' I'm going to Rwanda next week, to do a Children's Mission.'
'That sounds good.'
' I told the Pastor I would bring a friend. But I don't know who that friend will be.'
' Can it be me?'
' Yes, certainly.'
So, I found myself as a 'friend' on a trip to Rwanda. Mary (Kenyan housemate from previous Blogs and previous house) my ' friend' was not sure exactly where we were going or where we would be staying. She had met this Rwandan pastor on a bus a few months back. They had got chatting. He invited her to go to his church in Rwanda to do a 'Mission' with children. Sorted!
We started with a moto ride to the bus station. I arrived without aching fingers! Steady progress on the moto riding front. We were then packed into the Volcano bus, travelling from Bujumbura to Kigali. No exits were kept clear! Luggage was not securely fixed! No seat belts were worn! Gangways were filled with fold down seats! Mrs Health-and-Safety was having apoplectic fits inside my head. But she said nothing!!
The route from Bujumbura to the border is somewhat windy (as in curly), requiring careful monitoring on my part as to whom to keep out of my eye line. Random occurrences of travel sickness were high on the list of activities of the other passengers. We arrived at the Border with the contents of our stomachs secure. Which could not be said of many of the other passengers!
|That's our bus in the distance.|
I'm not an experienced Border crosser, so have nothing with which to compare this event. It required us leaving the bus and walking first to the Burundian office, to show our passports. My details were all written down by hand in a 'book'. Not something that seemed to happen to most of the others in the queue. We then walked the 500 yards across the bridge into Rwanda, where we presented more paperwork and were allowed into the country.
Back on the bus and on to Kigali. It is at this point that Mary confesses that she is not entirely sure where we are going. I endure my first of what is going to be many conversations that directly affect me, but I understand not a word of! Strangely, I feel quite relaxed about it all. It's an adventure! It turns out we are getting off at Muhanga Town (formerly known as Gitarama) .
We tumble out of the bus and into crowds of people, to be met by a grinning Rwandan man in a trilby. Mary has another confession, she is relieved to find that she recognises the man as the pastor she met on the bus. She had been concerned that she might not remember what he looked like. Another 'conversation'. I have settled on the 'just-stand-here-and-smile' approach. Seconds later we are on the Rwandan version of the moto and zipping off to who knows where.
Where? Was Pastor Michael's house. Turns out that was Pastor Emmanuel we met. Turns out, that over the next 3 days I am going to meet a whole host of Pastors, of all shapes and sizes and varying degrees of importance.
We are now given the answer to the question of where we are going to stay. In the guest accommodation of Pastor Michael's house. There is one bed in a small room. Deep breath. That's Ok. Pastor Michael is a little thrown by the fact that Mary's friend is a mzungu. He asks if the accommodation is ok? Maybe we would rather stay in a hotel. At this point I make an internal decision, 'it's an adventure, accept whatever comes.' The pictures can maybe tell the story more adequately than my words.
Fortunately, Mary decided she didn't want to share a bed with me. So this is the extra bed put in the other room. I couldn't get a proper picture of my room, as it was too small to get into the camera focus. My bed had a mosquito net, big advantage. And it was a proper bed, not a mattress on the floor, even bigger advantage.
The Toilet! Round the corner from our rooms. Used by the whole household. Sporting a very fetching mosquito netting door. The picture was taken with the flash, as it wasn't quite light enough inside to see anything without it. Took a few deep breaths when I saw it. Then wished I hadn't!
The hardest cross cultural boundary I've had to negotiate so far in my travels has to be that of the, 'Sqatting toilet'. My toilet skills are well and truly English. I have in all my years never had cause to develop any ability to adequately and successfully squat to achieve relief. Of course there has been the odd, 'Long journey' or 'Motorway traffic' emergency squat. But they were never entirely successful or skillful. I discovered some very important issues, like, is it best to squat with feet flat on the floor or up on the toes? What if, as I discovered, I can't squat flat footed? How does one keep ones balance and ensure the target is hit? Without going into too much more inappropriate detail, all I can say is, that my skills only amounted to the level that would achieve grade 1 of the 2 required for successful relief of my bodily systems. Needless to say, but I will, I was literally extremely relieved when I got back home to Burundi and my very English toilet!
The kitchen provided generous amounts of food at lunch and again between 8pm and 9pm. Each meal made up of chips, rice, bugali (playdoh), sombe (no 2 on hated greens list), meat in juice and a. n. other component. My failure to reach Grade 2 in the relief skills department, meant the consumption of copious amounts of starch based food caused some considerable discomfort! Pastor Michael was adamant that I should consume 'African' portions at both meals and actively made sure I had huge dollops of rice and bugali! His generosity was well meant but uncomfortable to receive.
On a more serious note. After lunch on the first day we went to visit a family who were coming to the end of a week of mourning for the loss of their 35 year old son.
As I sat in the house, it was overwhelming to think that this was a family home occupied by 7 people. It was dark and damp. It had no electricity. No ceilings. The floor was made of damp bricks and mud. The walls plastered with rough cement. I could not understand how anyone could live in those conditions and still smile.
The picture of the parents (above) to me says it all. On the one hand the absolute grief on the father's face and on the other, the determined smile on the mother's face. When Pastor Michael asked me to share a word of encouragement to them, I felt at a total loss to know how I could even begin to speak into their lives. I have to confess that a big part of my 'sharing' this story is that I hope there is someone out there reading this blog, who has the resources to help this family. It costs around $800 a year, for the girls to go to university. If they were able to complete their education, there is a strong possibility they might lift the whole family out of the poverty trap they are caught in. It so often takes money to generate money. If you multiply nothing you get nothing.
Over the next few days Pastor Michael presented me with more opportunities to help and minister in Rwanda. He would love to start a Christian school for the children of the area. The poverty in Rwanda is real. But my heart is in Burundi! So again I offer it up to you the readers. There are great opportunities for ministry in Rwanda. If you are interested in any way, please contact Pastor Michael : Rhema Life Ministries : mrhemalife@yahoo.Fr Maybe you could just mention that it was Liz who alerted you. I have to admit to feeling a bit guilty that I could not commit to do more myself. But after reflection I realised that maybe 'blogging' was the best I had to offer just now.
Saturday, Mary led the children's mission. I sat on a plastic chair at the front, with Pastor Michael and tried to look suitably important. It was a little difficult as the whole session was in Swahili, translated into Kirwanda. I struggled even more in the afternoon, when we had a session for Sunday school teachers. There might have been just a little dozing going on and a lot less looking important. The day ended with an impromtu attendance of myself at the choir practice. I have attemtped to put a video clip onto You tube. The sound made by the choir of around a dozen young people was incredible. I felt a real sense of awe and wonder at being a witness to it. Pastor Michael in true African pastor style invited me to 'speak' at the end. What could I say? Two years ago I had decided that I had, had enough of life. Two years ago around this time I'd attempted to 'stop' my life. But God had intervened. He'd not finished with me, even if I had finished with Him. And here I was sitting in the middle of Africa listening to the most beautiful sound. A living testimony to the fact that 'All things are possible with God'.
So to end, a brief compare and contrast activity. Burundi and Rwanda. Well, they both have poverty. They both have a tragic recent history to come to terms with. They both have lots and lots of laughing, cheeky faced children. They both have plenty of people with dreams and aspirations to improve their countries.
A very proud Pastor Michael with the children who came to the mission. Ebeneezer Church has been open four just 4 years. The building has walls and a roof !
What does Rwanda have that Burundi does not? Road markings, road signs, pavements, supermarkets, with trolleys, ribena, high rise buildings, traffic lights, an open acknowledgement of it's history, recognition in the wider world, membership of the Commonwealth, English as it's second language, lots of rain and lower temperatures!
One thing I know for sure, it was great visiting Rwanda, but it was even greater to get back 'home'.