I’ll be Home For Christmas

I slept in my own bed last night, at the end of a long journey.  I had a wonderful time in Rotterdam and Kigali.  I was able to spend time with friends, make new friends, learn about amazing investments of human effort and time into the work of restoration and reconciliation and learned through patience and self reflection.

A quick summary of my learning, a) the diversity in God’s kingdom is something to be recognized and celebrated, b) waiting is a term that is over-used or mis-used in the West, c) basic Africa food is nutritious and tasty, d) worship is a commitment, an attitude, an investment and an opportunity for growth, e) laughter sounds great in any language, and f) there’s no place like home.

Diversity

The way I see it, our Creator God loves diversity.  From the intricate design of the myriad of microbes, to the varied hues of green of the forest canopy, the diverse songs and sounds of birds and the colors of human skin, it seems apparent that differences are part of the grand design and an aspect of life to be celebrated.  The achievements, styles, tastes and art of mankind indicates our own vast and diverse ways of living, loving, serving and celebrating.  My time on this recent trip to Rotterdam and Rwanda has been a wonderful opportunity for me to recognize the diversity of God’s creation and of human experience.  I am personally convinced that there is strength and beauty in diversity.  The diversity of human artistic and cultural expression is also an opportunity for learning and celebration.  I am learning to love and appreciate diversity myself.

Waiting

To wait: “To remain or rest in expectation”.  A basic difference in life that I noticed between Rwanda and the US is how time is categorized.  Rwandans spend a lot of time doing what Americans call “waiting”.  Typical days in Kigali involved waiting for people to show up for scheduled appointments, waiting for transportation, waiting for events to occur.  Although, it seems that Rwandans don’t consider this to be waiting as Americans do.  Several times while I was in Kigali, I had Rwandan friends apologize to me for being late to appointments.  At the same time I let them know that there was no problem, I also realized that they expected an American to be impatient with their being tardy.  I am unsure if Rwandans apologize to one another for being late.  One observation I had though, is that Rwandans didn’t seem to carry an impatient attitude nor did they seem to mind waiting.  Spending over seven hours in the Nairobi airport waiting for my plane was a challenging time for me, as I was expecting something else to happen (being on a plane).  So, could it be that sitting in an airport is any less of a life occurrence than sitting on a plane?  The very act of being, of sitting in a chair in an airport or on a plane is life, is it not?  How was I, who was I and what was I doing during these times?  Was I waiting for something else to happen, or to do, or was I living?

African food

I admit that I can’t real judge the nutrition value of the typical Rwandan diet.  Though, the several realistically typical Rwandan meals I had were quite a bit different than a typical American meal.  Fresh fruits and vegetables were in abundance.  Rice and beans were served.  Meat was on the menu, but in very small quantities.  There were no bread products.  The food was either baked, boiled or broiled.  The food was tasty and filling.  I lost several pounds during my three week trip.  My judgment is that the diet was pretty good.

Worship

I have come to recognize that worship as a concept and activity is rather broad.  At a point earlier in my life, I saw worship as singing or praying, or thinking about God with an attitude of awe or appreciation.  I believe that worship is actually the expression of my recognition of the character and commitment of God toward me and my willingness to put myself in a position to recognize and acknowledge God in my words and actions regardless of my location. That is, worship occurs in the heart and comes out in various ways.  The way worship comes out might be influenced by my surroundings, including my culture and my location and my daily activities.  I note that Friends in Rwanda during a church service worship in different ways than Friends in Newberg.  Yet, I am thinking that the condition of the heart is the same.

Laughter

Laughing and smiling and even crying seem to be acts of the heart that mean the same in any language.  In Kigali, I observed a man in deep sorrow at the Genocide Memorial.  As he wept, I experienced the same grief.  In a back street of Remera, a young child saw me, shouted, “Mazunga”, laughed, came over and gave me a hug.  I knew what he felt, I felt happy and blessed to get a hug, too.  Imanuelli and I returned to the car after visiting the church at Ntarama which had been the sight of a major massacre of Tutsi’s in 1994.  As we sat there, he told me, “now, we pray”.  He prayed in Kinyarwandan, and then I prayed in English.  Afterwords, I knew how he felt, as I felt blessed to be experiencing the horror of man’s inhumanity to man with another brother, with whom I could pray, even if I did not understand the words he used in his prayer.

Home

Dorothy said it best, “There’s no place like home”.  Yes, I was tired and a bit sick, and the journey was long.  Yet I was so pleased to be back home, to familiar routines, sounds and people.  The noise of children playing is comforting to me, as I know I am in a place that I can be tired, or a bit sick, and people will let me be.  We celebrated Ruth’s birthday and Abby’s birthday.  It is a blessing to have people to honor, to celebrate, to have fun with, and to love.  There is no place like home.

Slowing Down in Remera

I had a visit Friday morning with Augustin Simparinka. the General Superintendent and Legal Representative of the Rwanda Yearly Meeting. He was on his way out of town. I learned about the Evangelical Friends Church of Rwanda. Afterwords, David Thomas gave me a tour of the missionary kids’ school in the compound.  I discovered that the Friends Church in Rwanda is quite young, only dating back to the 1980s, with the pioneering work done by missionaries Willard and Doris Ferguson. I also learned about the Friends Peace House, an outreach program of the church here, to connect with others in this country who are committed to peace and reconciliation work.   If i get the opportunity to return to Kigali, I would like to visit the Peace House and learn more about the projects and activities that it has undertaken.

I also met Gary and Wendy Baxter, the parents of Aryn, the director of the Go Ed program here, and hostess at the house where I am staying.  Gary and Wendy are from Houghton College in New York.  I learned from them that Houghton is very active in sending students to international sites, both short term during a May term, and for longer, semester study abroad programs.

Saturday was umuganda, the monthly Saturday morning of community service that all Rwandans participate in.  All the shops and other businesses were closed until early afternoon.  People are organized by small neighborhood groups (about one hundred households) to do one morning of community service a month.  This is an old tradition in Rwanda and is mandatory.  I spent the day packing, reading, reflecting on my trip and my journey home.  I shared pictures of my family with Aidah and Imanuelli.

I pray that God will bless the people of this household and the other friends I have made here in Kigali.  I am grateful for them, their lives and their kindness extended to me.  My life is richer for the people I have met here.  My life is rich in relationships with fine people.  I think of my family, my church family and my colleagues and friends at home.  I look forward to getting back during Christmas week to celebrate and enjoy with them.

Horizon Express to Huye and Back

My friend, Mariette met me at the taxi stop just up the hill from the house at 7:30 on Thursday morning.  We were waiting for the bus to take us into the town center to catch the intercity bus to Huye.  Huye, formerly known as Butare, is about 130 km south of Kigali, near the border with Burundi.  After several minutes, Mariette became concerned that we would miss the bus, so she suggested we take the moto taxis instead.  I agreed, and at that point, I realized that I had not been on a motorcycle in about 17 years (since I was involved in a serious accident in Colorado, when I drove a trail bike into the side of a garage).  Mariette located several experienced drivers, and I climbed aboard the back of the moto, and away we went.  I was given a helmet to wear and no further instructions or security.  I hung on to the bike and was a bit nervous, but my driver was quite good and it was a smooth, ten minute ride to the bus center.

The bus center was jam packed with people, cars, motos and buses.  We purchased tickets at the Horizon terminal and boarded the express to Huye.  This bus was quite nice.  The seats were large and comfortable.  The two hour trip cost us about four dollars a piece.  We went through the crossroads town of Gitarama, to the west of Kigali, and then turned south.  The only drawback on this trip was the very loud rap music that the driver had playing in the bus.  I could barely carry on a conversation with Mariette, but did learn about her time at the National University and her family.  Mariette was serving as my official guide and translator for this trip.

We got off the bus at the National Museum of Rwanda.  I spent several hours there.  It was a good museum, featuring the culture of Rwanda, some history, and a little of the natural history of this land.  One highlight for me was going inside a traditional thatched home and seeing how people lived in times past here.  I learned that milk was very important to the people, as was banana beer.  There was a good display on beer making.  Another display featured how homes had a special counter in their living area reserved for containers of milk.  These might have been wood or clay pots.  The milk was kept there to be served to honored guests.   Beer was often kept and transported in calabashes, big gourd-like containers.

We left the museum and rode motos to the National University.  The 5 km ride cost me about $1.oo. We toured the University, but I was unable to meet any lecturers or administrators as the University was closed for the holidays.  Mariette was an able guide, though, and I got to see academic buildings, athletic courts, student housing and faculty offices.  I took a number of pictures on this trip.  You can view them here. We stopped to have a Fanta at the pub on campus.  There was a basketball camp going on, so there were a lot of tall fellows eating lunch while we sat in the garden and had our drinks.  Francine, Mariette’s elder sister, joined us.  Mariette was raised in this town, and her mother and sister still live here.

We visited the public relations office of the University, the only office that we found opne and occupied at this time. I was presented with a brochure and some pens as mementos of my visit.  Mariette called a friend and he sent a friend of his to pick us up and transport us around town.  From the University, we went to the Hotel Credo and had lunch.  The special of the day was rabbit, so I took it, and it was served with rice, potatoes, eggplant and salad.  It was a very good and very full meal.  Our next stop was Mariette’s family home.  Mariette’s mother, Adelle, was a single mom who raised four children, and several additional orphans after the genocide.  The family home was quite modest.  Upon entering the house, I was greeted with a hug, and I was able to offer up a “Bonjour, Madame” to Adelle.  She spoke no English, so Mariette did all the translating work for us.  We talked about our families and our faith. 

Mariette told me that her mother had milk for us.  I turned behind me, and there on a counter behind my chair was a pitcher of room temperature milk, with the cream on top.  I graciously accepted and drank a cup.  I thanked Adelle for her hospitality.  This, I learned, was a high honor and I took it as such.