the mix.
But today. Today I saw the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen…
I saw dignity
We started our day with a visit to the “Catch Up School”. It is a section of the primary school dedicated to providing accelerated education to older students. Unlike the students in Canada, these students crave education, but were unable to attend school because their parents died and they had to raise their siblings. Or because one parent died, so they must work to feed the family. Or because their parents could not afford the uniform.
Rather than putting the students through the embarrassment of Primary 1 to 6, the classes are divided into Levels 1 to 3, with students aged 8 - 20 in all classes. I would love to show the kids back home how much these students want to go to school!
Several shared their story with us. Samson is 20 years old and attending school for the first time. Another young man (I didn’t catch his name) stood up and told us that he was a “houseboy” in Kigali for all of his life, and that World Vision convinced him he must go to school. They provided him with a uniform, school supplies, and soap, so that he would be able to start. He now wants to tell others in his situation that they must go to school; he is so proud. As we told the students that they were very courageous for starting school as young adults, one stood up and told us that many of his colleagues (from previous work) make fun of him for going to school with young children, but that he continues to encourage them to follow in his steps, so that they may have a better life.
I saw dancing
One of the classes wanted to give us a gift. As we sat down in the desks, a drum started beating louder and louder, building up the anticipation, increasing our heart rates. As the drum reached it’s loudest, bells began to jingle outside. Dancers, dressed in traditional garb, complete with headdresses and bells on their ankles began to weave into the room. A choir began singing a beautiful song which filled the room, so loud you could feel it in your chest. I looked for the choir, and realized it was only four girls!
The girls’ feet danced with vigour, yet their tops moved with the elegance of a ballerina. Two boys danced around them with spears (fake), waving their long, straw headdresses around like head bangers at a heavy metal concert – only graceful and joyful.
The song the children sang was written for NGO’s, government officials, and foreigners. The message is that child labour must be stopped and education is the only way children will be able to shape their future. Pretty powerful coming from children and young adults who have been digging ditches, fetching water, scrubbing latrines, and herding goats since they were four years old.
I saw peace and reconciliation
Later, we met with people from World Vision’s HPR (Healing, Peace building, Reconciliation) group. I’ve read stories, but I never believed people like this existed. What powerful testimonies.
The genocide was planned for a very long time. Since childhood, Hutu children were taught that Tustis were dangerous, not to be trusted. They were told to sit apart in school. They were told not to play with one another. They were even taught that one day there would be a war, and the Hutus must win. The government spent many years teaching them to hate.
[Warning: This next paragraph is graphic.]
Alice was a Tutsi. In 1992, she was about to begin secondary school, but was turned away because the government has decided to stop wasting education on Tutsis… they had already decided that Tutsis were dead men walking. She married, had a baby, and continued on living. Then, her house was burned down. The government apologized and promised there would be peace ahead. But, on April 10, 1994, Alice found herself crammed into the small Ntamara church with 5000 others believing that the militia would not kill them in this holy place. As the militia entered, Alice and her husband fled, losing each other along the way. Alice was found by the militia, stripped to her underwear, and beaten in the head with a club covered in nails. The militia tossed her baby into the air and cut her in half in one slash of the machete. As her baby lay beside her, the militia drove a spear through Alice’s arm, chopped off her hand, and left her for dead.
Alice’s husband survived, as did Alice – barely. She went on to have five beautiful children, never forgetting the one she lost. In fact, one of her children is sponsored by one of our team members.
Emanuel White (there were two Emanuels, one wore white, the other blue, so I will refer to them this way) told his story. Alice rubbed his arm and encouraged him as he told the story of being recruited by the militia, raiding Tutsi homes, and murdering in cold blood. Emanuel White was the one who beat Alice and cut off her hand.
Emanuel White was released from prison in 2003, and found Alice to beg for her forgiveness. She did not recognize him, but he admitted to what he had done. She forgave him, and together they went to World Vision’s HPR group. Today, they are good friends. He gives her rides on his bike when they have meetings together. When he needs something, she shares with him; when she needs something, he shares with her. Emanuel White has shown remorse to the entire community and is now the chairperson of their village’s World Vision Sponsorship Committee. Alice is the Secretary.
Emanuel Blue (blue shirt) told his story once Alice and Emanuel White were finished. As Beatrice sat beside him, occasionally holding his hand (hand holding is very common here, even between men), he spoke of how he killed her five children. She escaped, and he was angry with her for that, so he stole the tin sheets off of her home.
As the RPF (the “good guys”) began taking over the country, Emanuel Blue fled to the Congo. Then, in 1996 he decided to come home and turn himself in. He spent the next seven years in prison, where he received counselling – along with other prisoners – to accept what he had done. This may seem odd to you, but you have to realise that years and years of brainwashing by the government and schools led up to the events of 1994. When he was released in 2003, he went to Beatrice for forgiveness and she refused. He went back again, this time with his whole family, to kneel and beg for forgiveness. This time she accepted.
Emanuel Blue knew he could not give Beatrice her children back, nor did he have any money to help her financially. But, after nine years, her saw that the sheets of metal he had stolen off of her house were never replaced. So, he went to World Vision to ask for their help. World Vision provided him with the metal (essentially killing two birds with one stone, by providing Beatrice with shelter and aiding the reconciliation process), and he repaired her home.
Like Emanuel White and Alice, Emanuel Blue and Beatrice are good friends. After sharing their testimonies, we ate lunch, and I saw that the forgiveness and friendship is genuine. They laughed with each other. Emanuel White cut Alice’s food for her. They hugged.
As we left, both Emanuels told us that they know of some genocide perpetrators that are hiding in Canada. They wanted us to find these men and tell them to go home and face the consequences, and that Rwanda is now a free country with no capital punishment.
On the way home we drove past the Ministry of Defence and our translator, Costa, informed me that the Minister of Defence was a member of “the army that lost” (meaning the government army that fought the RPF). The current president, Paul Kigami was the leader of the RPF. I couldn’t understand how this man (the minister) was allowed to be in power. Costa told me that he was not part of the genocide; he only fought the RPF. I asked, “then wasn’t he Kigami’s enemy?” To which Costa replied , “that is peace and reconciliation.”
But today. Today I saw the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen…
I saw dignity
We started our day with a visit to the “Catch Up School”. It is a section of the primary school dedicated to providing accelerated education to older students. Unlike the students in Canada, these students crave education, but were unable to attend school because their parents died and they had to raise their siblings. Or because one parent died, so they must work to feed the family. Or because their parents could not afford the uniform.
Rather than putting the students through the embarrassment of Primary 1 to 6, the classes are divided into Levels 1 to 3, with students aged 8 - 20 in all classes. I would love to show the kids back home how much these students want to go to school!
Several shared their story with us. Samson is 20 years old and attending school for the first time. Another young man (I didn’t catch his name) stood up and told us that he was a “houseboy” in Kigali for all of his life, and that World Vision convinced him he must go to school. They provided him with a uniform, school supplies, and soap, so that he would be able to start. He now wants to tell others in his situation that they must go to school; he is so proud. As we told the students that they were very courageous for starting school as young adults, one stood up and told us that many of his colleagues (from previous work) make fun of him for going to school with young children, but that he continues to encourage them to follow in his steps, so that they may have a better life.
I saw dancing
One of the classes wanted to give us a gift. As we sat down in the desks, a drum started beating louder and louder, building up the anticipation, increasing our heart rates. As the drum reached it’s loudest, bells began to jingle outside. Dancers, dressed in traditional garb, complete with headdresses and bells on their ankles began to weave into the room. A choir began singing a beautiful song which filled the room, so loud you could feel it in your chest. I looked for the choir, and realized it was only four girls!
The girls’ feet danced with vigour, yet their tops moved with the elegance of a ballerina. Two boys danced around them with spears (fake), waving their long, straw headdresses around like head bangers at a heavy metal concert – only graceful and joyful.
The song the children sang was written for NGO’s, government officials, and foreigners. The message is that child labour must be stopped and education is the only way children will be able to shape their future. Pretty powerful coming from children and young adults who have been digging ditches, fetching water, scrubbing latrines, and herding goats since they were four years old.
I saw peace and reconciliation
Later, we met with people from World Vision’s HPR (Healing, Peace building, Reconciliation) group. I’ve read stories, but I never believed people like this existed. What powerful testimonies.
The genocide was planned for a very long time. Since childhood, Hutu children were taught that Tustis were dangerous, not to be trusted. They were told to sit apart in school. They were told not to play with one another. They were even taught that one day there would be a war, and the Hutus must win. The government spent many years teaching them to hate.
[Warning: This next paragraph is graphic.]
Alice was a Tutsi. In 1992, she was about to begin secondary school, but was turned away because the government has decided to stop wasting education on Tutsis… they had already decided that Tutsis were dead men walking. She married, had a baby, and continued on living. Then, her house was burned down. The government apologized and promised there would be peace ahead. But, on April 10, 1994, Alice found herself crammed into the small Ntamara church with 5000 others believing that the militia would not kill them in this holy place. As the militia entered, Alice and her husband fled, losing each other along the way. Alice was found by the militia, stripped to her underwear, and beaten in the head with a club covered in nails. The militia tossed her baby into the air and cut her in half in one slash of the machete. As her baby lay beside her, the militia drove a spear through Alice’s arm, chopped off her hand, and left her for dead.
Alice’s husband survived, as did Alice – barely. She went on to have five beautiful children, never forgetting the one she lost. In fact, one of her children is sponsored by one of our team members.
Emanuel White (there were two Emanuels, one wore white, the other blue, so I will refer to them this way) told his story. Alice rubbed his arm and encouraged him as he told the story of being recruited by the militia, raiding Tutsi homes, and murdering in cold blood. Emanuel White was the one who beat Alice and cut off her hand.
Emanuel White was released from prison in 2003, and found Alice to beg for her forgiveness. She did not recognize him, but he admitted to what he had done. She forgave him, and together they went to World Vision’s HPR group. Today, they are good friends. He gives her rides on his bike when they have meetings together. When he needs something, she shares with him; when she needs something, he shares with her. Emanuel White has shown remorse to the entire community and is now the chairperson of their village’s World Vision Sponsorship Committee. Alice is the Secretary.
Emanuel Blue (blue shirt) told his story once Alice and Emanuel White were finished. As Beatrice sat beside him, occasionally holding his hand (hand holding is very common here, even between men), he spoke of how he killed her five children. She escaped, and he was angry with her for that, so he stole the tin sheets off of her home.
As the RPF (the “good guys”) began taking over the country, Emanuel Blue fled to the Congo. Then, in 1996 he decided to come home and turn himself in. He spent the next seven years in prison, where he received counselling – along with other prisoners – to accept what he had done. This may seem odd to you, but you have to realise that years and years of brainwashing by the government and schools led up to the events of 1994. When he was released in 2003, he went to Beatrice for forgiveness and she refused. He went back again, this time with his whole family, to kneel and beg for forgiveness. This time she accepted.
Emanuel Blue knew he could not give Beatrice her children back, nor did he have any money to help her financially. But, after nine years, her saw that the sheets of metal he had stolen off of her house were never replaced. So, he went to World Vision to ask for their help. World Vision provided him with the metal (essentially killing two birds with one stone, by providing Beatrice with shelter and aiding the reconciliation process), and he repaired her home.
Like Emanuel White and Alice, Emanuel Blue and Beatrice are good friends. After sharing their testimonies, we ate lunch, and I saw that the forgiveness and friendship is genuine. They laughed with each other. Emanuel White cut Alice’s food for her. They hugged.
As we left, both Emanuels told us that they know of some genocide perpetrators that are hiding in Canada. They wanted us to find these men and tell them to go home and face the consequences, and that Rwanda is now a free country with no capital punishment.
On the way home we drove past the Ministry of Defence and our translator, Costa, informed me that the Minister of Defence was a member of “the army that lost” (meaning the government army that fought the RPF). The current president, Paul Kigami was the leader of the RPF. I couldn’t understand how this man (the minister) was allowed to be in power. Costa told me that he was not part of the genocide; he only fought the RPF. I asked, “then wasn’t he Kigami’s enemy?” To which Costa replied , “that is peace and reconciliation.”
Saturday, August 18, 2007
A land of many contrasts
Before I start, I just have to mention a quote from Francoise, which I forgot to include in my last post… I think it’s priceless. We asked her if she would like to marry eventually. She grimaced and told us that she was going to keep trying to further her education. If she failed at that, then she “may resort to finding a partner.”
Okay, on with today’s posting………….
Rain and drought.
Thick green banana trees, tall grass and winding red clay roads.
Abject poverty with joyful spirits.
Peaceful and kind communities with the memories of unimaginable evil.
Today was another full day and I know I must write it all down as fast as I can, because the details are already becoming hazy as my need for sleep kicks in. Today we visited many of the children which we found sponsors for back home. I was able to see four out of five, so I kept busy.
Cascuis, translator extraordinaire, Tricia, another volunteer who was able to take pictures for me (my camera is still refusing to return to life), and I set out to first visit Charlotte.
Charlotte
Charlotte is Debbie and Danielle Hughes’ sponsor child. Armed with heavy gifts, including two 15-pound bags of rice, our van dropped us off at the base of a narrow footpath. We thought we only had a short way to go. After a 20-minute hike, we heard children screaming and laughing as they ran down to greet us. As we reached the house, we realized that it was Charlotte (8), her brother Godebert (7), her sister Emile (4), and her best friend/ neighbour Ange (7). Charlotte’s mother, Godelive, greeted us at the gate (her father, Charles, was at the market). Charlotte is in Grade 2 and her favourite subject is the local language, Kinyarwanda. Her family was very insistent that Debbie and Danielle must come visit them in Rwanda, so start saving your pennies girls!
Charlotte’s family has a cow and a small plot of land on which they grow cassava and bananas. They are extremely proud. While we visited, it began to rain, and like so many of the other Rwandans, the family jokingly thanked the Canadians for bringing the rain. As we left, it began to pour down and we made our way back down the steep trail, this time covered in slippery mud. The kids led the way and seemed to have no trouble in their bare feet, although my running shoes didn’t fair so well! All part of the adventure!
Jean D’Amore
Next we went to see Geoff and Katherine Kalsbeek’s sponsor child. With his huge eyes and big smile, he is a very beautiful boy… and I think he knows it! As I unveiled gifts of rice, cookies, Nutella, and school supplies, he whispered in my ear “Gimme football.” Unfortunately, I didn’t have one to give him, but Casuis informed me that Jean D’Amore lives and breathes football, so I will arrange to get him one later. We will also be buying his family a goat, which will provide them with milk, fertilizer, and kids for selling at market.
Both of Jean D’Amore’s parents were killed in the genocide when he was just a baby. He was sent to an orphanage. After the genocide, people started passing pictures of these unidentified orphans around, and his grandmother recognized him. Since then, he has lived with the grandmother, Stephanie, and Aunt Clarissa. Clarissa seems very young and has a one-year-old boy named Sharma (who I think may be the cutest baby ever). Her dream for him is that he will grow up to study. Clarissa also wanted to send God’s blessing to Canada and Geoff and Katherine on behalf of the family.
Jean D’Amore has decided that when he grows up he will be the president of Rwanda. And he is charismatic enough that is just might happen for him. I told him that we would watch for him on TV and were proud to be invited to the future president’s home. His is quite close with his soccer teammates (Patrick, Fabiola, and Oliver), and they joined in our visit. I gave the little cousin one of the dolls Joan Hunter knitted (which are a big hit all over Rwanda, by the way!), and all these tough 13-year-old soccer players wanted a doll of their own!
Later on in the day, we saw Jean D’Amour again, and he again whispered to me, “Gimme football. Gimme money. Gimme pens.” Turns out that my translator, Cascuis, is “best friends” (I believe we would call him a mentor or “big brother”) with Jean D’Amore, and I’m pretty sure the poor kid got in trouble after we left. Really though, these children have nothing, so can we blame them for asking for more when we come with a few gifts?
Most of the children in his area are genocide orphans. Though some of the details may be lost in translation, I believe that virtually the entire community was wiped out in the senseless slaughter. You may have seen the Ntamara Memorial in movies and on TV. Over a period of 52 hours, over 5000 men, women, and children who had taken refuge in the small village church were beaten with sticks, hacked with machetes, and burned alive. The victims’ clothes are now hung from the walls and rafters of the church in remembrance, along with three large shelves of skulls (many of them no bigger than my fist), one shelf of hipbones, and one shelf piled with extremities. Jean D’Amore and his friends live within 100 yards of this church.
Jean Pierre and Assumpta
Jean Pierre (7) is our sponsor child. Assumpta (10) is Angela and Brian’s. They are brother and sister, but I didn’t find that out until as we arrived on their doorstep. In Rwanda, parents pick the child’s last name upon birth, just like the first name. Wives also keep their own name. So in a family of five, you could have five different last names. When we found out that they were siblings, we thought we perhaps had too many gifts. However, once we stepped inside, we found out that there are six children, so the two large bags of rice and jars of Nutella were very welcome. The home also appears to be the local neighbourhood hangout.
Agnes is the mother and appears to take charge in the family. Gilbert is the father. Gilles is 22 and was at school during the visit; he is studying to become a veterinarian. Jacques is 19 and also in school, although he has not yet selected a vocation. Next is Emanuel (15), Aime Patrick (12), Assumpta (10), and Jean Pierre (7). There were two more children who died, but I do not know when or how.
Assumpta is a quite girl with certain elegance. She wants to be a teacher. Jean Pierre was extremely shy at the beginning, but after about 20 minutes, I caught him hanging onto my leg and staring up at me with a huge grin. He wouldn’t let go of my hand for the rest of the visit. The family has one cow and a goat, and we will be purchasing another goat for them by the end of our trip. They also have a small field in the back where they grow cassava, sorghum, and bananas (like so many other Rwandans). Still pouring rain, and Jean Pierre and Assumpta each grabbed my hand to show me around the land. Jean Pierre loves taking care of the cow and wants to be a veterinarian when he grows up. I told him, Assumpta, and their father (who was very interested) a bit about Angela and Brian’s farm, but I know that they want pictures and would like to hear much more.
Other experiences today…
Make no mistake, the poverty is real. And it has already hit us hard on the trip. Rwanda is much cooler and damper than we expected, and although the rain is good for nutrition, the houses are drafty and the stagnant water breeds mosquitoes (just an annoyance in Canada, but can be deadly in Rwanda). Today one of our other volunteers visited a sponsor child and discovered that her infant sister had died just yesterday. Causes are unknown. No doctor. No medicine. Mom gave birth to twins two weeks ago by herself at home. Today, one is gone.
Though the children are loved by their families and cared for by the communities, they are starving to find their own value. The flock to us everywhere we go, sometimes to dig through our pockets for “bonbons”, but they are quite satisfied just to play. One little girl – I’d say she was about three – reached up wanting me to pick her up. I did, and she rested her head on my shoulder for a while. She was heavy, so I put he down several times, but each time I did so, she would reach back up. As we left, I put her down for the last time, and she chased our vehicle crying, “Mama.” It seems surreal to me to have such a connection with a child… a human being, and never even get their name (she wouldn’t talk). Then drive away knowing that you will probably never see them again.
Well, I’ve gone on long enough. So, as the children hear say it: Bye-Yeeeeeeeee (two syllables), and Goot Niy-at (no matter what time of day it is).
Okay, on with today’s posting………….
Rain and drought.
Thick green banana trees, tall grass and winding red clay roads.
Abject poverty with joyful spirits.
Peaceful and kind communities with the memories of unimaginable evil.
Today was another full day and I know I must write it all down as fast as I can, because the details are already becoming hazy as my need for sleep kicks in. Today we visited many of the children which we found sponsors for back home. I was able to see four out of five, so I kept busy.
Cascuis, translator extraordinaire, Tricia, another volunteer who was able to take pictures for me (my camera is still refusing to return to life), and I set out to first visit Charlotte.
Charlotte
Charlotte is Debbie and Danielle Hughes’ sponsor child. Armed with heavy gifts, including two 15-pound bags of rice, our van dropped us off at the base of a narrow footpath. We thought we only had a short way to go. After a 20-minute hike, we heard children screaming and laughing as they ran down to greet us. As we reached the house, we realized that it was Charlotte (8), her brother Godebert (7), her sister Emile (4), and her best friend/ neighbour Ange (7). Charlotte’s mother, Godelive, greeted us at the gate (her father, Charles, was at the market). Charlotte is in Grade 2 and her favourite subject is the local language, Kinyarwanda. Her family was very insistent that Debbie and Danielle must come visit them in Rwanda, so start saving your pennies girls!
Charlotte’s family has a cow and a small plot of land on which they grow cassava and bananas. They are extremely proud. While we visited, it began to rain, and like so many of the other Rwandans, the family jokingly thanked the Canadians for bringing the rain. As we left, it began to pour down and we made our way back down the steep trail, this time covered in slippery mud. The kids led the way and seemed to have no trouble in their bare feet, although my running shoes didn’t fair so well! All part of the adventure!
Jean D’Amore
Next we went to see Geoff and Katherine Kalsbeek’s sponsor child. With his huge eyes and big smile, he is a very beautiful boy… and I think he knows it! As I unveiled gifts of rice, cookies, Nutella, and school supplies, he whispered in my ear “Gimme football.” Unfortunately, I didn’t have one to give him, but Casuis informed me that Jean D’Amore lives and breathes football, so I will arrange to get him one later. We will also be buying his family a goat, which will provide them with milk, fertilizer, and kids for selling at market.
Both of Jean D’Amore’s parents were killed in the genocide when he was just a baby. He was sent to an orphanage. After the genocide, people started passing pictures of these unidentified orphans around, and his grandmother recognized him. Since then, he has lived with the grandmother, Stephanie, and Aunt Clarissa. Clarissa seems very young and has a one-year-old boy named Sharma (who I think may be the cutest baby ever). Her dream for him is that he will grow up to study. Clarissa also wanted to send God’s blessing to Canada and Geoff and Katherine on behalf of the family.
Jean D’Amore has decided that when he grows up he will be the president of Rwanda. And he is charismatic enough that is just might happen for him. I told him that we would watch for him on TV and were proud to be invited to the future president’s home. His is quite close with his soccer teammates (Patrick, Fabiola, and Oliver), and they joined in our visit. I gave the little cousin one of the dolls Joan Hunter knitted (which are a big hit all over Rwanda, by the way!), and all these tough 13-year-old soccer players wanted a doll of their own!
Later on in the day, we saw Jean D’Amour again, and he again whispered to me, “Gimme football. Gimme money. Gimme pens.” Turns out that my translator, Cascuis, is “best friends” (I believe we would call him a mentor or “big brother”) with Jean D’Amore, and I’m pretty sure the poor kid got in trouble after we left. Really though, these children have nothing, so can we blame them for asking for more when we come with a few gifts?
Most of the children in his area are genocide orphans. Though some of the details may be lost in translation, I believe that virtually the entire community was wiped out in the senseless slaughter. You may have seen the Ntamara Memorial in movies and on TV. Over a period of 52 hours, over 5000 men, women, and children who had taken refuge in the small village church were beaten with sticks, hacked with machetes, and burned alive. The victims’ clothes are now hung from the walls and rafters of the church in remembrance, along with three large shelves of skulls (many of them no bigger than my fist), one shelf of hipbones, and one shelf piled with extremities. Jean D’Amore and his friends live within 100 yards of this church.
Jean Pierre and Assumpta
Jean Pierre (7) is our sponsor child. Assumpta (10) is Angela and Brian’s. They are brother and sister, but I didn’t find that out until as we arrived on their doorstep. In Rwanda, parents pick the child’s last name upon birth, just like the first name. Wives also keep their own name. So in a family of five, you could have five different last names. When we found out that they were siblings, we thought we perhaps had too many gifts. However, once we stepped inside, we found out that there are six children, so the two large bags of rice and jars of Nutella were very welcome. The home also appears to be the local neighbourhood hangout.
Agnes is the mother and appears to take charge in the family. Gilbert is the father. Gilles is 22 and was at school during the visit; he is studying to become a veterinarian. Jacques is 19 and also in school, although he has not yet selected a vocation. Next is Emanuel (15), Aime Patrick (12), Assumpta (10), and Jean Pierre (7). There were two more children who died, but I do not know when or how.
Assumpta is a quite girl with certain elegance. She wants to be a teacher. Jean Pierre was extremely shy at the beginning, but after about 20 minutes, I caught him hanging onto my leg and staring up at me with a huge grin. He wouldn’t let go of my hand for the rest of the visit. The family has one cow and a goat, and we will be purchasing another goat for them by the end of our trip. They also have a small field in the back where they grow cassava, sorghum, and bananas (like so many other Rwandans). Still pouring rain, and Jean Pierre and Assumpta each grabbed my hand to show me around the land. Jean Pierre loves taking care of the cow and wants to be a veterinarian when he grows up. I told him, Assumpta, and their father (who was very interested) a bit about Angela and Brian’s farm, but I know that they want pictures and would like to hear much more.
Other experiences today…
Make no mistake, the poverty is real. And it has already hit us hard on the trip. Rwanda is much cooler and damper than we expected, and although the rain is good for nutrition, the houses are drafty and the stagnant water breeds mosquitoes (just an annoyance in Canada, but can be deadly in Rwanda). Today one of our other volunteers visited a sponsor child and discovered that her infant sister had died just yesterday. Causes are unknown. No doctor. No medicine. Mom gave birth to twins two weeks ago by herself at home. Today, one is gone.
Though the children are loved by their families and cared for by the communities, they are starving to find their own value. The flock to us everywhere we go, sometimes to dig through our pockets for “bonbons”, but they are quite satisfied just to play. One little girl – I’d say she was about three – reached up wanting me to pick her up. I did, and she rested her head on my shoulder for a while. She was heavy, so I put he down several times, but each time I did so, she would reach back up. As we left, I put her down for the last time, and she chased our vehicle crying, “Mama.” It seems surreal to me to have such a connection with a child… a human being, and never even get their name (she wouldn’t talk). Then drive away knowing that you will probably never see them again.
Well, I’ve gone on long enough. So, as the children hear say it: Bye-Yeeeeeeeee (two syllables), and Goot Niy-at (no matter what time of day it is).
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