Rwanda July 2007
Today I danced in a sea of yellow with an eighty year-old Dutchman.
Every morning, I wake up to the sound of singing from the house next door. Thirty voices singing in unison, and occasionally a uniform beat on a makeshift drum. It is a fantastic alarm clock.
Today I got to put faces with my next-door-choir.
Our neighbor Ernest runs a center for orphans and widows. The young girls learn dressmaking, and the widows weave baskets. We visited the center along with a few people from Holland who help support the program. After tea and cookies, we went to talk to the ladies who were making baskets. Ernest told me that most of them were infected with AIDS. I took pictures and told them they were beautiful. They were so grateful, and it dawned on me that perhaps they had never been told that they were lovely. Instead, they are ostracized, cast aside, shunned. I realized what a simple and easy gift it is to find value and admire beauty in another.
Next we ventured into the sewing room to meet the girls. Outfitted entirely in yellow, the girls work diligently while laughing and talking. They make school uniforms to sell. Once they make enough money from the uniforms, the center helps them buy their own sewing machine and teaches them basic business skills. Many of these girls are able to leave the center and support themselves completely.
We sat in the front of the room, and the girls sang and danced for us. The music was beautiful, and it was such a privilege to witness. Before we knew it, we were engulfed in the sea of yellow, dancing, clapping, and singing. My favorite part was watching the eighty-year-old Dutchman dancing hand in hand with these girls. I was briefly worried that the exertion would be too much, but he showed remarkable endurance.
One of my co-workers is responsible for researching Cassava plants. A few days ago, he came in with a hideous looking root about a foot-and-a half long. “This is the Cassava,” he said. “And do you know the name that we have for this root?” My first thought was: UGLY.
“Hope.”
That was such a humbling moment for me. What I see as an ugly root, these people call hope. This is a source of food and life for many of them. It is a symbol of wealth and security. I was so unappreciative because I have never had to worry about the next meal. These women with AIDS are so appreciative of a one-word complement, and these girls with no parents are able to laugh and sing and rejoice. I have much to learn from the people here about finding joy in all circumstances…
