Hannah’s 4th Birthday

Cutting the cake with a friend, in the Rwandan way.

Clementine’s First Birthday Party

Clementine works in our house, but she is really part of the family. Since the genocide, she doesn’t have any of her own. Tim had the idea a few months ago that we should celebrate Clementine’s birthday to show how much we value her. She was very excited by the idea, as she’d never had anyone celebrate it before. I had a feeling I knew the date without even asking. Like the many people here who don’t actually know when their birthday, hers is… the first of January. Half of Rwandans are about to officially turn a year older.

Clementine helped select the menu. She and I spent the afternoon cooking and cleaning, and thankfully the rain delayed the guests for long enough that we were actually ready when they began to arrive. She invited the people who have been important to her over the years. Two people travelled from Kigali, 2.5 hours away, for the occasion. 

It was a Rwandan party, so speeches were expected. Clementine shared a bible reading and how being with our family has impacted her life. She said she’s happier than she has been since before she lost her family all those years ago. It was very touching. Tim and I attempted to reply. The truth is, she is just as much a blessing to us as we are to her.

When it was time to cut the cake, Clementine walked slowly around the circle building suspense and grins as she decided who would help her cut the cake. In the end it was… her friend Noella.




My kids fell asleep, as they do in the middle of whatever is going on. Their friends partied on.



At Clementine’s friend William’s instigation we finished with a prayer. Then we started the walk home with people, as you do here when you are saying goodbye. Clementine was really happy. She grinned all evening, as she went off to bed, and appeared with one first thing the next morning.

Christmas 2013

A few pics from Christmas, which we spent at Kibogora on Lake Kivu with some very good friends; another missionary family from Butare. Clementine (who works in our house and is part of the family) came too. Rwanda is a strongly Christian country who heads for church on Christmas morning.

‘Twas the night before Christmas…


Fast asleep.

Christmas morning. Celebrating Jesus’ birthday began with remembering the gift He is to us, then sharing gifts with each other to reflect this. We opened gifts from family and Penny (a lovely lady who is a member of one of our supporting churches). Adeline does not care one dot that her gift from us (the walker below) has already belonged to our other two!





Our friends had organised a Catholic mass in French and invited us to join them. Tim was quite sick in bed, poor guy, but the rest of us (except Clementine, who understandably attended church in Kinyarwanda as that’s her only language) passed an enormous stream of people leaving the Kinyarwandan service at church as we arrived. You can see a small part of the stream above!

Kibogora is pretty rural. The ‘akazungu’ (little white kids) began to draw attention as soon as we got out of the car, and an old man promptly asked us for ‘a little Christmas gift’. I was reminded of how normal our presence is in our home town of Butare now, and felt very thankful that we now draw (relatively) little attention there. It can be a bit overwhelming. Especially for the kids.


We were taken to this lovely little chapel, which I suspect the priests in this order use for their own prayer times.


My kids were a handful during the service. At one point I was breastfeeding Adeline to keep her quiet with Hannah wriggling on my other knee and William standing beside badgering me in my ear about wanting to go. You can see the beginning of the mutiny here, before the service even began.

However, it was an important part of our celebration of the birth of our King. It’s pretty cool to think of the gathering of the worldwide church on this day, praising God en mass. It was very nice of the priest who led the service to help (at least most of those present) to celebrate this important day in a language they understand.

We were too busy enjoying lunch to take pics of that, so you’ll have to imagine how excited we were to have lamb, apple tart and French cheese. Merry Christmas everyone! He came. He is here with us. 

Adeline’s Official Village Welcome

We live in one of the dozen hospital houses which together form their own ‘village’, complete with chief. Last night our village visited us to formally welcome Adeline into the community. It was really lovely!

Adeline enjoying making people laugh by flipping backwards.

The guest of honour was soon in bed.

Of course, being a Rwandan welcoming, there had to be speeches. It was a nice one too.

Meanwhile, the kids were all playing in our kids’ bedroom, making quite a din. But we managed to hear.

And Tim’s response speech.

The ‘porridge’ for me, to give me good milk.

The porridge turned out to be a modern interpretation. A very cute outfit, baby biscuits and cooking bananas. Lovely.

Welcome baby Adeline!

A few pics from Lake Ruhondo

 

We spent the weekend at Lake Ruhondo, visiting the Foyee de Charitie, a catholic mission and retreat. It was a great time of refreshment, good food from their kitchen garden, beautiful views, and even a little peace for Tim and Catherine, now and then! The catholic sisters and father made us most welcome, and I attended morning prayer while Catherine made it to evensong. We felt very ministered to, and the surroundings were stunning.

 

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.