Oct. 12, 2008 — Before I begin the adventures of Gahini, I must first communicate the foundation of love and generosity from which this adventure blossomed.
During my discussions with Shaun Pennington as she and the entourage from Virgin Islands were preparing to come and visit Rwanda, I briefly stated that the less fortunate here need clothes — any clothes. The poor of Rwanda appreciate that something can be put over their bodies to protect them from the sun of the day and the coolness of night. They are not tainted by brand names and designer fits. If the shirt can cocoon their often slender bodies, then they are grateful. If the shoes are three sizes too big, no problem. And unisex clothing takes on a whole different meaning here.
After arriving and touring the country, our local church — Christian Light Ministries — was fortunate to host Shaun, Rwanda Project founder Barbara Young and first lady Cecile de Jongh, chaperones and fine young adults for prayer service. Following the service, the group was ready to donate clothing they had brought over, as well as the clothing that they took right off their backs! Well, I thought a new department store was in town. The group kept bringing bag after bag, suitcase after suitcase of clothes from their densely packed SUV. You name it — shirts, dresses, pants, shoes, socks, and the always-needed new undies. The clothes were put in the office of Pastors Jolly and Charles Murenzi, and between the group from the USVI, the pastors, my wife BeBe, and myself we certainly looked like gophers peeking out from the abundance of generosity!
A Rwandan girl with a new article of clothing.
Now, I thought we would be bringing the clothes to the "local" village, as there are less fortunate people living in the area in the perimeters of the church. A couple of days before, Pastor Charles had said we will be traveling to Gahini, about "45 minutes away." Quite honestly, I did not understand why we would be driving to a poor village when there are poor villages right in Kigali. Well, two things, in retrospect, that I learned: I forgot that 45 minutes was African time, and he really meant two hours and, I understood the difference between poor and poverty.
After loading our '92 Pajero, and tightly packing the clothes, a garbage bag full of empty water bottles (acachupa), candy (bumbo), the pastors, BeBe, and myself, we were off on our road trip to Gahini. I love going out of town, through the villages, and seeing the smiling faces of the children, so I did not mind the pastor's underestimated driving time. As we drove to the northern part of Rwandan, instead of going east toward Akagera we drove west toward our destination town. We made a right onto a hilly dirt road, which became more and more narrow and primitive with each mile. Finally we made another right, and drove on a road that was so narrow that one foot either way and you would hit a house to the left, or trees to the right!
The first thing we saw as we drove through the clearing was a church being built. The local men were building out the frame, naturally without any machinery, attached to the high beams with only the firm grasp of their thighs. Then, as we looked to the left, an unbelievable swarm of villagers. The crowd overwhelmed me, and as I tried to impossibly connect with each person, the pastor told me how these people were very poor, which translated to poverty to me. There were many orphans. Most of the children did not go to school. Some of the children actually cried when they saw me, as they were not exposed to muzungu (white people), and were afraid of me. Clothing and shoes were minimal. And the sheer number who came out to meet us was indeed indicative of their need for basic things. Most of the community members are farmers, falling into the average annual income of $200 per year.
Building a church.
After the children sang for us, the pastor, BeBe, and myself each got up to give a welcoming message, something that is customary when groups come together. I thanked them for inviting us to their village, and explained generous people full of love have donated the clothing, and I wished them all the very best. Then, the pastor and BeBe, through much trial, organized the 300-plus children into lines. In parallel, women from the village and BeBe organized all the clothing so it would be easier to hand out. I stepped out of this activity, preferring to mingle with the children, as I secretly engaged in Operation Bumbo — that is, as I saw a child crying or in despair, I took a lollipop from my bag, and tried to covertly give the child this small token that always would bring a smile to their face.
Unfortunately there were spies among the children, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by a force of children that I could not control! How could I give to one of these innocent, precious beings, and not another? I could not decide. Foolishly, I threw all the candy in the air, and wham, it was pandemonium! I think many of the children popped up from under the ground, because they came out of nowhere. Now, my mission was to save the little ones from being trampled! How could I go from a clothing mission to saving children from being trampled, in a matter of minutes?! OK, I am exaggerating, but it was chaos for a time there!
Finally, the clothes were ready to be distributed. The group of adults would bring clothes to the line of children, and hand out an article of clothing to each child. There was such a dichotomy present in each child: the feeling of want and the feeling of appreciation. The feeling of love, and of despair. The feeling of curiosity of the muzungu, and fear of not getting an article of clothing.
After we were finished giving out as many clothes as we had, which was a tremendous amount, there were children that still did not get anything. We gave what we could: water bottles, clothes, candy, screwdriver sets for the men building the church. At this point, as in many of my encounters, I needed to detach. Otherwise, my heart would break for those who did not get something. Instead, I focused on the group from the USVI who helped out, the love that was carried through with each piece of clothing, and the love that was given back from the community of Gahini. I promised that we will be back, and will continue to help out as we can.
I remember the love that was portrayed from the young adults from the USVI as they donated the clothing, having faith that what they have done will help others that they have never met, and I remember the love from Gahini as they showed their appreciation to the generous group that they, too, have never met. And I am thankful that I have had the opportunity to be a catalyst in a small way, as I have been able to see the love from the USVI and Rwanda come together, creating a treasured experience that I will embrace and hold close to my heart for the rest of my life.
Editor's note Mark Larsen is an American living in Rwanda who has also spent many happy days in the Virgin Islands.
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