All Right

Most of the time when you think of Rwanda the first thing that comes to mind is the genocide, that fateful moment in 1994 when almost a million people were killed in less than 100 days while the world looked on. While the aftermath of the genocide is still major news for most media outlets considering Rwanda, the real story of everyday life is much more hopeful. Kigali, the capital city of Rwanda, is a boom town, with bamboo scaffolding scaling construction on every corner. Rwanda has the highest percentage of female elected officials in the world, and the country's communication strategy includes laying fiber optic cable right along the brand new energy grid. Despite being among the world's poorest countries, a spirit of positivity fuels forward motion in Rwanda, and everywhere we went we could feel it.

In the stories of recovery from great trauma.

In the tales of love found after all hope was lost.

In the platefuls of green bananas served up each night with so much enthusiasm and kindness.

In the backroom at the barbershop where something as normal and everyday as having someone wash your hair on an uneventful Wednesday is proof positive everything really is all right.

Hope Springs from Compassion

"Do want to meet her?" Innocent asked us as we walked the open field high on a hill in Umutara. "She has HIV."

"Of course, yes, please tell her to come." Jen replied.

Margaret Mukakarangwa sat quietly in the sitting room with gentle folded hands. Her eyes soft. A 45-year old mother of five girls. She spoke in her native Kinyarwanda language as our friend Michel translated her story to us. A story that started with the tragic loss of her father and three siblings to the genocide and traversed through her journey as a refugee from Uganda to Rwanda, the loss of her husband to AIDS, the shame thrust upon her life with HIV, the vulnerability of depending on the goodwill of others to obtain food for her family and ended with the hope she finds rooted in her faith.

"What can we do for you?" Jen asked Margaret after she finished her story.

"You can pray for me," she said softly and then she offered us a blessing.

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In support of Fair Content, we made a small monetary contribution to Margaret from our Picture Hope Name Your Dream Assignment fund to honor her audio story we intend to share with you.

When You Listen

Yesterday we spent the morning at Innocent's home talking with William and capturing his story. He was born a refugee in Uganda and came to Rwanda, his father's homeland, with his mother and 19 brothers and sisters, in 1995 after the genocide. I didn't initially intend to record the conversation as we lingered over breakfast but when he began speaking so intently about his past (in very good English), I asked his permission to record it and grabbed the audio recorder from my backpack. What strikes me here is the eagerness of these soulful people to talk about the history of Rwanda and the struggles they faced to return to their country with nothing as refugees from surrounding countries such as Uganda, Congo and Burundi. Many people walked. Some had no shoes. But I'm beginning to find that all of them had hope.

Hope is having a friend

We're twenty-four hours into our experience in Rwanda and already I can tell you there's nothing like having a friend by your side to take it all in with you.

Being in a place as new and exotic as this can rearrange your soul on a fundamental level. Being in a completely new context helps you understand who you are in a new way. All the silly things you hold on to to anchor yourself fall away and all that's left is the real you—that girl you used to know before you figured out how to wear your hair and put yourself together and make yourself presentable to the world.

Having a friend with you as you get all the layers peeled back gives you a solid place to stand. I didn't have that the first time I came to this magical place, and I didn't have it the second. But I have a friend with me now and it's making all the difference in the world.

In the Dim

I am far from home and all things familiar. The white girl with the tousled yellow hair and wide blue eyes moving tentatively through the Addis Ababa airport in Ethiopia. We don’t know where to go. We don’t know the name of our hotel. We don’t how we’ll get there. “Do you have it written down somewhere?” I ask Jen quietly from the safety of my window seat.

“No, he just said they would take care of us,” Jen replied raising her eyebrows slightly. “This will be an adventure,” she hummed. I smile hesitantly, curling my toes tightly into the soles of my sandals thinking yes. Yes. This will be an adventure.

After making our way through several lines, lengthy stalls, and a last minute hotel change to ensure Jen and I can remain together, we are off. Seated on an Ethiopian bus bumping along a dimly lit street, skimming past pedestrians in motion. I can see people moving in the light of a screened in porch. An open-air market ripe with color. The deep red of fresh meats displayed on a wall. My eyes begin to adjust. To embrace the adventure found only in the dim.