Four Days in New Rwanda

In May of this year, I traveled with twelve prominent young professionals from the U.S. to the East African country of Rwanda. Our intention was to observe and learn from the various rebuilding efforts being funded through Geneva Global in coordination with the Rwandan government and various local NGOs. We entered the country to establish relationships that would allow us to invest directly into the Rwandan economy and people. We left the country with unexpected friendships and a commitment to continue listening, learning and acting.

DAY 1:

After a not so brief detour in Nairobi, Kenya, we finally landed in Kigali, Rwanda around midnight. Stepping off the plane tonight, the air feels lush and misty; things seem incredibly quiet, almost too quiet. My heart is both eager and anxious. It’s no secret that Rwanda has had its share of tragedy. With its dark past surrounding most mentions of the country, it would seem that Rwanda is in a dire state. But I believe there has to be more than I know. Still, driving to the hotel tonight, all I could think about was the genocide. I said a silent prayer asking for an open mind, a fresh slate and an ability to see beyond the images Hollywood has embedded in my brain. Here, I am a student and I want to be educated.

We finally arrive at the Intercontinental Hotel, which is as nice as, if not nicer, than any hotel in the states. I’m struck by the large photo of President Paul Kigame hanging directly behind the front desk. What a refreshing vision of leadership—the face of their president in a place of business is an unequivocal stamp of approval.

DAY 2:

This morning we were introduced to a fascinating leader, the Anglican Archbishop of Rwanda, emmanuel kolini. I’m immediately touched by his warmth and his welcoming nature, but more so I’m captivated by the look in his eye—it is the steady gaze of a man who has seen more evil and good than I could ever confess too; it shined in wisdom. Like most Rwandans we would meet today, he is unassuming, humble and confident. As we eat our breakfast of mangos, bananas, coffee and eggs, Archbishop kolini drinks his black coffee and tells us about the work the Anglican church and local government have been doing to rebuild what the war devastated; he briefs us on the communities and projects we will be visiting. He speaks softly and always with a smile. This quiet strength turned out to be rather universal, something I saw in almost every Rwandan I met. It sobered me and calmed my heart. I am honored to be here.

After breakfast we piled into three SUVs and started on an hour trek to Bugesera, one of the regions in East Rwanda hardest hit by the genocide. As we drive, I take in the sheer beauty of the place. It’s surprisingly tropical with volcanoes and 1,000 hills, more like mountains, as far as the eye can see. Everything is verdant and deep green with flashes of bright colors in the people’s clothing and on buildings we weave between. I am finally met with the incredible otherness and yet strange familiarity of this place. I watched as people passed on their bikes, women and children lined the busy streets…everywhere, everyone was moving, everyone was headed somewhere, even children, infants even, were working. It was not uncommon to see a young woman with a newborn wrapped on her back carrying a huge bushel of bananas or a huge basin of water on her head as she walked up the road. It was evident that work here is a means of survival. This was the first western-minded incongruity. Most Rwandan citizens work incredibly hard, yet, not in hopes of the next promotion or in order to afford the luxuries of travel, recreation or fashion. Rather, their diligence is rooted in necessity and an obligation to care for the most basic human needs. Further, no one works unto themselves or for their own needs solely; rather, there’s a communal obligation to each other, whether or not you are family. Hard work will never be as hard to me. I’m keenly aware of how lazy our culture allows us to be. How the bare necessities are at arms length. Here, survival requires initiative, innovation and diligence. Rwandans, on average, live on less than $220 per year. What I paid for an iPod is what most people here hope to make in 12 months. How can it be so drastically different? How can we be living in the same time, the same era, breathing the same air and our lives look, feel and unfold in such inconsistent stories?

On our way to Bugesera, the Archbishop suggests we stop first to visit a beautiful monument, the Kigali Genocide Memorial. It’s hard to wrap your head around genocide, the sheer evil and tragic nature of it points to the worst of humanity. I hesitate to even comment on this part of our day. It’s bigger and deeper than I have a right to speak into, but it was here I met an inspiring young woman from whom I have much to learn.

Riette*, helped establish the Kigali Memorial after loosing most of her family to the war. She greeted us with a huge grin and a warm spirit. Her presence was stunning: beautiful long braided hair and gorgeous silky skin. Her eyes, like AB kolini, are deep and inviting. I liked her immediately. In her soft, steady voice, riette began to guide us through each part of the memorial. She used few words and we followed suit. We listened and tried to absorb it all. What could we say? It’s mostly indescribable—such a tragic, dark event, portrayed in an educational, reverent, strangely enchanting manner. This is the first evidence I noticed that the people of Rwanda are not afraid of their past. We silently shuffled through their recent history and the details of the genocide by way of video testimonies, pictures, and words painted on sides of walls. At one point, I was standing next to riette as she recounted how many of the churches became mass killing sights. Even the pastors, she said, began to turn on their congregations. I began to weep. I was embarrassed of my tears and tried to turn away, not because it isn’t heartbreaking. But how could I weep in the presence of a woman who experienced this devastation? As I’m trying to regain composure, I feel riette, with the most gentle, motherly touch, wrap her arms around me and whisper, “It’s okay, summer. Everything is okay now.” My tears flow steady now and I am amazed and humbled that this young woman is comforting me. I looked her in the eyes and said the only thing you can say, “I’m so sorry this happened and I’m so sorry we did nothing.” She whispered thank you, hugged me tighter and began to cry. In that moment I knew I had just experienced the weight and mystery of forgiveness and redemption. Riette was no longer a stranger to me; she was my sister and my  friend and I believe that today will mark the moment that Rwanda, riette and the soul of this country, became forever engraved in my heart. I believe in this country, in this people, and I believe now more than ever in the power of forgiveness.

It was ironic that not more than five minutes after my exchange with riette, another humbling exchange took place. But unlike the first, this one revealed the divide that too often separates us as humans and cultures. As an American, I believe our sensitivity to other’s struggles, evil and dark pasts tends to be non-existent, or minimal at best. We believe we have a right to expose anything and everything we see, that nothing truly is sacred. Just look at the growing number of celebrity-trash-can magazines that are so readily at our disposal. I was amazed at how irreverent we can be at times. We were asked not to take photos inside the memorial and not everyone abided by the rule. One of the Rwandan men who was walking through the memorial with us made a comment in passing: “You Americans come over here and take your pictures of our broken past and pat yourself on the back and say that you came and saw the tragedy and that’s good enough. Now you can feel good about yourself for being here.” My heart was broken by the truth in his statement. One of the women in our group engaged in a conversation with him and they hugged as we parted. We left the memorial with an understanding that if there is ever to be hope for unity and change, we must expand our worldview. We, I, have so much to learn.

DAY 2 (cont.):

After one of the bumpiest most spectacular drives out of Kigali, into the more rural regions of the country, we found ourselves in the community of Bugesera. Here we had the privilege of seeing how some of the fundraising dollars, raised by some of the members of our group, had aided and empowered one small community to build wells. It was fascinating to see how much good such a small amount of money does for an entire community. One well costs roughly $1500 to build and will serve a community of approximately 3,000 people. We had the opportunity to meet the local water council and learn of their plans to build more wells in the area so that people will not have to walk over three miles to fetch water for the day.

From there we made our way to a community of women who for the last year have established and maintained a successful soap-making business, with the help of the local Anglican church and other organizations such as Geneva Global. As with every place we’d visited thus far, we were graciously invited into their facilities, which consist of a brick building and a few tables and benches. As the sun shown through the windows, we sipped the Fantas and Cokes, they shared with us. The women began to tell us how they run their business and how it allows them to compete in the marketplace, contribute to rebuilding the community around them and provide and care for themselves and their children. This group of roughly 20-30 women are some of the most clever, resourceful business women I’ve met. As we passed the afternoon together, they began to share more personal stories; it was a tender, vulnerable moment. One woman stood up and, with an unassuming voice and tears in her eyes, she told us her story. Her husband is in jail awaiting trial for his part in the war. She told us how her husband not only helped kill many in the war, but some of his victims were the husbands of other women in the room. She said she had felt so alone and lost but these women welcomed her and gave her a new family, a home and a belief in herself and a hope for the future. We all cried and for the first time I believe I understood true community. The women danced and sang for us and as we joined them I knew their strength and their songs flow from a place in their souls only God knows well.

DAY 3:

Today we made our way to another micro-enterprise project, one that Geneva Global reports has one of the highest success rates in Rwanda. Fascinated by the concept of micro-finance, I ask shannon of Geneva Global and Archbishop kolini to explain how it works. We’re told that in the wake of the genocide there have been streams of aid into Rwanda, from NGOs to official government aid, to those efforts of individuals who felt compelled to step in and personally lend a hand. Often the most effective use of the aid is to filter it directly into the promotion of micro-enterprise by loaning start-up money to entrepreneurs and current business owners. This is likely the greatest need of the Rwandan people. Opportunity. Not handouts. Rwandans are smart, resilient and incredibly resourceful. Whether it is a soap-making business or a farmer growing casava in a field etched into the side of a mountain—or, like the project we were on our way to visit, where farmers are taught how to harvest a sharecrop like sunflowers, that can be used in it’s entirety, thus increasing the return on investment for everyone involved—it is evident Rwanda is not given over to begging. Its dignity in tact, it remains a country that has and will continue to build, invent and restore what was depleted.

An hour later, we arrive at Bukamba, another rural community in the region where “the sunflower project” is underway. Dark green hills and a massive volcano are the backdrop, and, like every other place we have been, children are everywhere. We are escorted inside the buildings to see how the local farmers harvest sunflowers and the process by which they make sunflower oil to sell. We are told why this program is so crucial for the region. “Genocide and war have deepened the poverty level in Rwanda. In the face of the postwar challenges of poverty and HIV/AIDS and the great number of orphans, widows and street children, among many others, we decided to respond to these issues by supervising the population of Ruhengeri in income-generating activities,” says boniface nzabanita, AEPESD-Tabara founder and project director. “Ruhengeri people live below the poverty line because land is so limited. We have to teach our people how to farm selected cash crops, so that they can meet their daily needs instead of relying on the cultivation of potatoes or sorghum, which are not enough to pay for school fees, medical care and a balanced diet. We can make a difference among our people. It is our vision to eradicate poverty through small development programs, to avoid the begging syndrome.” The AEPESD-Tabara (Association Pour l’Education et la Prise en Charge des Enfants en Situation Difficile-Tabara or the Association for the Education and Foster Care of At-Risk Children to the Rescue), established by nzabanita, buys the crops and helps farmers produce sunflower oil, providing income to the farmers and affordable, nutritious cooking oil to the community. AEPESD-Tabara also educates farmers about HIV/AIDS prevention and care methods and offers counseling and testing services. This project also teaches people with HIV/AIDS how to use sewing machines and run their own income-generating activities.

I am blown away by the ingenuity of the program. I have never seen anything like this, and seeing it now completely alters the way I perceive our role in helping. I think about the emerging American perspective: charity; doing good; being involved and engaged in the world around you. It seems to be the mantra of more and more people these days. From rock stars to economists, the call to get involved and engage the world around us is becoming a popular topic of discussion. Still, I fear this way is only a trend, an uneducated following, rather than an intentional investment into humanity. Too often as a young, private American citizen who tries to give when I can to things that matter, I tend to see the solutions to the needs of another country only through my white, Western frame of reference. I think what they need most is my money. I often completely overlook the reality that exists. I fail to educate myself enough to give purposefully and with conviction and compassion rather than out of obligation or in keeping with a growing trend.

Until today, I don’t think I’d really considered the details of where and how donated money is used. The sunflower project changed my motive. I understood the need for sustainable good. Just giving money to those in need isn’t the answer. For some reason we lazily think if we just give money or food or supplies—if we just recreate conditions that we have in the States, lives will be better. Unfortunately, the simple equation can potentially do more harm than good. Think about it: different country, different economic system, different means to meet basic needs. You can’t dump a million dollars into a community that has never known what to do with a million dollars and expect them to prosper. This tends to breed a “begging syndrome” in which those in need become dependent on regular donations instead of learning a trade that will enable them to provide for themselves. It’s the proverbial contrast between giving someone a fish and teaching someone to fish. It’s obvious which is better. I just wonder if we are willing to do the latter; it requires much more of us.

As we say goodbye to the sweet people of the sunflower project, I am inspired and more aware. This project is not only changing lives but hopefully it will begin to change the way the developing world, myself included, views and offers aid.

DAY 4:

It is our final day here, and for me, one of the most important days. Today, we meet the embodiment of Rwanda’s hope and strength—and they are all under the age of 18.

It is still hard to conceive that a nation, only twelve years ago, ravished by war, hatred and death, is today a nation of unity, harmony and restoration. We may have come here expecting to find animosity and bitter hearts—and we wouldn’t blame them—but instead we’ve found examples abroad of men, women and children whose pride in their country and hope for the future pushes them toward the pursuit of a better quality of life now and especially in the future. After today, I am certain, it is the children to whom we must give our attention.

The family unit here has changed since the war. The genocide left millions of Rwandans displaced in their own country, stripped of their families and their faith in their government and global communities. Children were the most vulnerable. Many no longer have families, parents, homes, anything of value; everything has been taken from them. As a result, new Rwanda is a very young nation. Roughly forty-six percent of the population are under the age of 15. This means the life of Rwandan children looks very different than children in the West. Instead of playing video games or joining the local soccer team, Rwandan youth are farming, preparing meals and caring for their younger siblings—assuming the role of parent and provider, oftentimes before they’ve reached their teens.

After the genocide, young girls and boys had to serve as heads of their families, responsible for the health and welfare of their siblings. According to an OCHA report, today, “Children head ten-percent of Rwandan households.” The report adds that teenage girls most often take on the responsibility of caring for four or five younger siblings. “The whole family structure has changed in Rwanda,” padraig quigley says. Kigali UNICEF representative theophane nikyema estimated that 300,000 children lived in child-headed households in 2002. “These children have little or no access to healthcare," he says. "They are also often denied basic human rights as they continue to live on the margins of an extremely impoverished society."

A few of us in our group traveled to one of the child-headed villages managed by Archbishop kolini and the Anglican church. After the war, the church stepped in and took the kids off the streets, determining that the best way to care for them was to maintain any remnant of their family units. Instead of putting them in orphanages, they created a village for them. We were introduced to loren*, the seventeen year old girl who has assumed the role of mother-hen for the village. With loren as our guide, we made our way through the narrow streets. She tells us that each family unit, typically three to five kids, with the head of the household being the oldest (not usually over the age of 15 or 16) are given a plot of land to grow their own food and are given a small house, made out of concrete blocks. The older kids work and the younger ones, finances permitting, attend school. It was mind-boggling to walk through an entire village of about ninety kids and not see one adult outside of those in our group, to see these kids...taking care of each other and working so hard to provide for their families. Walking through the village, kids seemed to come out of everywhere. With curiosity and fearlessness we were approached and immediately welcomed. Many of the children knew some English, along with French and their native language Kinyarwanda. Though they didn’t have much by any standard and many of them were uneducated, most of these children spoke three languages fairly well..

I was invited into one of the homes and was humbled by the simplicity and warmth. I began talking to the three girls, two are sisters and the youngest is a cousin. They tell me in plain English of how their parents were killed in the genocide and how all they want is to go to school . The younger sister, jade*, age 10, says she wants to be a teacher so she can educate people about the power of love and peace. It is brutally obvious, the value of education in Rwanda; it offers perhaps the best hope for people to not only escape the grip of poverty now, but to become the future leaders of the country. For jade, the American equivalent of either elementary or middle school costs $1 for tuition per semester for students past the fourth grade. Though this may be pennies to us, for them, paying for tuition is mostly unattainable.

As I rejoin the group, one of the men from the church explains that one of the most important roles of the Anglican Church in this village is that of protection. Because the murder trials for the genocide are still in session, many of these children are still very much at risk because many of them know who killed their parents. How sobering to see children shouldering so much responsibility in their few short years on this planet. How quickly they’ve had to grow up. How vital their lives will be in shaping the Rwanda we see even ten years from now.

Loren brings us to an area near the end of the village, in front of her house. She points to a beautiful tree, whose branches extend at least 40 feet providing a shaded area large enough to fit five or six wooden benches. “This is the community tree,” she explains. “If anyone is having a hard time, or your heart is sad, everyone gathers here to talk through it and work it out together. We have learned to talk through our problems and depend on each other for that’s all we truly have to rely on.” Another shining example of the simplicity and authenticity that breeds true community here.

As an American, it’s easy to look into their situation—their past and the burden that must be carried by such a young generation—and feel hopeless or at best reservedly optimistic. The reality is, meeting loren and the other children, I am more filled with hope than at any other moment on our trip. With such tragedy, beyond our comprehension, forever in their memories, the future of Rwanda is here, in this village, carried on the shoulders of the children—and what a bright future I see. Their strength is evident and their hope an inspiration to anyone near it. It is here, to these children, that we must give our attention, our time and our hearts.

I am rooting for loren and the children of her village.

As we prepare to head back to the states, I’m unable to grasp the depth of what I’ve experienced. Rwanda is a country where democracy and leadership are necessary for the betterment and good of every man, woman and child. A country where hard work is not only expected from every citizen but also a means of survival. It is rooted in necessity but fuelled by pride and a desire to contribute to society. A country in which the president has fought and bled alongside the commoner to rebuild, redeem and restore what was lost. Here, the children are undeniably innocent and breathtakingly hopeful. They too, work just as hard. Though the statistics show the reality of a Rwanda whose people live below the poverty level and where HIV/AIDS afflicts more than 250,000, including children, the nation does not contend with an under-developed heart.

In Rwanda, we were embraced without question; we were welcomed as family, and everywhere, everyone was grateful for our presence. We were not needed, we were welcomed and wanted and seen, just as we are, as fellow human beings. If only we would see them in the same light; as a beautiful people who made me gravely aware of the things that matter most: humanity, equality, love, peace, humility. Thank you, Rwanda, for teaching me. I have so much more to learn.

*Names have been changed to protect their identity.