I am back Home. Some conveniences are welcomed--a solid bed, my beautiful kitchen, my favorite chair by the fireplace. At the same time, I miss some experiences from Rwanda--the slapping handshakes, the shy "Good morning" from the school kids studying English, the rapidly changing skies with torrential rain followed by sunshine. Mostly I miss the sharp sense of being an observer, appreciating the culture while trying to fit in. I have waded back into the stream of my "normal" life, yet I have been changed by the last seven weeks.
I have seen again that life can be brutal and stark for the Rwandans. They couldn't believe that I was 55 years old, or that my parents could possibly be alive at 85! This is because the years are harder on them--carrying heavy loads on their heads, going without medical check ups, vaccinations and even without meals, their eyes and skin unprotected from equatorial sun. The privileges I consider to be my rights are completely out of reach for most of them, like owning a house, a car, a textbook. Their patience with power failures and lack of basic supplies, drugs and instruments baffles me. My American reaction is "let's get our act together and FIX this!" Their approach is "let's make the best of this and hope it improves."
My heart has been broken by the man with tetanus who died for lack of an isolation room and a ventilator. By the two year old with an amputated arm due to gangrene, crying alone in his bed until a doctor walks by, smiles, and bumps his fist. By the pastor who spent his morning digging in the mud to plant beans so that sixteen orphaned children living in his rented house can eat. By the younger brother of a comatose ICU patient who hangs on my every word as though I will somehow figure out a cure. I am humbled by the faith of people who have nothing to give and yet extend hospitality to me. And by the faith of a technical school graduate who prays that God will supply him tools so he can use his new skills. I am inspired by the taxi driver who says his children are speaking English because President Kagame says it will be good for Rwanda. And by the genocide offenders at Nsinda prison who dance and glorify God for His forgiveness of their unspeakable crimes. I am frustrated, energized, and alternately hopeless and hopeful about the challenges that face this country and its people.
April 7 is the anniversary of the beginning of the period of intense conflict and murder in the 1994 genocide. The world turned the other way seventeen years ago while evil temporarily triumphed. The entire country spends April remembering, mourning and honoring the dead. Jesus said "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." I am mourning, because I have seen and felt the pain of Rwanda for a short time. I would like to turn the other way, to pretend that poverty, disease and suffering don't exist. It would be less painful. But if I want to identify with the heart of Jesus I will have to mourn, to be angry at evil, to encourage and support faith and hope, and to love my Rwandan friends the best I can. The price is to share the Rwandan's pain, yet the promise of God's comfort is the blessing.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
ENSINDA PRISON
Yesterday was Monday. Wednesday early we leave for the USA. The plan was to use Monday as a day to go inside Ensinda Prison and preach to the inmates. We were to be "picked" at 8:30 and taken to the facility. At around 10:00 we finally saw our transportation and began our journey. Time means something different here than at home. As we traveled across this small country I was given a sheet of paper comprising what I was asked to include in my sermon. The sheet made it clear that I was to talk about remembrances of the horrors of the genocide, God's forgiveness, and our response. The month of April is a national day of remembrance for the genocide and I was to speak to the offenders. Amazing!
Ensinda is a large facility. As it turns out it contains the most serious offenders, some from other countries, but mostly genocide offenders from Rwanda. These are the prisoners I have read about, the ones on the front lines of the unimaginable events of seventeen years ago. We met in an office with the prison director and his staff for a few moments, then proceeded into the meeting area where I had found myself a year ago. Change was evident. The prisoners were now allowed to wear their own clothing; there was a sound system and keyboard together with two microphones. Guma, my quiet and meek handler for the last two years, took one of the microphones and began to work the crowd. The next thing I knew he was shouting, waving his arms, and receiving the same response from the crowd. Many of the exchanges included the words, "amen" and "alleluia" ...so I knew generally what was taking place. After a few moments, he began to beckon the audience to join him in an area below the stage. They then began to dance together praising God and shouting together their devotion. What a sight. Needless to say this white man learned some new dance steps.
I have thought of myself as a fair communicator. What was communicated to me yesterday, among other things, is humility and that I have a lot to learn about spiritual communication. I was not satisfied that I successfully gave a message to my audience. But perhaps that wasn't important. I received a lot. What I was given was an amazing amount of love, appreciation and acceptance. If I am to communicate with folks like this I really need to be much less focused on the content of what I say and much more on the spiritual happening of which I am only a small part. In any event, I am very grateful for the experience of being ministered to by these transformed lives. We had brought a sack full of reading glasses and another with pens. They gave a cheer when told they would have them to read their Bibles with. We then began looking into possible places where Bibles could be acquired for them and may have found that the Gideon's society will provide them.
Today we give our goodbys to Pastor Deo, his staff, Aristote, the young lawyer in the Parliament, Steven, the young man who ministers to the women victims of AIDS, and others. I will be present when the President of Burundi addresses the East African Congress. It should be an interesting event. Then we begin the long journey home.
See you soon!
dlm
Ensinda is a large facility. As it turns out it contains the most serious offenders, some from other countries, but mostly genocide offenders from Rwanda. These are the prisoners I have read about, the ones on the front lines of the unimaginable events of seventeen years ago. We met in an office with the prison director and his staff for a few moments, then proceeded into the meeting area where I had found myself a year ago. Change was evident. The prisoners were now allowed to wear their own clothing; there was a sound system and keyboard together with two microphones. Guma, my quiet and meek handler for the last two years, took one of the microphones and began to work the crowd. The next thing I knew he was shouting, waving his arms, and receiving the same response from the crowd. Many of the exchanges included the words, "amen" and "alleluia" ...so I knew generally what was taking place. After a few moments, he began to beckon the audience to join him in an area below the stage. They then began to dance together praising God and shouting together their devotion. What a sight. Needless to say this white man learned some new dance steps.
I have thought of myself as a fair communicator. What was communicated to me yesterday, among other things, is humility and that I have a lot to learn about spiritual communication. I was not satisfied that I successfully gave a message to my audience. But perhaps that wasn't important. I received a lot. What I was given was an amazing amount of love, appreciation and acceptance. If I am to communicate with folks like this I really need to be much less focused on the content of what I say and much more on the spiritual happening of which I am only a small part. In any event, I am very grateful for the experience of being ministered to by these transformed lives. We had brought a sack full of reading glasses and another with pens. They gave a cheer when told they would have them to read their Bibles with. We then began looking into possible places where Bibles could be acquired for them and may have found that the Gideon's society will provide them.
Today we give our goodbys to Pastor Deo, his staff, Aristote, the young lawyer in the Parliament, Steven, the young man who ministers to the women victims of AIDS, and others. I will be present when the President of Burundi addresses the East African Congress. It should be an interesting event. Then we begin the long journey home.
See you soon!
dlm
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Gratitude
Friday was the last day for me as "volunteer professor." It began with a morning meeting of the anesthesiologists and technicians, presenting the emergency cases from the night before and discussing the complicated cases for the day ahead. One of the emergencies had been an exploratory surgery in a five year old boy with a distended abdomen. When the surgeons got inside, they found dead worms surrounding his intestines. Apparently they had perforated through his bowel and had gotten trapped in his body. This case is one we would never see in Hillsboro!!
I had the opportunity to give each of the three senior residents an "oral exam" practice session, followed by explaining my comments on their monthly evaluation. This was particularly gratifying because they did remarkably well with the hypothetical patient, and seemed to have retained a lot from our academic lectures. Even the resident who did poorly on the written exam did well with the oral exam. So I felt like my efforts have made an impact. They all asked if I would come again, and seemed truly grateful for the time I spent with them.
Saturday was the party for the technical school graduates. About 100 people attended, mostly orphans or extremely poor kids. The students each had signed a letter drafted by an American college grad who volunteers for PFR. She had interviewed them and wrote down their feelings for their supporters. We will enjoy giving copies of this letter to our friends and family who contributed to the school fees for the kids. After formal presentations, thank yous, photos of awarding their certificates etc. everyone ate a huge lunch of rice, beans, spinach and boiled bananas--the kids ate with their hands! Then Doug and I were given plates with slivers of cake to pass out to the kids. A few pieces fell on the ground and we had to act quickly to prevent the kids from chowing them down.
After the huge lunch and cake, which I'm sure some of the kids had never seen before, they were on a sugar high...we danced, they rapped, they posed for pictures, hung on Doug begging to be twirled upside down, and generally had an amazing time, all in equatorial sun. We were exhausted by the time it ended, but very happy and had many hugs and handshakes. Seventeen year old Victor came up solemnly and shook my hand. "I remember you from last year. Do you remember my name?" I certainly remembered him, as he was the one who was worried about Doug after the marathon and came down to the seats where we were resting and held Doug's hand. Victor has grown a few inches and put on some muscle, but still has the same tender heart. "I pray for you and Douglas every day," he said. What a gift!
Today we went with Pastor Deo of Prison Fellowship Rwanda to visit a small congregation in the hills north of Kigali. About an hour on pavement, plus an hour on a rutted dirt road, crawling up a hill into the clouds. Small children waved and cried "Muzungu!!" as we passed. I think they might never see white people and rarely see a vehicle. Finally we reached the tiny church, just a roof, four walls and a concrete slab floor. About 15 adults and 25 children filled the place with songs and prayers as we arrived. About the same time the skies broke open and a heavy rain storm beat on the tin roof, punctuating the songs and sermons with thunder and darkening the interior until we could barely see. I say sermons because there were more than one. Peter, the pastor of the flock gave a warm up, followed by introductions and greetings, followed by Doug giving the most sedate of the talks, followed by Pastor Deo. His theme was Rise up and Walk, directed to encourage this poor congregation to use their energies to improve their situation rather than being passive. He was remarkable, dancing and shouting Alleluia, acting out the story by getting a teenaged girl to play the part of the lame man whom the disciples Peter and John healed in the book of Acts.
After the two and a half hour service we walked back down the muddy hill and were welcomed into the pastor's small home. He and his wife live there with five children, the youngest of them a four year old boy named Danga. As we chatted, his wife disappeared into the kitchen. Pastor Peter excused himself and came back in a few minutes with a case of bottled drinks and a fistful of straws. We sipped Fanta Orange and asked him questions about his congregation, about their challenges. He is not salaried, but grows some crops and sells them to make ends meet. The children have to walk about 6 miles to school, so the youngest ones can't go. They have inconsistent demand for their produce because they are so far along the dirt road that buyers sometimes give up before getting to them. About 10,000 people live on this hill without a health center or market.
Peter's wife suddenly appeared with pots of beans, rice, boiled potatoes and a delicious tomato based sauce with lovely chunks of tender meat. These people who had so little were sharing it with the city folks and the Muzungus who had arrived in a sparkling Toyota 4WD truck. They were so gracious. Peter said he had "big joy" to have guests in his humble home...
So tonight the theme of this blog is gratitude. Ours for the Africans who have allowed us into their lives and stolen our hearts, theirs for the help and encouragement of retired Americans who visit, the students' gratitude for help to get training, and all of our gratitude to God for His faithfulness to care for us and guide our lives.
I had the opportunity to give each of the three senior residents an "oral exam" practice session, followed by explaining my comments on their monthly evaluation. This was particularly gratifying because they did remarkably well with the hypothetical patient, and seemed to have retained a lot from our academic lectures. Even the resident who did poorly on the written exam did well with the oral exam. So I felt like my efforts have made an impact. They all asked if I would come again, and seemed truly grateful for the time I spent with them.
Saturday was the party for the technical school graduates. About 100 people attended, mostly orphans or extremely poor kids. The students each had signed a letter drafted by an American college grad who volunteers for PFR. She had interviewed them and wrote down their feelings for their supporters. We will enjoy giving copies of this letter to our friends and family who contributed to the school fees for the kids. After formal presentations, thank yous, photos of awarding their certificates etc. everyone ate a huge lunch of rice, beans, spinach and boiled bananas--the kids ate with their hands! Then Doug and I were given plates with slivers of cake to pass out to the kids. A few pieces fell on the ground and we had to act quickly to prevent the kids from chowing them down.
After the huge lunch and cake, which I'm sure some of the kids had never seen before, they were on a sugar high...we danced, they rapped, they posed for pictures, hung on Doug begging to be twirled upside down, and generally had an amazing time, all in equatorial sun. We were exhausted by the time it ended, but very happy and had many hugs and handshakes. Seventeen year old Victor came up solemnly and shook my hand. "I remember you from last year. Do you remember my name?" I certainly remembered him, as he was the one who was worried about Doug after the marathon and came down to the seats where we were resting and held Doug's hand. Victor has grown a few inches and put on some muscle, but still has the same tender heart. "I pray for you and Douglas every day," he said. What a gift!
Today we went with Pastor Deo of Prison Fellowship Rwanda to visit a small congregation in the hills north of Kigali. About an hour on pavement, plus an hour on a rutted dirt road, crawling up a hill into the clouds. Small children waved and cried "Muzungu!!" as we passed. I think they might never see white people and rarely see a vehicle. Finally we reached the tiny church, just a roof, four walls and a concrete slab floor. About 15 adults and 25 children filled the place with songs and prayers as we arrived. About the same time the skies broke open and a heavy rain storm beat on the tin roof, punctuating the songs and sermons with thunder and darkening the interior until we could barely see. I say sermons because there were more than one. Peter, the pastor of the flock gave a warm up, followed by introductions and greetings, followed by Doug giving the most sedate of the talks, followed by Pastor Deo. His theme was Rise up and Walk, directed to encourage this poor congregation to use their energies to improve their situation rather than being passive. He was remarkable, dancing and shouting Alleluia, acting out the story by getting a teenaged girl to play the part of the lame man whom the disciples Peter and John healed in the book of Acts.
After the two and a half hour service we walked back down the muddy hill and were welcomed into the pastor's small home. He and his wife live there with five children, the youngest of them a four year old boy named Danga. As we chatted, his wife disappeared into the kitchen. Pastor Peter excused himself and came back in a few minutes with a case of bottled drinks and a fistful of straws. We sipped Fanta Orange and asked him questions about his congregation, about their challenges. He is not salaried, but grows some crops and sells them to make ends meet. The children have to walk about 6 miles to school, so the youngest ones can't go. They have inconsistent demand for their produce because they are so far along the dirt road that buyers sometimes give up before getting to them. About 10,000 people live on this hill without a health center or market.
Peter's wife suddenly appeared with pots of beans, rice, boiled potatoes and a delicious tomato based sauce with lovely chunks of tender meat. These people who had so little were sharing it with the city folks and the Muzungus who had arrived in a sparkling Toyota 4WD truck. They were so gracious. Peter said he had "big joy" to have guests in his humble home...
So tonight the theme of this blog is gratitude. Ours for the Africans who have allowed us into their lives and stolen our hearts, theirs for the help and encouragement of retired Americans who visit, the students' gratitude for help to get training, and all of our gratitude to God for His faithfulness to care for us and guide our lives.
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