Baskets

I have become fascinated with the baskets of Rwanda, and with the industrious women who make them. This is not a “cottage industry” that exists in Malawi, so it is all new to me. It is a staple of Rwandan culture and has been for centuries. But it has become a serious business for the women of Rwanda in the last decades.

The baskets are as varied as people. Some are made of delicate grasses and some of sturdy reeds. Some grasses are dyed to give color and style to the baskets. Some are for household use and some for decoration. Some are even whimsical, fitting inside of one another like Polish Nesting Dolls. The designs vary as well. Some are conical, some round, some oblong. Most have lids, and those add style to each of the designs, varying in shape as much as the baskets themselves. All are made of materials that are readily available for the gathering, at no expense, except for the time and energy and the talent that it takes.



Women's group at work

Of greater interest to me than the baskets are the creators of the baskets. These are the women of Rwanda. Many of them are poor women, some widowed, some struggling to support their families. Each week, at least twice a week, one or more women come to my gate to offer me their creations. I find it hard to turn them away (which, of course, is why there are so many who come – word spreads). When they stand among their creations, which they have carefully displayed for my viewing, looking both hungry and hopeful, I’m reluctant to decline. I now have a growing collection of baskets and the enterprising ladies are coming with different designed each visit. Some churches are cultivation these talents by forming associations of the women and finding markets for their baskets beyond the neighborhood. They have moved in to markets and shops in the cities and, in a few instances, have begun coops with some international partners. This saves the women traveling from gate to gate, looking for customers. The women in the associations work together, teaching each other new weaving techniques and sharing the profits of the group’s sales. In one church, each woman in the association now has had the resources to purchase mattresses for their beds, a great achievement in the villages, because of the combined effort of the basket making. In another, the women have formed a savings and loan operation with their profits and are helping each other finance school tuitions, goat purchases for beginning another small business, or for other enterprises. They have determined that there is strength in numbers. All of this is a testimony to the energy and the ingenuity of the women of Rwanda, putting ot use the common grasses and reeds of the region.

The Cookie Monster

Omega

This sweet face is the face of a cookie monster. He lives next door to me and is the youngest son of my colleague Faith Katarai, who teaches Systematic Theology at PIASS. The cookie monster’s name is Omega, as in the last letter of the Greek alphabet and the last of the Kataraia’s children. (Their first and only other is Alpha – the first letter of the Greek alphabet.) Omega is 4 ½ and, as you can see is as cute as a button, with a sweet tooth that does not quit.

My kitchen faces the Kataraia’s yard, where the children play. When I am baking, if the window is open and the children are our, they can smell the baking. I usually bake on Saturdays, so chances are great that the children are playing in the yard. I can usually estimate the time between taking the cookies out of the oven and a knock on my gate to be about 15 minutes. They have learned to give time for the cookies to cool. Omega never comes by himself. He is sharp enough to bring his older brother, who speaks English beautifully, to plea for him. He just stands with that angelic smile and waits for me to bag the cookies for them. They know they will get some. I think that they have easily figured out that I bake as much for them as I do for the other guests who drop in with great regularity on Saturdays or Sundays. He also knows that I make plenty of cookies, so I can expect a knock on the gate of Sunday afternoon, too. By then, he has devoured the cookies gathered on Saturday and comes to replenish his supply, while they last.

To be honest, this is all my fault. When Faith found out that the boys were coming for cookies, she tried to stop them, but I interceded. The truth is that their coming is the closest thing I have to my grandchildren coming to visit and I enjoy their visits because I so miss my grandchildren. A grandmother needs someone to spoil and if it can’t be her own grandchildren, it might as well be someone else’s. Thank heaven that Faith has understood that and lets them come. Since their grandparents are in Tanzania, I am a good substitute for them, too. It all works out.

Rebirth

The aftermath of the flea wars is taking some getting used to. I am adjusting to the sunlight that now streams into my living room, study and bed room with the bamboo stand gone. My view is the burned, scarred remains of the bamboo stand, surrounded by a jagged-toothed bamboo fence and leftover spikes of bamboo, but no green foliage. I should not complain since with the fence I have privacy and security, just no green.

The spikes were aptly moved to the back yard to make a fence there. What existed was hedge row that divided my yard from an adjoining field behind me. One of the neighbors had claimed the field for a garden, so there was freshly plowed ground, waiting for the rains and planting time. I despaired when the four diligent fence builders returned to chop away the hedge row and construct a bamboo divider between my yard and the field. Again, the green was gone.

The clean-up

The fence building took about 3 days,, during which I was again entertained by their measuring and chopping. The last day of their construction, a young woman came to my gate to tell me that the HR Director had said that she could gather up the remains for the bamboo as firewood, if she wanted it. This served two purposes. It gave her fire wood and it cleaned up my yard. I certainly couldn’t complain. But once again, I missed the green of the back yard.

New bamboo growth among the ruins

Thursday, it began to rain again. We had had about two weeks of sunny, dry weather, great for fence building. But this is the beginning of the rainy season and the rains are hoped for. There was rejoicing when they came, soft and steady for about 24 hours. But from my heart, there was even greater rejoicing when they stopped and I went out to enjoy the freshly washed air. There along the fence line, near where the bamboo once stood, were several small shoots of bamboo, poking their heads about the charred remains. I was elated by the rebirth of the green and of my hope. I had hoped that the bamboo would grow back, but I wasn’t certain how long that might take. With just a day of rains, the growth had begun. I now have hope for the grass and the plants that were seared as well and maybe even for the hedge row in the back, since it was only cut down, not dug out. I am hoping for the rebirth of more and more green around my house

Mututu

Nancy watching women weaving

Five women sat weaving baskets as they waited for us to arrive. The pastor had called twice to check on our progress and get an estimated time of arrival. We were running late but were on our way. Nancy Collins, the regional liaison for south central Africa for PC(USA), Célestin Nsengimana, the regional president for EPR, the regional accountant, the driver and I moved carefully over the narrow, rutted dirt path that served as a road to Mututu parish, the furthest point of the Huye region of EPR. This remote parish, about 2 hours from Butare, on the Burundi border serves subsistence farm families struggling to make a living. We were on our way to see the development they had been engaged in. Nancy and I were their first abazungu (white people) to visit the parish. 

The elders with Pastor Samuel

Despite our late arrival, we were greeted with singing and laughter. It was just an hour until darkness, but all who initially gathered had waited to greet us. We were ushered to the church building for introductions of the elders, deacons and women’s coordinator. The women followed with their baskets for us to see. The church has a metal roof since grass roofs are outlawed in Rwanda, but the floor is only partially cemented. It is a work in progress, like much of the work of the parish. We all sat on handmade wooden benches. After greetings and introductions, the pastor explained the activities of the parish that we were doing to see. Pastor Samuel has served the parish for two years, coming directly from PIASS. What we heard and saw amazed me. Young Samuel has accomplished much in a short time.

The women have formed a cooperative organization for their basket making and from the sales of their baskets have provided each woman in the coop with goats for raising and breeding. The men have begun breeding pigs, a more labor intensive livestock, but one that yields a higher profit. We visited the pigs of one of the families just a short walk from the church. In an area with no electricity, the pastor had negotiated with EPRfor solar power for the parish, so in addition to the manse having electricity, so does the church and a small out building between the church and the manse that is used to recharge phone batteries and to give haircuts with an electric razor. These are income generating activities for the parish. They also have bee hives and sell the honey in the local market area. All of these activities have increased the financial security of a generally insecure area, providing economic development. It has also built up church attendance. Samuel is leading Bible studies on a weekly basis to nurture the spiritual development of the congregation.

Nancy and I bought basket, to support the women. Unfortunately for us, all the honey had been sold that week at the market. What a blessing for the church. Samuel shared his family’s jar with us so we could taste it. We heard repeatedly that this is just the beginning. There is so much more that needs to be done in developing the physical and spiritual lives of the people in this area. I was deeply touched by how much they had accomplished thus far and promised to return to see the further development.

Basket, including the gifts

True to Rwandan hospitality, they presented gifts to Nancy and me before we left. We were each given a gift-wrapped basket. Nancy’s held a beautiful pineapple and mine overflowed with tomatoes. Their generosity touched me deeply. It was so encouraging to see the efforts of self-reliance that the parish has demonstrated. The people of Mututu captured my heart with their energy and innovative spirits.

The Fence

The cutting of the bamboo has turned into a major production, involving much more than just the eradication of the fleas. Once the bamboo was cut and burned to deal with the problem of the fleas, other problems arose, like privacy and protection. With the bamboo gone, about 20 feet of my yard was open to the road outside. The bamboo had provided a physical and a visual barrier that gave me privacy and security. No one could get in or even see in the yard. Not so once the grove was cut down. I was exposed to everyone walking past the house. From the road my bedroom and study windows were open for view. The situation was laughable. I had a locked metal gate, then a hedge fence and then a wide open space. We went in and out of the gate, carefully unlocking and locking it, when we could have just walked 30 feet from the gate and gone out the opening where the bamboo had been. I needed a fence.

Cutting the bamboo

My watchman made the case to the administration and the workers returned to build a fence. They began by chopping down the rest of the bamboo stumps to use them for the fence. They were left in the yard just as they were felled for several days while the workers got the rest of the supplies for the fence – the wire to hold it together. When they returned, they resumed their cutting by chopping away the hedge that had served as a fence. What little green that had not been burned was removed. All the green that had surrounded the house was gone. They then cut the bamboo logs to the appropriate size. They cut one to the desired length and  placed two small pieces of bamboo the correct distance from one another and those became the measuring tape for the cutting. They placed a long bamboo rod on the two small pieces, marked the length, and then cut the bamboo shoot to the right size. Placing the cut long in a pile, they began the process again until they had enough logs for the fence. All of this was done with machetes. Passersby came to the edge of the property and looked in at the fence construction. My yard was a center of entertainment once again.

After two days of cutting, there were enough logs to construct the fence. The workers then stood the longs upright and fitted them one next to the other, pushing them into the ground and then stringing the wire to hold them in place. On Friday, two weeks after the project of cutting down the bamboo had begun, the fence was completed. When the Human Resource Director heard that I was having an international guest for the weekend, he came immediately to instruct the workers to clean up the yard so it was presentable for guests. This began a frantic effort to toss the longer pieces into my neighbors year for use on her fence and to toss the smaller pieces over the newly constructed fence, to the outside for the workers to gather up later. When my guest arrives, they were busily sweeping the up the wood chips and perfecting the cleanup. All was ready for company in time. We had privacy and protection with the completion of the fence.

The Fence

The fleas are gone, but so is the green oasis of my yard. In its place stands a stark 6 foot high bamboo fence that extended from my gate thought my neighbors yard to her gate, about 50 yards long. When I looked at the new fence, I am amazed at all the time, money, energy and redesign that was expended on eliminating a few fleas. My consolation is that the resilient bamboo will grow back in time, as will the grass in my yard. Green will return, in time.

The German Delegation

My colleague Pastor Celestin served in the eastern region of Rwanda before coming to PIASS. That church region has had a 22 year partnership with the Presbyterian Church in Germany where they exchange visits every two hears. This year was the German church’s turn to come to Rwanda and the group wanted to see their friend Celestin, even though he was no longer in that district. Friendships transcend geographic boundaries. So they made arrangements with the partnership committee of the district to make the trip to Butare. Celestin prepared a welcome for them that included some of his colleagues from PIASS, me included.

We were invited to Celestin’s home for lunch on Tuesday. In addition to Celestin and his family and me, the welcoming group included our colleague Juvenal and Andre, the accountant from the Presbytery. The delegation was a bit late in arriving, but this is Africa, so that is not an issue. They came in two vehicles, since there were 8 of them – the four German guests and four members of the partnership committee. We were all welcomed to Celestin’s living room and then the linguistic fun began. We were to do self introductions. The challenge was what language to use. Two of the guests speak only German. One speaks German and French and the other German and a little English. The Partnership committee speaks Kinyarwanda and some French. I speak English and a little French. The saviors were Celestin and Juvenal who speak Kinyarwanda, French and English. So translation abounded. The German speakers introduced themselves and then Elaine, the one who speaks French and who was the official interpreter for the group, translated. Juvenal whispered the English translation for me, to be certain that I understood. When it was my turn, I spoke in English, Celestin translated into French and Elaine, translated the French into German. Everyone else used French, which Elaine translated.  When I asked a question of the Partnership committee, the translation moved to Kinyarwanda, but then the response was translated into French and German, to not exclude anyone from the conversation. As you might imagine all of this took time. By the time we got to lunch, we ate in silence. Good food does not need to be translated. After lunch was time for formal speeches. Again the translations began, from Kinyarwanda to French to German, with a whisper of English in my ear, then from German to French with a bit of English for my benefit. Then it was English to French to German.

After photos, we proceeded to tour PIASS. There the vice rector spoke in French and Elaine translated into German. I know the tour well enough and follow French enough that I did not need translation. We moved in small groups and worked at communication as we walked, trying to find at least words in one another’s languages to convey some information. From PIASS we went to the Rwanda Museum, here in Butare. It is a wonderful presentation of early life and history of Rwanda. The guides spoke French and English. Again Elaine translated. We could move at our own pace and I could read the display information given in Kinyarwanda, French and English. It was a pleasant time for small groups to comment and enjoy one another.

After the tour, we parted. The farewell was multilingual as well, as each one tried to say goodbye in the other’s language. Au Voir, Auf Wiedersehen, Murabeho, Goodbye.