Now I'm Home

It's a surreal feeling! Just over a week ago I was living in a country half way around the world, getting excited about a water pump and a pit latrine and celebrating with people who were thrilled to get a bottle of Fanta and a biscuit.

I find myself torn between feelings of guilt and privilege. I have so much: food and water, more than I need - and they have so little. I have never gone without, I have a house, a motorbike, a job and my daughter even has shoes for school. Here I am, living in comparative luxury and people whose names I know and whose faces I can see, will continue to struggle for food, water and life.

So what is my role now? I have a job to do and a life to live, apart from Rwanda. But I cannot ignore nor forget! So for now, when people ask me about my journey, I tell them about the faces in my memory. I tell them about the difference one life, or some money, can make to people like the returnees of Gituro.

And I remind myself, that there are millions more, in countries all round the world that need help - I can't go to them all, but the church can and must. The International Salvation Army does some amazing work amongst many of these people.

(Many people have asked me what you can do - here's one thing: In New Zealand and Australia, in the next few weeks, Sallies (Salvos) have a chance to help this work through the Self Denial Appeal - instead of looking for creative excuses for not giving why not just bite the bullet and give more than you can afford!)

The Last Days

Tuesday turned out to be a blistering hot day, and just for something completely sane to do we decided it’d be a good day for the opening and dedication of the water pump and shelter. It was planned for 2:00pm, and we were assured the Mayor was on his way.

As the people gathered around the water pump the choir began singing to welcome him – 45 minutes later and about a litre of sweat later he arrived. But at least he arrived! Along with The Salvation Army’s Regional Leaders, Majors Stephen and Grace Chepkurui, he officially opened and dedicated the pump and shelter – which was an event that took an hour.

During his speech the Mayor pronounced Gituro to be a “Salvation Army village” and after a challenge from the Regional Leaders has ordered the allocation of land to The Army for future permanent Community development. (A touch of dejavue for me – I seem to have memories of another village in Sri Lanka in 2005.)

Until recently the women and children walked 7km to collect stagnant, brown, contaminated water, this afternoon the guests were led by the Rwandan national and Salvation Army flags on the short 600m walk to a water source that is delivering clear, clean safe water. And after the guests planted some trees around the village we celebrated with the people over a soda and biscuits in the shade of their new shelter.

Thanks to some family back home in Australia I was also able to distribute some soap for each family and lollies for the kids. If you’ve ever tried to give out lollies to children in an orderly fashion you can imagine the scene; 150 hungry children and me with a bag of lollies! I ended up retreating onto the bed of the 4x4 vehicle to get out of their way.

It was a fantastic afternoon, which stretched into the evening as I began to say goodbye to the people with whom I have shared life over this past month. I was humbled to overhear the Regional Commander comment to his wife, as the kids climbed over me and I spoke my Kinyarwanda with a really bad accent, that “he has been accepted as one of them”.

My Rwanda experience has once again convinced me that the key to sustained transformation is TRUST. You can make a difference for a short period with a charitable heart, but tourism and welfare will never be transformation; you can only become an instrument of enduring transformation by your willingness to walk (sit, eat, drink) and share the life of another. It’s in taking time to develop a mutual relationship of trust that you will restore dignity and worth in the other, and in doing so earn the right to speak into their circumstances.

Today I say goodbye to Rwanda. And I want to say thank you to all of you that have shared my journey and given me a thought along the way. I want to say a special thank you to my wife and daughter for their continuing support and for being two of the people in this world that inspire me to care.

(I’ll continue to update my blog: I can’t imagine that it is going to be quite as interesting as these last weeks, but as I continue to see God in, and learn from, the people I work for, I’ll blog it and invite you to tell me I’ve lost it!)

Throne Room

There are now 39 latrine pits underway, with 20 of those completed. We’re almost half way there with the pits. It’s a bit of a safety and care nightmare really; 38 pits about 1.5m wide and between 10 and 2 meters deep, no warning signs or covers, and 140 children from 5 months up – you do the maths.

But finally, and just before I leave, we have a latrine being built. The concrete slab was cast last weekend, and today lifted over the top of one of the 10m pits, and then the foundation squared up around it.

Due to a hold up with brick making we decided to buy some adobe (mud/straw) bricks from members of the community and the walls are going up. Hopefully by the end of the day the walls will be complete and the roof on. The next step will be to fit a door and open up the hole that is in the slab and then the only thing left to do is… I’ll leave it to your imagination. But how do you dedicate a throne room?

Tomorrow’s the big day – we’re going to celebrate with Sodas and biscuits: hopefully the Mayor will be there, and various other levels of government as well as officers from the Rwanda region. (There are twelve officers in Rwanda including Isaac and I. Six of them are native Rwandese, but they will be joined by the 7 cadets that are currently in training and will be commissioned in August this year.) Together we are going to open and dedicate the pump and the community shelter, and plant some trees. It should be a good day. (I’ll leave it to the Mayor and the Regional Commander to fight over who gets to christen the throne!)

Church On The Move

I had the opportunity to worship at the Miracle Centre at Gituro again today. It was just as well the village is so small, because they had moved from under the tree; they have upgraded their facilities and are now meeting in the Community Shelter in the middle of the community.

They have more room now and the move has attracted people from the surrounding communities. These returnees have found it hard to be accepted by some of their neighbours. They have moved into an area that was open grazing ground for surrounding cattle keepers; resources were already scarce and the pre-existing communities have shown a bit of resentment for the loss of their grazing ground, and the sharing of their water resources.

But today, some of those same people came to worship with the returnees. Not many just a handful, but the signs of inclusion are beginning to show and that’s exciting. Of course the fact that this community has the responsibility for managing a clean water source isn’t hurting their reputation either.

We sang, danced and prayed together for another three hours this morning, (I have never really been thankful for those plastic church chairs – I am now). Each person that was new had to respond, and respond they did for about 10 minutes each. Then three choirs performed: first the young girls (3 items, 20 minutes), followed by the mammas (3 items, 17 minutes) lastly a combined group (3 items, 13 minutes). Following these items the preacher revved us all up for about 25 minutes, (by this time I think my backside was numb), before the singing and dancing began again so that we could all file to the front to present our offerings.

It was a clear day, warm and fresh, and the people were happy and praising God for clean water, and for life. Next time you hear me whinging about what I don’t have, remind of these people and these days!

When All I Can Do Is Dream

I sat under the shade of an acacia tree with a doctor, an ambulance driver, a successful business woman a school teacher and a minister of parliament or at least that was what they dreamed they would be one day.

Liberratta, (the doctor) is one of those sitting with me. She is twelve years old and nine months ago she lived in a nice house in Tanzania where her family owned some cows and grew bananas and coffee beans. One of her chores was to help milk the cows before school which she liked doing because it meant she could drink the fresh milk.

Her family would sell some bananas and coffee beans and earn money, enough to make them completely self sufficient. They could afford to buy Liberatta and her brother school uniform and shoes; whilst they were not wealthy they were certainly happy and comfortable.

Liberratta loved school. She was in Year 5 and had lots of good friends. She went to school with some of her cousins but most of her friends were Tanzanian’s and they loved playing together after school. Whilst at home her family spoke Kinyarwanda at school she was learning in Kiswahili.

But then one day whilst Liberatta was at school her family got the news that they had to leave. Any person of Rwandan origin was being forced to leave Tanzania and return to Rwanda. They had little time to pack and leave; they were forced to abandon their cows, their small farm, and most of their personal belongings as they were herded on to whatever transport they could find to get them across the border and into the reception camp.

After a few days in a crowded camp Liberratta and her family were again on the move, this time crammed onto the back of a pickup truck, but they were on their way to their new home, and Liberratta was excited to see where they would be living. But when they arrived in Gituro, (North East Rwanda), Liberratta says, “I felt bad, there was nothing here, we slept on the ground like our cows in the open for four days, until my family could find enough wood to make a shelter.”

After a month the family had built a small mud and stick house, about the size of a four person tent but only about five foot high. Liberratta had a new chore, now she walked seven kilometers, at least once a day to collect water from a dam used by cows and goats. Often she had to wade in amongst the cattle to fill her container with the dirty brown water. Because they had used most of the wood in this barren savannah for their houses, (there was now 70 families) they had little firewood, what they could find was used to boil the maize the government gave them, they didn’t have enough to boil water to drink as well.

At last Liberratta was able to attend school, “but when I got there they put me down a year because they teach in English and French, and I couldn’t speak them – I felt sad”. Adding to this embarrassment of ‘demotion’ was the fact that Liberratta looked different too because her family couldn’t afford to buy her a school uniform or shoes. Despite these setbacks Liberratta tells me that school is good and she has made some new friends and she is happy.

When asked what the hardest thing about being back I Rwanda was, Liberrata and her friends said that they miss their own houses and their cows. Liberratta misses being able to drink as much fresh milk as she wants, and being able to eat until she’s not hungry. She misses having enough clothes, and she misses her shoes.

One of the hardest things about being back in Rwanda is that they don’t feel like they are home. In Tanzania they were happy, but they were often made to feel like they didn’t belong because they were Rwandese. Now, back in the country of their origin they feel like they don’t belong because they are returnees, “this is supposed to be our home”, says Liberratta’s mum, “but even here we are made to feel like we don’t belong.”

So as they sit beneath the tree telling me their stories, they dream of a better day. They dream of a day when they can eat what they want, drink what they want and pay for it themselves. And, interestingly of all to me, almost unanimously they dream of being engaged in work that transforms other peoples lives (although there was one little boy, Caleb, who wants to buy a motorbike).

The President’s Coming

Light had just begun to break up the darkness of the night, and the world outside was still cool when I woke to the sounds of straw brooms scraping the earth and spades and hoes throwing dirt and grass around the surrounds of my room. It wasn’t long before sounds of children playing, and being told off, and shouted commands disturbed what sounded like a scene of domestic bliss.

There was no use trying to rest any longer, so I got up and had my cold bath, and walked out to see what the activity was all about. People looked at me as if I was from another planet (not that that’s a new look over the past month) –His Excellency Paul Kagame (President of Rwanda) is coming to Nyagatare.

For the day the whole village came to a standstill. All businesses were expected to be closed and their owners take part in the umugande (community work), and there was restricted travel on the roads. So, knowing we couldn’t get any of the things we planned to do in town done we headed for the safety of Gituro.

This has become a place that we can go and sit and chat with the people as they gather in and around the shelter. The children make toys out of all kinds of cast offs and play for hours together. Doing my Pied Piper act, with my escort of children in tow I go for a walk around the village greeting the people, ‘Amakuru?’ (How is it?) and ‘Muraho’ (Hello). I am welcome here, still the source of some amusement and novelty, but in this place people know me and accept me.

Tomorrow, (Saturday) the President will address the people about 500m from our base, so we’ll be ‘encouraged’ to remain where we are, or go and listen to him speak. People like him, he was one of the leaders of the Rwandan Rebels that overthrew the interhamwe that were perpetrating the genocide in 1994; he’s been President for 7 years now, and he’s a local boy from this Province. It’ll be a big day!

The Glass is Half Full

Change is occurring in the village of Gituro. Three weeks ago when we arrived in Gituro there were seventy small mud and stick shelters. People were wandering aimlessly; a few were tending haphazard gardens of sweet potato; most were desperate to go home. The Rwandan returnees knew that their Tanzanian homes were gone, for good, and that there was no going back, but they were not prepared to settle and make Gituro their home. No one wanted to accept that this depressing camp on the top of a desolate hill in North Eastern Rwanda was home.

That was then, but this afternoon as I walked around the village in the heat of the day there is activity: and it’s not all activity initiated by us. I counted five new traditional round mud walled, grass thatch huts. One was even decorated in patterns of ochre paint. One family has entered a trade agreement with a local ‘builder’ to construct two houses (mud and thatch) and a kitchen.

The threadbare orange and silver tarpaulins received on arrival are disappearing as families search out cane and grass to thatch their shelters. Soil is being prepared and sown with new crops of maize, cassava and sweet potato (sweet potato is ‘best’ because they bear fruit in three months). Grounds are being cleared and swept clean. Traditional mud ‘stoves’ are being constructed replacing the circle of rocks and as a result less wood is needed delivering a much better wood to heat ratio.

Children are making toys out of our building off cuts and the sounds of laughing (and crying) pervade the camp. When they’re not following me around trying to get the courage to shake hands with mzungu, and laugh at him asking them how they are, or what their name or age is in Kinyarwanda, they are helping pit diggers empty buckets of dirt, or taking turns to pump water.

So, why the optimism? As I sat in the shade of the community shelter, (an 8x5m wood and tin structure) built by us in partnership with the people, I shared my observations and asked why?

“We have realised that this is home… that there is no going back… we must settle and establish ourselves. We have realised this, and accepted It, because you have installed a permanent pump and we have water here… you are digging and building permanent latrines… you have made this shelter for us. We have heard many promises, but you have given.”

Until now the women and children walked 7km to collect stagnant, brown, contaminated water, today they walk 600m to a water source that is delivering clear, clean safe water.

It was exciting to hear them report that there are no families in the village collecting water from the livestock dam now, “why would we go two hours to share with the cows when we have water so close?”

In a region that has lost at least nineteen people to water borne diseases in the past six months these projects are literally life saving and community transforming. Through these simple and relatively inexpensive projects the people of Gituro have increased potential to rise above their circumstances and rather than just existing they can begin to redesign a living for themselves.

If transformation of lives and alleviation of poverty are two of our mission intentions, then, Salvation Army, we have done a good thing so far in Gituro.

The Legend Of The Hat

Some of you have been less than complimentary about my hand made Akubra (hat) that makes an appearance in the photos at times.

A funny thing happened today in a rural village. We were attending the Sectors Genocide Memorial function about an hours drive west of Nyagatare, out in the cattle country. Whilst I was there a lady asked my driver where I kept my cattle. I thought she was joking and responded that I had many cattle and they were at home in outback Australia. That was the end of the discussion, I thought.

I then was informed by one of the Sector officials that my hat tells the story. Apparently in this northern region where I am located, (cattle country) only the cattle owners wear the type of hat I have. If all the edges are flat, (as are mine) then you have 100 cattle, if one side is folded up to the centre, you have 200, if both sides are up you have 300, if the hat is worn toward the back of the head and flat, (as apparently I was wearing mine) you have more than 300.

So I have apparently been perceived by some as a rich cattle herder. Just goes to prove that sometimes seemingly innocent actions, attires or behaviours can tell a whole story about us that we are not aware of. I wonder what else people have assumed about me in this remote section of Rwanda?

So for those of you who have insulted the hat – I know you’re just jealous and only wish you could afford as stylish a hat as mine.

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.