Aaron's Blog
Updated - Getting Ready for Christmas
Posted Dec. 22nd, 2006
Although we have no dreams of a white Christmas this year, we have still been finding ways to get in the spirit this holiday season. Last Saturday David and I went together on an adventure to town to see if we could find a Christmas tree. I took him by Atraco for the first time, which is the system of public transportation here, consisting of small minivans crammed with people. Anyone under the age of 10 or so has to sit on the lap of an adult to maximize the use of space. To David, this was a thrilling prospect, and he spent much of the ride down our muddy, pot-holed street hanging his head out the window like a dog.
After a long afternoon of searching for a tree and decorations, David and I hired a taxi home, feeling victorious with the pieces of our relatively large plastic tree strewn across the backseat of the car. David walked in to the house like a prince, proud and clutching the long strands of red and silver tinsel like a baby in his arms. Celeste was relieved to see us, as Eli had not been so happy to watch Dad and David go off on an afternoon adventure without him. It was also getting dark, and we were still without electricity. We spent the evening putting up our little tree by lantern light and listening to Christmas music with the ipod, and crawled into bed that evening thinking that it was beginning to feel much more like Christmas around here.
And though Christmas feels quite magical this year -- with our two boys at ages 5 and 2 1/2 -- being in this new place with so many obvious differences has given me many moments of pause over these past days and weeks. On a daily basis, what is most present on my heart and mind is what it means to be a person of wealth in a world where so many are poor. This is not an easy topic to begin exploring or digesting, but I hope to begin writing more as a way of processing my thoughts and feeling. I will try to share some of my thoughts here, and I hope you have the heart and the patience to bear with me as I struggle with this issue.
I’d like to begin by telling you about Kiragi, the boy who fetches water for us when our house runs out. I first saw Kiragi in the street one day struggling to carry four cases of bottled Coke and Fanta. He would pick up the soda, shuffle his feet for several steps, then put them down again carefully and give me a big smile and thumbs-up while pointing to his biceps. He clearly wanted me to notice his strength, which I thought at the time was simply the boasting of a young teenager.
Over the weeks I saw Kiragi around the neighborhood on numerous occasions, always struggling mightily with a heavy load and always smiling and ready to flash his biceps. I quickly realized that it wasn’t a language barrier that prompted his gesticulations, but that he was deaf. His muscle-bearing wasn’t bragging; it was advertising, although in truth Kiragi looks more like a high-school wrestler trying to keep his weight down than a body builder.
Water is a constant challenge in our neighborhood. We are lucky to have a large 1,000 liter tank to fill when the water is running, which even now during the rainy season is only every five days or so. When our tank runs dry, which typically takes 2 – 3 days, we have to send someone to get more water for us. Kiragi has thus become a frequent visitor to our household.
Water is typically carried in yellow plastic cans called bidos, which arrive in Rwanda filled with cooking oil but work well for carrying water because they have tight-fitting lids and are small enough to be manageable (with effort) when full. I would guess a full bido weighs about 50 pounds. Kiragi happily takes our six empty bidos along with 60 Rwandan francs (about a dime) to pay for the water, then walks down towards the market where he can pay to have them filled. It takes him half the day to shuffle them back to our house, carrying them two by two for short distances, always shuttling back and forth so that he can keep track of all six. At the end of his efforts, he arrives at our house, still smiling but clearly very tired, and we pay him the going rate of 50 Rfr/bido, which earns him about 50 cents for several hours of very hard work. He accepts it with as big a smile as ever, although by the end of the day he is no longer pointing at his biceps.
Kiragi’s story is similar to thousands of children across the world, only that compared to many he is “lucky” because he is still able to earn his own money and doesn’t have to resort to stealing. Yesterday we were walking together as a family when a car brushed the boy in front of me and ran over his foot. He was struggling to push a bido-laden bicycle up the hill, and thankfully an inch of clearance turned what would have been a horrible break into a mere annoyance. For these boys, one slip, or even one inch less can result in a family shifting from getting by to going hungry, or even from barely surviving to burying family members.
I tell you about Kiragi because this Christmas season he is on my heart and mind. As David eagerly awaits the new toys he will get tomorrow, other boys in our neighborhood will wake up and wonder if they will get to eat on Christmas. If I am honest with myself, I have to admit that Kiragi is one of the reasons I am here in Kigali with my family; I find it too easy to forget the suffering in the world when I am comfortable. And while I am not living with many hardships here, I also cannot separate myself from so many around me who are.
We ate dinner last night by candlelight from the simple wreath that Celeste made this Advent and talked about her visit with Therese, who she wrote about in our newsletter. David sat silently and listened to their story, and was clearly filled with many thoughts and questions about their suffering. At five, he is too young to understand but also young enough to still be pained and confused by a world where some have too much and others die without enough. And though there are times I wonder how this experience will change him and whether it will ultimately be for the best, I also trust his tender heart to be able to handle the confusion of our world, just as I trust my own to be able to work through the guilt I have at being privileged so that I can grow into the responsibility of what that means for my life and actions. May you, too, remember the “Kiragis” in your world during this holiday season.
Many blessings and great gratitude,
Aaron
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