So, what do you do with your day?

 

While I was in Australia quite a few people asked me this question. I suppose because it’s hard for them to imagine what every-day life is like for me here in Rwanda. I fumbled to answer; because it’s just every-day life. ‘Normal’ can be hard to communicate.

Yesterday was unusual because all the ‘normal’ elements descended into one day. I’m grateful that usually only some of these elements appear in each day…

My day began at 3am. I’m a mother of three, so broken sleep is not unusual. This time it was the baby, who decided to play in the middle of the night. It was hard to feel cross while being showered in her smiles and gooing.

My 3 and 5 year-old woke bright and early. I took the sourdough bread out of the oven, which Tim had left baking before leaving to pray with a friend, and sat at the table with the kids and our staff (Nepo and Clementine) for breakfast.  I then rushed to get the kids ready for school. They were in the neighbour’s car by 7.15am, ready for their first class at 7.30.

After feeding and changing the baby, I left her in Clementine’s capable hands and went to teach Hannah’s class at school. 32 three-year-olds are a challenge for any teacher (let alone one without training, in her first year with her own class, and given few resources: even with a full-time assistant), and I wanted to offer her teacher my support. She was glad to have it. I left her with some home-made play-dough and shape cutters and a simple hand-made colour matching game she could easily duplicate, which made her even gladder. Also, some advice about opening the windows as hot children don’t concentrate very well. As the breeze entered the classroom you could feel the tension dissipate to a happy buzz of activity at the tables.

On my way home I stopped to buy some special ingredients for dinner, as Tim’s boss and his family were to join us. In the little shop I met a woman searching for brown vinegar and wished her luck finding it. We got chatting, and she turned out to be a South African chef who was travelling around Africa. She had had her wallet stolen in the capital, met a friend of ours who had offered to host her at his home in Butare while she sorted herself out, and she was planning to cook a nice dinner. I couldn’t find the ingredient I was looking for either. She offered advice on other options, then said, “Do you want me to come and cook for you?” Umm, yes. Thankyou?! “Come and pick me up in an hour,” she said.

Back at home a boy was waiting to talk to me. The first time I met him was a couple of years ago, when he came to my gate, said he was hungry, and I gave him a meal. The second time I met him was last week. Now able to speak English, he came and asked for some little jobs to do to help him get his school fees together. While he worked I walked the baby to sleep and asked him about himself; he shared some of his story. The third time I met him was  two days ago when he came to share his plans, and ask if I could help him make them happen. They were very impressive plans for a 16 year-old head of a poor household. I suspect he might just pull them off, and get himself to university. I prayed, and felt God directing me in what help to offer to kick-start his plan.

I said goodbye to Nepo, who had finished work for the day, and dropped the boy off in town on my way to picking up the South African chef. She cooked, I tidied and fed the baby, we chatted. We talked about NGOs in Africa, whether to offer aid and of what type, and whether working as a volunteer is a good idea or not. She’s lived an interesting life.

I picked up six children from school, and dropped them off at various houses near our own. We all sat down to lunch, and Tim joined us towards the end. Then I put a DVD on for the kids’ rest time, leaving them lying on our bed watching the computer, and took our new friend home.

On returning I  joined the kids on the bed, feeding the baby. Fifteen minutes later a car horn beeped. The wife and kids of Tim’s boss had arrived, as planned, to spend the afternoon with us. The kids found games to play, and their mother and I began to get to know each other. She is a lovely lady, with a strong faith. We cooked some popcorn, lentils and rice, did marbling with the kids, and before long the Dads arrived to join the fun. We put on some jazz. Nepo arrived during dinner, and he and Clementine began to wash the dishes and chat in the kitchen.

As Nepo shut the gate and the guests’ car drove away, he was on the phone. It was bad news. His brother had been in a road accident and was dead. He was 26, had been married 6 months, and his wife is pregnant with their first child. He had been riding his bike taxi after dark, and been hit by an oncoming motorbike. Nepo left to see the body in the morgue (at the hospital where we live), to take his brother’s possessions from the police and support his sister-in-law as she arrived. Clementine went with him.  I gave him some credit for his phone to spread the news, then put our exhausted kids in bed, finished the dishes, and began the nightly routine of preparing school snacks, ironing uniforms and setting the breakfast table.

On Nepo’s return I made him a cup of tea and we all sat in a dome of grief punctuated by his phone ringing and him speaking into the silence when he wanted to. Then I said goodnight and went to bed, to wind down with a book between Tim and Adeline, asleep in her cot.