Good Morning, Good Evening

Wednesday afternoon, Katie and I decided to take a walk to see the soccer field. The walk passes through the hospital grounds and I was able to see the different wards: abana (children), abagore (women), abagabo (men). Outside of each ward, there were patients getting fresh air and doctors and nurses traveling from one building to the next. Katie and I have been taking Kinyarwanda language courses. Many doctors and nurses have been taking English courses. So, as we walked, we began to practice our greetings with those we passed. This continued for the rest of our trip.
We walked a ways passed little houses, and fences. Rwanda has some of the most aesthetically pleasing fences I have ever seen. For the most part, fences look foreign to land and teach your eyes to divide and plot the land, leaving your mark on it– more than the land’s mark on you. Maybe it’s the beauty of Rwanda that the fence builders don’t want to escape. Lydia and I were talking about Shyira. She said, “It’s just so green. Everything is so green.” There are bushes and trees along every path, many hold much more height than me. If caught in deep conversation, one might miss the fences altogether. They are the same height as the trees, made out of wood and banana leaves and look like they could have grown out of the land that way. They make for a very inviting village.
We continued to greet and be greeted by Rwandans. It was a wonderful experience. They were so kind to us, and we were grateful. We heard “muzungu” from the children, but it was clearly out of interest and description. It was a different tone than the market. They may be marking a difference, but the distinction didn’t seem to offend them. Sometimes, when they yelled, “Muzungu,” Katie and I would say, “Abana (children!)” It was great to get to play and communicate and joke even with just a few words! It was about 5:30 in the afternoon when we reached the soccer field. To get to the field, we had to walk around the mountain and so I couldn’t see it until we were right upon it. The field was on a cliff. Although it was sunny, spare rain drops kept plopping on shirt or foot. The sight was a horizontal slant of sun, over the backdrop of mountain, onto a field – a golden mist that these boys ran and played through with every bit of energy they owned. I may have never seen anything so beautiful. There was a life to this place that seized everything around it. These boys saw us taking pictures of them and came over and started showing off by karate chopping and kicking the air for the pictures. They were so happy to be fierce and to be moving and to be little boys. It was beautiful and I am so thankful for them.
As we continued our walk through the village, the sun kept getting lower, children on the side of the road kept shouting, “Good morning.” (*pronounced “Gude Marneeng!”) We called back, “Good Evening!” and they walked alongside us much of the way. We made friends with a 10 year old boy and he came along. There is something to be said here for learning to keep quiet company. It’s nice just to have someone alongside that is there only because they want to be. They want to learn you, but not to interrogate. I hope to be more like that.
At one point, a group of children came up to us and one with a cute, chubby face grabbed Katie’s and the smallest one grabbed my hand. Her hand was so tiny she could only hold a few of my fingers, but she was firm and would not let go. It felt so sweet to be touched by someone here, to feel trusted and to be able to love someone by just squeezing her hand back and smiling. This is what I love most about life, these short holds that make you want to live without end.
Finally, we had to say goodbye so we could get back before dark. We started walking back, while the sunset in the sky changed every minute. I couldn’t imagine a more attractive afternoon. It occurred to me, as I saw this beauty, God is so good. Then, I thought about the genocide, this land, the unspoken events that happened that left scars and broken families. It makes saying the Lord is good a thing of trust. I do believe it. There is a healing that is more perpetual than a scar. This is the paradox of Rwanda. It doesn’t allow you to look only at beauty, it doesn’t allow you to think beauty alone covers a multitude of sins, and it doesn’t allow sin to extinguish beauty. It is a challenge to my heart and eyes and mind.