After waiting 7 hours for
a bus (Check out Carolyn's Blog for details on that experience) to show up and take me to Kigali, Rwanda on Monday, it finally came.
Except, instead of travelling to another African city, I ended up in America.
Okay, totally kidding.
But you could’ve fooled
me. Time and time again, I caught myself staring out the window with my mouth
wide open and questioning where I was. Some of my initial observations were:
- The roads. They were paved and smooth and had lines painted on them! But, it didn’t stop there. Reflectors. Reflectors lined the streets, street lights shined on the sides of the roads, and curbs existed. Stop signs, yield signs, and traffic lights were not only present, but obeyed.
- Traffic. Cars drove on the right (appreciate the pun? :) ) side of the road. Boda Boda! Also known as motos in Rwanda, could only have one passenger. ONE! And, they are required to wear helmets. I didn’t see anyone riding side saddle, carrying a goat, or loaded down with a pile of 2 x 4s headed to a construction site.
- Cleanliness. The streets were clean. I saw hardly any litter and observed women and men cleaning the streets and picking up any litter. Not to mention, the “Keep Kigali Clean” trash bins around the city. Absolutely, stunning.
And, those were only first observations. Observations made
late Monday night, after waiting all day for a bus to arrive, a dark and
somewhat sketchy walk across the border, and a bumpy, bus-rocking ride through
hilly northern Rwanda. However, I feel the need to insert some disclaimers.
First of all, I mean no disrespect to the missionaries in Kigali. I understand
that there are many deeply rooted issues that go on beneath the surface. I
believe missionaries are called all over the globe. And, I recognize that each
of these individuals has made sacrifices and has had to make extreme
adjustments in order to obey their callings from God. So as I go on raving and
ranting about how much Kigali felt like America, I know I was only a 3-day
tourist in the country, observing only the surface, which included tasty
restaurants, new shops, and sidewalks.
One of the first places
the girls and I hit up was the coffee shop, Bourbon. It was beautiful. From the
finely furnished décor, to the smooth espresso and perfectly steamed milk it
surpassed all expectations for a coffee shop experience. And, it was only the
first.
We then wandered wide-eyed
through the new Nakumatt, also known as Africa’s Wal-Mart or Target. We browsed
the shelves of Mr. (High) Price, which contained new clothing. Yes. New. Clothes. Even though no purchases were made
on my end, the smell of new clothes filled me with the same pleasure as if I had
actually bought something worth being excited about.
After waiting out the rain
(which proved we were still in Africa)
we got in a taxi, figured out our bus tickets for the way back and then hired
our first set of Rwandan motos to take us to Heaven. As if I didn’t already
think I was there. At Heaven, we were treated to appetizers, a fine meal, and
blankets to warm us from the chill of the Rwandan night. Heaven, indeed.
Wednesday, we had the
opportunity to tour the Rwandan Genocide Memorial. The guide said it could
possibly take an hour and a half. Three hours later, we made our way out,
emotionally exhausted and teary eyed. I’m going to have to write about the
experience in a blog by itself. In short, it was well done, very informative,
and extremely moving.
After enjoying another café
dining experience that consisted of a white mocha and vegetable Panini, our
lovely hosts, The Gaskills, picked us up to take us to their house for the
evening.
As we pulled into their
neighborhood, once again I was in awe. Their neighborhood is part of a
development plan called Vision 2020. Wow. There were street signs. There were
other things, too, but that’s what I remember. Street signs. Are you getting
the picture of why this so closely resembled America?
Finally, we pulled into
the Gaskills’ compound. When we walked into their house, I cried.
Cried.
Reverse culture shock? I
don’t know what was going on. The emotions of the day, of feeling like I was in
a place close to home, topped off with walking into a home that felt, smelled and looked like a home was just a little
overwhelming.
Fortunately, I was able to
compose myself so that we could walk to Kigali International Christian School,
where the Gaskills and many other missionaries work. Beautiful. The
kindergarten through 12th grade school is home to many local
missionaries, international students, and members of the Kigali community.
Seeing an educational facility where God’s hand is so clearly at work was such
a joy.
It was a well-spent three
days of vacation, visa renewal, and ministry touring.
We arrived home Thursday
afternoon, exhausted from the bus ride. I was napping in my room, when I heard
Carolyn shout for us to come outside. Much to our surprise, our hedge was on
fire. The neighbors were all fetching water and trying, unsuccessfully, to put
it out.
“Oh my gosh! Call… ummm
who do we call?!”
There’s no 911.
So we called everyone, and
then Willis, our neighbor and local chairman. He’s the man with power in our
community and luckily, our friend. He came marching over, very unhappily, at the
situation. At this point in time, I was extremely thankful none of us girls were
responsible for the torched fence line that used to be our hedge.
Since yesterday, we’ve had
policemen, photographers, and the man who supposedly lit the flame in and out
of our compound. The whole mess is still “under investigation” due to some
similar events that have happened recently. However, currently in place are
some mats hanging along our fence to ensure our sense of privacy. As I walked
out of the gate yesterday to go for a run, the neighbors along the burnt fence
were all waving at me. Yes, I miss the hedge.
Needless to say, this week
has held many moments worth remembering, and we still have a few days before
Christmas. Oh, Nkokonjeru, what will happen next?
