Princesses and Poppets

Hello everyone. I hear that winter in the U.S. is raging and that even Texas has had several snow days; meanwhile, I’m still burning up in Rwanda. It’s been strange to hear about the cold and see pictures of friends and family in big winter jackets. It makes me very aware of just how far away I am, although I can’t say I miss the cold. 

Life seems to be passing at light-speed. I never have free time and have gotten really behind on messages and emails. I also consistently have a baby on my hip and two or three children pulling on my dress. I think my body is in the best shape of my life just from lifting and running after children all day. A week ago, I actually won a foot race against some of my older girls and I’m getting better and better at “football”. 

If I’m going to be perfectly honest though, I’ll admit I’m a bit run down at the moment. I’ve been working every day from 5:30 a.m. to 9 p.m. and my only break is six hours on Friday afternoons. Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’ve been giving so much of myself that there isn’t much left. It’s bothers me that I don’t feel like I can offer as much as I could when I first arrived. 

Then even though I’m working so much, I also always feel like a slacker because the sisters work longer hours than me and don’t take any breaks. Whenever I go for my break on Fridays, I actually feel sort of guilty. Every time I think that I’m too exhausted and need to ask the sisters to give me a free day every week (I think all the SLMs are technically supposed to get one, but it really just depends on your site), I’m reminded that I’m not working as hard as they are and feel like I’m not pulling my weight. It’s discouraging at times but I’ve been praying about Mother Teresa’s quote: “I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there is no more hurt, only more love.” Every day I’m just trying to love more.

Luckily, there is a lot to love about my new site. The kids are absolutely amazing and I’m definitely starting to feel at home. 

When I first arrived, they threw me in with the 3 year olds in the mornings after I’ve gotten all the girls ready for school. At first, I thought working with the 3 year olds was a torture specifically designed for me. They all just cried and hit each other. I really love children but I had never really been around 45 three year olds at one time. It was very overwhelming. One of the boys, Derek, had a very special skill of being able to pinch the other children in the eyes. I’ve never seen that done and I have two brothers. Another child, Oxen, routinely says (in Kinyarwanda) “I will accuse you to my father and he will beat you!” 

I really wasn’t sure how to care for the children at first, but now I can clearly see God’s graces at work. I started to figure out how to organize and calm them and have begun to learn each of their personalities. I now feel very comfortable with them and time with my nursery class is one of my favorite times of the day. 

Some of the kids have some very sad situations. Derek, my little eye-pincher, lost his mother in childbirth. He was extremely aggressive when he first arrived, but after I heard about his mother I decided to hold him for about 20 minutes a day. He was so angry and mean-spirited when he first arrived so I was shocked the first time I tried to hold him. He immediately nuzzled his head against my neck and began sucking his thumb. The other teachers were amazed and so now we take turns holding him and he is beginning to have excellent behavior. He hasn’t pinched anyone in about a week and seems much happier.

My new house where I live with the girls

Another special case is my good friend Shama (pronounced Shay-mah). I’m not quite sure what Shama’s situation is, but I do know he is at least developmentally delayed. I really love kids with special needs, so I just wish we had some of the programs in Rwanda that public schools offer in the U.S. 

Shama does not speak although he likes to talk gibberish and seems to be in his own world most of the time. He is on the smaller side of the kids in the class but will go up to the biggest and strongest kids and start fights. He reminds me of a small dog that thinks it’s a german shepherd. We have this old Cabbage Patch doll with red hair that someone must have donated years ago and he loves that poppet. He holds it all day and won’t let the other kids play with it, so I thought he had a special attachment to that doll. Then this week we brought some new toys in including an Ariel the Little Mermaid poppet (also a red head). He actually threw his Cabbage Patch doll in order to get to the new redheaded doll more quickly.  

He constantly keeps me laughing and has really become my little baby. He only lets me hold him and, for that matter, forces me hold him most of the day. Sometimes this causes interesting situations.

The other day I was pouring some milk to give the kids and had them all sitting down at their seats. Shama was refusing to sit and kept coming up and licking the cups I was pouring the milk into. I kept having to chastise him and would shoo him over to his seat. Each time I shooed him away, his feelings would get hurt and he would begin sobbing. Then, I guess, he would realize he was sobbing. Since I’m the only person he allows to comfort him when he is sobbing, he would begin frantically searching the room for me until he found me (I never moved positions) and would run towards me. I honestly believe he forgot each time that I was the one who made him cry in the first place. Then, I would then have to stop pouring the milk and comfort him. After that, he would feel better and realize he was by the milk table and start licking all the cups, so I would shoo him to his seat. This little cycle must have happened 4 times in what should have been the 10 minutes it takes me to pour the milk. 

So I really love the kids in my class, but my main job is spending time being the house mother for the girls and I am really loving that job. Many of the girls call me “Momma” or “Ineza.” These girls keep me very busy but they are just so funny and lovable. 

They are always telling me that I am “soooooo beauty”… except for my nose. I guess I have the exact opposite of an African nose and the girls are very vocal about their disapproval. They are constantly asking where “such a nose came from.” When I explain that my family origins are from the Mediterranean and I have a very typical nose from that region, they just frown and shake their heads. So, the girls keep me laughing and keep me humble. 

My work ethic is improving even by their standards. At this site, we have to wash clothes by hand. If you’ve never had to hand wash your clothes in Africa, it’s actually a lot more difficult and physically taxing then you might think. I have to get three huge buckets and then go fill them with water before carrying them back to the washing site. Then I squat down and bend over the buckets for at least an hour or an hour and a half while scrubbing. We scrub the clothing with our hands and so my hands crack. My arms also have to scrub very hard so they are always sore the next day (in addition to my legs from balancing).

The first time I tried, one of the 10 year olds just shook her head and took over. Two days ago, however, I began and one of the girls who had never seen me wash before said in Kinyardwanda “I want to see the Mzungu do this.” (While I can’t speak Kinyarwanda I’m beginning to really understand certain things to the chagrin of the teenagers who love when I can’t understand what they are saying). I didn’t say anything but just continued to scrub. After a few minutes she said in French: “oh. Well, she can do it” and wandered off. No laughing or disgusted taking over. I felt so triumphant! 

There have also been some upsetting experiences. Two weeks ago, one of the girls got a really bad infection in her foot. We tried to treat it with antibiotic creams and soaking the foot in warm water, but one Saturday it had become so bad that her leg was swollen and her foot seemed to be rotting. Everyone was shocked because just the evening before it looked like it was improving. I was really concerned that if we didn’t get her to the hospital she was going to lose her foot. 

Some of my little princesses

One of the sisters tried taking her to the hospital that morning, but it turned out that the hospital was closed for the day. Finally the sister decided to take care of the foot herself. We cleared all of the kids out of the room and the sister and I stayed in. The sister had some nursing experience in her background and my job was to hold Patience. We then burned a razor and a needle to sterilize them and the sister began removing the rotten parts of the girl’s foot. It was possibly one of the worst experiences of my life and I thought I was going to vomit. Patience was in so much pain. Finally I ran and put on the movie “Hairspray.” Patience immediately stopped crying and said “What is this?” The singing and dancing distracted her through most of the procedure and by the time the hospitals were open the next day, the doctors said the sister did a great job and saved Patience’s foot. She is now even running on it. Truly a miracle. 

I guess the biggest day to day challenge of this site is the teenagers. We have 10 girls between the ages of 11-14 and they are rough and very moody! Constantly there is at least one of them not speaking to me and I usually don’t know why. Last week, one of the girls refused to speak to me for three days because when I entered a room full of girls I said “hello girls” instead of “hello students.” I’m not sure how I could have been so insensitive… 

During one of my phone conversations with home, I was telling my mom about the frustrations of raising teenagers when she reminded me that I can’t possibly be cool; I’m playing the role of their mother right now, which means I am automatically really lame. I then remembered another girl who used to feel that way about her mother and apologized for pretty much everything I said and did between the ages of 12-17. 

The Gatenga boys may have stolen and fought and lied, but at least they didn’t give the silent treatment. However, I’m learning quickly and really growing in patience. 

Still, the silent treatments are not the biggest difference between my two sites. I am constantly amazed at just how much time I now spend talking about princesses. When I learned I was going to a site in Rwanda for teenage boys, princesses were the last thing on my mind, but now I spend a good portion of everyday telling princess stories or talking about how princesses might dress or behave or even princess movies I have watched. I don’t know who introduced the girls to the idea of princesses but they are obsessed. 

It’s definitely been an interesting and blessed experience. I’m coming up to the halfway point of my mission next week and can’t wait to see what the next 6 months have to offer.

Some Big Changes

Ok so I guess it’s time for a new blog post. I think it’s been a month and a half or so. Sorry about that. So much has happened and I want to update you. Also, sorry for no new pictures. I haven't had the time, but they are coming soon. 

First off, please excuse any English or grammar mistakes. I am really beginning to lose my English but at least my French is really improving.

My family came to visit me for Christmas and I really want to write about that (and thank everyone who gave awesome donations for my boys), but I’m going to save that for my next blog entry. I also asked my family to each write a little blurb about their experiences and I’ll post those next also. 

For this post, I want to focus on some recent changes to my mission. 

The week after my family left, I received the news that my site was changing and I had to leave the boys. After school had ended I didn’t have much to do for two months and did not like feeling useless. I wanted to have a set routine and set work, so the priests began trying to find me a job to do during the day so then I could come back in the afternoon to be with the boys at Oratory and hang out with them at the Foyer at nights. While they were putting out feelers, the Salesian Sisters told the priests that they actually needed a full-time volunteer and asked the priests to give me to them. I found out 48 hours before I was expected to move. I had to pack, finish working out sponsorships, say goodbye to the boys, and move in less than two days. 

It was so hard. I cried for about 60% of the two days and was in shock for the other 40%. I was expecting to have at least 8 more months with the boys and was even seriously considering extending my contract so I could be with them longer. Finding out I had to leave them so quickly and without time to prepare them or myself for my departure was very painful. I made a promise of poverty, chastity, and obedience with the Salesians, so I just kept trying to be very obedient. I kept trying to trust that God had a reason for this and that this is all in his plan. I’m sorry to say though that inside my heart and head I wasn’t as joyful or obedient as I now wish I had been. 

When I told the boys, some were angry, some were sad, a couple cried, but I got permission to return every Friday afternoon to visit, so that was a huge comfort for everyone involved. I’m so glad I will at least get to see them weekly. They have also been calling me every day.  

I arrived at my new site last Tuesday. It’s a school for gifted children so most of the kids are very wealthy, however I don’t work with these kids too much. My main job is to be the “House Mamma” for 50 girls who live here. They are between the ages of 3 and 13. These girls are extremely gifted but too poor to afford an education. Because of their intelligence, they were accepted to the school and get to live here so they can get 3 meals a day and study. 

I'm sorry to say that when I first arrived I had a hard time being open to the situation. I tried to disguise my feelings as best as I could, but I called my mother than night and actually said “these are just some random kids! They aren’t my kids.” Well, it didn’t take long for me to regret those words. These girls have already completely won me over. They are just beautiful and so lively. I’m constantly laughing. They all speak Kinyarwanda, English, and actually French, which is unusual. Usually children their ages don’t learn French since it’s being phased out. 

They constantly keep me on my toes and are always challenging me in new ways. They also keep me laughing. 

I’m the “House Mamma,” so I’m responsible for caring for their daily activities. I’m with them all the time. 

I guess I should explain the typical day in my life: I wake up around 5:20 because I have to wake the girls up at 5:40 (except one day a week I wake up at 4:30 and get the girls up at 5 so we can go to Mass). After waking the girls up, I bathe the youngest ones and make sure the older ones are washing up. Then I check their teeth to make sure they brushed. I then go and examine rooms and help them make their beds. Whenever one of the younger ones wets her bed (at least one a day) I pull out the sheets and put them to the side so we can wash them later. Then I help all the little ones get dressed and examine all their uniforms to make sure they are ready for school. Then I send them on to breakfast and I eat with the sisters. After eating with the sisters, I watch that my girls go to their classrooms and then I go to the nursery. I watch 45 three-year-olds until noon and then go eat lunch with the sisters. At 1 p.m. The girls get out of school and I send them along to lunch. When they finish eating, I help them with their assigned chores and scold them for whatever crazy thing they are doing. Then we do homework until about 4 p.m. After each girl finishes her homework, I have to review it and then sign it to show I reviewed it. After that, I go to the gym with the girls where they style my hair and we play clapping and dancing games. At 5:15 we pray a Rosary and then go to the Chapel for about 15 minutes to pray. Then we go back to the gym until 7 when all the sisters and me eat dinner with the girls, which is always beans and rice. After dinner, the girls go back to the gym and we play some more and then we go back to the Chapel for their “Goodnight” talk. The “Goodnight” is a Salesian tradition and is usually a story or small talk on morality. After the “Goodnight,” I take them up to our house and wash their feet, mop the floor, and then make sure they are all in bed sleeping. I try to stop by each room to tell the girls “Maro-tay Manna” (not sure of spelling so I just wrote it how it sounds). This means “dream of God.” Then I come to my room in the same house as the girls for my first break of the day, usually around 9:30 p.m. Lights off by 10:30.  

It’s a really busy schedule and I work 7 days a week. My only time off is Friday afternoons when I go visit the boys. 

Still, the girls are a lot of fun. They are always touching my hair and constantly braiding it or styling it in strange configurations, which they insist are beautiful. Whenever I wear an African dress or take the time to style my hair, they always go “Wow!” whenever they see me. It’s so cute.

I’m learning quickly how little my college education means here. Before moving to Africa, I would have thought a theology degree would be useful to a missionary. I was wrong. Instead of spending four years studying, I should have taken cleaning courses, because that’s the way I spend a majority of my time and I’m terrible at it! I was trying to mop the floor the other day and one of my 9 year olds, Assumpta, walked up to me and said, “You’re not working; you’re playing!” She then proceeded to show me how to "really mop" a floor.  

I've also had some difficulty about my skin color. For two of the three year olds, I am the first Mzungu they have ever seen and they react to me with raw fear. I always try to speak very gently and play with them but my efforts are futile. Finally I found out why. One of the 3 year olds told an older girl that “Mzungus like to eat babies!” 

For the rest of the day, all the girls and the sisters tried to convince the two that I’m not a cannibal, but they won’t have anything to do with me. Hopefully in time they will warm up. 

In the U.S., if someone is from way out in the country, other people say, “they’re from the boonies.” Yesterday, after trying to convince the two babies I wouldn’t eat them, one of the sisters goes, “These small children are ignorant. You are the first white skin they have seen.” Then she snorted and goes, “They’re from the Bush.” I don't know why I thought that was so funny but I still laugh about that. 

It’s actually sort of sad that we have three year olds here. It must be so hard for them to be away from their mothers and on top of that, they are forced to live with a Mzungu who could eat them at any moment. The poor little things have been very traumatized, but the older girls have been so kind to them.

 Each of the three year olds was given to one of the older girls and she is responsible for the child. The older girls refer to the little ones as “my baby.” The babies share a bed with the older girl and she has to clean and feed and care for the baby. It’s not an ideal situation, but it is reality. All of the children have to share twin size beds. It’s two girls to each bed. 

I brought the girls two dolls (in Rwanda, we call them “poppets”). They were all sooooo excited to get new poppets but there were only two and all 50 girls had to share. Instead of fighting, they developed a system where each poppet sleeps in a different room every night so everyone will get a turn. They didn’t need an adult to negotiate this system. They did it on their own. They are truly the complete opposite of my Gatenga boys. I think I mentioned before that I had to break up an almost fist fight because two boys were arguing over whether I would become a sister or get married. I think only two poppets for 50 girls is a much better excuse for a fist fight than whether your teacher will become a nun, but the girls were very mature. I was so proud of them. 

After being there for 5 days, some of the girls told me for the first time that they loved me. Actually, about 10 of them told me that today. It was so sweet and so moving. Then, they did something that I am still beaming about. In Africa, everyone has two names: a “Christian” name and an African name that is based on a personality trait or virtue. The girls decided it was time for me to get an African name, so they held a little meeting amongst themselves and decided to name me “Ineza.” Roughly translated, it means “She who does good works where she is.” I was so touched. 

I still don’t totally understand what God’s plan is for me at this new site, or why I had to leave the boys, but I am definitely starting to feel settled. As my mother told me, one of the greatest miracles in life is how our hearts can never run out of love. 

I never thought I could love anyone as much as my Gatenga boys but it didn’t take a week for me to be proven wrong. Now I get to have both my Gatenga boys and my new Kiyovu girls. How can life get any better?

Ha. Just as I was typing this, I received this text from one of my Gatenga boys: “Hi Mary Ellice. I wish you a good night and a good job for tomorrnw. I am happy be couse on 1st May Pape Benoit 16 [I think he means JPII] he shall in the 1st part of saint. Be happy be couse you are good like him befor me or every one. Thank you Mery Ellice.”

So much love and so many blessings. 

Kibeho

Standing in front of the church built to
commemorate Our Lady of Kibeho

I realize this is a really late post and I've been promising to write about my experiences at Kibeho for the longest time. Lately, people keep reminding me that I'm breaking that promise, so I'm posting now. Sorry for the delay. : ) 
I guess I should begin by explaining the history of Kibeho. For those readers who aren’t Catholic, this might be an interesting glimpse into a big aspect of our faith: Marian apparitions. For those who are Catholic, maybe you’re more familiar with places like Lourdes or Fatima, although I bet most of you have at least heard of Kibeho.

Kibeho has a really amazing history and I was actually pretty familiar with Kibeho before ever considering coming to Rwanda, so that made visiting the site really special for me. The site is important to the Rwandese and they have a very strong devotion to Our Lady of Kibeho. This was actually my first ever pilgrimage. 

So that I’m not accused of plagiarism, I’ll just clarify upfront that I got the historical information from a booklet I bought at Kibeho titled “The Apparitions of Kibeho” and from the pamphlet  “Marial Santuary Our Lady of Kibeho.” If you want more information on citing these booklets, just send me a message.  

To begin, Kibeho was the site of a series of Marian apparitions that occurred starting on November 28, 1981 and ending on November 28, 1989. Mary first appeared to a student named Alphonsine Mumureke. At first, Alphonsine was not taken seriously. Some of her classmates made fun of her, others thought she was mentally ill or involved with witchcraft. Most just thought she was lying or attempting to get attention. Some students would tell her that if it was really the Virgin Mary, she would need to appear to other students before they would believe Alphonsine. Alphonsine was not a strong Catholic before the visions, so students could not believe that the Virgin would appear to her. 

One of Alphonsine’s biggest tormentors was a classmate named Marie Claire Mukangango. She was not in Alphonsine’s grade and did not know her well, but was a strong critic and often made fun of Alphonsine. On March 2, 1982, the Virgin Mary appeared to Marie Claire. This was a big shock to the community. 

Most of the teachers and students had been very embarrassed or upset by what they viewed as Alphonsine’s lies, but started to change their minds when Marie Claire began also having visions. For the first time, some students and teachers began to believe the visions were real. After all, Marie Claire was formerly a strong critic of Alphonsine. 

The priest who cares for the site

The third and final visionary was Nathalie Mukamazimpaka, who I actually met at Kibeho. 

Around seven months after the visions began more individuals claimed to be having visions, but after examination they were proven false. At one point, 33 people claimed to be visionaries! Still, the only three found credible were the first three. Amazingly, the only girls from the entire girls' school who claimed to see visions were Alphonsine, Marie Claire, and Nathalie. The other supposed visionaries were not even students at the school. 

The bishop of Butare assigned two commissions to examine the visionaries: a medical commission that was comprised entirely of non-Catholics and a theological commission. The medical commission was made up of doctors and psychologists. They examined the visionaries and did medical testing while the girls had visions. Some of these tests included pricking the girls' eyes with needles or placing their hands over burning candles to see if the girls flinched. I got to see some videos of the doctors doing the tests and it was very interesting, although made me cringe. I was amazed to see the visionaries didn’t even notice their eyes being pricked!  

I was also interested when watching the interview with the neurologist. He pointed out that photographers always came whenever a girl was going to have a vision (the visions were usually at the same time on the same days). Immediately before a girl began her vision, she would be blinking rapidly at the flashes of cameras. Once she entered the vision, however, her eyes no longer blinked from camera flashes. 

Both committees found the three girls credible. The girls were found to have good mental health, a pious and sincere attitude toward the visions, the absence of searching for attention and excitement, no contradictions between the message and the behaviors of the visionaries, the trances were not related to sickness or hysteria, and the visionaries used words that were beyond their culture, knowledge, or education when describing the visions. 

Smiling during the more-than-cozy
bus ride to Kibeho. Rows that should
have held three people fit five or six.

They also cited that the visions were prophetic because on August 15, 1982, Mary showed the visionaries images of the genocide as a warning that this would be a consequence of a world living far from God. This occurred more than 10 years before the beginning of the genocide. In proving the visions credible, the committees also cited miraculous fasting by Nathalie and that there were positive spiritual fruits gained by the messages.
The apparitions received official recognition on June 29, 2001. 

Here is a list of the series of messages to the three visionaries, who at the time were high school students:

The messages are: 1) an urgent call to repentance and conversion of hearts, 2) the world is at its worst and needs to change, 3) Mary’s deep sadness over the state of the world, 4) “Faith and unbelief will come unexpectedly,” 5) suffering is a useful way for Christians to achieve holiness and to participate in Jesus’ sorrows, 6) the need to pray constantly and without hypocrisy, 7) the need to pray the rosary regularly and sincerely, 8) the introduction of the Rosary of the Virgin Mary Sorrows, which she said does not replace the Holy Rosary, 9) the request of a chapel to be built on the site, 10) the need of constant prayers for the Church. 

As you can see, this site has a very rich history. Just a little about my experiences there. Lionel and I woke up early that morning and went to the 6:10 a.m. Mass. At Mass, we realized that the day was the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary, one of the major feast days of Kibeho. We were really excited to be given that unexpected gift. We caught a small cramped bus around 7:30 and rode for a few hours until we reached Butare. From Butare we caught an even smaller and much more cramped bus for a couple more hours until we reached Kibeho. 

After finally reaching Kibeho, we walked up to the building where Mary first appeared. We actually ran into the priest in charge of the site and he allowed us to come into his office and told us a lot about Kibeho. He was so sweet and had actually met Lionel before so ended up giving us a personal tour of the place. 

He showed us these flowers which are actually one of the mysteries of Kibeho:

Do you see how some of the flowers are dead, some are alive, and some are dying? I hope I’m remembering this correctly, but I believe he said these same flowers have been like this since the visions first occurred. The same ones have been dead, the same have been alive, and the same have been dying even though they all receive the same amount of water and sun. Apparently they represent the faith of the world. Some people have an alive faith, others are losing their faith, and some have completely left God. 

After that, I actually met Nathalie. She was in one of the local shops and I got to speak to her briefly. She is a very serious, quiet woman, but kind. Lionel had met her once before and asked to take a picture with her but she politely refused. She said she doesn’t want to be the focus of what happened at Kibeho but wants people to focus on God and his gifts. I got the impression that she leads a very humble, quiet, prayerful life. 

Lionel and I then went inside the room where Our Lady first appeared. We got another unexpected gift, because on Thursdays there is Eucharistic adoration in the exact room where Mary first appeared. We didn’t know they had adoration on Thursdays, but it was perfect timing. Catholics believe the Eucharist is the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus Christ, so Lionel and I got to spend the afternoon with our Lord where his mother first appeared. It was an incredible spiritual experience and both of us brought lists of people who had asked us to pray for them. I think we spent a few hours in prayer but it was getting late and we didn’t have much time before the final bus left and we had a few more things to see. Neither of us wanted to leave and I’m really looking forward to going back this month. 

After we pulled ourselves away, we went to visit one more church. During the genocide, over 10,000 people were killed in that city and the surrounding region, including Marie Claire. In the wars before the genocide, churches were considered a sacred place and people found refuge there. However, during the genocide, churches were viciously attacked. 

                                                              

Thousands of people fled to hide inside this church: 

 Those purple spots are parts of the wall that were rebuilt and then colored purple. While
 people hid inside, the killers tore away those parts of the wall marked in purple in order to get 
inside to kill more people. Apparently, they couldn’t kill the innocent victims quickly enough
 by going through the front doors... 

It was extremely hard to stand there knowing so many had died on that spot less than 20 years before. I still feel sick thinking about it now. I think it was even harder knowing that the people inside had fled to the church for safety and then had the walls torn out around them. Strangely, as sad as it was, I still had peace. Even though terrible things had happened at that location, it’s still a place of hope. Hundreds of people pray there everyday and experience healing or conversion, so it serves as a reminder of the evils and good of humanity. 

It was getting late by this point and so Lionel and I had to practically run back to the bus. Our first ride was cramped but uneventful. It was very dark by the time we got on our second bus and actually we experienced something sort of funny to counteract our very serious day. 

About 20 minutes into the drive, one of the men on the bus began to sing loudly for the duration of the entire bus ride. It was a tiny bus and we couldn’t hear anything except him singing. Lionel and I kept laughing, especially because none of the Rwandese seemed to be bothered by this guy’s vocal performance. 

At one point during the 2 hour bus ride, he repeated a song and people started scoffing, so he changed to a new song and people were quiet again.

I can only imagine how passengers would have handled this in the U.S., but in Rwanda people are much more patient and accepting of each other. I can't help but think this has a lot to do with lessons learned from the genocide. There has been so much suffering and I think the Rwandese are just tired of hate. I am always so grateful to see them live out acceptance and love in their daily lives, even if a young man is singing loudly for two hours on a cramped bus.
The messages of Kibeho are a beacon of hope, so it's not surprising the people have a strong devotion to this site and Our Lady. All in all, my visit to Kibeho was an amazing experience and I’m really looking forward to visiting again soon. 

Holiday in Uganda

I just returned from a two-week, much needed vacation in Uganda to visit some friends. The break was wonderful and I came back to Rwanda feeling very refreshed. 

Some children I met at the top of a waterfall

I left on a Thursday and flew from Kigali to Entebbe, Uganda. My best friend, Alissa, and her husband, Jacob, were staying in Entebbe with their church group for about 45 hours before moving on to do some mission work in Southern Sudan. Alissa and Jacob invited me to come visit them and generously payed for my ticket. 

I arrived Thursday evening and stayed with them in a hotel. Seeing such old and good friends was just what I needed. The week before my morale was starting to get a bit low. Two more of our boys were sent to prison for stealing and I was pretty upset, but seeing Alissa and Jacob really helped renew my hope. 

I arrived late at night, so our real time together started the next morning. We got to eat a lot of good food and sightsee a bit before coming back to the hotel. Alissa, Jacob, and I walked around after everyone went back to the hotel and ended up finding a small village of huts pretty close to where we were staying. We walked around and talked to some of the women who lived there and then began singing and playing games with a few children. Before we knew it, about 30 kids ran up and began playing too. Alissa and I taught them the Hokey Pokey and the Itsy Bitsy Spider and whatever other silly songs or games we could think to teach them. I was amazed watching Alissa interact with the kids. It was her first full day in Africa and she was able to connect so easily and lovingly with them.

In Rwanda, I do this type of thing almost every day, but this time was different. It meant so much to me to be playing with these kids alongside the girl that has been my best friend since I was 14 years old. I guess I realized how isolated life here can be at times. 

Due to the amount of e-mails, Facebook messages, and snail mail I receive, it would be impossible to forget how loved I am; still, God blesses me with so many amazing experiences and opportunities during my day-to-day life here and after experiencing one with Alissa and Jacob I realized that I wish I could share these experiences with all of my close friends and family. Why can’t everyone move to Rwanda with me? Wishful thinking… 

One of the caves I climbed to in Sipi

I loved my time with Alissa and Jacob and I’m so glad I got to see them. I remember when Alissa and I were 14 and our biggest topic of conversation was about our Latin homework and which boys at school we thought were the cutest (obviously Alissa had a giant crush on that Jacob Flores guy in the grade behind us). It was so funny to be in Africa all together. Life passes so quickly. I still remember the first time Alissa and I met and actually I remember the first time Alissa and Jacob met. It seems like time was on fast forward because now Alissa and I are college graduates, Jacob graduates this year, I was the maid-of-honor in their wedding this summer, and suddenly the three of us are missionaries in Africa. I don’t think that at 14 years old any of us thought we would be standing together in a village in Africa playing with children. Life amazes me. 

After Alissa and Jacob left for Sudan, I met up with some friends living in Jinja. Matthew and Damian were at the mission orientation with me and Kyle this summer. They are teachers in Uganda with Holy Cross and are Notre Dame grads. Kyle was already with them when I arrived and I soon got to meet their roommates who are just amazing and hysterically funny. It was so nice to relax and spend time with other English speakers. Actually the best part for me was that two of their roommates were women. Of course I love all my boys and Kyle and the priests, but nothing beats girl talk.

One of the girls, Whitney, and I had some mutual friends and spent a lot of time discussing a wide range of topics. I loved her. She took me to a few of her classes and I got to see how another missionary interacts with her kids. She has been in Uganda for a year and a half and is finishing up her time here, so I was really inspired with her work and knowledge and kept taking mental notes to use with my boys. 

Kyle and I decided to visit Sipi Falls, a place known for waterfalls and beautiful landscapes. We rode for a few hours on some very cramped buses but finally arrived. Sipi was absolutely breathtaking. We stayed in a cabin and spent our days hiking and exploring. The mountain trails were really steep and actually more dangerous than I realized. We hired a tour guide, Ronney, to help us hike to all of the waterfalls. Although the scenery was beautiful, I’m not a huge fan of heights and there weren’t really any safety precautions used. I was terrified for most of the climb and Ronney had to help me a lot. I also fell and scraped up my knee and hand (surprise, surprise). However, as soon as we reached the first waterfall, I knew the climb was worth it. 

                                                                                                     Evidence:

We then climbed further up to some caves and then further (the most terrifying part of the climb) up to the second waterfall. We followed the river a ways and found a pool of water. It was freezing but Kyle and I both swam with some local children. Kyle and the kids somehow convinced me to jump over a ledge into the water. Kyle recorded my attempts. I tried 4 times to jump and chickened out each time before finally forcing myself to do it. I’m glad I conquered a few fears while in Sipi. It’s probably the most beautiful place on earth to conquer a fear. 

I also woke up early both mornings and climbed the mountain behind our cabin to watch the sun rise. It was just perfect. The whole place is so beautiful it seems like a honeymoon destination, so I tried to spend quite a bit of time in prayer so I could utilize the beauty to let the Lord romance me. I felt like Sipi was more of a retreat than an adventure, which was just what I needed. 

Kyle and I returned to our friends’ house in Jinja just in time for a riot. We were out visiting a priest when it started so we just stayed away until it finished. The people had lost electricity three weeks before and the electricity company was refusing to fix the problem, so the people began to riot. A police officer was sent to the hospital, but fortunately the riot wasn't too bad and the electricity company came to fix the problem that same day. 

My new little friend Sam helping me
climb down part of the mountain

After that, Kyle and I just enjoyed being with Matt and Damian and their roommates for the rest of our break. I think we probably overstayed our welcome (two weeks in an already full house!), but the time was wonderful for us and by the time we left, I felt ready to go back to work in Rwanda. By the end I was really missing our boys.

We rode a bus for about 13 hours and arrived in Rwanda Wednesday. Our boys were so excited to see us and almost immediately I was told about new problems but I feel so revitalized now I’m ready to tackle anything. 

For those interested: the newest problem is quite dramatic and maybe a bit funny (although the boys don’t see it that way). Some of the boys found a puppy and before I left I asked the head priest if they could keep it. He gave permission and the boys were very excited to care for their pet. I never actually got to see the dog before I left, so one of my first orders of business when I got back was to see the puppy my boys had been so excited about just two weeks before. Turns out the boys are all very upset because they believe their dog has been kidnapped and they are worried someone ate it. Oh la la. I’m now in the process of helping them recover their possibly stolen pet or punish anyone who ate it (as per their request). Sometimes the kids just like to eat weird things. The Rwandese people don’t eat dogs or snakes, but some of the boys found out that in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) people do and I caught them killing snakes because they wanted to try it. Have I said before that at 22 years old I often feel like the mother of 150 teenage boys? C’est la vie! 

Two Months and Counting

Well, today marks the anniversary of my second month in Rwanda. Rwanda now just feels like home and the days go by just like they do when I am in America, so I didn’t realize it was my second month until I saw the date as I went to post this. In some ways I feel like I have been here much longer and in others I feel like I just arrived. 

Our kids had exams this week and I’m grading for both my classes and Lionel’s since he left Monday. It was really hard for me to see him leave but it was also exciting to see him wrap up his ministry and prepare to go home. It made me think a lot about how much I will grow and change during this year and what I will be like as I pack up to leave. That being said, I am really coming into my own here in Rwanda and I’m not looking forward to leaving any time soon. I feel very settled into my new life. It’s only been two months but I already feel like a different person.

Grading has been monotonous and long (I’ve already spent at least 15 hours grading and I’m still not finished) but sometimes the kids’ answers make me laugh. In my computer class, I talked to the kids about computer viruses and how those can be brought into the computer through flask disks, CDs, DVDs, etc. For my exam, one of the questions was: “Name 3 or more things that can cause viruses.” Here was a student’s response: “HIV, AIDS, syphilis, gonorrhea.” I gave him half credit. 

As much as I laughed at first, the response made me grimly aware of just how different life is here. This student can’t even spell his own name (many of the children cannot spell their names correctly) but he can spell syphilis. And HIV and AIDS are constant fears. Rwanda actually has a pretty low HIV rate for Africa (although it is double, almost triple that of the United States) but during the genocide, HIV was used as a weapon against women so many of my boys lost their mothers or sisters to AIDS. 

On a happier note, my relationship with my boys has grown so much and I truly love each and every one of them and now I believe they truly love me. They are always coming to visit me and if something difficult is going on in their lives, they confide in me. They all call me Mary Elise or “Sista.” The marriage proposals from the boys have died down and now they treat me more like a big sister or sometimes even a mother, which is a really strange. I’m only 22 years old, but at times I feel like the mother of 150 teenagers! I spend a lot of time with them and they always have questions for me about faith or hard situations and sometimes even girls! It’s always funny when a boy tells me about the woman he loves more than life itself, because she’s usually one of my female students. I never know which of my girls are the heartbreakers, and I’m often surprised. 

Some of my older boys are getting close in age to marriage for Rwandans, so they ask me a lot of questions about marriage and picking a good wife. Although I always tell them they absolutely have to finish their education before even considering marriage, I also encourage them to spend time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament for guidance in picking their wives. I tell them that they have to prepare themselves to be holy husbands before they can find good wives. 

There is a big problem with domestic violence in Rwanda and with men leaving their wives and children, so it’s interesting to be with so many young men at the time in their lives when they are beginning to consider marriage. I hope that I catch them at the perfect time to guide them to be faithful and respectful husbands and fathers. Because I’m a woman they respect and even love, they take my advice very seriously and are always asking more and more questions. 

They also have many questions about God and faith. Some of the boys have some really bizarre or very sad ideas about God, so I always try to take the opportunity to set them straight. One boy confided in me that he knows that Jesus was a Mzungu American who had a lot of money! I almost passed out. When I told him that Jesus was from the Middle East therefor not white and by choice was certainly not rich, the child’s mouth dropped open. 

Just yesterday, another boy told me he wanted to get married or find a girlfriend. We had the standard “finish your education and prepare to be a loving husband first” discussion when he confided that he actually didn’t want to get married right now, but he just wanted someone that would love him. Then he told me that nobody loves him like I do and he asked what he will do in a year when I leave. Ugh. It was so hard to hear. I was glad to hear that he knew I loved him but it was heartbreaking to realize he believes I am the only person who does. It was even harder to realize that the few moments of time I give him a day are the only moments he feels loved that day, especially because I scold him pretty frequently. We talked for a long time about how God always has and always will love him, but the concept was difficult for him to comprehend. 

These ideas are a very common problem. The boys come to us after so much damage has already been done. Much of our time is spent trying to repair that damage these precious boys have experienced throughout their lives. What they have seen can definitely effect their faith. Some of the boys cling to Christ and bring him all of their sorrows. Actually, we have a lot of boys who end up becoming priests. However, others have a hard time picturing a loving God (or even loving people) and fall into depression. As Salesians, we have to be so patient and understanding with them. 

Some of the older boys having a good time in the classroom

Wednesday night I gave my first “Goodnight.” This is a Salesian tradition where every night one of us talks to the children about a spiritual or moral thought before they go to sleep. It stems back to when Don Bosco first started giving street children a place to stay. They would go to sleep and in the mornings, everything would be stolen and the children would be gone. Finally, Don’s mother decided to leave the boys with a holy thought before they drifted off to sleep. Her method worked and Salesians have been doing this ever since. 

I was so nervous to give my first Goodnight in front of all my boys, but it turned out really well. One of my good friends (also a Salesian Lay Missioner) sent me an e-mail and I used the contents from that. I pulled 5,000 francs (about $8) out of my pocket and asked the boys who wanted it. They all started screaming and going crazy. Then I wrinkled up the money and threw it on the floor. I again asked who wanted it and, of course, the boys still wanted the money. Then I stepped on it and the boys still wanted it. I asked them why they still wanted the money and one answered because he could buy a lot of things with it. Then I told them that this was true. Just because the bill had been crinkled and stepped on did not take away it’s value. All of their faces dropped and they got really quiet. 

As I looked into the faces of my boys who have been so wrinkled and so stepped on by the world, I started to cry. I just told them how much they are worth and how much God loves them. Rwandans are very uncomfortable around emotions, so I thought the boys would react badly when I cried, but they were not ashamed. Some were getting teary-eyed themselves and not one boy turned away. 

One of the Foyer boys lost his left eye at some point in his life and I noticed that he in particular was very emotional and so attentive. I could see the story clicking in his head. We then just talked a little more about God’s plan for our lives and about how to become saints. It was a really beautiful moment and I know I will always treasure this memory with my kids. They are becoming so much a part of me. 

Life with them is moving quickly and my days are very busy. I’ll use Thursday as an example. 

Thursday morning I had to give my last exam of the week and after the exam I was walking to lunch. On my walk, I saw a little boy who looked sad, so I sat down next to him and asked what was wrong. He said his stomach hurt and so I was trying to figure out if his stomach hurt from malnutrition or because he was sick. As I asked him to stand up (so that I could see if his belly was extended, meaning he was malnourished) he began vomiting. His vomit got on me and one other boy and I was just praying he wasn’t HIV positive. He continued to vomit for the next 15 minutes. Just then, school got out and so a group of kids gathered around to watch the spectacle. It was a total disaster. 

This child isn’t one of our students but had come to pick up his little brother who is one of the students. I had to go find his 5 year old brother and then found two of the older boys to help me. The sick one could not possibly walk home on his own and so me and the two older ones had to carry both of the little boys to their home up in the mountains. It was unreal. We were walking up hill in mud while we were covered in vomit, holding either an 8 year old or a 5 year old. At that moment, I felt like a missionary. I was also so proud of my older boys for volunteering to help. They had just finished their last exam of the week and were exhausted, but still carried and were so sweet to the little ones. 

After we got back home, I ate a late lunch and started heading back to my house. One of the pigs had just given birth and so some of my students who work with the animals made me come and see the sweet little piglets. After this, I was exhausted and smelled like sweat, vomit, and pigs and was really anxious to take a shower. 

I had plans with the Italian N.G.O. workers and so I had to shower quickly and then we went to the market. I had bought some material and needed to get measured for a dress. 

Many people have asked about the African dress I was wearing in recent pictures, so I should say that I bought the material at the market. The market is actually really cool. Before I lived here, when I pictured Africa, I was picturing this market. It’s really noisy and crowded and people are yelling and it smells terrible and you have to haggle for everything you buy. I love it. There are tons of fresh vegetables and beautiful fabrics and lots of little handcrafts that locals have made. It’s where all the Rwandans shop so I’m often the only Mzunugu there. 

Whenever I want to buy an African dress, I go to the market and look through tons of fabric until I see one I like. I haggle for the price in French and then sketch what I want the dress to look like and have a seamstress make it. I actually really love wearing African dresses. The material is beautiful and bright and my kids really appreciate when I wear them. They always yell, “Ohhh! Teacha! You look smart!” and give me a thumbs up. How can I not prefer African clothing with that kind of response? 

After getting measured for the dress, the Italians dropped me off at a hotel that will cut Mzungu hair and I had about 6 or 7 inches chopped off. My hair was just too long and was attracting a lot of attention. It was also difficult to take care of and was very hot and heavy. The new hair cut is fine, but I really miss my long hair. It goes to just above my shoulders so it’s the shortest I think I’ve ever had it.

The evidence

After I got back from the haircut, I became painfully aware that I only live with men. Not one of the priests noticed and after I told them, they insisted I must have only gotten a little bit off. Then they jokingly suggested I shave my head. Ugh. I told them it was a good thing they were priests and didn’t have wives or daughters, which made them laugh but I think they agreed. 

After that, I went to see all my boys at the Foyer before they went to sleep. Not one out of the 150 boys that I spend all my time with said anything about the haircut. I was attempting to fix the center’s broken digital camera and they had millions of questions about the camera but I don’t think they even noticed my hair… Men. 

At least I always have someone to chase away the lizards for me. The boys find it hysterical that I’m terrified of the lizards so they enjoy shooing them away to protect me. They also think it’s funny that I think all the “little meats” are cute (aka: the calfs, the piglets, the chicks, the bunnies). Whenever one of our farm animals gives birth, the boys get really excited to show me the baby animals because they know I find the babies so adorable, which is hysterically funny to them. What I see as a baby animal, they see as a meal one day in the not too distant future. So when I’m cooing over a little piglet, they are picturing me cooing over bacon…. I’m learning so much about the male psyche thanks to Rwanda. 

I think I’m learning a lot of things thanks to Rwanda. Truly, I love it here.  Hopefully I’ll be writing soon about my trip to Kibeho. You are in my prayers, please keep me in yours. 

The Teacha, Docta, and Heartbreaka

I know I have been promising to write more about my day to day activities. I am so far behind in explaining everything that has happened! I think I just need to try to do a few short updates this week to catch you up. We’ll see if that happens... Life has just been so busy.

Maybe I should give you the timeline for a typical day in the life of this Mzungu. I typically wake up around 5:40 a.m., go to daily Mass, eat breakfast, then teach classes until 1:15 p.m. I then eat a late lunch, have a French lesson, and then try to go to adoration (doesn’t always happen). After this, I usually stop by the infirmary (I’ll explain this later) and then go home for a brief rest. At 3 p.m. I try to go play sports with my boys. They have been giving me volleyball lessons, but they are so rough that my whole body has been sore! Since people are learning that they can find me at volleyball at this time, I am usually approached by someone with a medical problem and have to leave my volleyball game early to go back to the infirmary with the patient. After the daily medical emergency, I go home (usually around 5:30) for another break until dinner at 7:15. After dinner, I come home, check e-mails, pray my rosary then sleep. 

A view of my classroom and a couple of my students

My days have really been getting busy in the last two weeks. I had a lot more free time when I first arrived. The semester ends soon and I’ve heard rumors from the other missionaries that I will have much more free time after school ends. 

I’ve been meaning to tell you about my classes. Teaching has definitely been challenging. Some of my classes understand almost no English and my French isn’t quite sufficient to fill the gap. I actually have a few deaf boys so I have been learning sign language so that I can teach them. Luckily, my mother is a speech therapist, so I already knew a little from her and I can spell words very quickly. Whenever I don’t know the sign, I have to spell the word in French, which can be pretty interesting. 

I think the language barriers definitely have something to do with my boys having a hard time behaving in class, but I think most of the behavior problems stem from their backgrounds. Most of our boys at the center were street children and the majority are orphans. Even more sadly, some of our boys were child soldiers. The headmaster wanted to point out the former child soldiers, but I asked him not to. I think sometimes it’s better not to know. 

Anyway, the majority of my kids spent formative years of their lives without care and love. There are no laws on the streets and fewer for child soldiers. Just because they were moved into the Foyer and are now in a stable environment doesn’t erase the years of trauma. 

As a teacher, I have to understand that if I leave anything at all sitting out, it will be stolen (even totally useless things). Kyle and I have to be very careful not to give the kids an opportunity to steal, but if something is stolen, it’s not surprising. I don’t think the boys steal out of malice. They have been focused on their own survival for so long that for some of the kids things like stealing just come naturally. 

Classes are tough at times. I have about 4 classes that are pretty well behaved, but I have 3 that keep me on my toes. The boys in those three classes are all sweet kids but have a very difficult time not causing a ruckus. It’s funny because I spend a lot of time with all of these boys outside of classes and always have a blast with them; however, teaching them is an entirely different situation.

One of my favorite boys is nicknamed Hammer. He is 15 years old and a sweet kid (excluding the fact that he tries to pickpocket Kyle daily). He usually comes on my front porch to play Uno or Egyptian War with me a few times a week. I’ve heard from Kyle and Lionel that Hammer is quite smitten with me. He works for Kyle in the fields after school and at the end of work will always ask Kyle if he can come visit our house. Kyle will say, “Are you coming to visit me or do you just want to see Mary Elise?” and Hammer will blush. He is always asking Kyle to find me and bring me outside so he can talk to me, to Kyle’s annoyance. I never know about these times until afterwards because Kyle always refuses. He gets too annoyed. Lionel told me Hammer has asked him to bring me outside a few times before too. 

Anyway, in class the other day, Hammer led a group of boys in foolishness that escalated to the point of absurdity. To stop the situation, I made all the boys turn off their computers and take out notes. I made them write notes for 45 minutes until the class was over. I’m never actually mad at the kids, but sometimes I have to be pretty stern since that is the teaching style they are used to. While I was making them write notes I kept trying not to laugh. They looked like puppies who just got in trouble. It was really pathetic but very cute. 

Laying down the law for my
clearly terrified students

I kept Hammer and four other boys after class to talk to them specifically about their inappropriate behavior. I felt so sorry for Hammer. He looked so ashamed. Not only did he get in trouble with his teacher, but he was so embarrassed that his crush was upset with him. I could almost feel his teen angst. As sorry as I feel for him, hopefully this will discourage his feelings. 

In addition to teaching, I also spend a good part of my day gently turning down potential suitors. As the only woman on site and a Mzungu, I’ve become very popular with the boys. In Rwanda, most women get married at 20, so at 22 with no husband and no boyfriend, I’m bordering on old maid status. Several boys have volunteered to rescue me from possible spinsterhood. 

Some of my Rwandan marriage proposals have been more notable than others. One boy went so far as presenting me with a plastic ring. As he asked for my hand, he reassured me that he didn’t really love me, but I was a Mzungu and he wanted a white wife. What a charmer! 

I think my favorite proposal happened the day I got my visa. Kyle and I went to downtown Kigali and took one of our boys, John. After getting the Visas, we decided to take John for ice cream. We hadn’t had ice cream in a month and were really craving an American sweet. John had never tried ice cream and was really excited. 

As we were sitting outside eating our ice cream cones (which definitely tasted nothing like American ice cream), some Rwandan men started speaking to us. They kept asking Kyle and John all sorts of questions about me even though I was sitting right there. Finally Kyle told them to just talk to me so they asked where I was from. Before I could answer, they let me know that because I’m brown (Their words- this Rwandan sun is really beating my sunscreen) I couldn’t possibly be American like Kyle. (As a side note: I think many Rwandans have never considered the idea that not all Americans are white). Since they already made up their minds that I wasn’t American, I asked them what country I was from and they informed me that I was Indian. I told them I wasn’t American or Indian, but Rwandan. For some reason, they didn’t believe me, so I told them that John was my brother. The guys started laughing loudly and John took the opportunity to earn some money. He called out, “Yes! We have the same mother and father! So, who wants to buy my sister!?” Total chaos ensued and we had to leave immediately. 

John later informed me that he thought he could have gotten 10 cows and maybe a moto for me. I had never considered how many cows I’m worth, but the average Rwandan man gives two cows for his wife, so I was fairly pleased with my value. 

I want to say so much more about my boys, but this post is already getting long and I’ve been meaning to write about my new responsibilities. 

About two weeks ago, I was asked to take over the infirmary. I have no real medical training other than first aid, but unfortunately I’m the most qualified (mostly just because I know that bacteria and germs are bad and it’s important to wash hands). 

When I was first shown the infirmary, I was pretty upset. There was no soap in the entire building and when I asked the reason I was told that the boys might steal it. (Great excuse to have no soap in the building where we keep the sick…). I also found bloody medical scissors and equipment sitting out on tables and bloody gauze in open trash cans. Most of the medications expired in 2007. It was really disheartening. 

I didn’t accept the position right away, but asked for some time to pray and think. Running the infirmary is such a big responsibility and I’m not a nurse, but after talking to a good friend who is a nurse and talking to a fellow missionary in the region, I felt convicted to take the job. I knew that if I didn’t do this, nobody would. The infirmary had not been used in months. 

Spending an afternoon with two of my boys
(Hammer is on the left)

I made an agreement with myself that I wouldn’t do anything that was too advanced for me because I don’t ever want to feel responsible for hurting someone. If someone can’t be treated by me, then at least I’m now in the position to ask the priests to take the person to the hospital.
However, since I’ve opened the infirmary, there have been many rumors circulating that I’m a doctor or a nurse. For every person I treat, I let them know that this isn’t true. Still, I’m now able to help situations that have just frustrated me in the past. In my last post I wrote about the diseases of the street children and how helpless I felt with not being able to do anything. Well this week, a 7-year-old street boy came in with pink eye. Two weeks ago I would have been so distressed but couldn’t have helped. This week, I examined him in the infirmary and then was able to use an at-home remedy. I mixed warm honey water and put some in his eye. I just saw him again yesterday and his eye is 100% better. 

It’s really beautiful to be able to help in small ways, although I’m frequently just praying I’m doing the right things and constantly consulting with the notes my nurse friend e-mailed me. 

Well it’s getting late. I’ll have to write a few short updates later this week to try to catch up on everything else that has been happening. I am taking the day off tomorrow to go to the site of Our Lady of Kibeho. I’m really excited. This has been a dream of mine since before I even considered coming to Rwanda. You’ll be in my prayers!