Mutara, Rwanda: Part 1

I hadn’t been far from Kigali in almost two months of living in Rwanda, so yes, I jumped at the chance to go to the Eastern province. A place called Mutara, where Jackie’s parents and some other family members live. Mutara is right up near the Ugandan border and a three hour drive from Kigali (which is smack dab in the centre of Rwanda). I had decided not to go see the gorillas (an expensive and lonely endeavor for me this time) and take the family to Mutara and Akagera National Park instead. So this is how it came to be that we all piled into their SUV (a gift from a church in USA) and drove together across the country.

Gas tank the fullest it's ever been!

Excitement was obvious, the car filled with smiles (mine in particular), laughter and high spirits. The road out of Kigali steadily ascended until we were on top of the most beautiful patchwork of green hills. It’s actually hard to imagine the beauty of this place without seeing it in the flesh. Obviously my camera was out snapping non-stop! At one point my lens cap actually flew out the window and we had to turn around, look in the ditch for it and finally discover some kid had picked it up and somewhat reluctantly returned it to me.

As we drove, people laboured along the roadside with loads on their heads or backs while kids in school uniforms walked to and from their schools, waving to me as we passed. In a beautiful maze of fields farmers toil, turning soil or harvesting produce by hand. It was all quite magical to me at that moment, just the simplicity of life and the beauty found in that. One pit stop for a bathroom break and a snack (barbequed goat on skewers and fried potatoes) keeps us going.

We near our destination and the landscape changes almost instantly; huge green hills are replaced with smaller brown ones, unfamiliar trees are randomly placed more sparse than before. Herds of cattle with massive horns and muscled hides roam about. It's mesmerizing.

In Mutara now, we greet Jackie’s beautiful parents - her Mom so tall and graceful and her Dad with kind green eyes. Jackie’s younger siblings greet us as well (two brothers and a sister) while Jackie’s older sister and her young daughter also hang around. Jackie’s parent’s home is a little concrete place with a covered front porch, small living room, two small bedrooms and a 'food storage' room (no kitchen). Latrines are out back and cooking is done outside as well. The house is buzzing with activity as the nine of us arrive. Despite their desperate situation, we are served a nice meal (plantain & veggies in peanut sauce) shortly - they are gracious hosts and endlessly generous.

In the afternoon, they take me to see the land they own where Jackie and her family grew up. Mom directs us there along dirt roads scattered with tiny homes and grazing cows. We pull into a dead end, walk a path lined with bright green bushes and arrive on their land. I know what I am about to see here - this is the place where Jackie and her family rebuilt their lives after the genocide. A barren field gives way to a large patch of banana trees and the small mud home Jackie and her mom built with their hands. I’m not sure how long they lived here afterwards, but let me say that any amount of time would have been too much. A newly married couple are living in the hut now, as Jackie’s parents have let them stay while they get on their feet. We keep the talk fairly light and wander into the small banana plantation. We stand around in the shade of the trees and Eric takes a machete and cuts down a few ripe banana bunches for us the enjoy later.

About few kms down the road is the well Jackie used to fetch water from in those days. It's quite a walk from their land and I would guess the water isn't of much quality. This is, sadly, an all too common theme on this troubled continent. How much our world would change if every person had access to clean water!





Our final stop this afternoon is a very special place. We find the spot, ask permission to tread upon the land and walk towards a tree. The tree. The place where 11-year-old Jackie stood, Sunday after Sunday, banging a drum because God told her to do so. She had just survived the genocide and her country and community were in ruins. People began to gather Sunday after Sunday and she preached Matthew, chapter 5, over and over (the only verses she knew at that time). It was a message of hope! A church was started and continues to this day (although they meet in a building now). Whoa. WHOA! Isn’t that insane? God has used Jackie in many amazing ways from such a young age and she is an absolute inspiration.

And now standing in front of the tree, it's all quite overwhelming. The tree is now older and less grand than is used to be. The dry season has stolen its green leaves for now, but I can imagine what it once was; how many lives were changed here because Jackie allowed Father to use her in her own weakness. What can compare?! Jesus died and rose again to redeem the world, to save us, to give us life to the fullest and fill us with hope, joy and love beyond measure.