I Bought a Goat

I bought a goat today. I bought it at church, of all places. Today was a fundraising Sunday at the little English-speaking chapel that is adjacent to the PIASS campus. There are only about 50 congregants, the majority of whom are students. The English service has only been in existence for about a year. Prior to that, the service was in French. As a “new” congregation, we are operating with the barest of essentials for worship leadership. We have an electronic keyboard, which is a blessing. It was donated. Then we use two tables, one as a communion table and one to hold the keyboard. We have a wooden bench behind the one table. One of the ladies of the congregation donated table runners in the correct colors for the liturgical seasons of the year. These are the paraments. It is bare, but functional.

About a month ago, the pastor announced that the elders (mostly students) wanted to raise funds to buy a real communion table and pulpit for the chapel. After much discussion, it was decided that we should proceed, even though the students do not have much money. One of the other lecturers at PIASS offered to head the fundraising activities. Today was the designated Sunday. Two of us gave money to help subsidize the project, so there was a reasonable amount that they congregation needed to raise. People were invited to bring items to be auctioned to raise the funds. So after the sermon, everyone went outside and gathered the items they had brought and danced them down the aisle to present them for the auction. Some brought money and contributed that. That was my plan. The items for auction included a floor mat, bananas, green peppers, tomatoes, homemade biscuits and a goat. We started the bidding on the goat, to get him out of the building quickly. No one bid. In an attempt to get things going, I opened the bid. I had not intentions of buying the goat. I just wanted to get things started.  The truth is that the goat was a generous gift by one of the lecturers who raises them, but the students couldn’t afford to bid. One of the other lecturers made a bid after mine and I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought I was off the hook. But every country does auctions differently, I found out. Here, someone can add to a bid, to help the original bidder get the item. They contribute the money in addition to the original bid and the item goes to the original bidder, when it is sold. So students who could not afford to bid on the goat added bits to my bid and to the other lecturer’s bid and the price when up. In the end, my bid, with the additions of several students’ was the top bid. I go the goat.

That was never my intention. It’s not that I didn’t have the money. I did, or I wouldn’t have bid in the first place. The issue was I didn’t want the goat. I don’t know how to keep a goat and I certainly don’t want to slaughter a goat. If I won’t kill a chicken, why would I kill a goat? Now the question was what to do with the goat? As I listened to the bidding on other items, and knowing the students’ financial constraints, I hit on an idea – give the goat to the students who had “helped” me bid to get it. So at the end of the auction, I announced my plan. It was met with silence. I wondered if I had made yet another mistake. But then the pastor translated my offer into Kinyarwanda and there was a great cheer and applause. The offer was received, once it was understood. On the way out of church, at the end of the service, each of the students came up to me to thank me. They were thrilled to have the goat. I was pleased to have contributed to the fundraiser and thrilled to NOT be taking the goat home with me. Everyone came away satisfied, and we raised enough money to finish the project. Praise God.

Theogenie

Theogenie, Theo for short, was one of my students in English Level 1. She showed herself accomplished in English from the first. I questioned why she was in a beginner’s class, but that is the system here. There is no testing out of a class. So she, along with four international students who were also capable in English, became “teacher’s aides,” so to speak. When we divided the large classe in to small groups, these five led the work of the small groups. I got to know each of the aides a bit more the other 50 students because we conferred on the group work ahead of time. 

 

Theo was distinguished in a number of ways. She is tall for a Rwandan woman, and poised, in addition to being good in English. The other students gravitated to her and deferred to her in more than just English. They sought her out before and after class. I learned that she was a primary school teacher, at PIASS to earn her degree in education. Here in Rwanda, as is many other African countries, one can teach primary school with high grades from secondary school and an intensive training course, but not a degree. The goal of most primary teachers is to have the opportunity to go to college to get a degree. That is Theo’s goal.Theo is the seventh of eight children in the family of four girls and 4 boys. Only she and her younger brother have had the opportunity to study, and that is because of the support of their older brothers and sisters. She lives with and cares for her widowed mother, as the youngest girl in the family and the only unmarried girl. I knew that she also coached youth in Rwandan football (American soccer) on Saturdays, but it was only when she wrote her final paragraph for class that I understood her poise and appeal to her fellow students. She is a Rwandan celebrity, but a humble one, as her paragraph indicates. Read it and judge for yourself.

Football,

by Theogenie Mukamusoiyera

Football is very important in my life. In 2004, I played football on the school’s girls’ team and in the football club. That time I was a player in school championships, at the same time on a women’s National team. Because of football, the school fees were free for me. In 2008 and 2009, I was selected for the women’s National team. We went to Germany to play with Germany’s women’s teams; we prepared to play a women’s World Cup in 2011. As a Rwandan girl, I was very envied for playing on the National team. In 2011, I went back to Germany to study coaching. I got an international certificate of coaching from there and it was a splendid moment for me. Another important thing I got from football was many friends, from coaching and playing. Now I have many friends and I get much knowledge from them because of football. I will always like football, because I got many important things from it.

Rutonde Parish



One of my greatest delights is to worship in a village church, but that is not always easy to do in Rwanda. Language is the first obstacle. I must have a translator and that means a pastor who is comfortable with English. There are a few of them and while the number is growing, English is still relatively new here and even pastors are reluctant to speak it. Then there is the transportation issue. I do not have a car, so I can’t just drive to the village. I have to arrange with the pastor and we have to coordinate transportation. This means buses, mini buses, motorcycle taxis or, if possible, a car taxi. I was blessed that all the logistics came together last week to allow me to be with Pastor Immaculee Mukanmusoni, a gifted pastor who did her masters in Scotland. We have been talking about this since I shortly after I arrived and she translated for me at a pastor’s conference. She serves a parish about 15 kilometers outside of Kigali. She has invited me several times, but this time it finally worked.

Immaculaee with her "children"

Immaculee usually travels by motorcycle, but for our trip she arranged for a car taxi. This allowed us more comfort and enabled her husband to join us. It was a typical rough dirt road, and since we have not had much rain, it was dusty. She and I huddled in the back seat with a chitenje (cloth wrap) over our heads to protect against the dust that filtered in, even though the windows were closed. The road runs alongside a river and is bordered by sugarcane and rice fields. Even on a Sunday morning, there were workers in the fields. Then folks were walking along the road, some to the market and some on their way to church. Immaculaee waved to several as we passed them. She is a part of the community, even though she lives in Kigali.



One of 5 choirs

 The impetus for the trip was a gift I was bringing for the vulnerable children’s feeding program that Immaculee had begun at the central church of her parish. (She serves 3 congregations.) Five mornings a week, before school, the church provides fortified porridge for the most vulnerable school age children. Poverty and malnutrition are problems in Rwanda just as they are in most of sub-Saharan Africa. When we arrived at the church, the children were waiting to greet us, but especially Immaculee. She is like a second mother to them. They surrounded the car and pressed against her as she got out. They were all talking at once, telling her their latest news. She quietly walked with them to her office, nodding as she went. When we got to the office, she introduced me Edith, the young girl who first caught Immaculee’s eye because of her thin figure and reddish hair, a sign of malnutrition. This day she was bright-eyed and her hair is returning to its natural dark color. Edith clung to Immaculee, out of love for her, not fear of the muzungu (white person).

The worship service was a delight to my spirit. This little church with no electricity has a generator to power the electronic keyboard and electric guitars, but the music is pure Rwandan. The choirs and congregation danced to the drums that set the tempo for the instruments. The singing and dancing were spirited and filled the sanctuary. Five choirs sang during the service. My preaching seemed like a sidelight, but Immaculee’s translation was excellent.. During the offering, those who didn’t have money brought crops and those were offered for sale, the proceeds going to the offering. After the service, Immaculee and I proceeded out and the congregation followed to greet us. At that point, I was surrounded by the children, pressing to shake hands with me and touch the white skin. Several of the young girls more stroked my hand than shook it. The most touching, though, was an elderly, stooped, vision impaired gentleman who was led by his grandson through the crowd of children to greet me. In Rwandese fashion, he placed his hands on my upper arms and patted them, like a loose embrace, and in English said, “God bless you.” Then he gave a broad, toothless smile that spread to his clouded eyes. My heart melted. This is worship in the village.