Holding on to Hope

Odette left her girls in Rwanda in the care of her brother Innocent four years ago to follow her dreams toward a bright and shiney life in America. Promises were made. Risks were taken. There was trust and hope in that decision. But Odette was deceived and things didn't work out as she had planned. No one knew four years would stretch this relationship between a mother and her daughters. But they held on to hope.

When Words Fail

It was Sunday, our first full day in Tanzania. Our safari driver pulled off the long stretch of road on our way back to Arusha from Ngorongoro Crater. One the seats in his vehicle had broken at the frame, so in an effort to keep us comfortable for the remainder of the trip, he swiftly identified a group of mechanics in an open-air station to weld it back into place.

We had no idea where we were or how long we'd stay, but we quickly became engaged with a group of young children kicking a make-shift ball around a dusty open space just beyond the mechanics at work. Without hesitation, our friend AJ inserted himself into the game, while eight-year-old Carter moved tentatively toward these children. It was his first opportunity to communicate with African children and he wanted so much to do just that. Flipping through pages in his book of Swahili words, he selected and struggled to pronounce a few. But it was awkward. And frustrating. He didn't have the words, yet his desire to connect was so genuine and strong. I felt for that sweet boy. But he didn't give up. Putting the book down, he ran back to the vehicle... returning with a grin on his face and candy in his hands.

Kwizera Alfred's Hope

Picture Hope: Kwizera Alfred, Musician from LittlePurpleCow Productions on Vimeo.

Five minute video interview.

Alfred came in and out of Alex and Goreth's home during our stay in Rwanda, sharing tea and stories with us. And when he spoke in a soft voice about his dream of sharing his music with the world, I could feel his unwavering faith in that dream. A faith that has been tested by the loss of his parents, lack of finances, and a commitment to help provide food, shelter, and school tuition for his brothers and sisters. "So how do you hold on to hope?" I wondered aloud during one of his stories.

"You have to trust. I trust everyone, and believe that God is there for me – even when I have no one and nothing," he replied. And then he placed his trust in me, and insisted that I accept his bible as a gift just before we left Rwanda. Packing that bible was difficult for me. I don't deserve it. And as the months have passed, seeing that bible beside my bed has been a gentle reminder of Alfred's presence. A visible sign of his faith. There's not much that I can do for him, but share his light with you. And hope you'll share it too. 

What Strength Looks Like

Praise, manager of local non-profit organization BEST (Business and Entrepreneurship Support Tanzania), and her team introduced us to several of their clients during our visit with them in Arusha. She explained to us that the poorest of the poor are eager to cultivate the land if they are supported with farm inputs, seed capital and farm acquisition.

This is Agness, a wife and young mother. She welcomed us into her modest home in Magadini Village to show us her baby and share her life with us. Thanks to BEST's seed capital and business services' support, Agness is able to support her family with the money she earns cultivating her rice paddy. Quietly, she moved with ease out to the center of the muddy field for me to make her portrait. Patient and proud. This woman's strength humbles me.

Update 01/28/10:

I just received an email from Praise at BEST. She writes, "Agness has just harvested her rice. She harvested 14 bags and all are stored in her single room. By next week I will send you her amazing pictures. Others are doing fine too with a lot of demand and expectations from BEST. They want to copy from Agness." If you want to offer support for people like Agness in Arusha, let me know and I'll connect you with my friends at BEST.

He Stood Apart

I had just arrived to the school that day – dipping in and out of classrooms at Shepherds Junior School studying the simple structure and wooden desks, tiny bits of chalk, faded newspapers and journals stacked on simple shelves, and wondering if the children were hot in their sweaters. I studied their warm expressions with curious eyes and shy smiles that rapidly eased into pure kid silliness.

But one boy stood apart that day. He had discovered my audio recorder on the teacher's desk and took the initiative to interview his classmates at lunch. "What is your name? What is your class? Where do you stay?" he asked each of his friends in rapid-fire fashion. I loved that he didn't ask permission. I loved that he just did it. Bold. Full of thought. Beyond his years. He stood apart.