Rumors of Rwanda as heaven

I once lived in Kampala, the city of seven daily rumors. During a season without a free press Radio Katwe ruled the air. Then a free press developed. Bit by bit the media put rumors to the test. Some passed the test of truth. Some did not. Some played to prejudice and survived even when evidence proved the rumor false. A few times I was a victim of a vicious rumor. They can be destructive. Yet, I found a certain comfort in the rumors. I may not know what was true. However, at least I knew the options.

When I moved to Kigali I came prepared with a list of Rwanda rumors. What was true? In fact, my first weeks in Rwanda felt odd when I did not hear the day’s rumor. However, bit by bit I got to know people. In Kigali we don’t speak in the vernacular of Radio Katwe, but we do tend to know details of our neighbor’s lives. Weddings, births, sickness, death, school accomplishments, jobs, business deals, etc. are our topics of conversation. Sometimes it is shocking what the neighbors know.

Two years ago I almost found Radio Katwe in Kigali. We were preparing to send our kids to school. We spent the day shopping for school supplies. When we reached home we unpacked the supplies. In the process, we noticed we were missing a few items we had purchased. I thought maybe my absentminded professor ways had forgot the items somewhere. Possibly, an opportunistic thief got the best of me. Two days later I received a phone call from a friend in the Rwanda government. The lost items had been found. Yet, I had not reported the loss. My friend in government did not know what I was thinking, but the Radio Katwe rumors of Rwanda ran through my mind.

Was I under constant surveillance? Were all my actions recorded somewhere? Was there someone above watching out for me? When I stumbled would another come to my rescue? Or if I made a colossal error of judgment would my failings become public fodder even with my best attempts at cover up? After all, the admirers of Rwanda are aware of Rwanda’s ability to discreetly gather knowledge.

Radio Katwe told me these rumors were true.

Then my friend in government told me how the lost items had been discovered. I had been with him through his wedding. We had visited family together. In the process we had been seen by many in crowds. One of his neighbors worked in the shop where in a little confusion I had left some items. The neighbor did not know my name or contacts. However, he knew the contacts of my friend. He made a phone call to my friend. Then my friend called me. A few days later the lost items were returned.

Maybe, Radio Katwe does not know Kigali as well as she thinks she does. Maybe, Radio Katwe has underestimated Kigali’s ability to live in community? Maybe, Kigali is just a small town? Maybe, the reason some of us discover small details becoming public knowledge is that in Kigali neighbors know neighbors?

However, what if another rumor is true? What if Rwanda is heaven on earth?

Sometimes I hear the voices who listen to the rumors of Radio Katwe say, “I have nothing to hide.”

Really? I wish I was as good of a person as you. I’ve done many things I regret.

Sometimes I hear the voices who listen to Radio Katwe say, “I can take care of myself.”

Really, I sometimes can barely function.

Sometimes I hear the voices who listen to Radio Katwe say, “I’ll take my chances.”

Really, I want to know there is a plan led by a master.

 Radio Katwe Rwanda rumors remind me of heaven. I have never been there, but I’ve heard rumors. The rumors of heaven tell me that every thought and deed of mine is seen. They tell me that all my actions will be taken into account. They tell me that the standard of performance is so high I will never pass. The rumors of heaven terrify me. I would rather keep some matters hidden.

The rumors of heaven tell me that a day will come when all my failings will be exposed. Yikes. I am a respected pastor, husband, and father. That will be an awful day of embarrassment. All my dignity will be lost. Yet, the rumors of heaven tell me that One will stand in my place. The rumors say He is perfect. However, He will accept responsibility for all my failings. In the process I will meet all the performance expectations simply by showing up.

Wow. Yet the rumors of heaven have an earthy substance. Before that day comes the One who watches me will guide my path. He will put me in places where I can succeed. At times life will be painful, but He will bring good from it. When I am sick, exhausted, and worn out; He will restore me.

Radio Katwe rumors of Rwanda, or rumors of heaven?

I doubt the rumors of Radio Katwe, but I believe the rumors of heaven. Yet whatever is true, Rwanda may the closest place on earth to heaven. In Rwanda neighbors know neighbors. We speak of their successes and struggles. We celebrate each other’s victories. We rally to each one’s struggles. I choose to believe the rumors of heaven and the rumors of Rwanda as heaven on earth.

RWANDAN SECRECY, HUMILITY, OR GOOD MANNERS?

Why in Kigali is the obvious so difficult to discover? Why do key pieces of information sit hidden underneath the table?

Rwandans will sometimes describe themselves as “discreet.” Our region’s rumor mongers love discussing Rwandan secrets. Those who lean towards paranoia conclude that like King Solomon’s hidden mines somewhere in the deep bowels of Kigali lies a massive store room of files and secrets gathered for the last 50 years.

However, what if Rwandan secrecy is simply humility? What if some secrets are just treasures to be discovered in friendship? What if secrecy is only good manners?

Mzee's wife masquerading as daughter

A few months ago, I returned to Rwanda after a year of healing in the US. I boarded a plane from Brussels to Kigali and pondered what old Rwandan friends I would meet on the plane. As I walked the aisle I noticed a friendly familiar face. She realized I was suffering from a fuzzy memory and had the grace to re-introduce herself as a university student of mine from several years ago. After our flight was underway I went back to see what life had given her. She had two beautiful young children. She had a good job. She asked me about my life. She shared that like many in Kigali my family’s health had been a subject of prayers for a year. She remembered 5 years previously when our church and school were only ideas and I a part-time lecturer. She thanked me for the labor. I realized what ever good I had accomplished was only by the grace of Rwanda and God. After about 15 minutes of conversation I decided to ask her about her husband. She gently mentioned that I may know her husband. I hoped he was not a former student or parishioner that would further embarrass my poor memory. Then she disclosed that she was married to a minister. I had never met him before, but seen his picture in the news. I was a bit shocked as he seemed about 15 years older than she. As she caught my foolish observation she told me their family story. I realized that like many of us in Kigali, the minister had married well to a woman who was his age and intellectual peer, but much better looking than he. I disclosed that sometimes my wife is mistaken for my daughter, and I like the minister am very thankful for a youthful looking wife.

I walked aware from our conversation and pondered Rwandan secrecy. If I had boarded a plane to Entebbe or Nairobi, met an old friend from days of youth, and they had married a minister we would not have spent 15 minutes in small talk. My old friends from the region would have disclosed their relationship power within moments of reconnecting. (In fact, my Bazungu clan mates would have done no better in their name dropping.) Maybe, Rwandan secrecy is actually humility?

As we landed in Kigali we both gathered our luggage and our children. We smiled at one another and wished one another well.

Airports are messy gatherings of humanity. After the order of security it all brakes down. Family and friends reconnect. Hugs and tears; smiles and laughter; warm hearts and broken spirits are the substance of airport meetings. In the joyful messiness of community life the crowd is jumbled. Lines become confused. Systematic order is forgotten. I like airport meetings and suspect many others find people watching at an airport much more enjoyable than the latest episode of Big Brother.

I watched my old student meet her husband. He had driven into the VIP section. He gathered his wife and children and prepared to leave. She noticed me and stopped to introduce her husband. We started a simple conversation, and I was a bit embarrassed.

Then we were interrupted an arguing Buvera Muzungu. He was trying to move his luggage cart, and the minister’s car was in the way. The Buvera Muzungu explained that the minister was improperly parked. The minister closed our conversation and drove away. The Buvera Muzungu moved on confident that Rwanda would conform to his corrections.

I was stunned. If I had been in Entebbe or Nairobi and a Buvera Muzungu corrected a minister it would not have closed so quietly. There would have been no peaceful parting. The Buvera Muzungu would have been introduced to the full force of the minister’s power. Only in Kigali would the minister keep his power hidden. Maybe, Rwandan secrecy is actually humility?

A few days later, I pondered the events some more. What are good manners at an airport? How should one respond to the messiness of life in community? Should life become orderly for every luggage cart pusher? Are there parts of life more important than order? It seemed to me that good manners at an airport are full of grace. Good manners at an airport greet and embrace. Good manners at an airport smile as they watch old family and friends reconnect. Good manners at an airport enjoy making new friends. Good manners at an airport wait. They do not correct a stranger. Good manners at an airport treat one with respect whether one’s status is VIP or not. The Buvera Muzungu was rude. The wife was humble. The minister was kind. Maybe, Rwandan secrecy is actually just good manners?