To The Grave

It was a revelation that struck me hard at first. During the Easter Morning service I was trying to sing a song in Kinyarwanda and came across the word gituro, which happens to be the name that the government gave to the village that now houses the 70 returnee families that we are working with.

When I asked what it meant I was told that “the gituro was empty, Jesus had risen”. Gituro means grave, or tomb!

I felt strangely discomforted. We were working with people who have been evicted from their homes, and forced to co-exist in a new and barren land. Many of them feel a sense of hopelessness and helplessness (and why wouldn’t you?), it were as if they were confined to a tomb.

I believe that words can be a powerful influencer on our lives, but I want to believe that in this case it is just an unfortunate coincidence. Isaac (my team mate) and I were discussing this when he said to me, “Well, Daryl, we will just have to pray for a resurrection in, and for our Gituro”.

He’s right isn’t he? The Salvation Army has an opportunity to be part of a process of resurrection for this community. They don’t have to be confined to a grave, they don’t have to be entombed by the raw deal that has been dealt to them, we have the privilege of transforming (resurrecting) their circumstances, even if it’s only a small part, it’s a part we must play.

[Sorry that there are no new photos, for some reason I am unable to upload photos to the server.]

Memorial Week

April 7 marks the beginning of a week of national mourning here in Rwanda. The whole country closed down for the day on Saturday as memorial ceremonies were held all round the country. People with purple scarves and sashes (purple being the colour of mourning here) gathered at the sites of mass graves, to remember the genocide of 1994.

Some imprisoned genocide perpetrators will be released during this week, usually as a result of revealing the sites where they buried the people they murdered. They will also undergo a public confession and forgiveness session with victim’s relations.

Based on the number of people still not accounted for there are believed to be numerous mass graves still uncovered, and others have been uncovered during the past year. It is a somber week; people take it very seriously as in every district a memorial will be held at some time during the week and people will gather to confess and forgive in hope, and under the banner, “Never Again”. The week will culminate on Friday with the ‘proper’ burial of any skeletal remains that have been unearthed during the past year.

It causes an interesting ‘conflict’ with the celebration of Easter Sunday. One member of The Salvation Army’s Kigali church commented to me that they, as Rwandans are supposed to be reflective and downcast, but, she said, as Christians we are also celebrating the one of the greatest events of history – and we are full of joy. (And the church was to as they danced and sang their way through a three hour service that was anything but dull.

But then the slogan of the genocide memorials seems somehow appropriate to Eater too: “Never Again”. Never again am I left alone to exist in this world, as a result of Jesus’ death and resurrection I am joined with God and have the potential not just to live life, but to love life. Never again…

It’s Flowing, Clean, Safe And Close

The Ugandan team of pump fitters arrived today with all the attachments and bits to install the hand pump. The first thing they had to do was install a hose into the water table, 57m down and pump water for an hour to clean out the bore and make sure the water was clear.

Within ten minutes of the water flowing people were coming from all directions with their containers to get some clean water. It took about 15 minutes, and the water was flowing clear and clean and the testing says it’s safe for drinking. So for the next 45 minutes people were drinking at the hose, filling containers and splashing in the puddle that was forming.

The opening and dedication of the pump may be planned for next week, but there couldn’t possibly be any more excitement than there was tonight.

We have had to shut the water off again for now whilst the pump attachment is fitted, but within days now the returnees of Gituro will be able to access water within 600m of their houses.

Now that’s something for all of you that donated to The Salvation Army’s Sub-Saharan Africa Appeal to be proud of.

One of the

Latrine Pit

at 5.7m

Getting In Deep

One of the major aspects of this project is the provision of safe, clean drinking water. The 75m bore is in and encased, the concrete pad is maturing in the sun, and tomorrow the pump installation team begins their work. So by Wednesday, we believe, the pump will be delivering fresh water to the community, and it will only be a 600m walk to get it.

But in the meantime, we were finally able today to plumb the guttering of the shelter into a 2000 liter PVC tank. So when it rains the people will have clean rain water in the middle of the village. It rained enough this afternoon for us to know that our plumbing and roofing works, but not enough to put much water in the tank.

As for the latrines! Today we crowned one of the Latrine Diggers "Champion". In 5 days he has dug a 1.4m diameter hole to a depth of 7.9m, he still has 2.1m to go, but he tells us that with the help of his prize, (two lollipops) he will have that done for us by Saturday.

When I look down the pit now, I can only just see him as it is too dark to see much. The pit is almost exactly round and the same circumference all the way down, it has hand and foot holds for the digger to climb up and down, and a man on the surface with a rope and bucket that pulls out the dirt and rock one bucket at a time. It’s quite an amazing process.

The dirt that is dug out will next week, (with the help of a Hydroform brick making machine), be turned into bricks that the people will make on site. These bricks will then be used to build the latrine housing.

So, today water is almost here and the latrine pits are going ever deeper. What more could you ask for but a party? So we’re going to have one. Next Friday (13th) we’re inviting all the important people to come to the village and we are going to open and dedicate the pump and community shelter before we share sodas and cake together. That’ll be a great day!

For Want Of A Photo

We have become a surrogate Ambulance to the community of Gituro. Yesterday it was a girl with an abscess, today a young baby that possibly has malaria.

Since arriving back in Rwanda about May 2006, the people of this community have suffered numerous cases of malaria and other sicknesses. Most of the illness is water related, but regardless of the cause and the symptoms the people have a problem.

Unless you can afford medical and/or hospital care in this country you must rely on the (almost free) public health system. It’s a good system but you can only access the process if you have a Health Insurance Card as proof of identity and citizenship. To get a health insurance card you need to supply the Clinic with a passport sized photo. To get a photo you need access to a photographic lab, and the money to pay.

These newly returned people of Gituro, most of who were born in Tanzania, have neither. So, when the lady and her baby turned up with her baby at hospital today, (after throwing up for 40 minutes in our vehicle) the chances were that she would not be seen, and if she was she would be expected to pay.

It seems like such an easy thing to remedy, and we’re trying. Tomorrow we are going to line up the people and start taking digital photos. That’s the easy part! Then we’ll have to find a photo lab in Kigali (3 hours, 160km away) that can print photos from a digital camera card, and that is willing to do 220 of them, not so easy.

That’s the goal anyway, all kinds of things could go wrong with the plans – but for the want of a photo we must try to make integration into the Rwandan community easier on these people, not to mention access to medical care.

Occupation

Today was particularly hot. We left early to try and beat the sun, but by 9am the sky was very clear and the sun already hot. Between the Doxycycline (malaria prophylactic) I’m taking that causes photosensitivity and the radiant heat and UV bouncing off the galvanized metal roofing sheets, we felt like we were frying.

However, no sooner had the last nail been driven in to complete the roofing on the shelter than it was occupied by a number of women and children. At last, they said, they had somewhere to sit and talk without being fried by the sun. And from a completely selfish angle, Isaac and I now have shade to talk with the management committee and to sit with the people, but before mzungu could sit down a grass mat had to be brought, it wouldn’t do for him to get a dirty backside, but it was great to be able to relax together under the shade and ‘talk’.

The purpose of building the shelter was immediately fulfilled, that felt good, and all for about USD 600.00.

As we were leaving a mum, baby and young girl (about 9) asked if they could get a lift into town. The young girl was shivering and obviously in a lot of pain – Mum wanted to get her to the hospital. Of course we took them with us, and along the way I was informed that the girl had a sore mouth, and the girl was told she should show mzungu. The poor kid had a gaping hole in one of her back teeth that was obviously infected which was causing her gums and mouth to swell. I’m not sure what mzungu was expected to do, other than grimace in empathetic pain, but he gave the poor girl two Panadol, which she swallowed with the dirtiest water you’ve ever seen, prayed for her and took her to the hospital.

What chance do people like this stand without clean, safe water, adequate sanitation and other luxuries that I take for granted? This village will get some of those things, but what about the thousands of other people, here in Rwanda and around the world, who haven’t been so lucky?

The Human Face of Genocide

I could feel the heat of the sun burning my skin (and part of me wanted it to hurt). I was standing in a striking garden heavy with the sweet scent of a multitude of flowers, and water features bubbling in the background. As I stood alongside one of twenty large concrete slabs that formed the centre of the garden it was hard to find the words to describe the emotions that I felt, and in many ways, rather than understanding, I was looking to forget.

I had just emerged from one of the buildings that serve to record the days of horror that have so recently scarred the people of Rwanda. There are rooms dedicated to recording the facts: the history of the country and the documented facts of the genocide. But then come rooms heavy with the real faces and stories of the people killed and it was here that I was overwhelmed with a feeling of total helplessness. I was struck again by the ability of humanity to be that cruel and that evil.

I left these darkened rooms of death looking, to my shame, for a reprieve only to walk into the ‘Room of the Innocent’. On small black metal pedestals were etched vital statistics and behind these pedestals, from ceiling to floor hung a photo of a child. These twelve stories were representative of the thousands that were killed in the declared agenda to target children and women so as to wipe out any further generations. One of these plaques read:

“Name: Innocent, Age: 6, Favourite Drink: Fresh Milk, Best Friend: Older sister, Last Words: Mummy where do I run, Killed: Hacked to death by Machete in a church”.
As I left the room a small plaque reminded me that “They could have been our national heroes”.

And so I found myself standing in the memorial garden, there were other ‘tourists’ who had made the same journey but there was no frivolity, there were tears, and a deep sense of, I don’t know what; is it shame? Beneath the concrete slabs I was standing next to are sealed the bodies of thousands of men, women and children.

As I stood lost in thought, wondering what to think, trying to put words to my journey a young woman came, placed a floral tribute on one of the concrete ‘caskets’ and paused with her head bowed. I don’t know, but from what I had seen I wondered if she was one of the children who watched her parents die, or was she one that ran fast enough? And then I wondered, who does she pray to? How could she believe in God?

If you knew me and
You really knew yourself,
You would not have killed me.
(Felicien Ntagengwa)

So this doesn’t finish with any positive words because I don’t have the words to explain how I feel. But tomorrow, I’ll be back amongst families that survived this or earlier (1959) genocides. And I can make a difference in their lives; I can be the hands of a movement that attempts to transform lives, and a God that cares. It is to my shame at times that these people remind me of that fact.

Family

It took just over a week, but today we became ‘family’.

On the edge of the camp there is a pretty sad looking tree, from there to a couple of other ‘posts’ the Pastor (a returnee himself) hangs a tarpaulin. At just on 10:30am we heard the sound of a drum and began the short walk to Church. The sun was hiding behind the clouds as we arrived to the sound of singing and steady drum beats. Looking out to the valley and the hills beyond was a tall, good looking young man singing and dancing while behind him the rest of the congregation repeated his words.

For about 30 minutes the lead swapped between the man and a woman, and as the group worshipped others joined us until there were just over 70 men, women and children dancing, jumping, and singing together.

We were in the middle of no where, and nothing. As far as you could see on three sides was savannah and hills, specked with cattle and one or two mud huts, and just below us the sound of the rig that was drilling for water hummed in concert with the singing and clapping.

The steady shout of “Imana ishimwe” (God be praised), “Jesu ashimwe” (Jesus be praised) rose loudly across the singing and was met by the echoed, “Hallelujah”, the chant grew louder and louder, carrying well into the valley below.

For over an hour we worshipped; little children stamping their feet in rhythm to the music and drum, as the adults danced and sang; spontaneous prayer rose from the church and it was then that the heavens opened on us.

Jammed together like sardines, the worship continued. Then the preaching: with about 15 minutes notice I was preaching, Isaac translated me into Swahili and a church elder translated him into Kinyarwanda. In my introduction I used all my vast knowledge of Kinyarwanda greeting them, asking how they were, and praising God. It was then that I became one of them. Language is such an amazing barrier breaker.

Church lasted about 2 ½ hours all up and afterwards we sat together in a small mud hut and cemented our relationship with a drink of warm milk before we spent time playing with the children.

Once again I was reminded that there is no place, no culture, no language, no situation where God is not already present – the challenge is for me to intentionally lay aside my own cultural prejudices and my religious insecurities and constrictions and allow God to be revealed in God’s amazing mosaic of creative genius.

We’ve Struck Water

The rig to drill the bore hole arrived on Thursday evening and drilling began almost immediately. Hydrology specialists estimate that we have a water table at a relatively shallow distance of 50 – 72 meters.

The pump will be about 600 meters from the houses, (a little further than the Sphere standard for those who care) and down hill in the valley. But it is clear, clean, drinkable water and it is about 2.5km closer than the current polluted water. So, unfortunately, the people will walk down hill with empty containers, and uphill with full ones. Being in the valley means however, that we have to drill about 20m less, this means water sooner, and less expense.

The goal was that by Friday, 6th the people would see the water, but this afternoon they reached approximately 50m and the water flowed. Very muddy water at the moment, but it’s there. We are hoping that by Wednesday 11th the hand pump mechanism and the surrounding concrete platform will have been fitted and the work complete. Ready for a party!

Fresh, clean, safe water… It’s so easy to take the fact that we can turn on a tap and drink for granted isn’t it? 2/3 of the world’s population can’t do that.

The Community Centre (Shelter)

The Shelter is in the middle of the imudugudu (village), and is 5m x 8m (or close). It has no walls and no floor, but a corrugated tin roof with a 500mm pitch. It has PVC guttering on one of the 8m sides that fills a 2000 litre PVC tank.

It took us three days to build, (one day was called on account of rain) and involved most of the people in the village at some stage. The women cleared the land with hoes and hands, whilst many of the men watched! Then the women left and the men watched as Isaac and I marked out the ‘foundations’.

But their curiosity soon got the better of them, and like all men they were experts; we were soon teaching them how to measure out timber and post holes, and then how to make and mix concrete.

Interesting question: How do you make concrete without water and sand? Answer: you send your twin-cab utility vehicle on a 30km round trip to the closest ‘public’ water hole (we didn’t want to use their dwindling water supply). But of course when you can’t speak the language you don’t know that it is that far away. It took 1.5 hours to get the water and sand.

But how can you take a vehicle to get two containers of water and not suggest that any one else that wants water collected should bring their containers, (instead of walking 6km to get it)? You can’t can you? There was a mad flurry of activity as yellow plastic containers came from all directions; we ended up with over 50 containers in the cab.

We worked well into the afternoon, and they offered to slaughter a goat, but I realised that it wasn’t their goat, so declined the kind offer. They were disappointed that mzungu wasn’t hungry and hadn’t brought them soda and food. Maybe next time?

We’re Underway

As I write it is pouring outside – they tell me the monsoon rains have begun. It didn’t stop us though, we’re tough! We headed out to the imudugudu (‘village’ in KinyaRwanda) at 7:00 this morning to continue work on our Community Shelter. For about 1.5 hours we laboured on in the rain, but when the hammer started to slip from my hand we decided to give it up and head back to town. We looked a site apparently!

Wednesday (28th) saw the start of digging of the pits for latrines. 6 are underway. The pit is 2 meters in diameter and 10 meters deep and they dig it by hand. It is quite amazing to watch the precision that is achieved with a spade and pick axe.

I am still fascinated by how they will go down ten meters by hand. I am told that as they go down they will cut foot and hand holds into the wall, and when they get too deep to throw the dirt out, they will use a bucket and rope to bring the soil to the surface. Eventually, when the light is bad because they are so deep, they will take a candle down which will help the air circulation and give them light. They will also be connected to a rope to help bring them up, and to bring up the soil. (They tell me that there are accidents and deaths at times, if they don’t get the walls right it can cave in.)

So this is happening alongside my work of architectural and construction genius, the Shelter. Every now and then I hear the word Muzungu (white man) and laughter. I’m sure they’re laughing at my building techniques, but it’s working! It’s amazing what you can do with one saw, one hammer and a measuring tape.

Isaac and I have identified two young blokes that have potential and who are willing to work alongside us, even in the rain. So we are teaching them how to build, (don’t laugh). And we think these will be the two we approach to be trained to repair and maintain the pump.

A Day In The Life Of A Relief Worker

SORRY FOR THE LACK OF UPDATES - WE LOST INTERNET ACCESS AND HAVE ONLY JUST GOT IT BACK THIS MORNING

Wednesday 28th March - (5:00am) The day began in the village of Nyagatare, (North Eastern Rwanda) & for me as the call to prayer from the amplified speaker on top of the Mosque (just over the road) echoed across the valley. No sooner had the Muezzin stopped when the roosters greeted the sunrise & sounds of life began springing from the all over the village.

It’s a fresh, still morning as the smoke from kitchen fires begins spiraling into the sky, hiding much of the village in a haze that lazily rolls around the valley until mid morning before it’s burnt up by the sun & swept away by the breeze.

Children are out sweeping the ground around their houses with straw brushes; women & children are collecting water from the community tap & tidying up their small houses whilst the maize & beans soften over the wood fire.

No longer can I ignore the fact that the day has started & that it’s time to brave the morning ‘bath’. It’s only about 15 degrees at the moment & as I splash cold water over me I’m convinced that they refrigerated it this morning. But once you’re numb, it’s a refreshing & invigorating way to start the day.

(7:00am) After a breakfast of chapatti & tea again, we head off to a meeting with the District Government officials. It’s a short drive through the village & up a dirt track to their compound where, despite the fact that we have an appointment we wait for a while before being asked to come back later.

(9:00am) We work our way back across town & up a few more bush roads to an international aid agency’s compound to share ideas & resources. They’re already engaged in providing capacity development workshops in other outlying communities; we hope to develop a partnership with them to provide the same for Rwempasha.

(10:15am) We head out to another NGO to do some more networking, & receive some very good offers of partnership. (11:00am) We receive a summons to return to the Mayor’s office to meet with him & his staff.

However, by the time we arrive 10 minutes later he is in another meeting & can’t be disturbed so we meet with the Vice-Mayor to discuss how the promises each of us have made compare to the expectations of all the stakeholders concerned, but particularly the beneficiaries.

(12:00pm) We head back to town for lunch. It’s the usual rice, beans, mashed banana, maize cake, cassava & boiled beef. There are few vegetables & no fresh fruit to be found in this region at all.

(1:00pm) We begin the half hour (17km) drive up the bumpy, dusty bush roads to Rwempasha. Along the way we avoid the long horn cattle, the motorbikes & the people & pass by the traditional mud hut communities with the children playing in the dirt with their home made toys.

(2:00pm) Seventy families of the returnee community have gathered on the plot of land we have just been given to build a Community Centre (shelter). With the help of a translator I speak to the camp about the plans that we have to begin work on sinking a bore & digging & building pit latrines: (the contractor has just arrived with a truck load of materials so they can see it was not another do-gooder making idle promises).

(5:00pm) After much discussion the people are onboard. A ten person committee (5 women & 5 men) has been selected by the community. The committee is charged with meeting over the next week to design by-laws for the use of the water & pump; the first member of the community has just got a job as the security guard for the materials.

I have the privilege of giving a few bags of maize flour to the leaders to share out & a soccer ball to the children (you should see their faces) before we bid farewell before heading off across the savannah to home.

(7:30pm). We debrief the day together & write up some notes before dinner Yes, the same as lunch, but this time there are some noodles too.

(8:30pm) I prepare emails & reports to send, only to discover that the internet connection is down so we decide to call it a day & turn in (10:00pm).