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Jerry Katlin asked me to describe my experience in three words.  Even though I am generally the queen of concise, I just can’t.  But let me try a few…

Grateful.  I feel so blessed to have had this opportunity.  So many things bought me to this point-some not so good but most of them great.  And now to be able to immerse myself in a culture, to live differently than my norm, and most important, to be touched as I never have by so many people and places, makes me so grateful.  

Connected.  One aspect that I wasn’t expecting was the large number of people that volunteer at and visit the orphanage, not to mention the others I met in my work and travels.  Meeting people from literally all across the world and to now consider some of them my friends, is a bonus that I will take.  And who knows how I ended up in a tiny little country that, as Brenda pointed out, you can barely find on the map, but I also have a connection to that place that I will never lose.  It is wounded yet so hopeful.  There is gentle kindness to its spirit.  And thanks to that crazy Facebook, I also felt connected to home.  The amount of love and support that was sent my way was humbling. 

Overwhelmed.  At times I feel the experience was so overwhelming.  There is much that I did not write about like meeting the former Bishop of Rwanda and a former wife of Kony—both individuals that you knew had a wisdom and understanding that you can only hope to achieve a fraction of.  And honestly, sometimes I was overwhelmed by my own Western ideals that I could not shake.  I want so much more for these kids, especially the teenage girls at the orphanage.  They are so bright and funny and engaging that you just want to scoop them up and give them the opportunity to do anything they want.  But who am I to judge that the life they end up living won’t be fulfilling and beautiful.  

Trust.  I will be the first to admit that Victor could sometimes drive me crazy.  But I learned a lot from him.  How to argue with grace.  How to stay true to your vision no matter what the obstacles.  How opening your home to anyone that wants to experience the peacefulness and restorative feeling of that place and trusting that the Universe will return that favor someday, is amazing.  And it works.  And trusting myself.  Learning that not everything is going to feel right and to sit back and be patient as the lessons unfold does not come easily for me.  Yet I had no choice.  And it also worked.

For the first time in my life, I could go just go on and on about these past three months—but I won’t.  It took me two days to even post that I was home as I struggle to readjust and come to terms with what this has meant, and to face the new fears of what comes next. 

And finally back to grateful--I can’t find the words to express to my new friends and old how much your interest, support, and love has meant to me.  I am one very lucky woman.   Thank you.            

The Genocide

I have not spent much time writing about the genocide that occurred in this country.  You all know about it and it certainly has not dominated my trip.  It has however, constantly been in the back of my mind.  Standing in the streets of Kigali and wondering what it was like when it was littered with bodies.  Looking at machetes and wondering if they were ever used for killing.  Finding out that the kindest man at the orphanage was imprisoned for alleged acts during that time.  Sitting at the pool at Mille Collines in the lap of luxury yet knowing that it protected so many.  Meeting a man whose family swam across Lake Kivu to the Congo and lost two siblings along the way.  Visiting the memorial in Kigali.  Seeing a scar on the neck of a young man at the orphanage.  It is everywhere. And yet, the most impactful was the church in Nyamata.  A place where people thought they were safe—but the army bombed and shot their way in and killed thousands.  The clothes of those victims piled on the pews. Bullet holes in the ceiling.  The blood of the babies that were swung by their feet and slammed against the wall still evident.  And looking at the casket of a woman that was repeatedly raped before she was killed.  And she was killed by a sharpened stick that was inserted in her vagina and pushed until it came out the top of her skull. I think, for the first time, I might truly believe in evil. 

And yet, while I type this, it is occurring again and again and again.             

City Life

I’m in Kigali for a few days before I leave for Kampala.  It is so different here than ‘in the middle of nowhere’, but interesting just the same.  Ralf kindly let me stay at his house this week.  It has been fun to get to know Eli and Norman better—all really great people.

Not that I’m not working for Victor anymore—Cristina and I ran errands for him on Tuesday which included picking up his passport from the German embassy, getting some more RAM for his disabled laptop and picking up his iPod from some hotel.  Thursday, I went to immigration to find out what a new work permit was going to cost him.  In between I managed to visit a genocide widows sewing and craft cooperative (where they also made me a lovely skirt), do a little shopping, and have dinner with my new Danish friends, Helle and Helene, and attend an art opening with them. 

And lunch Wednesday with Cristina was quite fun.  After countless numbers of children asking for money or trying to sell you something, we walk into the restaurant and she grabs the menu and says, I’m going to buy that kid a sandwich—meaning the one standing outside the front of the building.  Not sure why this exact child captured her, but he did and we decided we would invite him to eat with us.  He was about five years old and initially very shy.  The waiter helped translate (we learned his name was Patrick) and we ordered him the milk and bread that he requested—later a Fanta after he eyed Cristina’s.  He gulped down the milk and when he finished his croissant, he asked if he could go get his brother.  Sure, why not.  His brother, Kerry, was probably about two or three.  They were so darned cute—one of the best meals we have had here.  When we were finished we boxed up some leftovers and had them take us to where their Mom and other siblings were sitting on the street.  She was very appreciative. 

Most every trip requires a ride on the moto and now I barely notice the crazy driving and death defying merges into traffic.  Just seems normal and I’m beginning to wonder why we don’t have this in Denver—maybe I’ll get a scooter when I get homeJ  With a sidecar for Willie?

Today will be my last day here before a 5:45 am bus to Uganda.  I’m sure I will question why I didn’t fly after 8 or more hours on the bus, but it just seemed like a waste of money.  And supposedly it is much more luxurious than the buses I’ve taken here to date.  We will see.

Friends, can you imagine....

Victor’s favorite saying is “Friends, can you imagine…” as in:

Friends, can you imagine in the middle of nowhere there is a place as beautiful as this.
Friends, can you imagine the first orphanage in the world to gain self-sufficiency and economically independence (I love his English)
Friends, can you imagine how we can support almost 130 orphans on $2000 a month.

I went to high school for a bit today.  Friends, can you imagine a classroom with only a blackboard and chalk for teaching aids, with limited textbooks, shared pens and one notebook each.  For Physics, the questions were written on the board and then they worked in groups to answer.  English was a little more fun.  The teacher wrote the lesson on the board and then interacted with the kids to complete the examples.  They all raise their hands and snap their fingers and say ‘me, teacher…me, teacher’ when they want to answer a question.  Despite never raising my hand nor doing any of that, the teacher called on me four times!  My name was ‘newcomer’.   I guess my English is a little rusty as I rarely use the verb ‘shall’ and never use ‘shan’t’ and was a little confused as to which pronouns they apply.  The teacher was quite patient with me and I answered all my questions correctly including the definition of ‘must’.  I was quite proudJ

As time runs out here I realize how much I have grown to love some of these kids.  Jeanette (or Bora) and Elena are a couple of my favorites.  Jeanette (Bora) wrote me a letter and gave it to me last night.  Here is what she said:  

“To you my dearst:  How are you firstly I greet you in Jesus name.  I think that you are okey just that the problems can’t goose in our life continue.  Jean, since I look at you, you are believed for me ‘oh’ faithfully just to say I will never and ever forget you in my life.  My aim is that when I have life I will remember you.  You are very sorry for that you are going to miss you and you pray for you.  Thank you so much, for your friend, Bora."

Friends, can you imagine the struggle it is for any volunteer here to stay in touch with these kids.  They don’t have phones.  There is no post office nearby (the orphanage PO Box is in Kigali and mail is picked up sporadically) and it would be difficult for them to even purchase stamps.  They do not have access to email except if a volunteer will let them use theirs, as I do.  Their English is so limited that they can’t express themselves as much as they would like.  And they all ask ‘when are you coming back’?  So hard to answer.  Maybe soon.  Maybe never.   What must it be like to constantly have people walk in and out of your life? 

I can only hope we do more good than harm.          

The children

I have only a little over a week left here at the orphanage before I leave for Kigali and then Uganda.  It has gone amazingly fast.  How was I ever worried about my ability to be away for so long?  Now, it doesn’t seem like near enough time.    

I’m still in awe of the children here.  There are many challenges—the crappy diet, the tattered clothes, the probably less than adequate schooling—especially when they are being taught in a language that they barely know--and of course, the lack of a true family unit.  But yet, although the diet is heavy carbs and low on protein, they certainly aren’t getting the processed foods and genetically modified mutations that we consume.  They make the best of their clothes and the teenagers even share like every other teenager across the world.  The value their education and study hard.  The all talk about University. And they truly love and look after each other.    

And they are happy.  As I have written about before, they sing and smile all the time.  I have an endless supply of hugs—not just from the babies but from the older kids as well.  There is a certain innocence about them that is so endearing that you want them to keep it forever.    While it is not a perfect life, it is much, much, better than I expected.

And the government wants to take it all away. 

The rumor is that they want to close all orphanages by the end of the year.  At least one and maybe two have already been closed.  I found the strategic plan of the Ministry of Gender and Family Promotion and there is not one word about it in there, so it is suspected that it is a presidential edict of some sort.  (don’t think for a second that this is a democracy as we know it).  There were a few articles about the policy in the press last fall and now the talk has started up again and being heard by the kids on the radio. 

The plan is to place the children with their extended families if they have one.  The problem is that to date, these families have not stepped up to care for them and there is a real and legitimate fear that they will be mistreated if they are returned.  Not to mention that many of them cannot afford another mouth to feed.  For those that do not have extended families, they are looking at something similar to the American foster care program.  I will leave my views on that system out of this and just let you form your own opinion on how that might or might not work.

Of course, the orphanage has received no official word from the government.  Our current plan is to write a letter to the minister to ask if we can receive more details and also to see what the criteria is to select the two orphanages that we have heard they will keep open.   It is also hard to believe that they can accomplish this all in a year, so we will see.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the policy will be re-evaluated or reversed (Kagame has done that a couple of times in the past) as there are so many people that have invested so much to help these kids and there are so many good plans to help them in the future.   

And they deserve it.       

     

Sounds

I think one of the things that I will miss most about this place is the sounds.  It starts with the clanging of the tire rim at 5:00 am for church and then slowly and gently increases from there.  There are the birds of course, and the roosters and the cows, then the children singing, and some extremely loud bees and finally the whole day comes together as church is over and the cooking begins—generally there is a child or two crying somewhere, but on the other hand there is the laughter of the babies as they receive their baths and get dressed for the day.  Sometimes Victor plays his guitar and sings in the morning.  By 7:00 when the first children leave for school and the rest head for the fields, the orphanage is in full swing.

Then the opposite occurs as the sun goes down.  First there is church so the kids settle down from their play, and they sing again (they often sing to themselves during the day as well).  Study time follows which can be quiet or sometimes a little rowdy.  By 7:00 it is dark and we have our dinner.  Then it is only the sounds of conversation at the guest house which can also range from quiet to a bit rowdy, but always interesting. 

Except for the occasional motorbike or car in the distance there is no ‘traffic’ noise and I have only heard the ambulance siren once.  And siren is a stretch, more like a horn that says “I’m here”—you certainly can’t drive fast enough on these roads to hurt anyone and there is not enough traffic to get in the way. No TVs or video games and few radios (think tinny transistor sounds).  There are a number of old cell phones that hold some music for the kids but you don’t even hear those that often.   And I have only heard Lady bark twice while I have been here (I need to have a chat with Willie when I get home to let him know that is an option).  

I know I’m not describing it well, I think it is one of those things that you have to experience before it makes sense. And I’m happy that I have. 

Rain, hellos, and goodbyes

The rainy season is here.  I thought that it might delay its arrival as a favor to me but no luck.  It has been raining off and on for the last week but pretty steady for the past two days.  Just when you think it isn’t too bad, it starts raining harder to prove a point that you aren’t in control of anything here. 

It leaves you a bit damp and not bone chilling cold, but certainly not the warmth of the sun that I was so getting used to.   It is the weekend and Victor discourages work so I try to read but it doesn’t hold my attention so you have to be content with just being, and alone with your thoughts—which is harder than you think.   At some point, I just crawl back into bed. 

But Pam arrived on Thursday evening so that is a bright spot for me.  Although, I wasn’t sure she was going to survive the moto taxi drive to the orphanage, she did.  I think she would have preferred to drive.  And if you know Pam, you know that is true.  Now we need to stop her from stashing one of the babies in her suitcase to take home.    

We spent the morning after her arrival exchanging money and grabbing a few supplies in Kigali before heading out to the orphanage.  You don’t know the look of joy until you deliver jar of Nutella to Janek.  The bottle of Vodka didn’t hurt either. 

Janek and Beata leave tomorrow for three weeks of travel in Uganda and then home to Poland.  I am in quite a bit of denial about it as this has become my home for now and they are my family.  They are an amazing couple and have been a pleasure to live and travel with.  I will miss their humor, Polish Tuna salad on the top of a volcano, and a story worth it’s own post about Janek  ‘saving Private Ryan,’ aka my cell phone.   I hope to be able to see them in Kigali on the 12^th before they catch their flight home, so it is just a temporary goodbye.  But it is worthy of a dance party tonight with the kids and an adult party later to ensure they end this part of their adventure in style.