Helplessness Blues

There’s no manual for talking to people about living through the genocide. Like when I watched him get upset remembering how the UN left them—when the UN had the ability to stop the genocide—there was nothing I could do or say. I just kept praying he would see it in my eyes how much I desperately wanted to be in that pain with him. He and I both know I’m not responsible, but that doesn’t erase what Westerners represent to him.

There’s nothing I can do about the genocide. Sometimes I wonder if I actually came here to find my own peace from the guilt of what non-Rwandans did to Rwanda, people who created hierarchy and division in a previously peaceful class system and then left when decades of oppression surfaced. I’m not taking away any blame from the people who were perpetrators of the genocide, but I am pointing out that there is a history of foreign interactions that led to these tensions. Maybe I’m actually seeking my own reconciliation. There’s really nothing I can do.

But I can learn the language. Not to benefit myself for use in the future, in fact, I’ll probably never speak Kinyarwanda again. But I can try to learn it for the people here now. I can disrupt the expectation that they must learn English to speak to me, and instead I can struggle through new sounds in order to live through their words.

Thankfully, God has provided multiple ways for me to continue to learn and practice throughout the day. I’ve started walking to work, which has created an unexpected 45 minutes (each way) of Kinyarwanda lessons with strangers. Without fail, each time I walk to and from work, people will join me for at least part of my walk, speaking in Kinyarwanda with me and teaching me new phrases. Today, a man wanted me to learn how to say, “I love Rwanda and Rwandese people.” He then told me that by saying that, I am now Rwandan. I told him I don’t think that’s how it works (definitely a Michael Scott moment when he declared bankruptcy by shouting it in the office…still broke, Michael).

I’ve started to become a regular along the walk and have made friends with groups of men hanging outside restaurants, two women who are always cooking, a group of girls selling cell phone credit, and (my favorite) an incredibly large crowd of old men/teenage boys/small children who make their living washing cars in the valley between hills. They are convinced I’m fluent in Kinyarwanda, and unless they throw any new questions at me, I hope they’ll never realize the truth!

In a beautiful way, I feel caught between representing the help that never saved and the muzungu who wants to understand Rwanda. I feel the responsibility of understanding that helping without understanding is hurtful, but I also experience daily the joy of being loved and accepted with open arms (literally).

This quote by Henry Nouwen is everything I could hope to express about what my life feels like right now (thank you HNGR newsletter for your perfectly timed notes of encouragement):

“One of the most rewarding aspects of living in a strange land is the experience of being loved not for what we do, but for who we are…I am convinced that, for Christians, culture shock can be an opportunity not only for psychological healing but also for conversion.”

Cooking cassava like a champ, thanks to these women

Kwibuka20 : remember, unite, renew

Mass graves at Kigali Genocide Memorial 

"God has given [Rwandans] a promise: what Satan has destroyed, God will restore. Rwanda is a miracle from God, because it is only by the blood of Jesus shed for us that makes reconciliation possible" (paraphrased from host parent)

Kwibuka Flame of Remembrance

A Day in the Life

It’s been a week since I got off the plane, wide-eyed and ready to see this new, beautiful country! Here’s a little description of what my life looks like:

I live in a one-story house that is gated from the jagged, narrow dirt road. My host parents work incredibly hard during the week, often leaving before I get up and coming home after dinner. When I’m home, I spend most my time with their two precious kids (ages 2 and 4) as well as with their two “nannies” and “guard” (very loose terms to describe what I’m still not sure is their job). In Kigali, it is extremely common if both parents work to have live-in help. Everything is done by hand and takes a long time (cooking, cleaning, etc.) so it’s virtually impossible to have two full time working parents without help. We teach each other Kinyarwanda and English, laughing and using more hand motions than a game of charades.

Those smiles tho!
(this is the view from house looking over Kacyiru, the
neighboring hill...you can kind of see it)

Also, I’ve learned there is not really a “poor” or “wealthy” area of Kigali. Everything is mixed together. So on our street, there is a beautiful brick Catholic school, houses locked behind gates and extremely run down homes all next to each other. You see kids running around in clothes that look donated from decades ago, playing next to roosters and goats. Then, a moto will zoom by with a professionally dressed businessman on his way to town. Women with huge baskets of fruit balanced on their heads walk next to groups of school children in their uniforms (blue button up, navy skirt, and tom shoes). There’s a lot to see just looking out on the road.

Kigali, like the rest of Rwanda, is spread out over huge hills.  Even though everything is close, I’m learning it takes me 3x longer than anyone else to walk to places. Back in VA, we would “hike” these hills, not walk them. I briefly considered joining my coworker's jogging group, but then I actually went for a walk and that dream got shot down real fast. 

Incredible full moon-it's bigger in real life!

It’s easy to make friends everywhere you go if you’re the “muzungu” (white person) and speak a little Kinyarwanda. Everyone really responds to my attempts to speak and understand, and they always want to teach me more. Today I was walking to the town center when I turned around to find 5 school kids following right on my heels! One of them quickly took my hand when I stumbled on the uneven road, introduced himself as Samson, and became my personal guide to the neighborhood.

Clumsiness is becoming a new theme to my life. I’m constantly tripping on the unpaved roads, and I’ve had more people hold my hand for my own safety than when I was learning to walk (I think). To cross the road, my host mom always grabs my hand so I don’t get run over in the world’s most terrifying game of frogger. 

My internship is so wonderful—one of the many highlights of my day. It’s located in a small house rented from the Baptist Church near all the embassies. I love noticing the differences in the buildings; meaning, the US embassy is a big, gated, over guarded cinderblock building while the South African embassy looks like a hotel from a dream catalog. 

The office is also where more Kinyarwanda lessons continue, and usually a couple Rwandan culture lessons as well. On Wednesday, our lunchtime became an hour-long lecture in the significance of dowry parties in Rwanda. They pretended I was getting married to “Francois” as a role-play scenario, and doubled over laughing when I got so offended I wasn’t allowed to attend the part of the ceremony where they decide on how many cows I’m worth! One of the many ways God has answered my prayer for joy and laughter

My mouse friend at work faithfully reminds
me when its 5:00 pm and time to go home for the day

Accomplishment of the day: A man tried to sell me a Kinyarwanda dictionary, but when I responded in Kinyarwanda, he retracted it saying, “oh you know Kinyarwanda!” I think if I kept talking to him he would’ve forced me to buy it for my own good, but it was a personal win for the day!

Tourist’s tip of the day: Do not ask to see Hotel Rwanda; it is not an actual place. One of the biggest laughs I’ve had is with my coworkers who told stories of Americans asking to stay at Hotel Rwanda. The hotel that the movie is based on is Hotel Des Milles Collines (“Hotel of a Thousand Hills”), and it’s about 10 minutes away from my house (but 30 minutes walking for me). 

Hope that gives you a little idea of my time here!

Denied.

I used to think “denying yourself” (Luke 9:23) was something you could choose to do at some point in your life. But I’m learning that it is a necessity for experiencing the fullness of life. Here, I am learning what it is to deny comfort, familiarity, language, and mostly myself.

Cornell West once said in a lecture at Wheaton:

 “There is no rebirth without death, so anyone wanting to be in the art of living must have courage to encounter death…Love is always a form of death. “

Many things brought me to this place—mostly good things. I believe God called me here, and that calling is good and beautiful. God’s calling was never difficult to accept because it lined up so perfectly with what I had always wanted: to explore, to learn, to meet new people, to be independent.

All these things have served to get me here to Kigali. But I woke up the first morning and realized none of these desires alone will help me survive in Rwanda. It was a terrifying realization. This is going to be very, very hard.

An incredibly powerful (and probably over quoted) song by Hillsong asks God to

“Lead me where my trust is without boarders, let me walk upon the waters wherever you would call me. Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander, and my faith would be made stronger in the presence of my Savior.”

This song was so helpful leading up to this point because it described exactly what I was doing: asking God to bless the opportunity to live in Rwanda. But the song says nothing about what to do once you’re in the water and you realize how easy it will be to slowly drown for the next 6 months.

In other words, my desires lining with God’s brought me to this point, but obedience to God’s faithfulness will help me to stay. 

By His grace, nothing matters more than God’s constant presence with me. Even though everything that I depend on for comfort is gone, the only true and lasting source of provision is always with me.

Hopefully better pictures to come soon,
but this gives you an idea of one of the many hills in Kigali.
The big building is the "downtown" area

And God has been so good, and so faithful! My host family is beyond incredible. They joyfully translate the 6-hour prayer service and explain the significance of the traditional dances during my first dowry party. They accept me as their daughter without any questions, and patiently introduce new Kinyarwanda words to my slowly growing vocabulary. It took everything in me to not break down crying in Church because of the beauty of praising God “Wera uni uwera” (Holy, you are holy) over and over and over.

I pray that I come to overflow with a deep love for my Rwandan family here. But in order for me to fully love, I must continue to deny myself.

God calls us to deny ourselves not so that we can be miserable, but for our own good—it is the only way to make room in our hearts for joy!

I have my own room!
This is the morning glow I wake up to every day

Favorite moments so far:

• Waking up to the glow of the sun through my mosquito net
• Being told all I have to do to learn Kinyarwanda is to "up the faith," then God will give me the gift of tongues to understand. We all laughed so I think it was a joke...
• Dowry parties are awesome. I'll leave you with this: 8 men dressed as cows dancing to djembes and horns
• Worshipping God in Church with a vuvuzeya 
• Thinking a guy was taking a picture of his friend, but was really taking a picture of the “muzungu” (white person), which he proudly showed me later
• Failing miserably at bucket showers
• In the evenings, learning to cook outdoors and slowly learning Kinyarwanda...there's a lot of laughter involved