Why I Love It Here.

I abhor the long blog post... But I wrote this. I want you to read it. Love, Kate.

It is 2009, and all anyone can say to me as I am leaving for Kigali, Rwanda is some variation of, “Be safe; come home soon.” I find myself wondering at what point people stopped looking over their shoulder for the SS and Gestapo in Western Europe, and just enjoyed the landscape, the people, and my favorite – the food. Why is it so difficult to believe that not all of sub-Saharan Africa is a waking nightmare? Yes, Rwanda is only fifteen years removed from one of the most horrific ethnic cleansings in human history. Yes, there is extreme poverty here beyond what we even know to imagine. Yes, kids are drinking muddy water and are dying of diseases that are painfully preventable; those things should absolutely break your heart. The weight of this reality can crush you if you let it. But this place, like any, holds the same great potential for hope and joy as it has for pain and loss.

You can hear it here. Every night since I’ve been in Rwanda, I have woken up to this unabashed laughter coming from the golf course across the street. Like the laughter from your gut, generally reserved for little kids who may or may not know what they are laughing so hard about. The other night, four of us walked down to the club through the rain to investigate the source of it. The culprit was a guy named Julius and his friend Michele, a lawyer and a cellular service executive. We sat up until midnight finding out what was so funny. These guys call their spot the “19th hole”, and come sometimes just to hang out even if they are not golfing that day. Both grew up in countries that border Rwanda, and returned home in the wake of the genocide. That is true of a lot of people here in Kigali. This place is on the upswing.

You can feel it here. It is impossible to go a day in Rwanda without dancing. I asked my friend, Revinah for the translation of this Kinyarwanda song that was on the radio yesterday. She said that it basically means, “The women of Rwanda are so beautiful that when we come, you can just go”. Check them out. She taught me some traditional dance, and I showed her the robot. (Note: That is not my go-to dance move; we just happened to be listening to some 80s jams.) Today I was watching some Living Water International guys repairing a pump just east of the city for this wonderful, but intensely poor community. Kids came pouring in from all directions to see what was going on. My friend, Tegan and I rolled down the windows on our truck and cranked up the beats. You should have seen these little guys vibing. They put our meager palette of dance moves to shame. It is forever amazing me that they can grow up in material poverty, but retain this untouchable richness within.

You can see it here. This place is called the Land of a Thousand Hills for a reason. As an aquatic being, I was nervous about the withdrawal pains that may come with any significant time in a land-locked country. Thank God, Rwanda moves and overwhelms the soul just as satisfyingly as the sea, and I am thinking that this may be a fair trade. The weather reminds me of a little surfing town in California, every day a little closer to perfection than the last. Even the rain is magic. And this city at night is like the stars come down to earth. The view from anywhere will steal your breath, and then give it back long enough to take it away again. Rwanda’s light shines bright in this part of the continent – it exudes hope, even when it is asleep.

They say here, that God roams the earth by day, but comes back to rest in Rwanda at night. I do not know that the theology holds up, but I sure adore the sentiment. This place is in the midst of the kind of recovery that only He can orchestrate, and I wanted you to know about it. We should remember human tragedy, of course, and commemorate what the world lost in 1994. But we do not have to wade in the pain of it forever. The Rwandese people are not even doing that. No, this place is moving forward. It is opening up my mind to the depth of God’s ability to restore even the worst of situations. So be safe. And come here soon.

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