Landing in Rwanda, I was struck by the pristine beauty and rolling green expanse of Kigali. As we drove past what was once the Hotel Rwanda, I had a difficult time believing that such horror had occurred just a few short years ago. What was particularly interesting to me was that the people of Rwanda wanted to talk about the genocide freely and openly as opposed to quietly pretending it never happened and that the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of people was some dirty family secret that should never be discussed, ever. I felt as though Rwandans want the genocide to be discussed loudly and openly as some kind of veiled insurance policy to make sure it never happens again.

Our bumpy seven-hour ride from Rwanda to Congo was majestic, yet I couldn’t help thinking to myself I was on the road to hell.  When we crossed the border we were told to get out of our jeep as the customs officials wanted us to physically walk across the border. I can’t really express what I was feeling at that moment, but instantly recalled a situation that had arisen when we arrived in Rwanda with sixteen incredibly large heavy duffel bags the day before.

We were stopped in customs and one of the airport managers came over to us and asked to see a receipt and papers for all the supplies we were bringing with us, at which time I told her that these were donations and that I was there to work with the children and I didn’t have any paperwork. Several minutes later, I could tell she and I were at a standoff and, after having been in the same clothes for three days not to mention the sheer exhaustion, I feared that at any second I was going to say something I regretted and find myself in even more trouble when I turned to her and simply said “I’m going to Congo and these supplies are for the children of Bukavu.”  Suddenly, she turned to me with the warmest eyes I think I’ve ever seen and said, “go ahead and have a good trip.“

Tomorrow I will have the honor of working with 600 kids from the SOS orphanage in Bukavu. I will save my tears for tomorrow night when I am alone as my tears are cheap here, and I have keep my razor sharp focus on my mission:  the children.

Peace,
Lysa Heslov

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 16th, 2010 at 4:48 pm and is filed under CMH. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.