Friday, November 20, 2009

Leaving Rwanda


The time is quickly approaching for me to leave this city and country and continent. Just 7 more sleeps, as John would say! So at this juncture it seems appropriate to reflect on my stay here: what I have brought, what I have learned and what I will do next.

As to what I have brought, first and foremost I came with information that the women who are beneficiaries of Tubahumurize did not have before. I have given workshops in first aid, hygiene, women’s reproductive cycle and nutrition to several groups of women as well as to the sewing students. All were well received, but if I had to pick three things that were most useful to these women, I would choose the following.

First, each and every woman, young or old, was totally entranced by how their bodies function, especially their reproductive organs. Women in their childbearing years were super-interested in their menstrual cycles and how to avoid getting pregnant! Everyone wanted to know how twins came to be. Most were delighted to learn that it is the male sperm that carry the sex of a child. Women approaching and in menopause were very interested in all the changes taking place in their bodies. I think all the women were really relieved that pretty much everything they experience is normal. As well, it may have been the one and only time these women and girls have had a chance to talk about such matters frankly in a group.

Second, in the first aid course, they were completely absorbed by the large charts I brought that illustrate the digestive, circulatory, nervous and skeletal systems. (These charts, by the way, I plan to donate to a free clinic nearby.) They loved discovering their pulse and having a glimmer of the miracle that is the human body. There is so much that can go wrong, it is truly something that most of the time, it works like a charm! I think they have a much better understanding about preventing illness, through good hygiene habits and assuring the care of wounds and burns. As a sidenote, in Rwanda, the custom is to put oil and sugar on a burn to help it heal faster! This is pretty counter to anything I have ever heard, so I simply told them what is standard practice in Canada. They were all also very interested in learning how to cope with diarrhea, especially in children.

Finally, in the course on nutrition, everyone was very interested in the three major food groups, carbs, fats and proteins, but especially interested in the whys of foods that are not very good for us, especially in the prevention of diabetes, which is rampant here, and heart disease, which is no doubt rising along with obesity. Because meats and eggs and cheese are relatively expensive here, the main sources of protein are from beans and peanuts. The women seemed reassured to learn that beans are actually a very good source of protein and of carbs. Thus, even the poorest women can feel good about how she feeds her family.

I was amazed to learn that here, where just about everything is cooked on wood or coal, which is either hard to find or not cheap, it is not the custom to soak the beans before cooking them! Thus, learning to soak the beans the night before you want to cook and eat them was a real eye-opener, because they can see that this will save them money since the beans need less time to cook over coals. Such a small thing will make quite a difference.

Another thing I believe I brought is a small understanding of the use of herbs and spices in cooking. In Rwanda, basically the only flavouring is salt. And oil. And a spicy oil called Akabanga. Even Jeanne, who has travelled all over the world and eaten all kinds of different foods, here in Rwanda feels limited in what she knows how to cook because she doesn’t know how to use herbs and spices. She and her husband Aaron have loved everything I or Simone cooked and Jeanne pines after this knowledge. Since I brought a bunch of spices and have added to them here, that will be my gift to her: a bag containing all these spices and herbs and condiments plus a few recipes and some information about where herbs and spices are normally used. I think it will please her.


In the sewing area, I have dazzled more than one young woman (in reality, the whole class!) because I know how to sew, and on a treadle machine. I actually used a hand crank for a couple of years in the Yukon, but that is another story. I was sewing something in the sewing room here, with the whole dang group watching me with huge eyes, and I ran out of thread in the bobbin. They were amazed to see me wind it up on the bobbin thingy (I can sew, but I don’t know the names of the parts of the machine… :(). They, including the instructor, had been winding the bobbins by hand because they didn’t know that there is a small groove in the bobbin that allows it to stay in place for winding “automatically.” Again, such a small thing, such a big difference.

As well, my small project using old discarded fabric to make a quilt has become a real item here. They are amazed by the look when different colours are juxtaposed in patterns, random though they may be. Jeanne is completely taken with the idea of this sewing school having a specialty. To be honest, there are hundreds and hundreds of people throughout Kigali who sew, but mostly dresses, skirts, tops and such. She feels that if they can make quilts and sell them overseas, like in Canada, using African fabrics, then the students will both have a specialty and a source of income while they are in school. With luck, I will bring home their first quilt next week when I fly. That is the plan anyway. This knowledge of mine has the potential to really make a difference in the lives of the sewing students -- this class and those to come.

Also to the sewing students, Simone and I brought a sense of imagination through art and through English class. For example, we played Mystery Guest during English class; the students had to guess the identity of another student who was pretending to be someone else, based on the name written on a piece of paper they drew from an envelope. They had a lot of difficulty imagining how the person in front of them could possibly be someone else when it was so obviously Rosette or Jeannette or whoever. But they finally got the hang of it and thoroughly enjoyed trying to figure out the various identities! They have had very opportunities in their lives to imagine things beyond what is directly in front of them or to play.

Finally, in terms of what I brought to Tubahumurize (in addition to the funds and supplies donated, which came from all of you!!), I would have to say I brought a lot of love, understanding and happiness to these women. Jeanne has told me that before Simone and I came, many of the women were unhappy and listless. She has noted the difference in their attitude and their sense of joy and even playfulness since our arrival, with the introduction of English classes, workshops and yoga. In English class one evening, Simone and I were a bit stumped about what to do next and we decided to teach the women to sing Head and Shoulders Knees and Toes, a nursery school rhyme for preschoolers as you know. Well these grown women had a blast singing the song and acting it out! It is as though they hadn’t had enough time to play in their lives and were just happy to have ten minutes of complete fun! Our English classes are especially like that – lots of fun!

In terms of what I have been given, I don’t think I can begin to do justice to it using words. But of course I will try. The whole point of a blog, hello! I think the main thing is love. I have most certainly been loved here, for who I am. Nothing more and nothing less. What a gift! So many women have shared their deep gratitude to me for tiny things I have done. Hugs beyond belief. And what a gift to raise someone’s spirits with a word of encouragement or praise. Even remembering people’s names means so much to each person. How is this a gift to me? I think because what makes them feel good makes me feel really good, not for having done the thing but for having made their lives a bit better, even for a moment. The moments actually add up into something significant. I believe that.

As for what comes next, well I understand that returning to a developed country can be quite a shock. I am prepared to have a slow reaction of some kind. And it will take time for me to process my experience here, to make sense of it, the good, the bad and the ugly as it were. I am certain of that. And of course, I will have to send photos and gifts and letters and so on to my new friends here, asap.

But after all that, after I rejoin my friends, my husband, my great, big, growing family, my mother, my puppy, my cat, my book club, my granny group, my choir, my co-workers at the op-shop, after most of the dust has settled, I will be able to focus on the future. The future of me and Tubahumurize. What could I do next? What will I do next? I have a million ideas but am not ready to make any decisions or promises. But I think it is safe to say, “to be continued…”

Jeanne Mwiliriza


So much happens here at Tubahumurize and in general that it is easy to forget that Jeanne Mwiliriza is the sole reason this association exists. It is time you knew more about this amazing woman.

Some of you may know that the reason Jeanne started this organization was because a dear friend of hers, constrained to a wheelchair, had called, afraid that her life was in danger from her husband. Jeanne talked with her and reassured her that it was just idle threats again. They planned to meet the next day. But by then, her friend had been murdered. Very shaken and filled with guilt, she suffered for a few months. But when she made some kind of peace with herself, she also made a decision to start a centre for traumatized women who had lived or still lived with violence. She wanted to do something so that her friend’s death would not be repeated.

But perhaps that is leaping forward somewhat. Jeanne had been married to a successful doctor, Joseph Butara. They had three children: Eloge, Valentin and Sandrine. Prior to the genocide, they had lived in Kigali, but when a new ruling Hutu party was elected, Tutsi families such as their own were no longer welcome in Kigali. They moved around quite a bit searching for a safe place to settle.

In April, at the time of the genocide, her children were ten, eight and five. During this time, the family’s story takes two paths. One results in the murder of Joseph Butera and the escape of the two boys to a refugee camp with their Aunt Charlotte where they lived for about seven months. The other results in Jeanne’s miraculous survival and that of her young daughter.

Over the course of the genocide, Jeanne was taken at gunpoint seven times to be killed, but each time (except the last) there was an argument over whether she was a Tutsi at all. (At this point in Rwanda, identity cards had become a moot point: it was all about madness and murder and how people looked.) Jeanne is not a tall woman, and Tutsi women tend to be tall; thus, the soldiers argued over her “identity.” Each of these six times she was spared and was released.

The seventh time, several soldiers came into her home determined to kill her. The leader was especially intent. He ordered Jeanne to get into the wardrobe in her bedroom so he could kill her. She refused. Her lack of fear really annoyed him and he was hell bent on her death. So instead of the wardrobe, he told her to get in the closet. Again she refused. Finally, he flung open the door to the closet and swept aside the hanging clothes. His abrupt actions caused a photograph of Jeanne and her husband on their wedding day to fall from the top shelf to the floor in front of him. Startled, he looked at the photo and paled.

He asked Jeanne if the man in the picture was her husband. When she replied that it was, he said that he could not kill her because her husband had operated on and saved his own badly mangled leg when he was a young boy. Other doctors had wanted to cut the leg off, but Joseph had wanted to heal his leg because he was still so young. “Without your husband,” he said, “I would not have been able to walk in here to kill you.” Thus, he reasoned, he could not kill her.

He left with all the other soldiers, telling them and everyone else that she was to be left alone as though dead. For the remainder of the genocide, Jeanne and Sandrine were untouched and unmolested.

Rwanda is not that big and people have connections everywhere. Through these, Jeanne finally found out that her husband had been killed, as well as her parents and two sisters, but there was no word of her two boys. She was sure that they too were dead along with her sister Charlotte. She cried all the tears she had, dried them and turned the page onto a new life as a widow and mother to young Sandrine. She also took in children who had become orphans overnight, and whose parents had been Jeanne’s friends and neighbours. Eventually, she “adopted” five orphaned children.

Only in December did Jeanne discover that her boys were alive and well with her younger sister, Charlotte. She was overjoyed to welcome them home into the family. However, Jeanne was never able to find her husband’s body, though she looked frantically for many long months. His bones were never recovered or identified, and to this day, her greatest sorrow is to have been unable to lay him to rest in the ground with a proper burial.

Jeanne is a beautiful and charismatic woman of fifty now. I can only imagine her in her thirties, even after three children. She was, no doubt, still a beauty, filled with intelligence and sparkling charm, despite her many sorrows. She met her second husband, Aaron, a few years later through the church where he was pastor. His own genocide story is of utter loss: his wife, his siblings, his parents and all seven of his children were killed. I cannot conceive of the loss and emptiness he must have felt and, no doubt, still feels from time to time.

Jeanne and Aaron married and continued to raise Jeanne’s expanding family. Memories of the genocide haunted them both, and Jeanne began meeting with other women to share stories and hardships and to comfort one another. They healed slowly, in the knowledge that they were not alone and that their stories mattered.

After the death of her friend, after Jeanne had determined that she would open a centre for traumatized women who were once or were still victims of violence, she began taking the steps she needed to take to be able to do a good job: a sociology degree, courses in trauma counselling, youth training, first aid, health education, Grameen banking and micro-credit loans. Jeanne has founded several associations of women as well, but since opening its doors in 2006, Jeanne has worked full-time for Tubahumurize. She works without a salary to this day and her own home is used for the centre, thus forgoing the rental income she would otherwise have recieved.

One thing Jeanne is really passionate about is that the future of this country depends on letting go of ethnic divisions. Thus, the mandate of the association is specifically inclusive of all women, no matter their religion, ethnic background or economic status. Everyone is welcome. That does not always sit well with some women, but in order to build something new, something old has to be left behind. Jeanne is a devout Christian actually, but is not narrow minded. Indeed, I believe Jeanne has captured one of the great strengths of Christianity, perhaps its best, and that is a belief in the equality of all people.

I witnessed her listening to a young woman recently, a sewing student, who was relating some information to her about her family situation. Jeanne was totally present for this young woman, listening attentively, gazing at her with her warm eyes, asking questions, saying reassuring things. It was a joy to behold. Jeanne, filled with boundless energy and enthusiasm, filled with ideas and plans and dreams and more ideas, sitting so quietly in the presence of this young woman. This is an example of how she works. A whirlwind sometimes, not always organized or on point, but always, always has her priorities straight when it comes to the women. She is there for them.

Jeanne certainly cannot run this place alone, nor should she, but she has many qualities that assure this organization’s success. I am certain that through faith and determination, she will make sure this happens. One dream at a time.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Sub-Saharan Flora


I inherited my mother’s love of flowers. Here, I find it amazing here that there are always flowers blooming on the trees and shrubs, flowers that I have never before seen. Flowers of all shapes, sizes and scents, some so powerful and fragrant you could just lie down and drink in each breath and never stop inhaling. Avocado trees so tall that the fruit is completely inaccessible.

I have taken a little time with my camera to photograph just a few of the trees and shrubs that have caught my eye. Because there are no real seasons, except two rainy and one dry, there are even trees blooming at the same time that fruit is ripening! Amazing, eh? Or perhaps that is something that other people have realized and I am the last to know. Whatever...

Just in the front yard here at the association there are three small orange trees, one mango tree, a guava tree, two large lemon trees, a vine called ‘prunes du japon’ and an avocado that is still a baby but growing rapidly, having just been rescued – fertilized and disentangled from a crop of weeds – so it is now in full sun. It is a charming garden, especially because each of the plants gives something delicious to eat! Charming and useful, a great combo.

As I tried to describe in my blog about the gorilla trek, the cultivated fields abut the wilds of Rwanda. Anything left uncultivated reverts very quickly to jungle and weed, the result of plenty of sun and rain and very rich soil.

We put in a small garden here at the centre, growing carrots, beets, beans, spinach, celery, garlic, zucchini, cucumber and leeks. This will supplement the diet of the sewing students, giving them a bit more variety than just beans, rice, sorghum and bananas. After two weeks, everything had sprouted and now is growing rapidly. Soon, some things will need to be thinned! I imagine it would be easy to have two or three crops per year, although I don’t think that is the custom because it is too dry for several months and too costly to irrigate.

It is heartbreaking to me to see the farmers (both men and women) at work in their fields, barefoot, using very crude implements. Every blessed field and crop is cultivated and weeded by hand. They often walk long distances to reach their fields. These rural farmers work so very hard every day and remain very poor. I don’t know if there is resistance to change in these communities, preferring to use traditional tools, or if there is simply not enough money to purchase anything more efficient. Also, I don’t know if the traditional ways of planting various crops produces the highest yield it could. From my perspective, there is a lot of space between rows that is wasted, but likely to make room for humans to weed the crops.

I leave you with a few photos, which give just a hint of the beauty that is around every corner.





Monday, November 9, 2009

Another Atypical Day


My niece Marie mentioned recently (complained?) that she still has no real idea of what Simone and I do all day, here at Tubahumurize. So this blog perhaps will give a clearer idea of our daily activities, although it must be said that one day is never the same as the next so there is no truly clear routine. And to be honest, yesterday, Friday, the day I am going to describe, was a very busy day.

Our day began in earnest around 8:00 am, with the arrival of the sewing students who bring a lot of excitement and energy and chatter. Simone was already up, doing yoga in the morning sunshine with Simeon, who is a natural. Though I usually stay in bed as long as possible, just listening and thinking and gathering up energy for the day, yesterday I got up quickly, knowing it was to be a full day.

By 8:30, Simone and I had cadged a lift from Aaron to go to the huge indoor market at Kimironko, about a half hour walk from the centre. I even skipped my cup of coffee to leave early! We spent about an hour there, buying a few items to bring home as presents, and of course, I had to fondle all the fabric and buy some too. Then we tipped the young man who helped us find things and we hopped on moto-taxis back to the centre.

After my coffee (!!)(half hour to prepare and drink), Simeon and I walked to the local market to look for a woman named Anatalie. She had been ill and had come to the centre to see if I could help fill her prescription. I had called a nurse who works in a free clinic; she was able to fill the prescription and had dropped it off at the centre the day before. At the market, we asked a few people where to find Anatalie, who works there sewing. I ran into Prosperine, one of the beneficiaries at the centre, who told us that actually Anatalie had gone to Tubahumurize to see me!

But before returning to the centre, Simeon and I needed to buy some vegetables. I found another lovely woman I know, Febronie, who sells tomatoes there. She filled our bag with fresh tomatoes and helped us get potatoes, garlic, carrots onions and rice at a good price. She seemed very proud to be able to help me and for sure we were surrounded by a great gaggle of people the entire time, all clamouring for me to buy whatever they had for sale and just wanting to shake my hand or greet me.

I actually love this environment, so full of smells, sights and sounds, the hustle bustle of people working and chatting and arguing. It feels very relaxed, and though people want me to buy from them, they accept when I make a choice and don’t seem to hold a grudge against me or their “competitor.” I guess what I am saying is that the atmosphere does not feel at all competitive. Just noisy!

Bags full, Simeon and I walked home. I went to tend to Anatalie, giving her clear directions about the medications and putting in the first dose of eye ointment that was prescribed in her eyes. I think she has a touch of pneumonia actually, so I hope the antibiotics she takes will kick in. I told her if she does not start feeling better in three days, she should return to see her doctor.

After this, I had promised Valentin that we would (finally) build a composter for the garden. Two days before, we had gone to several shops down the road to find some stiff wire mesh (about ¼” holes) and some heavier wire for attaching things. Mission accomplished, we had returned with 2.5 metres of wire mesh and a roll of heavy wire.

So Friday, we began by cutting four stakes from wood that had been stored in the garage. Then, we prepared the area where the composter was to go, digging a shallow round hole, into which we inserted the ring of wire mesh and bury it a few inches. We covered all the edges with duct tape to avoid the nasty cuts that wire can give (though it is not sticking that well, so we may need to find another solution).

Valentin drove in the stakes, I cut wire to attach the stakes to the mesh and in about an hour, we had our composter up and running! I even started to fill it with some garden waste. Several people watched this process, especially Simeon and the two Erics from the sewing class. It is going to reduce the landfill wasted generated by the centre and will also enrich the garden soil. As a sidebar, the garden seeds we planted are all sprouted and growing away!

Then, I sent Simeon up the lemon tree with gloves on and a pair of secateurs in hand to prune off a few ridiculously tall branches – so tall it was impossible to harvest the lemons. Also, the two lemon trees need pruning in other ways, but that can wait for another day. We started with the tall branches. So he did that. It looks much better already.

During this time, Simone was busy working on the newsletter and finishing a funding report. Jeanne was off having her hair done. Epiphanie, the sewing teacher, called me to try on the skirt she is making for me, which I did! It fits perfectly. No more of that off-the-rack stuff for me! Made to measure rocks! Simone and I consulted a bit on the day ahead, especially a project we were planning with the sewing students and we divvied up the work.

I took a few minutes to read my email and especially to read Sarah’s blog, about her (my daughter-in-law) amazing, excellent and thankful recovery from brain surgery! Another story for another day, but she is doing well. I spent some time organizing all the photos of the sewing class into one large folder as we were going to present a slide show after their class. Jeanne had returned and prepared a meal of leftovers, which we all ate with gusto. It was almost two o’clock after lunch and we had a class with the sewing students at 3:00 pm.


What we wanted the sewing students to do was to write to the many individuals who were part of a large fundraising effort in Alberta. A program called Green and Gold out of the University of Alberta, had planted an enormous organic garden and had given away all the produce, only asking for a donation. This raised over $16,000 CDN and all the proceeds are to come to Tubahumurize! (The connection to Simone is through her boyfriend Eloge, who is the son of Jeanne, who runs Tubahumurize. Networking, networking…)

Simone and I got the paper, pens, pastels and coloured pencils ready, as well as a template for the students to follow when writing their letters. Valentin and I hooked up my computer to a larger flat screen monitor and Simone got together some music to accompany the slide show.

Shortly after three, the students finished cleaning up for the weekend and came around to get their “lesson.” They were very diligent in their work. Once completed, they took some time to add illustrations to their “cards”. I think these notes will be very much appreciated! They are really sweet. Then, everyone came inside to watch the slide show. They loved it! Laughing and hooting and pointing, seeing pictures of themselves and each other. It was a great success! Something to be repeated for sure. Everyone wants copies of these pictures and that is something I plan to do on my return. It is too expensive and complicated here to make prints.

After the students left, Simone and I got busy in the kitchen, baking a chocolate cake for the birthday party we were invited to that evening, the now-13-year-old son of one of Jeanne’s sisters. One hour later, we had two lovely round Ultimate Chocolate Cakes, covered in chocolate peppermint icing.


At this point, I took a short nap! Shortly before seven, Jeanne, Aaron and Sandrine (Jeanne’s youngest daughter) arrived to pick us up. Simone looked stunning in her new African outfit! We spent a pleasant evening with a very nice family, mostly eating and chatting quietly. All very subdued and dignified. The cakes were a hit! We did not stay late as everyone was tired.

On our return, Simone and I sipped glasses of wine and talked for quite awhile pretty much about life, the universe and everything. She is feeling a bit sad about leaving but also excited about a two week stint in Europe with friends and then her return to Montreal – and Eloge!

I have no idea what time it was when I untied my bed net and arranged it around my bed. I only know that I slept soon after and stayed that way till morning. I think Simone is still sleeping, a wonderful thing as she often has insomnia.

So that was one day. Not typical, but frankly, none of them are. Hope this helps you picture our lives a bit better Marie! Over and out. Elaine

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Hidden Secrets


Kigali, for a quasi-tourist, is somewhat of an enigma. You can certainly tell that the culture has not had to tolerate people from different cultures, and also that a large number of people have never lived or travelled anywhere else. It is very much an oral culture, a place where you know all that you need to know by living here. Everyone knows where everything is and how everything works. Although, frankly, not everyone has the same information, so someone is actually wrong! Many assumptions are made about foreigners, but especially that strangers cannot comprehend the things that are so evident to Rwandans. As I have mentioned before, the buses have no sign on the front to indicate their destination. This remains a mystery to me and I have to ask every time. Another example is that streets have names, but rarely will you see a street sign. This is very frustrating for a visitor who wants to know how to get to x or y or z.

People are somewhat bemused when they are asked where you can buy this or that. They will tell you that that kind of store or business or product is everywhere. But if you don’t speak or read the language, if you don’t know one road from another, if you don’t know all the landmarks, if you weren’t born here, how can you tell? And the Rwanda guide books are filled with mistakes. Even the tourism office is not always able to help. The last time I was there, I needed more information about something. I got vague information at first and when he saw I still didn’t understand the details of what I had to do, he explained a bit more. And finally, after a third stab, I had enough details to actually be able to follow through. At the tourist bureau! And the sad part of that is, they think tourists are stupid to need so many details! Ethnocentric, do you think?


A couple of weeks ago, Simone and I had a plan to visit Nyungwe National Forest, where there are several species of monkey troops as well as chimpanzees. The forest is large and you have to have a vehicle to be able to appreciate all the various aspects of the park, especially to track the chimps. Also, we wanted to make a few short side trips, to a cheese factory and to a coffee roasting business. I wanted to rent a car; not a car and driver, just a car.

I saw a sign (in English!) that advertised a Rav 4 at $50/day. I thought that sounded affordable. When I went in to inquire, it turned out that that price was for long-term rentals of more than two weeks. Furthermore, to rent a car for two days to go out of town, I needed to have a driver as well. Why, I asked, when I have been driving for over forty years, accident free, including in Paris, including on the ‘wrong’ side of the road in England? Why? Well, this is Africa, she responded. People could just drive away with a car to Burundi or Tanzania. In other words, steal it! And this is pretty much the status quo everywhere. Car plus driver for two days, between $200 and $300US. Yikes! How on earth do we manage in other parts of the world to keep theft from happening?

I googled car rentals at Kigali international airport. It listed Avis, Alamo, Hertz and some other companies as having services there. But trying to actually connect with one of them was impossible. In fact, I am skeptical that there are actually any there at all because none of them show Kigali or Rwanda as a location.
I googled car rentals in Kigali and up popped a map with dozens of downtown locations and decent prices, but we are back again to street names and business signs! As far as I have noticed, there is nothing recognizable to see, like perhaps a fleet of cars out front that might indicate you could rent a car there.

We have tapped into our friends, acquaintances and even strangers to try to figure out a way to rent a car without a driver without costing an arm and a leg. We have even stooped so low as to ask to borrow. Probably totally inappropriate, like asking a neighbor in France to borrow his lawnmower. (He mowed our lawn himself rather than let us touch it.) I am completely stymied. But I have not given up. Somehow, we will find a way, figure something out.

But meanwhile, it is somewhat frustrating. And to be fair, this society, though perhaps insular at some level, really works very well. Plus everyone is very helpful, always. If I sound a bit frustrated, well I am, but only because I have not yet cracked the code to the information I need. And I may never, and I will just have to learn to live with that.

Lessons from Rwanda


There are a lot of things here in Rwanda that really are quite amazing. For a country that was so very recently leveled to the ground, without infrastructure, without services, without hope, without peace, Rwanda has achieved a great deal. The economy is booming, at least here in Kigali. The infrastructure is back in place – not perfect, but there is running water, electricity (with random interruptions), sewers and garbage collection. The schools are functioning and more are being built, even as I write. Health care is available for about two dollars per year per person.

The courts continue to be very busy with genocide cases, but they too are functioning well, albeit slowly. The government is stable, with severe penalties for anything that smacks of corruption. It seems Rwanda has gone from being the scourge of Africa, a blight oin the eyes of the world, to a model country that is the envy of most other African nations.

How was this achieved? I am not an historian, but I have talked with many people and observed a great deal during my stay here. First of all, I would have to credit a deep faith as one of the primary factors in Rwanda’s recovery. Largely a Christian nation, the country’s despair has been replaced by hope, which many Rwandans see as the return of God to bless this country, having abandoned it for a long time. You cannot talk for long with a Rwandan before God is mentioned as a huge force in his or her life.


Second, it seems to me the government has taken some extraordinarily courageous steps in reconciling the past with the present. Gacacca courts are a primary example, where crimes by more minor players in the genocide are tried and sentenced. By minor, crimes are those of property as well as murder, but no more than some number of people, perhaps ten. The implication is that these criminals were mere pawns (and young pawns at that) in a much larger agenda of genocide. This community court process is due to end in November this year so there is a great deal of effort to complete the cases currently before the courts.

This is a particularly difficult process for those who were the victims in the genocide, because they have to accuse the perpetrators. The perpetrators have to admit their crimes to the accuser(s) and ask for pardon but very often their sentences are not severe. There simply is not enough room in the country’s prisons to jail everyone who participated in the genocide, even if they committed murder. What is expected is that the victims pardon the perpetrators of the crimes. This is the difficult part. But somehow it is working. Victims pardon the accused, at least in word. Their own private thoughts and feelings are set aside, at least in public. As one woman said to me, I have pardoned (him) because I have to.

I find this a very courageous journey towards reconciliation. If people are able to live together in harmony again, if their children are well-educated and not inculcated with divisive ideologies about ethnicity, if the economy continues to grow and everyone has opportunities to prosper, then people can look to the future rather than the past and there is real hope for long-term success.

In addition to this overarching system of reconciliation, there are other ways in which the Rwandan government has taken some remarkable steps. A small thing, but something that has grown much larger in recent years in the Western world as our sensibility about environmental issues has grown, here in Rwanda, plastic bags are forbidden. If you travel here and put your shoes in a plastic bag, that bag may be confiscated at the airport. People carry reusable bags of all kinds and paper bags are the norm in grocery stores and markets. Household garbage is stored in empty bags that once carried coal, or sorghum or grains. When garbage is collected, the bags are emptied into large trucks and the bags are returned to the owners. If Kigali was to start a household composting program, there would be very little garbage at all!

Another interesting feature that has been inserted into the lives of the Rwandan people is called umuganda, which translates as “community work.” During the morning of the last Saturday of every month, everyone is expected to participate in their community’s well-being, at least one person from each household. The buses stop running, the streets are closed and everyone remains in their own community. Roads are repaired, schools, churches and other public buildings are built, even young children participate in this process, carrying bricks and lumber and water.

To me, this half day per month of community work, while compulsory, is a reminder that we all have a responsibility to make our country better. That we are the state, as my friend Sandi never tired of saying. Can you imagine such a mandated day in your community?? Perhaps you are lucky and live somewhere where people actually do take that responsibility seriously and actively participate in their communities voluntarily. But I fear that all too many of us just expect someone else to take care of it, whatever “it” is.

So to me, with these few examples, I believe Rwanda has taken stock of the rest of the world, and learned something from the things we don’t do so well, and from the things we have done badly. And Rwanda has taken advantage of being able to build something from nothing, or something from a very broken something else, incorporating the best of the rest of the world, and inserting and inventing things that are entirely new. Go Rwanda! And God bless.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Turning Sixty in Kigali


On October 30, I turned the big six-oh. That is a pretty big number and I had some feelings about not wanting it to go unnoticed, even so far from home. And it was noticed, for sure!

When I got up, Simone prepared me a delicious omelet and toast for breakfast. Plus my morning latte! I was banished from pretty much everywhere in the centre for much of the day so I amused myself in my room, having occasional wafts of deliciousness intrude from time to time. I did know that Friday was the day for the students to reveal their secret friends, which they call ‘cacahuètes,’ a game of stealth present-giving that had been going on for over a week. Simone and I had agreed that this would also be a celebration with cake and ice cream. Thus, I had already laid in two tubs of chocolate ripple ice cream and the supplies for Simone to make cake. Simone and Valentin, Jeanne’s son, had also worked hard to finish a solar oven in the hopes of using it to bake the cake. But it rained all morning so toaster oven it was.

Around three o’clock, I was told to get ready for the sewing class party, so I put on a skirt and blouse and walked into the main room, which was decorated with streamers and signs. To my astonishment, everyone stood and sang happy birthday in English, French and Kinyarwanda. Then I got to wear a birthday crown. Everyone was all dressed up and seemed just delighted with their surprise. There were gifts, cards, applause, tears (mine) and great joy all around.

Secret friends were all revealed as well, and there were many more hugs. After that, we enjoyed cake and ice cream, which was utterly delicious to the last lick! For our finale, we danced and sang Rwandan songs with great gusto. At 5:30, Simone declared that everyone had to go.

I was again banished to my room but invited out again when guests started to arrive for the next party. Another kind of surprise, as I had asked for a party but had no idea what it would be like. Lots of people came to wish me well, people I had met maybe once or twice before. Adrienne, from Oregon, and her husband and children, whom we had spent a few hours with one day, came. English Sarah came from Ruhengere as did Jeannette, our Rwandan host from last weekend. There was a feast of food. Then cake and ice cream. Again! Conversation, dancing. More cards and small gifts. The whole event was truly lovely.

I was truly blessed to be among all these people on my birthday. I felt truly loved, honoured and special. Who could ask for more?

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Gorillas in the Mist

This past weekend, Simone and I made the trek to Volcanoes National Park to go gorilla trekking. We paid the big bucks (aka tourist prices) and rode the bus from Kigali to Ruhengere, in the northern part of Rwanda, very near the borders to both Uganda and DR Congo. There, we were able to stay with a friend of a friend – very much the way things work here – which was very nice indeed, allowing us to meet a whole new set of people. We also hired a 4x4 and driver through the friend of a friend. The night before, from the bus, we were treated to a display of one of the active volcanoes, which glowed red and seemed to be sending up sparks. Remarkable!

Monday was our day so we set off, picking up Steve, a friend from Kigali who was able to join us at the last minute. At 7 am, we met up with other visitors at the welcome centre for Volcanoes National Park. We were given a few instructions and split up into various groups, depending on how far you wanted to walk and which group of gorillas you wanted to see.

We were given a small lesson on gorillas – their life span, their social hierarchy, their habits, even the fact that the details of the nose of a gorilla are as unique as those of a human fingerprint. The “noseprint” is how each gorilla is differentiated. There are trackers who follow each gorilla troop daily so that it is easier for the guides to take groups of trekkers directly to them. There are also researchers who study their habits and care for them if sick, and all manner of local men and women who are implicated in the treks.

Simone had her heart set on a long trek so she chose the Amahoro group of gorillas. In all, there were just six trekkers in our group as well as two guides and several porters. The first stage involved half an hour in the 4x4 along a road, which, we were told, gave us a Rwandan massage. Very , very, very bumpy! At the foothills of the volcano (Mount Visoke I believe) we left our jeeps behind, hired porters for our backpacks (well I did) and headed overland, through fields and small villages, where everyone was working and all the children delighted in waving and saying ‘hello’ and getting a reply, and sometimes joining hands – very much the Rwandan way of greeting.

The fields were rich with crops, especially potatoes, corn, beans and acres and acres of pyrethrum, a plant of the chrysanthemum family (very like marguerites), the dried flowers of which are sent to the US and used to make mosquito repellant. People, especially women, work barefoot in the fields with deep hoes, cultivating the very fertile earth there and harvesting crops, their young children on their backs or playing nearby. They stop and wave their greetings.

Finally, we reached the edge of the park, marked by a rough stone wall constructed both to keep the animals in and to curb the encroachment of people, whose fields butt right up to the park periphery. We all clambered over into what was basically the jungle’s edge. We followed narrow paths through groves of bamboo, eucalyptus, bananas, and all manner of plants I can’t identify. There were many stinging nettles, and we were warned to keep our hands within the range of the narrow path. I got one good zap, which is still a noticeable tingle today. And on and up we went.

The morning was chilly but fine. However, it had rained heavily the day before so the paths were muddy and slippery. We picked our way up the rocky slopes, through the jungle and through clearings for about two hours. We arrived at a clearing where we met up with many trackers and guards, who keep the forests protected from predators and poachers. We left our backpacks behind, except for cameras, and moved forward quietly for a few hundred metres.

Just out of sight behind a grove of bushes, I could hear the rustling sounds of something large. The people in the lead had stopped in amazement, looks of wonder filling their faces. They seemed to be holding their breath. And in a few seconds, I saw why. Just a few metres away was a group of about a dozen gorillas, lying in the sun, making nests, grooming one another and themselves, cuddling, sleeping and eating bamboo shoots. It was quite a sight. It was very like a dream. Hard to believe that I was actually standing there in the jungle on a mountain watching these enormous, magnificent creatures, hearing them grunt and snuffle, seeing them interact, being regarded by them, smelling their scent, noticing their very human-looking ears.

We stayed in the area for an hour, taking photos, smiling, whispering, smiling some more, moving a bit for a better or different view, taking more photos and smiling some more. It felt like hallowed ground; such a privilege to be part of their natural habitat for this short while. The gorillas were mostly very calm. One young male walked right up to our group and passed between us, without a glance, as if to just give us all a thrill. He was maybe six inches from me!

I saw a young baby climb a vine and swing around the treetops. Later he came down with a flurry, having moved out to the end of a bushy branch until the branch dipped low enough for him to jump off. I saw baby gorillas tussling with one another, from time to time beating their chests to let us know who was in charge! But they were still so young that they would fall over as they beat their chests. You couldn’t help but laugh at their antics.

The silverback leader, about 35 years old, was in a sleepy mood, and clearly did not feel at all threatened by our presence. The second silverback, about 25 years old, had lost a hand in a trap when he was young. He is apparently a great fighter and protector of the group. As we were preparing to leave, an older female started to make some noises to which the leader responded. They were apparently signaling their desire to mate. Unfortunately, we were not around to see this event, but perhaps we would not have been welcome anyway.

Picking my way down the mountain was done mostly in silence, my heart and head trying to process what I had just been a part of. On our return journey across the fields, the skies opened and we were pelted with a cold, driving rain that drenched and chilled us all to the bone. Even so, my mood of quiet elation and wonder persisted.

Today, a day later, I have not fully grasped how I feel about the whole thing. Honoured. Blessed. Moved. And yet, for reasons I cannot fathom, some aspects of the experience remain surreal, dreamlike and unreachable in my conscious thoughts. And perhaps best left that way.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Daring to Dream


Today, Simone and I held an art class with the sewing students, their second art class. The object was to make three wishes, and to draw them or make them real in one way or another. Most chose to draw and colour in with coloured pencils and pastels. In advance of the class, Simone and Jeanne and I had all made our own three wishes and expressed them through drawing. It was an interesting exercise and reminded me how pleasurable it is to draw, even when there is absolutely no talent involved whatsoever (aka moi!).

My three wishes were as follows: one, that my children did not live so far away from me, but regardless, they are the recipients of my enormous and undying love; second, that someday I can play the piano again with some ability; and third, that I become a really excellent quilter, especially in design. I did a separate drawing because John was not in this picture, because my wish for him/us has already come true – we are together. But he wanted to be in the picture so I made one just for him, a wish we have long held together – that we grow old together and beautifully expressed by the sundial we have in our back yard: "grow old with me, the best is yet to come."


We introduced the topic to the class, showing our sample three wishes. I was the fairy godmother with my magic wand, granting each one of them three wishes. I was actually amazed at how quickly they all rushed out into the garden and porch to find a quiet spot to work. They beavered away for a good hour. Then it was time to gather up their things and go home. I have included a picture of some of them hard at work.


Judging by their enthusiasm at the start and their chatter at the finish, I think they found it really fun. I don’t know whether or not this exercise awakened any deep desires they might have held. But without a doubt, their modest dreams are lovingly, faithfully and sometimes childishly drawn onto paper. A home. A partner. A family. A car. Education. A sewing machine. Faith in God. A garden. As they left the centre, I could swear their sweet laughter came from hearts that were lighter for having expressed these desires openly.

Kigali Fashion

As most of you know, I am not a big stickler for fashion. Jeans or shorts or shpants (more recently) and a t-shirt have suited me very well for over forty years. But, like when we lived in France back in the 1980s, I feel that Kigali is the place to get a bit more style on. In France, I got right into it, having my colours “read” and going on shopping sprees. I had a closet full of wonderful clothes that I wore all the time there. It felt good to fit in better and it felt good to dress up in a society that dresses up. But these clothes languished in Canada and I rarely wear my few remaining pieces – in part because none of them fit…

In Kigali, I feel sheepishly underdressed a lot of the time. I brought a couple of skirts with me, but they are pretty utilitarian (read straight and khaki). People accept me as I am, as that weird foreigner who wears jeans, but when I put on something pretty, my one skirt that has some fullness and colour, or maybe just a pair of earrings, people notice and tell me how lovely I look. Thumbs up all around.

Almost all the women here wear dresses or skirts. At school, children are separated by the clothing they wear. Trousers or shorts for the boys and skirts for the girls, regardless of a child’s preferences. I am aware that the reasons for dressing differently have a lot to do with accentuating the differences between men and women. And I am not terribly comfortable with that. But, nonetheless, I do feel drawn to fit in better, at least from time to time.

Simone has been hunting for a pretty fancy dress, all long and shiny and laden with embroidery. I really can’t go that far, although I did try on a top of that style that comes with a wrap around skirt (called a pagne – pronounced just like it is spelled, using French pronunciation) as well as a head scarf. This fashion is very expensive. I have included a photo of that moment for your viewing pleasure – or perhaps astonished hilarity! I have spared you the photo of me in the whole outfit, complete with head scarf! Just in case you are wondering, all the fancy embroidered stuff has some kind of stiffening material in it like maybe starch? For some reason, this is a sign of an expensive piece of clothing and very desirable. Myself, I prefer to feel the actual fabric, like it would be after it is washed. Nice and soft. And I am suspicious if I can’t rub the product between my fingers to feel the quality.

Last week, Jeanne brought in a dress that she thought would look good on me. Everyone approved but I feel I looked ridiculous – all bust and shoulders. Not flattering from my point of view. But you can be the judge! Apparently, this style makes me look like a “real Rwandan woman”. I have purchased some fabric that I like and feel I could actually wear, and I will have a dress and a suit made from two of these pieces in the near future.

But back to Kigali fashion. My observations tell me that whenever people go out, men or women, even if they have only one outfit for going out, they really try their best to look sharp. Everything is clean and ironed. You can tell that no one dashes out the door in their housework clothes to buy some milk. Ever. When women come to the centre, they almost always look quite elegant, regardless of their age or shape. One exception is for yoga class, but even then they cover up their sweat pants with a pagne. As well, when people receive us in their home, people wear their Sunday best.

The traditional dress in Rwanda is a matching skirt (or wrap), a top, which can sewn be in a variety of styles, and a head scarf, which is worn in a variety of ways depending on preferences. The head scarf denotes a married woman I am told. There are very particular styles of dress for weddings, and I also assume for other occasions like funerals and baptisms. Everyday wear ranges from the traditional to the very modern. Simone finds that young people wear incredibly stylish clothing and I agree. There is great attention to detail in both the clothing and the accessories. The western style clothes have way more flair here than they do in the west.

I will never give up my jeans and t-shirts, but for a few short months and maybe two or three times a year, on special ‘granny’ occasions, I will dress up in Rwandan style with all the attention to detail that entails.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Sorry

Last night, Simone and I went to see a Canadian play called “Goodness” at a restaurant called Heaven here in Kigali. Go figure! We had no idea what we were in for. It was a brilliant play sort of about the genocide but also about human nature. I do recommend the play. The troupe was from Toronto and I imagine it will continue to show there after this tour. But all that is beside the point.

Early on the play, one character is under assault from another character, who says to him disgustedly, “You Americans are all alike!” He replies, “Actually, I am Canadian.” And in a kind of soft-voiced afterthought, he says, “Sorry.” I laughed aloud at the joke.

Afterwards, one of the actors said to me that was so nice to hear people laughing at the Canadian jokes, like the one above. I said that actually, in Rwanda, people say sorry even more than we Canadians do. And they do but mostly for different reasons.
At first I was a bit bemused by it, but now I find it endearing. For example, I am walking along a sidewalk, not paying enough attention, and I stumble on an uneven bit of pavement. Several people rush to me saying, “Sorry!” and make sure I am okay. Or on the bus the other day, the long bar I (and several other people) was holding to keep steady fell out of its socket. Everyone was sorry, sorry, sorry! Or I drop something accidentally, and people are sorry.

Canadians are sorry (a lot) when we feel we ourselves have somehow done something wrong or disappointed someone. I like this about Canadians. And this is also true of Rwandans, but in addition, it seems that when something “bad” happens to someone else, people express their concern by saying sorry. I feel comforted by the outpouring of concern. It makes me feel I have a tiny relationship with every single person in my vicinity, wherever I go. I never feel alone.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Eating in Kigali


After one month here in Kigali, I have dropped several pounds (maybe 10???). None of my pants fit any more and I am no longer “busting” out of all my shirts (pun intended). People want to know my secret and I don’t have an answer. I only know I am okay with this! I have been trying to shed some pounds for ages. And, rest assured, I am totally healthy, which had been one of my main concerns about living here. But no longer, though I remain vigilant.

I have mostly adopted the Rwandan habit of not eating until noon. Thus, I usually just have a café au lait in the morning, using the little stovetop espresso pot I brought and boiled water, powdered milk and sugar. Sometimes I have a chapatti, made by Simon early in the morning, with melted cheese. He makes the best chapattis and I am trying to learn all the secrets from him. It helps to have invested in a non-stick pan to cook them in! For awhile we had fruity cornflakes, which was nice with fresh milk (cheap at 300 RWF/litre, but needs to be heated to almost boiling to ensure safety).

The cheese here is very good though too expensive for most people. The most common cheese is medium soft and encased in rind. It tastes like a mild cheddar/brick combination. We eat a lot of cheese (3000 rwf for a 6”x 2” round). We also eat lots of eggs (100 RWF/egg) in omelet form. The other thing we try to eat a lot of is fish, which is also expensive but worth it (4000/kilo). The two main fishes are Tilapia and Capitaine, both a firm white fish. The struggle is always to dream up ways to cook them that don’t involve frying in tons of oil, which is the usual way of cooking things here – fry everything up in oil, which, sadly, is mostly palm oil. Simone found a can of coconut milk at one point and made the most amazing dish, but we haven’t been able to locate another can. Almost everything here is cooked from scratch. There is very little processed food, and what there is, you pay for dearly. Like a can of coconut milk…

Thus, the diet is somewhat bland. The blandness of the diet is mainly because the use of spices, except salt (which is laid on in abundance), is not part of the culture. Indeed, although some spices are available (for a price), no one knows what to do with them. I brought a bag of spices with me: basil, oregano, curry, chili powder, cumin, dill. For me, the basics. So we are able to make some pretty tasty things. Also, tomatoes here are a staple. They are small tomatoes, rather like Romas but not. They are full of flavour and can be found in abundance. Onions and garlic are also easy to find. It takes some doing, but fresh ginger is also available and can really make a dish quite amazing.

Food prices have tripled since the economic meltdown last year. Some people are really struggling to get by. I struggle with paying some amounts, but only because everything is cash. There is just one place in town that takes Visa. So it feels as though I am bleeding money sometimes. Everything is pay as you go, from telephones, to internet to electricity to gas. And of course the numbers feel so big. When I actually stop to think about it, I am okay. But when something as simple as coffee says 4,500 RWF on it, I balk! I mean, the coffee is made here, man! But that is only $9 CDN, and I would pay that much at home too. And more.

The staple foods for Rwandans are beans, rice, potatoes, bananas, a weird kind of eggplant, sorghum and plantains. And fruit! There are many varieties of flour here made from vegetables and grains I don’t know. Manioc flour, peanut flour (!), sorghum flour. I have been served these things, but, like Rwandans faced with spices, I don’t know what to do with them myself. So I seek out the familiar, like flour and pasta for my starches, though always white. We have found a source of whole grain bread though, though it is $3 per loaf. But it’s worth it. I think here it is a bit like America at the time of Wonder Bread; everyone thought it was the most awesome thing. But it turned out to be not that good for us after all. Here all bread is made from white flour. So actually the people with the least money probably eat the best since oil is expensive, as are meat and fish and eggs. So they tend to fry less and cook more sauces.

Last weekend, I went shopping with Simon at a big market about 2 km from the centre. He doesn’t get out very often, because he is supposed to be guarding the house. So this was a real outing for him. He showered and changed his clothes several times before he was ready! We walked there in blazing heat (undoing the effects of our showers!), stopping halfway for a Fanta and to mop our faces. (Oh yes, soda pop is “in”! But not diet, unless you are willing to pay double the price.) Very refreshing.

At the market, Simon and I went with my list and my cloth shopping bags to find what we needed. The market was enormous and so overwhelming. Mountains of beans in all directions, piled on tables. Big bags of flour and sugar and salt. Stallls filled with all manner of fruits and vegetables. Meat and fish stalls. And people everywhere. Women peeling garlic. People selling, people buying, people haggling. The smells, sounds and sights were really something.

Simon was so helpful because we kind of understand each other and he can bargain in Kinyarwanda. Lots of people were very eager for my money, ready to gouge the muzunga. But he got us good prices. We came away with tomatoes, avaocadoes (the best!), pineapples, papayas, cilantro (for salsa) and basil (for pesto), all at good prices. I had wanted to find black beans, my favourite, and they had everything but. Also at the market, we looked for some tools for the house: a hammer, a pitchfork (for the new garden), a wrench, a file (to sharpen the hoes and spade (you would be proud John)). Simon haggled good prices for everything. We took moto-taxis home, Simon with a massive smile on his face, worth a million dollars1

Simone and I have been out for several moderately priced restaurant meals in various contexts. I have not dared to go into the many local (and cheap) restaurants, because I would feel unsure of the food safety measures in place. But we have eaten Italian (pasta dishes at Sole Luna), Indian (Kameer), American (a very good hamburger at Bourbon Cafe), North African (couscous dishes at Shocola), and Rwandan (grilled meat and fish kebabs at Baobab). All equally good in their distinctive ways. But especially, set in the loveliest locations! Very romantic, very magical. Well except Bourbon Café, which is in a mall, although it is lovely too, especially on the terrace.

There are some foods that are part of my normal diet or Simone’s that we simply can’t find here. Raisins, fresh nuts, prunes, high fibre cereal, whole grain flour, brown rice, potable tap water, fresh juicy apples, good (trustworthy) yogurt and Smarties! Things that are available but super expensive are ice cream ($20/tub), butter ($6/½ pound), wine ($12/bottle), flour ($8/2 kg), honey ($5/jar but worth every franc), peanut butter ($3 for one cup, but ground from fresh peanuts – yum!), olive oil ($8/litre but a staple for us, used rather sparingly), chocolate ($22/big Toblerone bar). And so on. So we do splurge on these things every once in a while, just to feel rich and lucky and indulgent. But not the Toblerone so far… ; ) Not even a small one… : (

One of the things I found at the market last weekend was a small can of yeast. Tonight, I hope to make us little individual pizzas, baked in the toaster oven. I may splurge on a bottle of red wine to go with. Preparation will be a production for sure, taking much of the afternoon and early evening! But then the food will be ready, and Simone, Simon and I will sit down to a meal together, giving thanks for all we have, and enjoying every mouthful.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

The Tubahumurize Sewing Project


So many people were involved with fundraising through Give Meaning.com for the sewing project here at Tubahumurize. It is now into its second month and is a complete success from every angle. There were twenty students at the start, but several had to drop out for various reasons, though certainly not because they wanted to. There are currently 18 students – 16 girls and 2 boys – and we are in the process of bringing two more young women aboard, one of whom began the program but had to drop out.

Most of the students are 15-20 years old. Very nearly all of them are orphans whose families were killed during the genocide. They live in a variety of situations. Perhaps with a relative, like an aunt. Some have been taken in by women who are members of Tubahumurize. A few live on their own and a few are heads of households. Two or more girls live in households where they are basically servants and only with great difficulty have they gained permission to do their housework and attend our school. One girl gets up at 4 am so she can get here for 8 am. Three women have young children. Most students had to leave school early on. Only one or two have finished primary school and have attended some secondary school.


Their teacher is a woman named Epiphanie and she is really something. Very calm and patient, and obviously very talented, since the young people are learning by leaps and bounds. It was clearly not intellect that held them back in school! They are still working with used clothing, which they take apart and turn into something new. I am amazed at what they can do in such a short time and also at what they produce from sometimes pretty dowdy fabric. They make some pretty neat outfits! They are not quite ready to cut into new fabric but I would be willing to let any one of them make me something, as long as Epiphanie supervised the process!

The class is not just getting an education in sewing. They are also receiving a variety of other kinds of activities that will help them develop into more rounded individuals. For example, they attend workshops in health, nutrition, life-skills and English, and we offer them art classes, English choir, and soon yoga. As well, they attend trauma counselling, which right now is on an individual basis. They do not yet feel comfortable talking about their troubled young lives in front of one another. It is too new, even to them. They have perhaps never talked about what has happened to them. It is buried deep and is very painful.

The students also take turns preparing their midday meal. There is a large three “burner” coal burning brick stove, on which they cook their meals. The usual fare is beans and rice, which perhaps would grow repetitive for me, but for them is likely their main meal of the day, and by Rwandan standards, is pretty healthy. We have plans to put in a small garden, which the students can help plan and tend, and to raise chickens for eggs, again with the students in charge of building shelter from the rain and a fence. The fruits of the garden and of the chickens will also help to supplement their diets.


The lot on which the centre is located is perhaps 100’ wide by 75’ deep. The main house is quite spacious by Rwandan standards, with a large living area, where all the counselling and workshops take place, a small functional kitchen, an office, a bathroom, and two bedrooms, one with a private bathroom.

The students’ sewing area is behind the centre. The ten treadle machines are nestled into a small room. All of the cutting and patterning and hand sewing take place in the courtyard, paved with smooth, painted cement, between the main house and the sewing room. The students take turns at the machines, with half sewing and the other half working on other stages of their work. They learn from a blackboard, which is literally that – a board painted black – but it works! – and from listening to and watching their teacher. At the end of each day, the students work together to clean the courtyard, and at the end of every week, they clean all the cement areas as well as the courtyard kitchen area and the bathroom.

I have grown very fond of these young women and men. They are perhaps the most industrious young people I have ever met. Not one of them is looking for an easy way out. They all seem to take this opportunity very seriously and responsibly. In their lives, opportunities like this will likely be few and far between.


I love their names: Pascaline (2), Claudine, Ephipanie, Immacule, Clementine, Madina, Elvani, Osette, Jeanette, Soulange, Antoinette, Jacqueline, and Erique (2). Clearly I am missing a couple but I am working from memory here. I love their response to new things. I had brought a few skipping ropes, and one day I took one out for them to use. To see the joy on their faces, to hear their laughter – it was almost too, too good. They are so painfully beautiful, still children really. And probably never had much of a childhood, considering that most of them were three or four at the time of the genocide. To have lived through that, at no matter what age, was most certainly traumatic.

Every weekday morning, when class is just starting, the class sings a hymn and offers a prayer. They sound like angels to me, with their high, clear voices. So last week, I started a choir with those who wished to participate. They seem to love it and want to sing more than once a week. I am teaching them some pretty easy stuff, like This Little Light of Mine, Kumbaya, Summertime, Swing Low, and We Shall Overcome. They hardly know what they are singing but I do my best to explain in French and someone translates into Kinyarwanda at minimum, what the song is about. Basically, so far, it works. They love to sing, and they seem to enjoy learning and watching me as they rarely take their eyes off me while we are singing, and they copy me, even if I scratch my nose or something. My own choir instructor should be so lucky! It’s like they don’t want to miss a beat! (No pun intended… )


Just today, Simone and I offered the first art class. We introduced the concept of art – What is it? What kinds of things are art? Who can make art? They were engaged and interested but a bit mystified. I think very few of them had ever had an opportunity to do much that requires just imagination. The exercises we did today were very simple. One was with the class sitting in a circle, eyes closed, one behind the other. One person chose a shape and drew it on the person in front’s back. The shape transmitted was sent around the circle to the last person who then wrote the shape they received on a piece of paper. They had a lot of fun with that.
The second exercise was to draw someone else in the class without looking at the paper. You could see who had never drawn before, who was intimidated by the exercise and who really got it. It was pretty impressive really.

Next week, we asked them to think about what they might do if they were granted three wishes: what those granted wishes might look like. We will offer all kinds of materials for them to work with, from drawing to collage. I hope they will be able to share their wishes with everyone. We are also planning a large mural sewing project as well.

So these are the kind of things the sewing class is up to. Every day, they amaze me. They give me the most wonderful hugs and always smile and want to chat. They are somewhat shy but curious about everything. They think I am nuts because I have asked them to keep their cuttings scraps for me, with which I hope to piece into some kind of quilt, but which to them are garbage. Hopefully, I can show them such scraps’ usefulness. I try my best to be a kind of mother figure to them. Indeed, they call me Elaine but they also call me Mami, which is like older woman I think. I went out today with a bolt of fabric I had bought to show them. They approved enthusiastically.

They adore poring through the little album of photos I brought with pics of all my family and friends. For young people with little or no family, indeed from any woman with whom I have shared my family pictures, I have never felt one twinge of jealousy that I should be so rich in family and they so poor. Indeed, they seem genuinely delighted. One group of women actually applauded when I said I had a wonderful and kind husband. Most of them are either widows or living in abusive situations.

At the moment, there is a possibility that this project will receive money for an electric sewing machine that does embroidery as well as money for a serger. This will bring the students’ abilities to a much higher level. In fact, even the instructor would have to be taught how to use the embroidery aspects of the machine. But that is very much a fashion here, to put some gorgeous finishes on women’s clothing in ways I have never seen but certainly recognize as a form of embroidery. So we are all hopeful about that as that kind of skill will bring in more money for sure.

Simone and I are trying to come up with ways that the students can make some money, once their skills reach a certain level. This will be soon, as we are going with the teacher next week to purchase fabric for the first time. So we are planning and scheming on their behalf so they can begin to earn a bit. It may involve banking anything they make so that when they graduate, they will be able to purchase cloth or a sewing machine. This plan is in its infancy.

So thank you to all of you who helped to make this project become a reality. It is really amazing what is happening here, thanks to you. It is also amazing what is happening to me, because these kids just rock my world.