a match on a hill.

The past week, I’ve been pretty sick and I have felt a bit useless and cooped up in doors. I had to miss the bible study Wednesday, and although we rescheduled for Friday, I found out Peace, my translator, couldn’t make it. So, I began a walk down to the school to tell my girls we would have to postpone again. It was wonderful timing, because as it turns out, when I arrived, all of the girls were getting water before a soccer game they were to play at the school. They’d told me about it Monday and I’d forgotten. So, it was actually perfect.


The school is set on a hill, with different parts of the school at different elevations. The soccer game was in a depressed area, with a hill on one side and a drop off on the other. When I walked up to the watering place with Lydia as my translator, sweet Angelique told me that they were about to play, and asked if I was coming. The rest of the girls walked down with me to the edge of the hill overlooking the field, and Lydia returned home. My friend Clementine’s son, Albert, pulled up a bench for me, and I sat down. It wobbled under the weight of my body and I wondered if it would hold up. Then, four more children sat down and it steadied. It seems that some things are less stable without pressure. My girls climbed down to the field and I was surrounded by boys and girls watching me watch my girls.

I couldn’t get over these girls. They seemed so sure of themselves. These girls treated each other with the kind of affectionate informality one rarely sees outside of siblings. Everyone in Shyira has short hair, probably only about an inch in length. Most of my girls have shaved heads. They had on pants, they hardly have any attributes that look like women yet, and there is no hair to create the impression of a girl. But somehow, they were brilliantly feminine. They were the sort of feminine feminists shoot for, and can’t help but miss. These girls were feminine just because they were. It was how they were born. They ran like little boys, and cut their hair like little boys, but there was no mistaking these girls. They were beautiful and free and didn’t even know it, and so retained every bit of unassuming wealth. I am in full admiration and love for them.

For a better view, I moved and sat on the side of the hill, and let my feet rest on a stump jutting out. Children came and sat by me, as closely as possible. Then, children pressed against my back and on my sides. There were so many little hands touching me at different points that I was completely unable to match them with a face. However, three girls sat to my right arm against arm, and didn’t move for the rest of the match. Most of the children began pointing and laughing, saying, “Muzungu,” which means white person. I said, “Oya Muzungu. Nitwa Emily.” (Meaning: Not Muzungu. My name is Emily.) After that, most of the children started saying, “Emwhirlee.” Or something of the like. It is so sweet. I don’t know that I’ve ever loved hearing my name said more than the way these children say it. It makes me glad my mom chose this name, and it makes me wish she could hear them say it. It amazes me that the Lord always knew my name would be spoken through those lips, and he always knew it would bring me a joy that is so deeply entangled in his plans and his blessings that I can’t describe it.

The children and I sat there for an hour watching the game. I cheered and laughed, although most of the time the kids didn’t…except maybe at me. The girls in my study would look up on the hill and see me, their fierce and serious face of competition turning into a quick eyebrow lift and smile. This may be my favorite characteristic of Rwandan culture, an affirmative lift of the eyebrows. It’s a swift and loaded acknowledgement. I realize I’ve begun to do it back, and it surprises them. Little understandings mean much when you only know a few words of one another’s language. It is strange that we have talked so deeply about scripture through Peace’s translations. Yet, we fumble over our words when we try to really speak to one another. The eyebrow raise is a relief to my tongue and lips, which rarely accomplish any task set before them here.

The girls sitting beside me had feet stretched down in green plastic sandals, or maybe they are rubbers, that are very common to most children in this village. Here, gaps between toes and arches fill with dirt, sand, mud, probably droppings, and natural perspiration, which creates a sweet, stinking smell. Then, there are the unwashed armpits that are voicing themselves. These smells – theirs and mine-combined and we were people, hot in the sun, glad to be near each other.

The sun began to burn my chest. One little girl sitting beside me reached up and pressed the sunburn. Then, realizing it turned white upon pressure, her little jaw dropped. She looked at me and I laughed and pressed it again. She laughed, and kept pressing it. I pressed her arm wondering if it would change, but it didn’t and we kept laughing. Then, she took my arm and placed it beside hers, and started touching its hair. Then, she touched my fingernails. It was the least offensive and most joyful inspection I’ve ever received in my life. In the meantime, a little girl pulled fly away hairs out of my face, and some boy behind picked off bugs that had landed on my neck.

Some of the children said, “Good morning,” to me. I would say “Oya, good evening.” The hill seats looked directly across to the sun going down behind the mountains across a valley. With my left hand, I tried to create mountain peaks out of knuckles. With my right hand, I formed a circle for the sun. I tried to show it’s rising and falling for the times of day. They ended up telling me the words for mountain and sun in Kinyarwanda and I made up a song with only those two words. I would sing it in a tune, and they would repeat. Then, they would sing it in a tune and I would repeat. What began as them looking to practice English turned into them tutoring me in Kinyarwanda. While, periodically, the girls from my study would look up from the field to see if I was still there, and upon seeing me raise the eyebrows and curl the lips. I would mirror the response.

My girls, it turns out, were not the winning team. Luckily, few things could matter less to me. I ran down to the field and hugged them each. I felt so proud of them and thankful that they would have me there to watch. We walked back until the path from my house split from the road. I think this has been my favorite moment here thus far. I can’t describe how none of these things was separate from a burning in my chest from the Lord and for the Lord. I felt like I was where I should be, with people I was to be with, and time and joy seemed to fit together for an hour or so.

My favorites lately. Don't tell me i can only have one.

1.Early mornings, reading hymns and talking about the Lord with Caleb and Lydia

2.My hands being big enough to perfectly envelope a kitten until it feels safe enough to fall asleep...how it sighs every time I do.

3.Out of the Silent Planet and Sigur Ros

4.My chest swelling with pride and pleasure after creating new recipes from the same market list every week with Miriam and Katie

5.Walking to get a coca cola, sitting on stools on the little store's porch, and drinking it straight from the bottle.

6.Feeling like my body is my own again and not a watering hole for parasites.

7.Reading by candle light.

8.Writing letters.

9.Morning oatmeal with cinnamon and a jam made special with tiny Rwandan strawberries.

10.Recognizing and being recognized by girls from my small group

11.Impromptu trips to Ruhengheri, just to get to buy jam and coffee from a store

12.Phonetically learning cheeky German phrases from Johannie and Fionna that I use to
surprise the other Germans, (sounds like {kuk-mah-ver-droightch-kan}: "look who speaks German now...?"

13.Lighting my gas stove top, blowing out the match, sticking the end of the match in a spilt water, and listening to the the sound it makes.

14.Goat kids headbutting when their horns are no more than nubbs, their wreckless valor advancing their bodies.

15.Dancing in a 17 x 11 room to celebrate Immaculate's baptism, with no regard to the fact that I am a Muzungu, lack rhythm and coordination, and that I am unable to stop laughing even after it becomes painful.

16.Writing haikus in english.

17.Praying for loved ones while they sleep.

18.Getting dew on my toes when I walk to borrow milk in the mornings

19.Being so surrounded by the clouds, that I feel like I'm in the midst of the sunrise

20.Afternoons in my rocker with a book and french press.

21.Singing Bob Dylan with Katie on and off throughout the day

22."Full Grown Man/ Suspicious Minds" by Phosphorescent

23.The wonder and ache of missing people.

24.My feet becoming more sure on unlevel ground.

25.Swimming in Lake Kivu by the volcanoes.