steveinrwanda

2008-06-11T07:18:00.000-07:00

A Rich Drink. Bitter & Sweet.

2008-05-31T22:30:00.001-07:00

Saturday was a day like no other. Rwanda is a rich bittersweet drink I can never get enough of. I woke with the Muslims call to prayer then snoozed until the roosters roused me. I trotted over to the Novotel Hotel lobby to get internet access. When I returned to Solace, it was decided that we would teach a workshop today, but we weren’t ready. I went to look at the room we would use and it turned out to be an open are pavilion with a dirt floor and several rows of hard wood church pews in straight lines. That wouldn’t do. I asked the Solace staff to help me to collect every free standing classroom chair they could find; meanwhile, I tried to determine how many students would be coming to the workshop or who they would be. Would it be 10? 20? Would they children? Adults? No one was sure? Would anyone come? No one had a clear answer.
I had thought 30 people at the most would come. Meanwhile, in the field next to the pavilion workers were cultivating the soil. Saturday was a community service day all over Rwanda and all able bodied folks are expected to contribute time and sweat to the betterment and beautification of the country. People were toiling hard in the morning sun while we hastily prepared our class.
Two o’clock came and I was drenched with sweat myself from running around, gather supplies, trying to get ready at the last minute. I walked into the pavilion and found the chairs in a circle as I had requested. Next to the circle were the pews with about 75 people crammed into them. These were the same people who had been working in the field next door all day. They were the ones who had come for the class. They were orphans, widows and child heads of households. They were hungry, tired yet somehow eager to learn.
We began with a prayerful song, an invocation of sorts, which they sang to God, as my group and I listened. When they finished I invited them to come to the circle. We talked about why we were sitting in a circle and how a circle signifies oneness and unity. This all came from them. Then I asked them what they wanted to learn about today. They chose four topics: Communication, God, Music, and Gratitude. So together we created a class about those things. All 100 of us.
I can’t help but feel like the student. Thank God I had a chair in the circle.

At Home in Rwanda

2008-05-30T22:12:00.000-07:00

On Thursday afternoon I met Gasper, an electrician who is installing wiring for a new set of offices near the building where my group and I are staying. He saw me standing outside a building and waived me over. I’m excited because Gasper is the first Rwandan person I’ve met spontaneously, without a formal introduction. He is kind and gentle and eager to practice English. He asked me why I came to Rwanda. I told him that the people in the U.S. are curious about Rwanda and want to know how the Rwandan people are doing. He told me, “Stephen, the Rwandese people are not well. They come to places like this to get food stuff and clothes stuff but they need more.” This guy couldn’t have said it better if he’d read from a script I given him. He went on to say that many of his fellow countrymen and women have been traumatized by what the experienced during the war and that they still suffer the effects of that trauma years later. Gasper asked me to speak to the director of the place where I’m staying (Solace Ministries), “I’m just a worker”, he said, “but maybe he’ll listen to you.” He went on to explain his vision for offering some sort of counseling to people who come to get food and clothing. That way, he explained, people wouldn’t feel stigmatized as the counseling could be offered to all along with the food, etc. Gasper is a visionary. Gasper is why I came to Rwanda.

On Friday morning, I had planned to meet with Felix who has almost completed an autobiography of his life up to, during and after the 1994 genocide. I couldn’t get in touch with him on the phone the morning of our appointment so I decided to take a chance and caught a cab across town to the area near the Kigali airport and the Kigali Institute of Education. The taxi driver seemed a bit surprised when I asked him to let me out in front of the university on a street teeming with people, none of whom were white. The guards at the University gate would only allow me in to take a few snap shots and Felix was nowhere in sight. I began walking, noticing the faces of people. Some looked happy, some angry, most just mystified, to see me walking down their street. I found that if I held any one gaze long enough, I almost always got a smile. I took that as a challenge and tried to get a smile out of everyone I could make I contact with. After about two hundred smiles, Felix approached from across the steet, “Stephen! Stephen! I looked for you. I saw a muzungu and thought that must be Stephen!”

Felix took me to his home, a small room which he shares with two other students. For about three hours, Felix and I went over his story, that which he had written and that which he had not. He asked me questions and I answered as candidly as I could. As I sat with Felix I thought about how brave this young man was to sit here and share this story with me and even, to share it with all of you. This is a 23 year old man who, at the age of 8, watched much of his family be slaughtered then ran and ended up hiding under a bed with his 12 year old brother for 2 months. When he was finally rescued he could neither walk nor speak, for he had only whispered and laid flat for two months. Rebel army soldiers taught him to walk and talk again and here he was speaking to me. Felix is a survivor. Felix is why I came to Rwanda.

I arrived back at Solace on Friday afternoon figuring my adventures were over for the day. But they had just begun. As I approached the gate a young man ran up to me. I assumed he wanted to beg for food or money and braced myself for that. But he asked for neither. He introduced himself as Gilbert and he said he had something he knew I would want to see. I told him I had people waiting for me inside but that if he wanted to wait for 30 minutes, I would come out and see whatever it was he had to show me.

Gilbert took me on what he said would be a short walk around the corner. About 5 miles later we arrived in his village. Gilbert referred to himself as a Rwandan Indian. He asked me where the American Indians lived, what happened to them and where they live now. I tried my best to explain. The story seemed familiar to Gilbert and he was intrigued to learn a new English word: reservation. His village is name after a nearby hill, Kabatwa. To Gilbert, Kabatwa also roughly translated to Rwandan Indian or indigenous person of Rwanda. He called his village Kabatwa Place, “Stephen, Kabatwa Place is the Rwandan Indian Reservation.” Great, I thought, all you need now is a casino.

Gilbert would make a fine blackjack dealer or host of any kind. Gilbert is an orphan. Gilbert is why a came to Rwanda.

Steve at Story Corps May 4, 2008

2008-05-25T07:06:00.000-07:00

First Official Blog Post

2008-05-25T07:00:00.000-07:00

This is my first official blog post—ever. I’ll try to use this space to share with folks about my experiences in yoga Teacher Training at Kriplau and then my trip to Rwanda on May 27th, 2008. Please stay tuned and subscribe to this blog. Thank you for your interest. I promise to keep it interesting, informative and inspiring.

With Love & Gratitude,

Steve

motto

2008-04-22T03:34:00.000-07:00

Working in the vineyard,
Paid by the day.....