My Last Day in Rwanda. (For Now) As I awoke under my netting this morning, I lie there trying to soak it all in. But of course, that’s not possible. I set my alarm early and woke before it at 5:30. I greeted Francoise, Czeiza, and Ester who were already busy at work. I walked to the front of the home and just stood there looking into the morning sky. Trying to comprehend what I have seen and learned these two weeks. It was the first time I had been alone. Just trying to take it all in. Trying to sear it into the memory of my heart so I could take it all home with me. Somehow bottling it. The dark blue rain clouds in the distance make for a stunning early morning sky. The noise from the crickets (or whatever they have) combined with the birds created my personal African symphony. How do I say good bye? How do I tear myself a way from a home that within two weeks has transitioned from “their” home to “our” home? I am thankful for all the tears of last evening, so today I can try to be happy. The children of course don’t understand what’s behind the tears, but they feel the pain. Today I want them to find happiness with Miss Donna. I brought out the strings that I use to make bracelets at my annual tea party at home with my girlfriends and their children. I began creating one for each of them. They quickly got the idea and began to pull strings of their own. With no scissors to tailor them, they each had a streamer hanging from their wrist…which they used to dance around. Marie Rose’s boney wrist so was the most challenging to make. It was so so small. As each child appeared in the main room lit by the morning sun, they quickly sized up the situation and its source and came to me to make another one. We moved to counting. A count and pose game. Fun. The big plan for the day is to take a group photo of everyone outside of the home. Staff and kids! It’s a big production as Chantal gave direction the night before for everyone to be in their finest. Chantal2 and Sieba are busy digging through the piles of new clothes and brought out a few more of the toys. The bright front end loader is presented to Paul. It eventually becomes his personal distraction. Thank you to the person who provided it. Everyone is getting busy transitioning to a “very smart” look as Sieba would say. More clothes are sorted through. So much to choose from. The staff gets aprons. Crisp and white. Dear Marie Rose, the sweet girl who has been starved. There are no underpants small enough to stay up on her body. So she wears a pair of tight legging shorts, under her new dress. A new dress, think of it. She wore her worldly possessions into the home. A dress with shorts underneath, a pair of pink tattered shoes and a light nylon jacket. Her dad had a small paper bag with him, but it was simply filled with a bit of medicine. That’s it. 4 years old and you can where all that your worldly possessions on your back. When she is dressed, it’s hard to see how thin she really is as her belly protrudes to such an extreme that you might even think she is ok. But when you study it, you realized it is VERY extreme. It looks like she is pregnant. To touch it is to touch a rock. Solid, no give. Not like children’s bellies are supposed to. I got a horrific look at it yesterday as they were dressing her. As she stood in the bedroom naked, you could see the bones of her rib cage sticking through her chest. Each clearly defined. The same went for her back. Then the boney arms and boney legs. Each a stark contrast to the protruding belly. My instincts were to reach for my camera to capture the image so it could be seared into the minds of people from whom I want to share the story about the needs. And to show the before and after sequence of living in the home. But preserving her dignity seemed like a higher priority. So I just stood in the doorway and tried to take it all in. Her body is such a contrast to her spirit which is bright and full of life. She quickly got acclimated to the new surrounding and began to chat with the other kids. She even told stories and gave direction. None of which I understood, but the rest did. She loves to dance and do summersaults. She even sings a little “umph umph” songs as she does her little jig. The spirit of a child. Rarely broken. The games continue with Miss Donna. As always, I sit on the floor to be near to them. They all begin to pile on my lap, each pushing for a snuggle spot close to me. Doughlanay does her usual bit. She walks up to me…gets about a foot away and turns around to back into her favorite spot. It’s the spot she’s had since the moment I met her. Closest to me heart. Wonderful new Giggles fill New Hope Home. It’s as it should be. The group of children is intent on getting Paul to smile today. It’s as if they instinctively know that “their brother” has not yet assimilated. As usual, Fabiola takes that lead. She has the most amazing heart. The others follow suit. The do their best to snap, clap, make cute sounds and move his truck back and forth before him. But no response. At least the tears have long since dried up. The presence of his birth sister appears to be no source of comfort. He is lost and alone. Eventually we move to the tried and true game of tickling. I start with the other kids. At first he just blankly stares at the activity. But then he seems to pay attention to the obvious fun of the girls. Their giggles are infectious. Each cuter than the next. He tries not to really care about the fun happening around him. The sounds are too much for him. He cracks a smile. I take that as my cue to move in him. Success! A small up turned corner of his mouth. Then a bit more. Then a full fledged smile. Ahh, how different a child looks when tears turn to joy. We’ve come such a long way in less than 12 hours. Praise God. We eventually even get to the best part of tickling….the fingers moving in, but not touching the child…then out…then in…each time a giggle comes without the fingers actually touching their sweet soft skin. Then a full fledge tickle fest. It’s all good. Our new game of posing 123 is a hit. I start with my right foot forward. “One”….then move to the left foot “Two” then on one foot “Three”. Each of them following along to 10. Fabiola is sooooooooooo smart, she perfectly mirrors every part of my movement as they become more complex. What a joy this oldest sister is. The rain (en-voo-ra) now ended; Sieba and I take the walk I’ve wanted to do all week. A simple 45 min walk from the home up a back street, to the market and home. One loop on the muddy road. I want to take a video of the experience for others to see…although it is sure to be jittery from the movement; at least a “moving” picture can be created vs. sharing one of my 1000 still photos. We are like the pied piper. People just following us to see what the moozoomgo was up to. The group grows. As we pass people on the street, I turn to say “moo la hoo”…hello. They are delighted and ask how I am. I try my best to say “very good”…”me kneeza.” They laugh and either continue on their journey or decide to turn around and follow our merry little group. I stop at various homes to take photos. Small hole-in-the-wall shops etc. 99% of the people are happy to let me capture the moment. Video in my left hand. Still in my right. They are rewarded a hundred fold (in their minsd) by me showing them their image on my screen. Most give me the universal thumbs up. It’s a universal show and tell that works with young and old alike. Many pose again after they have seen their photo to get is just right. I am more than happy to oblige. Our journey continues. Everyone is so kind to me. I laugh at the thought that there are people in America who are concerned for my safety. I have been surrounded hordes of people and never once did I feel unsafe. Many hands reached out for money, but when told “oi ya” (no)…that is enough to satisfy them and they simply want to study the white woman. Finally we arrive at the market we walked though last week at sunset on our way to church. We have driven by it at least a couple of times a day and I was eager to get in. Yes Max, just like the Amazing Race. I could have stayed there for hours and hours. Rwanda is a photographer’s delight. I think about what it would look like from the lens of Erika and Jeff. The people. The colors. The kindness could keep me intrigued for hours on end. We approach a woman with a huge bucket of beans on her head. Sieba asked her permission for me to try it on. Try as I might (and I tried really hard) to balance it on the top of my heard it was nearly impossible. It sat there just fine with one hand holding it. But when I would try to release the other hand. It would immediately wobble. I tried and tried. Eventually I was able to release a hand for maybe 5 seconds max. I can’t imagine walking with it. I knew it would be hard, but certainly not that hard. The crowds pressed in to see my game. They loved it. They would ooh and ahh as I tried to release my hand. Big cheers when I accomplished it. It reminded me of something Dad would have done. We thanked her and moved on. Fruit. Vegetables. People everywhere. Stuff on the ground. Stuff on heads. Stuff on blankets. A sea of people all trying to make a living. We spotted a stunningly beautiful woman with an open basket on her head. Imagine a brown large plate-like basket with slightly turned up edges. It is what most people use so I wanted to give it a whirl. Sieba asked again and she was a quick yes. Her basket contained a huge amount of fruit. She stood no taller than my shoulder. She gave me a small pad of fabric that she placed between her head and the basket for comfort and I would suppose to help with balance a bit. Most people seem to use this technique. She lifted the basket to my head. I wanted to collapse under its weight. Seriously,I could barely stand it. I wish I could accurately capture the weight and difficulty in words. I tried to balance it. In my effort I nearly spilled the whole darn thing. Eventually I got about 1 second of hands free, but I didn’t want to risk my luck and her precious income source. She gladly posed for a picture. I made the universal “strong “muscle arm show for the crowd and then pointed to her. The crowd greatly appreciated my understanding of their hard work. I think about the things that I have seen on peoples heads: pineapples, bananas, doors, sewing machines…such strength and sense of balance. And most are walking up bumpy roads or hills, perhaps something in one hand and a child on their back. It was time to head back home for the group shot and my goodbye. It was thrilling to actually walk the road, but it was bittersweet as I knew when we got home we would be in overdrive trying to get the group shot, say good bye and get to the airport for the long lonely journey home. We stopped a few more times to chat with the people, but I didn’t what to stress out Chantal prior to my departure. It was really important to her to have some nice photos of the who gang. We walked into the house muddy and enthused. “Miss Donna…you’ll never guess what happened” is how Chantal greeted me. “What?” was my reply. I feared something was really wrong. She looked at me and said “we have two more children coming this afternoon…now the home is full.” She seemed partly overwhelmed and stunned. I had been there for 2 weeks. In the past 2 days we would have added 5 children. We didn’t know much about the two children other than a precious 2 week old baby girl who was found in the bushes and a young boy. The infant was brought to the police station and the mayor’s office phoned if Chantal would take her in. My immediate reaction was to reschedule my flight home. If ever they needed another set of hands it was now. All of us had been kept busy, especially this past week and now there were two more kids in the mix. But alas, this is the life that these amazing people will lead day in and day out, for many years to come. My hands are best served getting back to the states and telling their stories. I took my quick African bath and dressed for the 36 hour travel home. The home was buzzing with life and energy. Each trying to look their finest. Eventually we got everyone to the found of the home. Fabiola took charge of the kids to get them lined up. Everyone looked smashing. Smile. Smile. Smile. The lighting was kinda weird so I suggested we go in and take on in the main room. More smiles. I asked if I could grab individual shots with each child on my lap for my memory book. Then all of them with Miss Donna. Chantal did a great job taking the shots. I steadied myself for the goodbyes. I started to hold each child with tears in my eyes when Chantal looked at me and said “Miss Donna, what you are doing?” “Saying goodbye” was my obvious response. “Oh Miss Donna, you can do that later, we are all coming to the airport with you!” I could hardly believe it. Mbanda had driven home from the office to provide a second vehicle. How generous can people be? Everyone piled into the two SUV’s and off we went. It’s a quick drive (about 15 mins) to the airport so we were there in a flash. The kids looked so darn adorable all dressed up and parading up the steps to the front door. Chantal went inside to get a pass so she could help get me through security. It was finally time for goodbye. How could my heart fall so fully in love with people I had never met until two weeks ago? But it’s true. I am completely in love with all of them…the Mbanda family, Sieba, Chantal, the staff, and of course…the kids. I held each child in my arms and just squeezed. Of course none of them understood what was happening, but I held them just the same. Then Sieba. Then Chantal2. So much was said without saying a word. The eyes told it all. I had practiced being able to say “Miss Donna will cry big tears on Friday” in their language…but the sadness was beyond tears. Have you ever experienced such a feeling? But it was time. I had no choice if I was going to get back to America. I hug and a kiss for Mbanda and Chantal and I were off. After clearing security and getting my bags checked there was nothing more she could do it was time that we said goodbye. She looked at me and said “We love you Miss Donna”. I replied the same. We hugged three more times and had to let go. I began the slow climb up the stairs to wait in secure area. It seemed like a whirlwind and slow motion all at the same time. I sat in the chair and began to journal again. I looked onto the runway and just stared. Had I really just experienced all of this is two weeks? I can never remember experiencing such growth in such a short period of time. Eventually we boarded and headed to Nairobi. I used the 6 hour layover there to begin inputting more blog info. Then off to Amsterdam. A 10 hour layover quickly disappeared as I worked endless to finish up the blog. I caught Erika online just before she turned in for bed at 11 pm. Suddenly with live communication, I was eager to get home. I was sorta thankful for the long layover as I know I needed time to begin to process life in America again. To figure answers to simple questions like “how was your trip?” How can I even begin to answer that question? It’s not a simple answer. I need more time. A special treat for my last leg of the journey home. The plane was packed so they bumped me up to business class. Such a luxury for the end of a long journey. I didn’t really sleep. I didn’t really journal. I didn’t watch any shows. I think I just stared into a vast blank space and tried to hold onto the peace that I had found in Rwanda. I did speak with a woman who has adopted children from various places in the world and she wants to stay in touch as I develop my program to help these kids. As the plane touched down in Minneapolis, I called Mom to tell her I had landed. Then Erika. Recognizing my number, she answered the phone “is it you?” “is it really you?” “Yes it is…moolahoo” I replied. “Are you forever changed? she gentlely asked. “Yes” was my answer. “I knew you would be.” Then we both cried. “I’m here for you, whenever you want to talk.” I gathered my luggage and met Mom, Dad and my cousin Reto from Switzerland who had flown in about 20 mins ahead of me. Dad cried when he say me. Mom held me a long time. We went to my home and enjoyed a great spaghetti dinner and salad. Per my request. As we were getting ready I snuck down to Erika’s home for a quick hello. The doodle came running…”Auntie Donna, Auntie Donna…you’re home!”. Even the Pentster gave me a hug. Erika and I hugged and cried. Of all the people in my life. Erika seemed to know how this trip would affect my heart. Pat knew it was the beginning of a life calling and Denise just said “do it.” I especially thank the three of you for understanding a piece of me. So where do I go from here? I know that I want to tell this story. To create awareness for the absurdity of genocide. To ask for prayers. And, for those who are able to support their tax deductible ministry financially. I am now in search of the following: 50 people who want to donate $50/month to help with basic care of the kids. $15,000 to build a garden to feed the children and excess food will be sold as an income stream to keep the $50/month commitment above possible. More cows at $2000/each. The good cows. The ones that will produce 15 litres of milk a day. Job one is to feed the kids, who currently get only ½ day. Then to sell the rest. Money to build a playground. Money to build the 3rd and 4th homes. That’s more story for now. I am working on getting my photos put together and published into an i-photo book. Then I wan to start booking speaking engagements. Jeanne is working on PR so we can more quickly generate awareness. If you would like to help in anyway, please contact me at godgirlie@mac.om Most especially, please keep the people of New Hope Homes in your prayers. Donna