My house in Bugangalee (the region of the village I live in), like most houses there, is made completely of reinforced concrete. As the sun sets over the hills (Rubavu) that the front porch faces, the four grey walls seem to settle into a stupor of a dark cave. We have one energy-efficient light bulb that lights up the dining table and living area, hanging high so that the light spreads just enough for us to see. However, there is nothing ominous or unwelcoming about this solitary light. Rather, my family who spends each night relaxing from a longs day work and the laughter and idiosyncrasies of the children, the visitors that come over and Papa Abigaelle's loud booming voice (that is usually tinted with mirth and genuine kindness, often ending his sentences with Merci Beaucoup!), the patter of children's feet on cool concrete and that one song they like to have on with a ridiculous animation of a lion-person dancing in front of a band, that fills the house with warmth, passion, fire and plenty of light.
I've never regretted being an only child, but I remember sometimes wondering what it would be like and praying for a chance to see what that could be like. Over the years, I have found friends like sisters and brothers in Toronto who have become like family. But this time's answered prayer is of a different kind. My three Rwandan siblings, Abigaelle (4 years), Agape (2 years) and Gloria (8 months) have time and time again taught me what it means to live presently each day and to be with others every moment as if every time we meet it is a new day. I can always expect Abigaelle to run into my arms every time I come home from work, for Agape to make vroom vroom sounds when he is on my lap and we are pretending to be on a moto-car, for Gloria to want to put my fingers into her mouth or make cooing noises when amused. It softens your heart how relentlessly loving they are in every moment of everyday. I've come to get to know each one of them at different levels and interact through faces, a few words in Kinyarwandan or bonding with my host parents about how ridiculous and "foolish" (is the word they use) the kids are when they strut around sassily through the living room, dance to Kinyarwandan worship songs or make silly faces or noises for prolonged periods of time while we eat at the table at night. The energy and antics of children never seize to amaze me and keep me focusing forward and positively through each day's stories and challenges. This amazing opportunity to have siblings in Rwanda has often filled me with pure joy at the simplicity of their love and their uninhibited ways of showing affection.
Our concrete house with the four grey walls and no ceiling and one hanging bulb is never dreary, barely dark and all together pleasant; a haven after a long days work, filled with laughter or conversation, learning, singing, music, visitors and children.
I've never regretted being an only child, but I remember sometimes wondering what it would be like and praying for a chance to see what that could be like. Over the years, I have found friends like sisters and brothers in Toronto who have become like family. But this time's answered prayer is of a different kind. My three Rwandan siblings, Abigaelle (4 years), Agape (2 years) and Gloria (8 months) have time and time again taught me what it means to live presently each day and to be with others every moment as if every time we meet it is a new day. I can always expect Abigaelle to run into my arms every time I come home from work, for Agape to make vroom vroom sounds when he is on my lap and we are pretending to be on a moto-car, for Gloria to want to put my fingers into her mouth or make cooing noises when amused. It softens your heart how relentlessly loving they are in every moment of everyday. I've come to get to know each one of them at different levels and interact through faces, a few words in Kinyarwandan or bonding with my host parents about how ridiculous and "foolish" (is the word they use) the kids are when they strut around sassily through the living room, dance to Kinyarwandan worship songs or make silly faces or noises for prolonged periods of time while we eat at the table at night. The energy and antics of children never seize to amaze me and keep me focusing forward and positively through each day's stories and challenges. This amazing opportunity to have siblings in Rwanda has often filled me with pure joy at the simplicity of their love and their uninhibited ways of showing affection.
Our concrete house with the four grey walls and no ceiling and one hanging bulb is never dreary, barely dark and all together pleasant; a haven after a long days work, filled with laughter or conversation, learning, singing, music, visitors and children.