Simple Pleasures

I am easily entertained, easily delighted. That is what my house help thought this morning when I began dancing around the kitchen. The cause of the dancing was a 4-burner propane stove. It is complete with an oven and broiler that has a rotisserie and an electronic ignition. It is something that most Americans would take for granted, but I have waited 4 months for it. I am elated! It set me dancing!

The issue was getting it from Kigali where I could buy it to Butare where I live, a two hour drive. What was needed was a truck for transporting. There is no appliance delivery, especially not that far. I needed to wait until my friend Celestin was going to Kigali and was able to make arrangements to borrow a truck to transport the stove. We had been able to load the small refrigerator in the back of his Toyota Rave, but the stove would not fit. On Friday, he told me he had things arranged, since he was going to Kigali for a wedding, so I gave him the money. He knew what I wanted and he had done the negotiating for the other appliances. I was comfortable with him making the selection. We had seen a dual stove – propane and electric – that  he thought would be good for when the power goes out but about 4 p.m. on Saturday he text me to ask if I would accept all gas. It was less expensive and more reliable. As long as it had an oven, I was content.

I thought that Celestin and his wife would be back from the wedding in the evening. When they didn’t come by 9 p.m., I thought they must have stayed in Kigali overnight and he would bring the stove Sunday. But at 10:30 p.m. a truck pulled up to my gate, and honked to be admitted to the yard. The stove had arrived. In came my friend in his suit and clergy collar, accompanied by his wife, another pastor and the driver. In the dark, we unloaded the stove and set it in the kitchen, to install it on Monday. We needed the electrician to put a plug on it. The wiring was there but since the stove is made by an international company, they do not attach plugs since each country has its own plug system. So the stove sat, but at least it was here. Every time I went into the kitchen, I admired it.

Today, Tuesday, the electrician was finally available. He came about 11 a.m. I thought it would be an easy thing of wiring the plug, attaching the propane canister, which I already had, and I would be cooking lunch on my new stove. Nothing is ever that easy. There are not enough outlets in my kitchen for all the appliances and the power strips I have are not heavy duty. The electrician was emphatic that everything had to be safe. Praise God for that. He knew what was needed but he also wanted to be certain that everything worked. He had my watchman/gardener Jean Baptist assisting him. He instructed Jean Baptist in wiring the plug while he went to PIASS to borrow the correct power strip. We had to reposition the microwave for the power strip. That meant finding a small table on which to place the microwave and adjusting the position of the fridge so its cord would reach, too. When everything was plugged in and the propane tank was attached, we tested the stove. Nothing happened. The power in the area was out. We were experiencing “power sharing.” This happens daily. We had been so preoccupied that we hadn’t noticed that the kitchen light went out. This gave us an opportunity to test out the manual lighting of the stove, which worked perfectly. Fortunately, in about 5 minutes the power came back on and everything worked. That is when I started dancing. The electrician unplugged everything and took pictures of the power strip on Jean Baptist’s cell phone, so he would be certain to get the exact strip. The electrician packed up his things and left, sending Jean Baptist for the correct power strip at the market. He returned about 2 p.m. and we set all the appliances up as planned and I was in business. I have a fully functional kitchen. I think that is something to dance about.

The Birthday Celebration

Yesterday was my birthday. I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. I may next year when I turn 65, but not this year, but I didn’t want to let it go unrecognized either. It turned out to be a delight and a turning point of sorts

On Wednesday, I had told my conversation class for staff members that I would bring cookies on Friday. When they asked why, I admitted it was my birthday. It was just a comment in passing, but they remembered. I said cookies because I do not have a stove,  only a 2-burner propane hot plate, so I am restricted in what I can prepare – no cakes, which is fine with me since I don’t really like cake all that much. So I made the no-bake chocolate cookies on Thursday and was set. Friday morning after devotions, on an impulse, I asked my colleague Faith, who is also my next door neighbor, is she and her family would like to come to dinner. I really didn’t want to eat dinner alone, as I usually do. She quickly accepted. Faith and her family are Tanzanian missionaries from the Lutheran church. Then I began to obsess about what I would serve. I quickly settled on spaghetti, since I had just discovered the availability of ground meat, here referred to as minced meat, and had bought some and had frozen it. I made a shopping list and sent Josephine to the market for the rest of the ingredients for a complete meal. I couldn’t just serve spaghetti sauce.

With staff and the Bishop's miter

Then I headed off to the conversation class, with cookies in hand. The students had a surprise for me. They made a “birthday hat” and a handmade card and presented them to me when I arrived with the cookies. The hat looked more like a bishop's miter but I had to wear it. They were please with themselves and I was touched by their thoughtfulness. Everyone enjoyed the cookies and conversation about customs surrounding birthdays.

After lunch, I began my dinner preparations and that is when I began to wonder at my sanity. I have a sparsely furnished house – 6 dinner plates, 4 bowls, 3 mugs and 3 glasses. All of this was provided by the Presbyterian church here. It has been more than adequate for me, but not for entertaining. I forgot all of that when I invited Faith and her family of 5 – she, her husband, 2 children and her housekeeper/nanny/friend. With me that made 6. I had just enough plates, thank the Lord. The cups and glasses were another matter. I decided I would be one of the kids and forego tea with dinner. I only have 5 chairs for the dining table, so that meant we would eat buffet style. Then there was the issue of cooking pots, burners on the hotplate and serving dishes. Praise God for a nest of thermal style bowls with lids that are so popular in Africa. They are popular because many women still cook on open fires and can only prepare one pot at a time, so the insulated bowls keep the food warm. I was blessed with 2 “fires” for cooking so I was ahead of the game. I just had to juggle the preparation a bit. Plastic storage containers that my friend Nora had sent me served as impromptu serving dishes for bread and coleslaw. All was good to go.

The truth is that no one but me noticed the hodgepodge of table setting. They were just pleased to be invited. In the course of the conversation I discovered this was the first dinner invitation they had had in the 8 months they have been here. We had a lovely time telling stories and comparing notes about foods from different countries. It was a delightful time. They surprised me with a sweet card and a small wall hanging. I was touched.

As I was cleaning up after they left, I realized how much I missed entertaining like that. It had been a regular part of my life in Malawi and in the States. It is a part of who I am. It would be an ongoing birthday present to myself to resume the practice. I will have to do some shopping to fill out the serving needs, but there is great joy in that idea, too. More presents of a sort, to share with others, more of who I am to share with my new friends.

As We Forgive

I am not given to writing book reviews in my blog, but every once in a while there is a book that is significant enough to warrant an exception. That is the case with As We Forgive[1] by Catherine Claire Larson. The book is an expansion of the documentary film of the same name by Laura Waters Hinson. The first few people highlighted in the book are the central characters of the film. Both of these medium focus on forgiveness in post-genocide Rwanda. Both are done from a solidly Christian perspective, with the underlying premise that true, lasting forgiveness can only happen in the context of Christ’s love and grace. A friend in Australia recommended the book to me after she read it and my friend Ebrailee, who is a genocide survivor herself, uses the book and the movie as elements of orientation to Rwanda for groups she brings here from the States.

The book functions on a number of different levels. First it is a gripping insight into the personal face of genocide, from those who lived it. Such personal stories are not frequently offered, so this is a rare look at these gruesome events. On a second level is a glimpse of the work being done by individuals and groups in reconstruction and reconciliation in Rwanda. There are many organizations doing such work and this book highlights a few of them and the restorative ministries they provide, some local and some from the international community.  But the book does so much more than just tell the stories of forgiveness and reconciliation. It does that powerfully in seven different true life settings, telling each story in three chapters apiece. However, at the end of each of these three-chapter-stories, Larson provides what she calls an interlude, which is a chapter of reflections on the dynamics of forgiveness born out in the story just presented. This is followed by questions that invite the reader to reflect on his or her own journey in forgiveness, in the context of the story just told. One of Ebrailee’s travelers shared with me that this was personally the most meaningful part of the book for her as she dealt with a situation in her own life that needed forgiveness. I have found the same thing to be true as I have reflected on the events surrounding my leaving Malawi in the light of these reflections and questions. That is not to diminish the impact and import of the stories and the work going on here. It seems to be an expansion of that, to me. It is this reflective section that sets this book apart from other accounts of genocide and post genocide life.

I don’t recommend this book for the faint of heart. The stories are tactfully told, but the very content is brutal, none the less. I am a veracious reader, but it took me some time to read through  all the stories. I took a few breaks from the book, to process what I had read and to absorb the import of the stories. All the same, I strongly recommend it, if you are at all interested in Rwanda or in forgiveness.

One further observation I would offer. Not everyone in Rwanda is yet at the point of forgiveness that is portrayed in the book. This is a process and each individual is on his or her own journey. This morning in my English conversation class we had a discussion about some cultural traditions that are no longer practiced because there is still a great degree of  post-genocide distrust among people.(more of that at another time.) This is just to say that forgiveness is a process that is personal and takes time. That is born out in the title – As We Forgive. It is progressive.

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[1] As we Forgive, Catherine Claire Larson, Zondervan, 2009

Rhythm

There is a rhythm to life, to a culture. Each one is different, unique. It is a gift to hear and move to the rhythm of a culture. It takes time. That is what I am learning about living in Rwanda. This has been driven home to me in the rhythm of the drums of Rwanda. It is significantly different from the rhythm of the drums of Malawi. Drums are still very much a part of the culture of Rwanda while in Malawi they are used only for cultural celebrations. The Scots purged drumming from the daily flow of life in Malawi. That is not the case in Rwanda.

Yes, drums are still used for celebrations. That remains woven into the fabric of life. I hear testimony to that every weekend. The main hall at PIASS is just across the dirt road from my house, a mere 30 yards away. The hall is the perfect venue for wedding receptions, among other meetings and almost every weekend, it is the site of at least one wedding reception, That means traditional music and dancing. That means drums. I listen to them for the duration of the 3-5 hour celebration and feel the rhythm of life, of  lives being joined.

Drums are a routine part of worship as well. Whether that worship is the Friday evening rally at the meeting hall or Sunday worship in the Presbytery chapel or daily morning devotions in the student chapel, the drums are present. They set the rhythm for “Amazing Grace,” and “Standing on the Promises,”  for “Kumbaya,” and everything in between. Last Sunday when the choir was singing a lovely French carol in the Presbytery Chapel, accompanied on the electronic keyboard, the power went out. This is a common occurrence here. The choir kept singing and one of the members, a young girl, casually walked to the drum that was sitting in the corner and provided the rhythm for the song. The choir never missed a beat. A drum works as well as an electronic keyboard. The focus was praise to God, not the instrumentation.

In Malawi, drumming was done mostly with the hands. Here it is with one hand and one drum stick that may be used on the drum head or on the side of the drum, depending on rhythm desired. The combination provides a variety of options to suit the song.. Again in Malawi, usually the drummer was male. On one occasion, I remember seeing a Malawian woman drumming, but that was at a preschool with small children. Here both men and women drum. The students take turns, and the gals are every bit as good as the guys. They will frequently share the drumming opportunities.

 Many afternoons, after the local secondary school is dismissed, the students rush to the soccer field which is beyond my back yard. I hear cheering and drumming and if I am listening carefully, I can tell the score from my back patio, without seeing the match because the drumming follows the scoring. At 6 a.m. and p.m. and 12 p.m. each day the local Catholic Church drums the hour, inviting parishioners to prayers. Even though I am not going to prayers, I know the time. The rhythm of life is marked by drums, maybe not exactly as it was in the past, but still as a part of daily life.

What does ministry look like?

At 10 a.m. on Mondays Wednesdays and Fridays, I climb to the third floor staff room of the “new building” at PIASS and have tea with the support staff – the secretaries, accountants, librarians, and IT techs – the ones who keep the campus functioning. We sit around the table, drink tea and chat about their families, their jobs, the projects they are working on, anything that comes up in the course of conversation. We laugh and tell stories. This is part of my ministry here. This is an English conversation opportunity. It is not an official class, certainly not as is understood in this highly academic atmosphere, but it is a class none the less for the staff. On these days their “break” is extended to half an hour, with the blessing of the top administration. In fact, it was the top administrator’s suggestion. He has a number of innovative programs of staff development. This is another one of them.

If you were to walk in on this gathering, you would not think that it looks like work and certainly would not think it looks like ministry, but it is both. It is one way of my teaching English at PIASS, what I have been called here to do, and it is ministry in the sense of building Christian relationships. As we talk, we share about our joys and concerns and build a sense of community, Christian community. In the process, those who participate are learning vocabulary, and working on grammar and pronunciation. It is just in an informal setting.

While I am teaching, I am also learn – learning about my new friends, learning Kinyarwanda vocabulary as we search for the right words to express their thoughts, learning about the culture as they explain customs and practices that they take as second nature but are new and enlightening for me. I am learning as much as they are and maybe learning more. It is a good exchange for all of us.

What constitutes ministry? I’m certain that every pastor has asked him or herself that question at one time or another.. The obvious answer is preaching or evangelizing, but what does that really look like. For me these days, it looks much different than it did in Malawi, which was different from the way it looked in Pittsburgh. Here, it looks like having tea with new friends. I like this way of ministry.

Language

I have just spent two days editing papers written in English by students for whom English is not their first language. In fact, most of them have only been speaking or writing in English for about four years. Now they are required to write academic research papers in this relative new language. The results are mixed, and challenging for the editor (me) to determine what they really meant to say.

Please understand, there is no lack of intellectual ability, just a lack of the knowledge of the language to communicate that intellect. That is where my powers of deduction come into play – to figure out what they meant, not what they actually said. The challenge here ranges from the simple to the perplexing. Sometimes it is just a matter of omitted articles, since most Bantu languages (Chichewa, Swahili, Kinyarwanda), do not have articles. Sometimes it is an issue of syntax – word order – since Bantu languages do not use a subject-verb-object word order, but begin with a root verb and then add prefixes, infixes and suffixes that indicate the subject, object and verb tense. (Birakomeye – This is difficult). Sometimes it is a matter of understanding the meanings and uses of the “little” words of the language – the prepositions and conjunctions. That involves making sense of the difference in meaning between of and at or through and for, or when to use and and when to use but. All of these are small things, but when all are put together a number of times in one single paragraph, the meaning can get lost in the midst of the words.

So I have had the challenge of playing word games for the past few days. I like crossword puzzles and word searches, but this has been more challenging than a crossword or a simple word search. This has been searching for the meaning and the syntax while keeping in mind the intent of the writer. It has been trying to get into the mind of the writer to grab the ideas and then put them in standard English. Tomorrow I get to explain my interpretation to the authors and see if I won or lost this round of this word game. The consolation is that there will be many more rounds for all of us. We are all learning in the process. That is one of the reasons I am hear – to teach English. And I know that I have job security for a while.

Umuganda

Umuganda is the Kinyarwanda for Community Service. It is a cultural practice that began well before the Westerners ever came to Africa where in the community would regularly come together to care for the common needs of the village or for the needs of individuals within the village. They would make roads in and out of the village or help build houses for the elderly or orphans. It was a way of building community pride and unity. As individuals worked together, they grew together. Everyone in the village participated.

 After Genocide, the government believed that Umuganda was a way of recovery. Instead of it being voluntary as the community saw the need, it became a program of the government to enable rebuilding of the society. The last Saturday of every month has been declared Umuganda. Projects include rebuilding roads and school building as well as houses for survivors of the Genocide. The difference is that the government decides when which projects will be done, on a national level. Every family in the village is expected to participate. If they do not, they can be fined by the government. Usually one family member attends, while the others remain at home, attending to the family’s issues.

Dr. Uwimbabazi of PISAA making
presentation on Umuganda

 Umuganda was a topic of discussion at the recent Scientific Week at PIASS. The Faculty of Development conducted a scientific study in the local area to determine participation in Umuganda and attitudes toward it. The findings were most revealing. It seems that no one objects to the practice at all, but there is a deep desire for it to return to a community organized activity, so that the local folks have ownership in the decisions of what projects will be done. Many of those interviewed felt that this would increase participation and reduce the need for fines. A healthy debate resulted at the PIASS conference around this topic. There was a conscientious that Umuganda is and should be a part of the cultural fabric of Rwandan culture. It is part of who Rwandans are. No one questioned the need for it. The question was about the organization of it. There was strong support on both sides – government oversight verses community direction. Those in favor of the government oversight championed the comprehensive nature of the projects, the unity these gave to the whole country and the reconciliation that the present system builds. Those for community direction lifted up the sense of ownership in the community and the increased participation that would bring as well as the local knowledge of the community needs.

As I sat listening, I was struck by the obvious differences between American and Rwandan cultures. In America, we struggle to get people to work for community projects. When they happen, the projects are written up in the local news papers as striking examples of charitable spirits of citizenship – local groups that picked up litter or helped to plant trees or community gardens. In Rwanda, community service is a given. The discussion is on what projects to do and who should organize them, not if they should be done. Here it is a part of life. In America, it is a sacrifice of time and energy. Cultures and cultural expectations are different. The senses of community and individuality are different. It is not an issue of right or wrong, but of cultural differences. I am always struck by those cultural differences.