The Express Bus

I made a conscious decision when I moved to Rwanda that I would not buy a car and that I would travel as the average Rwandan travels. That is walking or taking local or express buses. Walking is not a challenge. It just takes energy and time. The bus, however, is another story. It is an adventure.

Friday I had to go to Kigali for business. I had an 8:30 a.m. appointment in Kigali, which is about a 2 hour bus trip from Butare. The Human Resource Director of PIASS was most helpful as he arranged for a taxi driver to pick me up at 5:30 to take me and the accountant, Jeremy, who was to escort me, to the bus depot in Butare, so we would not have to walk the 2 miles that early in the morning. That was the first blessing of the day. The bus depot is behind a gas station and has room for about 6 larger buses at a time. That early in the morning, ours was the only bus in the depot. We took an express bus, which is a 26 passenger bus, not a minibus of the vintage of the old Volkswagen buses of the 70’s and 80’s in the US. The express has scheduled departure times and limited numbers of passengers, although the bus is still full. In addition the stationary seating, each row has a fold down seat that fills the aisles. By 5:59 a.m., just as the sun was rising, every seat was full. We had gotten there early enough that we had stationary seats, which are a bit more comfortable. Most of the passengers seemed to be going to Kigali for business, just as we were. They were nicely dressed, the ladies carrying handbags and the men with briefcases. Everyone seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. The ride was quiet and relatively quick. We were in Kigali by 7:50 because the road was clear of the heavy trucks that tend to slow down traffic and the driver took the description “express bus” seriously and drove as fast as was allowed, or a bit beyond.

The bus depot in Kigali is much larger and busier than in Butare. We pulled in among 60 to 70 other coaches, all jockeying for position. In amongst them were dozens of minibuses preparing to depart for routs around Kigali and taxis looking for riders. Fortunately, Jeremy had called a taxi driver ahead of time and he was waiting for us, ready to whisk us away to the business of the day, a second blessing of the day. For a small fee, we had our own taxi for all the traveling we had to do around Kigali, the capital of Rwanda, a crowded, busy city.

We finished our business in good time and returned to the depot. Jeremy was going on to attend to other business, but he made certain that I was on the right bus first. If possible, the depot was even busier than 3 hours before. In addition to all the buses, minibuses and taxis, vendors were working among the potential passengers, trying to sell everything from fruit and vegetables to magazines and shoes. Again I was on an express bus, but this time the travel was different. The passengers on an 11 a.m. bus to Butare, on a Friday differ from those going to Kigali early in the morning. Most were traveling with luggage, boxes, rolled foam mattresses, bulging duffel bags and overflowing shopping bags. Many were women with small children and young people with ear buds, listening to their own music. The bus was crowded with packages under the seats in the aisles and stacked at the door and on passengers’ laps. Children cried and called to one another. Conversations flowed at various volumes, especially cell phone conversations that had to be held above the noise of the bus. Traffic was heavy so the going was slower as the driver maneuvered around overloaded trucks carrying all manner of goods up the hills of Rwanda, and through pedestrians and bicyclists, swerving and swaying as the passengers held on to stay in our seats and balance the luggage around us. Although it was an express bus, we made two unscheduled stops for the driver to drop off packages he had collected in Kigali for transportation to destinations along the way – a sort of roadside UPS as we went.

We arrived at the Butare depot at 1:15 and I was delighted to walk the 2 miles to PIASS, just to stretch my cramped leg muscles, to enjoy the quiet of the residential roads and to reflect on all the people and activity I had encountered in just a few hours.

Joseph Mpiranya

Please let me introduce you to one of my students, Joseph Mpiranya. He is typical of the students that I teach - quiet, sincere, committed.

In August of 2012 his mother died. Just a month later his father died, leaving Joseph Mpiranya the head of the family, responsible for his three sisters’ education and well being. They are in secondary school (high school). Joseph was just beginning his second year at PIASS.

He prays and trusts God to enable him to care for his sisters and still finish school and be ordained as a pastor. The desire of his heart is to tell others about Jesus and to help them to know God more fully. That was Joseph’s parents wish for him. They had been so proud when he was accepted to train for the ministry. They were devout Christians and both elders in their church. They had set an example of Christian life for Joseph and encouraged him in his Christian faith. They were simple farmers and struggled to provide for the daily needs of the family but they had saved to help him with his education. Early in his life Joseph had committed his life to Christ. He grew in Christ and is his wanting to be like his parents in their faith. When he was accepted at PIASS, everyone was thrilled. But now, with having to care for his sisters and for his own education, his future is uncertain. PIASS is helping him, but there are limited resources. He continues to study hard, to sing in the choir, to participate in the local congregation as a deacon and to care for his sisters. He is confident that the God who called him will be the God who provides for him.

Water Problems

Every house has problems with water from time to time. That is part of life. Mine have just come in rapid succession. I have only been in the house a month and I have called the plumber 4 times. There are only 4 water sources in the house and each one of them has developed its own problem. Fortunately the plumber is reliable and compassionate. He comes quickly.

When I first moved in, I noticed that each morning, water had pooled on the bathroom floor over night. My housekeeper, Josephina, who was here a few days before I moved in preparing the house, just dutifully mopped it up, as if this were a normal part of life. But each morning the pool seemed larger to me. By my fourth morning in the house, the pool extended to half the bathroom floor. I reported this to my friend Celestin, who is also the presbytery clerk in charge of the house and he sent the plumber. The plumber found a small hole in a pipe and dutifully repaired it. Problem solved in just 15 minutes. I rested easily when the next morning the floor was dry.

But two days later, on a Saturday, as I adjusted the water faucet in the kitchen, it came off in my hand. Water shot straight up in the air, bouncing off the ceiling, bathing me and the rest of the kitchen. I quickly turned the water off and moped up the mess. For the rest of the weekend I drew water from the laundry tubs, in a wash area just off the kitchen. That is where I washed dishes as well. On Monday, Celestin again called the plumber for me. He came and then left to buy a new faucet. The replacing of the faucet took about an hour, all tolled. Again, order was easily restored. Praise God.

But that evening, my watchman, John, who uses the laundry tubs for cleaning up after doing a bit of yard work for me, called me to see problem with the laundry tubs. The pipe that connects to the drain had come off and water was draining on the floor instead of down the drain. John’s solution was to place a bucket under the laundry tubs, let it fill up and then dump it outside. Mine was to call the plumber the next morning. He came immediately. This problem, however, took a bit more time. The plumber did not have the parts that he needed and he needed access to the drainage system. He explained that the laundry tubs could not be used for a few days until he got the parts and the access that he needed. John never said anything, but from the pools of water outside the laundry room door, I’m sure he continued with his solution until the plumber returned the end of last week and did the full repair. It took two days to do the work, but all was well.

This morning, when I returned from morning devotions to work in my study, I heard the toilet running. Josephina had just cleaned the toilet. I went in to jiggle the handle, but it did no good. I lifted the lid on the tank and gently jiggled the floater. It went shooting in the air, propelled by a fountain of water that baptized me and the small room that houses the toilet. I reached down and shut off the water as quickly as I could, but not before the impromptu fountain had left half an inch of water on the floor. While Josephina mopped it up, I dried off and then called the plumber. Six hours later, we now have a functional toilet, which has all new internal parts. Hopefully this is the end of the water saga, but just in case it is not, I have the plumber’s phone number on my speed dial.