No Happy Ending, But Lots of Hope

One of the children who
comes to our site.

I started writing this post a couple of weeks ago, but I’ve been going back and forth about if I should post it. I struggled with publishing because it involves some of the more unfortunate realities of life here and also involves my personal pain. Finally my journalism major got the best of me and I just felt obligated to everyone who has supported my mission trip and all those offering prayers for me to not censor some of the sadder truths about life here. So here goes: 

As much beauty as I have seen, I have also seen so much pain. There is so much poverty. I especially have a hard time seeing all the street children. Some of the children fending for themselves cannot be over 6 years old. I have witnessed the damage done by the streets to my own boys before they were rescued and moved to the Foyer and it makes me so sad to stand back and see new children striving to make the streets their home. 

There is a skin disease that most of the street children have contracted. Many of them are covered in sores and flies always cover these children. It makes me sick because I’m constantly thinking, “This one covered in flies. That’s Jesus. This one with the open sores. That’s Jesus.”

One day about a week ago, two street children came to the oratory. One was 5 and the other was 8. I wish I knew their names, but they didn’t understand when I asked. I actually didn’t know that they were boys at first. The street kids will just take any clothing given to them and they were both wearing girl’s clothing. Their parents are dead and they live with their mother’s brother who refuses to care for them, other than giving them a place to sleep at night. 

They were both covered in sores and one of them had a really badly infected fingernail. It was so infected that it was rotting off. Looking at this poor child and his finger made me so angry. I took the two boys inside the priests’ house and one of the priests said I could bathe them. The boys didn’t speak English or French, so I found a Rwandan woman to just tell them they were getting a bath. 

I should probably say that these street children are so vulnerable to the horrible intentions of some bad adults. One of the priests that works with street girls told me that many times men will agree to give them food but the girls are forced to sleep with the men in return. They have to chose between starvation or rape. It’s heartbreaking. 

Section of the city

The 8 year old got so scared when I took him into the bathroom. The 5 year old was excited for a shower, so I really felt that something had happened to the 8 year old. I didn’t know what to do, so I just started singing them praise and worship songs in English. They finally realized they were safe and got ready to take their showers. We have really strict rules about child safety, so I left the bathroom door open and had the Rwandan woman with me. I started the shower for them but let them take their own showers; however, I washed both of their heads in the sink. The disease that the street children has sits in the hair. It looks like white powder in the hair but when it spreads to the skin makes sores. I wanted to make sure that got washed out of their hair. 

The 8 year old had an extended belly from being malnourished. I’m sure that his immune system was down from lack of nutrition, which didn’t help with his infected finger. I held his hand over the sink and really tried to wash the finger. It didn’t do much good. The child needed antibiotics, not just soap. The floor of the shower was solid brown when they were finished bathing themselves. 

I was asking the priests what we could do about the finger. They said there wasn’t much we could do. It was getting late and we didn’t have any medicines that would help. Finally, one of the priests told the little boy to come back the next day and they would try to figure out something to do with the finger. I never found out what happened, but street children don’t really live by rules or times, so it’s not likely the child came back. 

The hardest part for me was that after they were finished showering, I didn’t have any clean clothes to give them so they had to put back on their dirty, torn up clothing. I felt sick putting such disgusting clothing back on these children. Then I had to take them back outside and they left to go back to their uncle’s house. As soon as they walked outside, they were swarmed by just as many flies as before the shower. As they walked off together, I thought I was going to throw up. 

Smiling for the camera,
despite their many hardships. 

  I felt so guilty for not being able to do more. I wanted to grab these kids and give them brand new clothes, and take the 8 year old to the doctor, and find them parents who loved them. One of the priests talked to me afterward. He said as kindly as possible that there are hundreds of street kids right in front of of our eyes but we can’t help them all. Our responsibility is to the boys in the Foyer. After all, they are almost all orphans, they were street children, and some were even child soldiers. We have as many boys as we can afford to care for right now. If we stretched our resources too thin, we wouldn’t really be able to help anyone. 

It was really hard to hear. I kept wondering where to draw the line. When do you stop helping someone in order to help someone else? How do you choose who to care for and who to leave on the streets? 

Until that moment, I never would have considered my boys lucky, but they were rescued. That moment was when I understood just how blessed they are. Now, they have a home. They have adults to love and take care of them. They are given food and an education. Our boys were taken off the streets. I just wish all of these children could be. The ones who aren’t as lucky are totally defenseless. 

I felt really sick and outraged, so I wrote my dad a message telling him everything I was feeling. After talking to my dad, I’m starting to make peace with the situation. He told me the story about the boy throwing starfish back into the ocean. I’m sure you’re heard it. Even though the beach was covered in starfish and the boy couldn’t possibly throw them all back, he made a huge difference for the ones he did throw. Then my father reminded me that Jesus told us the poor would always be with us, but that they have a very special place at the Lord’s table. 

It still hurts, but I know I can’t help all of these kids and I can’t even fix all the problems for the ones I can help. It’s difficult to see so much suffering and to not save the day. But as my father reminded me, I’m not the savior of these children- Jesus Christ is. These kids belong to God, not me and I can only help in the little way he allows. So there is no happy ending to this story, but I have peace and I have hope. I know God will provide. 

“For the needy shall not always be forgotten, and the hope of the poor shall not perish forever.” - Psalm 9: 18

Ducks and Cowboys

Well, I’ve been in Rwanda for almost a month now. One down, 11 or 12 (or more) to go. I’m not totally sure when I will be coming home but around a year and some change. 
     There is so much to say, so I think I’m just going to have to make a few different posts on different topics. Check back soon for updates. 

Proof of how tough I am

  I’ll just start by saying that I’m finally getting used to my new home! I’m a little homesick, but I really want to thank all my friends and family for your encouragement and love. I am truly enjoying all the e-mails and messages. You guys are so good to me and I know your prayers are working. God is really sending me graces to get through the harder parts. 

  I’m mostly all healed from the injuries I describe in the last post; however I have a pretty large scar from the Moto burn. At first I was a little bummed, but after thinking about it I have a brighter perspective. Whenever I'm back in the states and people ask how I got the scar I can say, “Oh this? I got it while riding a motorcycle... in Africa. I got a concussion the same day.” If asked for details, I can just say “What happens in Africa stays in Africa.” I already feel more rugged. 

  In addition to my body healing, my legal status is now cleared up. I finally got my visa Thursday; unfortunately, Kyle did not. We are going to have to go back to immigration again this week (this will be our 5th trip, I believe). I'm so relieved to have the visa and it is actually pretty neat. It has “missionary” stamped right on it. I feel just a little more official now that I have it. 

  My French is also still increasing although not as quickly as it was at first. It’s now progressed far enough that I am always frustrated. Before now, I knew I couldn’t speak French so I wasn’t bothered by things I couldn’t say. In fact, anything I could say was a major accomplishment. Now that I can say much more, whenever I can’t say something (which is often) I get a little frustrated. 

  I actually said something pretty embarrassing at dinner the other day. I can’t remember what the priest said, but it was something like “Why are you smiling?” (all the priests speak French so this entire conversation was in French) and I wanted to say because I was very happy. Unfortunately that isn’t what I told him. I said “Parce que je suis tres joli” (Because I am very pretty). He looked a little confused but then accepted my answer and we moved on with the conversation. Luckily, a different priest said, “I think she means ‘Je suis tres contente.’(I am very happy). Doh.

     I was talking to one of the cooks today and he is trying to learn English. He knows about as much English as I know French so we agreed to meet up after lunch and practice. We had our first dual lesson last week and it went pretty well. 

     Teaching Rwandans English can be pretty funny. Typically, Rwandans can hear absolutely no difference between L's and R's which leads to some funny moments. One of my students always signs her name "Lacher," even though her name is Rachel. Still, that doesn't stop the kids from making fun of my slightly-teeny-bit-Texan accent. The German N.G.O. workers tease me about my southern accent too! I just didn't realize that people who learned English has a second or third language had the right to make fun of a native speaker's pronunciations, but in this case it happens. 

  I think my biggest personal accomplishment of this month is getting more used to the altitude. I have just been constantly tired because of less oxygen from the altitude. I have already used my inhaler more this month than I have in the last 5 years (You didn’t know I had an inhaler? That’s because I never had to use it). Luckily, I’m starting to get a lot more energy. 

     Now that my body is feeling more acclimated, I’ve been going to play sports with the boys every day. Part of Salesian spirituality is called the Oratory. It’s where we play sports with the kids for several hours after school in order to 1. Keep them out of trouble; 2. Foster self-esteem and good morals. 

  I should clarify that when I say “play sports with the boys” I mean hang out while they play. These kids are amazing athletes! The older boys always try to get me to play basketball, volleyball, or soccer with them, but we both know they are kidding. They even smirk as they say it, the punks. 

  I usually just chat or cheer on the sidelines; however, I saw some 5 year olds playing “futball” last week and decided to go play with individuals whose skills I assumed were around my level. I was wrong. Even the five year olds were too advanced for me. I had no choice but to begin karate chopping them (without actually hitting them obviously). They loved it and we karate chopped for a couple hours until it was getting dark. 

  Another evening for Oratory, I began teaching some kids a hand slapping game. I started with three kids and the next thing I knew there were 20 kids fighting to join the circle to play. It was getting out of hand so I started doing the Hokey Pokey. The kids went nuts! They loved it. I never really liked that game even as a child, but these kids acted like it was the best game they had ever played. We then played “Duck, Duck, DUCK” for a while. I was trying to teach them “Duck, Duck, Goose,” but they couldn’t remember “goose” so they just screamed “DUCK” whenever they wanted someone to chase them. They also could not understand the concept of running once around the circle before sitting down in a seat so sometimes the two ducks would run around the circle for awhile before one leaped into the circle, often landing on other children. Next time we play, the kids may need mouth guards and shoulder pads. 

  Other than playing with the kids at the oratory, I teach every day. I’m finally getting adjusted to the earlier days. Mass is at 6:10 a.m. and classes start at 7:45. It’s hard because if I want to talk to any of my American friends then I have to stay up way past my bedtime for them to be off work or school. I’ll write about my classes in an upcoming post, but this one is already getting long and I want to get to the cowboy.

  My mornings usually have a strange start. Want to know why? I'll give you a clue.... 

Cows....

     The cows from our site get to graze on my driveway at about 7:30 every morning and I literally have to push past them to go to classes. In the spirit of solidarity, I like to imagine it’s the same thing New Yorkers have to do (except with other people).

  The cows are always getting loose, which brings me to who I've been wanting to talk about… Steven the Cowboy.

  Steven is our youngest boy. When I first arrived, I kept hearing all about The Cowboy. I was sort of picturing this 19 year old kid with a cowboy hat and boots. In reality, Steven is 7 years old, but he is the ring leader of a group of boys who are a bit older than him. His best friend is this sweetheart named Edmond. Steven is always bringing Edmond into his troublemaking. Whenever I see their little gang, I am sort of reminded of the Lost Boys from Peter Pan. Steven always orders them around and they listen to and obey him. 

The Man of the Hour

  This child has such a personality. All the boys who live in the Foyer are required to work so they learn responsibility. The rule is sort of “Don’t work, don’t eat.” Obviously, this does not apply to 7 years olds, but Steven marched himself up to the head priest and demanded a job, but not just any job. Steven wanted to be in charge of the cows! The head priest eventually agreed and has been regretting that decision ever since. 

  Steven regularly loses the cows. About once a week the cows will wander into my classroom or I will see them on the soccer fields. Whenever I see the cows wandering around unsupervised, I don’t need to ask who is supposed to be watching them. I know. 

  I don't really understand why Steven has gotten to keep his position for so long. When someone has a really short attention span, people joke that they have the attention span of a SEVEN year old. So why would you ever give one custody of 20 cows several times a week? It’s a terrible decision, but no one ever seems to learn. Still, it makes for great stories. 

  The other day I walked past the cows’ stables. Some of the boys were cleaning it out. Since they were ankle deep in cow dung, they were all wearing these thick rubber boots that went up to their knees, except... (you guessed it!). Steven was wearing flip flops. His feet and legs were covered with cow crap! I thought about making him put on boots, but I realized it would be a futile effort. He would have still found a way to get dirty, even with boots. 

  I think he just enjoys being covered in gross things. I found him in the sewer ditches with Edmond and another boy this morning on my way to Mass. I tried to get them to come to Mass with me and we walked together for awhile but when Steven saw the church, he and the other boy took off running. Edmond came inside but lost interest about 20 minutes in and ran out before I could catch him. 

  I have so many stories about Steven and his little gang and they always make me laugh. I’ll have to post more later. 

     For now, I need to wrap up, but I do want to thank everyone for reading. I never expected to have so many views and have been surprised at some of the people who have messaged to tell me they are keeping up with the blog. Actually several unexpected people wrote to me over this past week to tell me to hurry and put up a new post, so this is for you. Sorry it's been taking a while in between, life is busy here as I'm sure you can imagine. Still, it's great to hear your prayers and excitement for me. Please keep up the emails and messages. I miss you all. 

"Good Mornings" and Not So Good Times

Although It’s only been two weeks since I updated, so much has happened. Many people like to count their blessings. For entertainment purposes, I’ll share with you a list of the minor catastrophes I have survived since arriving in Rwanda three weeks ago…

Since arriving: 1. All of my luggage was lost; 2. The toilet in my room (which was broken before I came) has yet to be fixed, despite my requests for a plumber; 3. Therefore, I must use a toilet without a seat; 4. I got a very nasty case of bed bugs; 5. I found a lizard living in my shower (I named him Leonard the Lizard); 6. My house keys were lost my first day of teaching and all of the locks on my house had to be replaced; 7. I fell and skinned my left knee and leg; 8. I’ve had to repeatedly deal with the unwanted (and occasionally creepy) affections of one of the teachers; 9. I drank the water (enough said); 10. I fell and scraped my right knee and leg; 11. My first time riding a Moto (a motorcycle taxi), my leg brushed past the exhaust pipe and I got a huge burn; 12. Later that day, I was hit in the head with a soccer ball and got my first concussion; 13. That same night I stepped in an ant hill; 14. I found my pet lizard, Leonard, dead in my shower the next morning.

I hope that everyone finds it extremely impressive that I only cried twice throughout all of this (both after the head injury, I might add). But still, God has been blessing me through everything. I keep offering up the little sufferings and praying others receive graces from them. Despite all the little miseries, Rwanda has already impacted me so deeply. 

Chris and Mitchell, the two missionaries my partner and I are replacing, trained us throughout our first week, but left last Monday. As we watched their jeep drive away, a sort of cold panic set in. I think that was the moment when Kyle and I realized that we are actually missionaries in Africa. I believe a phrase along the lines of “Oh shoot” was used. 

Some of my boys. That's my
classroom behind us. 

I began teaching classes that same day. I teach all the computer classes and Kyle is the farmer. It’s a lot of work, but my students are amazing. The kids come from very difficult situations and are among the poorest children in Kigali. Many of them are orphans and some were street children before the priests took them in. The boys range in age from 7 to 23; however most are between 14 and 19. 

Many of the boys lost their families in the genocide. One of my students was just a toddler when he witnessed the murder of his mother, father, two brothers, and three sisters. At the age of 4, he began fending for himself. Sadly, this is a very common story and just a fact of life for many of the boys. 

Probably the most common reason the boys live here is that their fathers were murdered in the genocide but their mothers survived. After the genocide, many of the mothers remarried and their new husbands refused to take in children from a previous marriage, so the kids were left on the streets of Kigali. 

Most of their lives, my boys have been in survival mode. Because of this, there are a lot of behavioral problems and a bit of stealing. On my first day of teaching, I lost my keys after a class. I searched all over our site for hours. When I told the head priest, he had all the locks to my house changed that very hour. It turns out that the kids will sometimes steal keys and then sell them to people looking to break into houses. Ten years ago, an Italian volunteer was murdered by a burglar who had let himself in with a set of stolen keys. It was extremely stressful; however, there was a good ending to the story. A few days later, one of my boys gave me my keys back! After I asked him a few questions, I felt certain that he really did find them. While I now understand how real the possibility of theft is here, that child’s honesty reminded me not to jump to conclusions just because the boys are capable of stealing.

The behavior problems are hard to deal with, but I’m always aware that the kids have really rough lives. One of my students began hysterically crying in class one day. She told me her stomach was hurting. Later, another teacher came into my room to explain more details. This student’s family was killed in the genocide and she began living on the streets as a toddler. She was severely malnourished when she was found. The morning of my class, she left the house in a rush and didn’t eat her breakfast. As she sat in my class, she felt a bit hungry and that triggered some really bad memories. Every time this girl feels the smallest bit of hunger, she is reminded of almost starving, which reminds her that she never was hungry before her family died. Skipping breakfast brings back all the painful memories of losing a loving family in the genocide. 

Where I live

There is so much pain, but the children also keep me constantly laughing. One of my favorite things about Rwanda are the greetings. At all hours, children yell out to me “Good morning Mzungu!” Most kids don’t learn English until they are middle school aged, but the kids love to use the English they know. For most of them, that means one phrase: Good morning. And I hear it A LOT. 

In addition to Mzungu and “Malie Ahleese (Mary Elise),” all my students call me “Teacha.” In Africa, there is no such thing as raising your hand and patiently waiting for a response, so throughout all of my classes, I hear a chorus of “Teacha! Teacha! Teacha! My computer is sick!” (All of the computers are extremely old and break constantly. Since the kid’s English is limited, they always describe the computers as sick). 

As time goes on, the Africa sun has been beating my sunscreen, so I’m hearing the term “Mzungu” from my kids less and less. The other day a little boy came up to me and asked what country I’m from. After I told him “America.” He goes, “Ah? Is not clear because your skin has color.” 

I’ve begun playing music in my classroom whenever I have free time so the kids can come in and listen. I have some popular Rwandan artists downloaded on my school computer, so I’ll play their favorite songs. The other day they begged me to show them some American dance moves. I sort of panicked and couldn’t think of any so I showed them disco moves. They loved disco dancing and now I’m too embarrassed to tell them that those moves aren’t current. I also have shown them the grocery cart, the sprinkler, and the chicken wing (all totally ridiculous moves) and the kids LOVE them. 

My French has been improving exponentially. The other day the Canadian volunteer, Lionel, (who is close to fluent) took me to downtown Kigali and we had a conversation with a Rwandan. After he heard Lionel was from Canada, he was surprised because he thought my French was much better! Lionel was not happy and said the guy just wanted a date. Perhaps, but I prefer to think that my French is superior to Lionel’s. 

I think the hardest thing about being in Rwanda is missing home (and all of you!). As the school year started back up, it was hard knowing I was missing out on seeing my friends and household sisters. I miss my family a ton. Sometimes as I’m going to bed I realize that my friends and family in America are still at work or school and the ocean separating us is only too real. I miss you and you are in my thoughts and prayers every day. 

I also really miss American foods like french fries, enchiladas, lo mien, and spaghetti (joke, obviously). We eat the same exact food every day: rice, beans, potatoes, soup, and eggplant. I told the other volunteers today that I’m sick of it and Lionel said to me, “You miss American food already?! But you just had it three weeks ago!” Yep. He said “just had it.” That was an eye-opener. 

My daily bread

So my life in Rwanda has begun, as complicated and complex as my feelings are. It’s hard for me to understand how I can be so heartbroken and heart-filled, so devastated and ecstatic, so miserable and so joyful, all at once. Yet I know that God is with me gently guiding me through the complexities of my emotions while I serve him. My heart is definitely full. 

No matter what time you read this, I hope you have a “Good Morning” (and a good rest of the day).