PASTORAL REFLECTIONS ON THE PASSING OF MINISTER ALOYSIA INYUMBA

I woke this morning to startling news from a friend in Rwanda.   Honorable Minister of Gender and Family Promotion, Aloysia Inyumba has passed from this life to another.    She leaves behind a husband and two children.    Our region’s newspapers quickly began coverage of a remarkable woman.     Social media told the more personal details.   It is astounding to quickly observe on Twitter and Facebook how the titles we gave her moved from “Honorable Minister” to “Mother,”  “Auntie,” “Mentor,” and “Friend.”     She was a woman who quickly could bring us into places of great warmth and hospitality.     In the end she believed in many of us more than we believed in ourselves.     I wonder if there are any in Rwanda who have not in some way been touched by Minister Inyumba.    Many of our best efforts and accomplishments were nurtured by her faith in God moving through the people of Rwanda.

As with the transitions that come to those who in the eyes of humanity seem “too young” our hearts grief.    How does one explain the loss of a mother to children?   And who amongst us does not consider her to be one of our aunties?

We return to the oldest stories of mankind’s sojourn with God.   Israel’s Shepherd King, David wrote by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit in Psalm 23 (New King James Version):

“The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
 He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.
 He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil;
My cup runs over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord
Forever.”

As David reflected on the loss of his own son, he said, “I will go to him, but he will not return to me (2 Samuel 12:23, New International Version.)”

By the inspiration of the Holy Spirit Job 19:25, 26 tells us, 

“I know that my redeemer lives,
    and that in the end he will stand on the earth.
And after my skin has been destroyed,
    yet in my flesh I will see God.”

Jesus Christ was God in the flesh among men.   He showed us the heart of the Father.   When His friend Lazarus had passed from this life two simple words tell us all, “Jesus wept (John 11:35.)”   In the midst of our overwhelming loss God himself is in our midst providing hope and comfort.   Then Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead.    

Within a week of Lazarus resurrection, Jesus himself is brutally killed and then rises from the dead.

Our grief and loss is real.   Yet, our hope in a final Resurrection where all will return to God’s intent is the final reality for which we hunger.

As we grief in hope it is appropriate to remember the enduring characteristics of Minister Inyumba.    

We quickly remember her humility.   As she rose to places of influence she still listened.   She had time to ask questions.   In between hurried meetings she was available.    

In those humble meetings her questions moved to wise guidance.   She could master complexities with grace.  Then find a way forward.   

We know her tireless work ethics.   This was driven by her deep compassion for women and children.    Her compassion spurred on her incredible courage.   

The place Minister Inyumba occupies in our hearts can never be replaced.   Yet by the grace of our Lord the loss and grief we now feel will heal.     After all, Minister Inyumba believed in the hope of our common future.   This hope cannot be contained by a created body of flesh and blood.

The dialogue I read and heard today was one of memories.  I noticed three enduring legacies of Minister Inyumba.

The first was her faithfulness.    Her name follows the history of her people.   She is found in a multiple of historic roles.   In each role that was given her she was faithful.   We were blessed.    I can say with great confidence yesterday, she was met by the Lord with the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant (Matthew 25:21, 23; Luke 19:17.)”

The second enduring legacy was her advocacy for women.   She healed our wounds.   She served widows.   She mentored ceaselessly.    She elevated the status of women by her profound moral authority.    I observed that her very presence caused us to stop, reflect, and change.   Her voice spoke with consistent faithfulness.    Her belief in women’s dignity reflected her faith in God who made all humanity in God’s image.   She saw that God had created women with unique gifts that must be nurtured.   Her advocacy brought us peace and healing.

The last legacy was her compassion for Rwanda’s children.   Her compassion was the authentic compassion of the Lord.   It moved from deep within her being.  It was full of the passion of humanity.   Then it sprang forth in behavior that simply got things done.    

One her most enduring quotes is "We're committed to seeing all Rwanda's children grow up in loving, caring families and not in institutions"

A friend today called her a champion of Rwanda’s children.

Many of us have personal stories to tell of Minister Inyumba.

My family shared a similar conviction with Minister Inyumba that every child has a right to a family.    I once had a 10 minute conversation with Minister Inyumba that I could never forget.   She made time for me in busy day in which she was meeting many important people.   We spoke of the de-institutionalization of orphans and vulnerable children in Rwanda.  She let me see a bit of her humanity.   Why was she facing so much opposition?   Why were there so many untruthful and unjust accusations?    

I shared the nature of institutions.   They are self-protective.   It is their nature.   Governments protect their tax payers.   Churches protect their members.   Schools protect their students.   Businesses protect their customers.    This is good.   In fact such institutions will endure with generations of good fruit.   

However, sometimes an institution arises that in its self-protection loses sight of the common good.   Orphanages easily become these types of institutions.   In order to appeal to donors they must have children.  Keeping children in institutions is necessary for their survival.

I apologized.   My race, nation, and Balokole clan mates have been some of the worst offenders in institutionalizing vulnerable children.

I shared a conviction that took the Lord working on me for 18 years.   The most Biblical way to approach the care of vulnerable children is adoption.   In fact, adoption is a metaphor of the Gospel.  Churches that don’t teach and live adoption are negotiating the Good News of Jesus.

I shared a hope that Rwanda’s churches and families would arise to meet the challenge.   It was my hope that whenever a child fell into a vulnerable situation a network of families would be prepared by churches to immediately take that child into their home as a foster child.   Hopefully, the child would be reunited with his extended family.   However, if that did not happen then that child should be adopted and have the full legal and relationship rights of a biological child.

Minister Inyumba looked directly into my eyes, accepted my apologies, and then said, “Pastor that is exactly what I hope also.”

Gabriel Mugisha Jacobs with the nurses who cared for him in Rwamagana

God never allows leaders to simply make proposals and write policy.   We must practice what we preach.   A few months later, my foster son Gabriel Mugisha Jacobs was having 3 clusters of seizures per day.   We had spent 2 weeks at King Faisal Hospital.  It was time to go to Nairobi.   MIGEPROF and emigration quickly got us the required travel documents.    Our family was broke.   Then God’s providence happened.  Friends in Kenya, Uganda, America, and Rwanda rallied.   Minister Inyumba was one of the friends who placed a little money in our pockets for Mugisha.   Her contribution was one of those first fruits from which God begin doing the astounding.     Mugisha has now not had a seizure in 11 months and is loved by a forever family.   I’m confident Minister Inyumba’s acts of faith are one of the reasons Mugisha is well.

A year ago a friend of mine, Major Eustache Nsinga passed from this life.    I had the profound responsibility to perform his funeral.   In it I summarized his life as being irreplaceable.   I believe all of us are created in God’s image and with God’s eternal purpose given unique gifts.   Thus each of us is irreplaceable.   

My sermon was followed by a speech by Rwanda’s Minister of Defense James Kabarebe who had the courage to point out a hole in my sermon.   We are all in an army for God.   When a soldier falls he must be replaced.  Without replacements our endeavors on this earth are doomed.   He was right.

God’s Word fills us with the wisdom of paradox.  Each of us is irreplaceable.   Yet, each of us must eventually be replaced.

As Minister Inyumba is now resting as a rewarded faithful servant it is our task to continue her legacy.

Who will be faithful in whatever roles one is given?

Who will advance the dignity of women?

Who will take vulnerable children into their families to adopt and raise with the full legal and relationship rights as biological children?

Minister Inyumba’s passing should cause us to like the men and women of old raise our hands and say, “Lord, here am I.  Send me.”

RWANDA'S YOUTH INSPIRE

History shows that during times of great society building the key turning points are choices of the next generation. What will those who follow the original vision bearers believe, become, and do? Sometimes, they are spoiled brats who want their seemingly entitled privileges. Sometimes, they squander opportunity. However, sometimes they catch a vision; and build it to places their predecessors could not dream. Sometimes, it is the youth who provide zeal, energy, ideas, and inspiration. I believe Rwanda’s youth inspire.

Clarisse Irabagiza won $50,000 at the Inspire Africa competition. (photo Dave Jenkins)

Rwanda has a lofty vision for the year 2020. Many of us currently providing some measure of leadership will be in our 50’s to 70’s in 2020. It will be a season of transition. The key question in the year 2020 will be what does Vision 2040 look like. Rwanda’s youth must inspire us to 2040.

I have the privilege to know some of the leaders of Rwanda’s 2040 Vision. They inspire. Some are youth at a church I pastor. Some are students and former students at a school I was fortunate to found. Some are Presidential Scholars. Some are students and former students at Kigali Institute of Science and Technology (KIST). All inspire.

A few months ago, I noticed Facebook buzz among several former KIST students about an event called, “Inspire Africa.” The buzz was coming from some of my more inspirational former students. I did not understand what the entire buzz concerned. A friend provided Jana and me invitation cards. We came eager to be inspired.

The event started with drinks and conversations. I met a few of Rwanda’s leaders at the Serena reception. I felt privileged in the conversations to be able to mention some of the participants were former students who I now called friends.

It’s dangerous to admit that professors have favorites. However, if you sit near the front, make me laugh, have the courage to stand up to me, and talk to me after class, you will become one of my favorites. Clarisse Iribagiza is one of my favorites. She was one of three Inspire Africa finalists on Sunday, 1 April. The grand prize was US$ 50,000.

Clarisse faced off against two equally youthful opponents from Uganda – Davis Musinguzi and Manuela Pacutho. Davis brought charisma and assertiveness. Manuela brought beauty and passion. Clarisse brought humility, vision, pragmatism, and character. I whispered to all near me, “I know her. She’s the real deal.”
Davis was leading the competition, but when the eliminated contestants were polled Clarisse was their favorite. Tough questions were asked. Davis gave populist answers that would stir misplaced hopes of a desperate crowd. I worried a bit that his populism would carry the day.

The final judges were RDB’s Claire Akamanzi; South African billionaire, Graham Power; and Inspire Africa CEO, Nelson Tugume. Graham Powers asked Clarisse a tough question about her “being swallowed up.” She kept her dignity while speaking straight. She spoke of delegation and team work. Then she spoke of inspiring young Africans. It was classic Clarisse. Those of us that knew Clarisse cheered for her not because she was the home town girl. We cheered because we knew Clarisse’s character.

During breaks the moderator would ask the night’s VIP’s and celebrities their perspective. I was seated one row behind the VIP’s, and never was asked to speak. I would have preferred to have been quiet until Clarisse was misjudged as “being swallowed up.”

Following is the response I was not given the opportunity to speak:

“Mr. Powers, with all due respect allow me to speak to the perception that Clarisse was “swallowed up.” We expect the diplomats in our midst to be diplomatic in their responses. They have succeeded. We expect the political leaders to endorse their home people. They have succeeded. I am only a pastor. This crowd expects me to tell the truth about my friends. Truth and friendship become biased. Davis is obviously charismatic. Manuela is obviously beautiful and passionate. Clarisse has traits that endure beyond the strength of youth. She is a character-led visionary. I once was Clarisse’s friend and professor. Today I am only her friend.

Allow me to tell you about the first day I met Clarisse. On the first day of class I suspected the attendance list would be a forged document. The only way I would know was to allow the students to sign a list, and then I would count to see if the number of student bodies matched the number of signatures. Thus I refused to lecture until I had a list of student signatures in my hand. Clarisse watched me with a puzzled look. I suspected she on one hand thought I was wasting time, but on another wanted to know why I was so stubborn. As the attendance list was placed in my hand I began counting student bodies. Clarisse was the first to begin a nervous giggle. I suspected she knew exactly what I was doing. My intuition was confirmed. We had a class made up “ghost students.”

I would not tolerate forged documents in an ethics class. Yet I also believe sound ethicists are willing to listen. I asked the students how long they had been ghosting. The answer was years. I asked, “Why?” I heard many responses. The responses were eloquent and wordy. Clarisse cut through the chase. “We have ghost students because we have ghost lecturers,” she said. The class roared in laughter. The issue for both students and faculty was accountability. At the end of the class I had promised the students that they could expect me to keep time, come prepared, and never bore them in a lecture. The students had agreed to take responsibility for their attendance.

We were “swallowed up” by Clarisse. She did not need to be the center of attention. She just made us all better people with pointed insight and a desire to live in community.

Mr. Powers you should declare Clarisse the winner for the very reason you sought to criticize her.”
Clarisse Irabagiza won $50,000 at the Inspire Africa competition. The Ugandan newspapers were astounded. The Rwandan newspapers hardly noticed. My Rwandan bzee friends spoke with me as we left. They were wise enough not to cheer for Clarisse just because she was the home town girl. They cheered for Clarisse because she represented all we admired about Rwanda’s youth. She was humble. She did not need to be the center of attention. She was practical. She did not pander to our selfish whims. She was concerned with our community first. Her vision was for our good. Clarisse represented what we find so inspiring about Rwanda’s youth. In her most recent statements Clarisse deflected praise to her fellow youth. She does not need status.
Rwanda’s youth inspire.

KONY 2012 JUJU, PUBLICITY ADDICTION, AND LOVING JASON RUSSELL

Last week I wrote a column on Talking to our neighbors about Kony2012. In it I asked for young Rwandans and friends in the USA to stop posting Invisible Children’s Kony2012 video and to start loving Uganda as we love ourselves. Shyaka and I had a disagreement. However, there seems to be consensus among most of my Ugandan and Rwandan friends that Kony2012 misrepresents reality, hinders healing from trauma, and stifles investment. Among my American friends the opinions are much more polarized. Since I noticed so much Facebook and Twitter discussion I decided to post my column to my blog on Thursday, 15 March.

On Friday, 16 March the Uganda media was active on Twitter with the news that Jason Russell, the Director of Kony2012, was detained by police after naked irrational behavior and taken to a local hospital.
My pastoral intuition makes me think two matters are being whispered. One is that deep in the jungles of Central Africa Republic Joseph Kony was afraid of Jason Russell and the effects of the Kony2012 video. Therefore Kony turned to his most potent trick, juju. His band of abductees turned soldiers sacrificed an animal (or human), danced, and recited magic incantations. Then boom – Jason Russell went mad. Kony Juju defeated Kony2012.

The other whisper may be calling me a “Great Man of God,” or “America’s Leading Evangelist in Rwanda.” After all a few weeks earlier I compared Westerners who use Africa for self-grandeur with Babylonian King, Nebuchadnezzar who went mad. I also wrote about a time one of my Uganda neighborhood mzee walked home a naked mad young man. Did I prophesy that Jason Russell would go mad?
I think neither whisper is accurate.

My guess is that Jason Russell is suffering from publicity addiction, had an overdose on 15 March, and now it is Africa’s turn to love Jason Russell the way we love ourselves.

Jason led over 80 million people to some conclusions about northern Uganda that are not accurate. My boss one time said, “Don’t pick on people, jump on their failures, and criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment.” That critical spirit has a way of boomeranging. It’s easy to see a smudge on your neighbor’s face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, ‘Let me wash your face for you,’ when your own face is distorted by contempt? It’s this whole traveling road-show mentality all over again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor. (Matthew 7:1-5, The Message.)” Now for a season Jason Russell will be judged by the world by the standards he judged others. Many will come to conclusions based not upon the facts of Jason Russell’s life, but upon their wounds.
Jason’s wife quickly responded that he was not under the influence of alcohol or drugs. Some will think that because we’ve seen drug addicts behave like Jason Russell.

Some have guessed he suffers from manic episodes, schizophrenia, or bipolar disorder. Again, probably because we’ve seen people with these types of mental illnesses act as Jason Russell.
Some will assume his mind just snapped. We’ll do this because we know that stress and lack of sleep will eventually drive us all to a psychotic episode.

Angelo Izama and I compared Kony2012 to pornography. When I first saw Kony2012, I thought this was produced by a sex addict. I did this because in pastoring I have several times seen families destroyed when the early signs were communication styles similar to Kony2012. The director of Kony2012 was a master at the internet hype, could not separate fantasy from reality, and had no conception how much relationship damage he would do in Uganda, plus he ran through the streets naked. These are all classic marks of a sex addict.

Another theory could be that Jason Russell is another flamboyant American entrepreneurial personality that thrives in extreme adversity, but simply snaps when life becomes ordinary (Such as Meriwether Lewis.) Again, we come to these conclusions because we have seen these types of events happen before.
All this gossip is just human nature. My boss was convinced it was the consequence of publicly embarrassing others.

When my Uganda neighborhood mzee walked his naked neighbor’s son home the village gossiped. Some of the theories had elements of truth. There was some neighborhood jealousy. Someone may have cursed the boy. The young man had experimented with alcohol and drugs. The young man had traveled abroad and had a difficult cultural adjustment both abroad and home. Witchcraft, drugs, and stress may have all contributed to the boy’s “madness.”

Yet, the mzee chose to love his neighbor’s son as he would have wanted his own son loved. He chose to deflect the gossip. It seems our Ugandan neighbors are treating Jason Russell with the same grace. While the Kony2012 video is still up on YouTube, not even The Red Pepper has posted photos of Jason Russell on San Diego’s streets. In Africa when our neighbor is in an embarrassing situation, we respect their dignity. After all we may too find ourselves in such a situation.

Last week as I discussed African neighbor’s love besides respecting dignity I wrote of two other matters. First, we help our neighbors in crisis. Second, we help our neighbors in opportunity.

I once watched my neighborhood mzee at a kwanjula where the bride was obviously pregnant. He gently insisted on a goat for a fine. Family honor had been offended. Good African neighborliness will insist in Jason Russell’s crisis that we keep the focus on northern Uganda. Jason’s feelings are irrelevant for both his and northern Uganda’s healing. In order to heal Jason will have to face reality. As he does this, the Kony2012 video should be removed from YouTube. Also, Jason should find a Ugandan mzee to hold his hand as he returns to Uganda and apologizes. This is how good African neighbors help someone in a self-imposed crisis. They respect dignity, speak gently, forgive magnanimously, and still insist on accountability.

After the goat was paid both a Catholic priest and Balokole pastor saw an opportunity to preach. My mzee took the microphone away and made a joke. The fine had been paid. Honor was restored. The bride only would have a kwanjula once. She deserved it to be the best possible. In a few months we would have a child. The child deserved to be desired, loved, and nurtured without carrying a community’s offense. The crisis was past. Now we needed to put our energy into the opportunity.

All Africans I know conclude justice should be pursued in Congo and Central African Republic. They also conclude northern Uganda needs better schools and businesses. If we love Jason as we love ourselves, after he apologizes and we publicly forgive him, we should invite him to bless northern Uganda with better schools and businesses. When Jason heals from publicity addiction he will be part of our community again. I long for that day because my boss told me to love my neighbors as I love myself.

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?

THERE ARE NO RWANDA EXPERTS

Have you noticed our contemporary plethora of Rwanda experts? Everyone knows one. Many want to be one. Some are quick to take the title. Yet, I propose there are no true Rwanda experts. Webster’s Dictionary defines an expert as one with special skill or knowledge representing mastery of a particular subject. No one within or without has yet mastered the knowledge of Rwanda. All who labor and live in Rwanda are still discovering. A few are wise. A few have mastered a specific area of knowledge. None have mastered Rwanda.

Twenty years ago, Rwanda’s northeastern neighbor, Uganda sought to explain her chaotic post-colonial past. Alex Mukulu wrote the play, “30 Years Of Bananas.” The opening scene involves the search for an unbiased narrator. One by one each narrator option is eliminated. No one from within could narrate Uganda’s history due to tribal and political bias. No one of influence from without could narrate Uganda’s history due to the “view from the Pajero.” Only a Rwandan refugee, Kaleekeezi could tell the story of Uganda through the eyes of an unbiased participant. Kaleekeezi made us laugh with his humble and pointed critiques. He danced, he drank chai, and his fortune followed Uganda. Some today, desire to be voice of Kaleekeezi to Rwanda. Maybe, even those who discovered Uganda through the eyes of Kaleekeezi ponder if they are the Rwanda equivalent. Yet, none have walked the path of Kaleekeezi and been a 30 year humble participant. Some Rwandans find Kaleekeezi offensive. He represented the stereo-type that never permitted them to be at home. Yet, Kaleekeezi’s charm is inescapable. Maybe, Kaleekeezi is the reason so many desire to be his home’s narrator. Let us follow Kaleekeezi’s search to discover a Rwanda expert.

From within Rwanda we search for an mzee. We seek to find expertise through age and history. True there are those with gray hair. They can tell the stories of old. Some have studied and are masters of academic subjects. They are the advisers to both the powerful and the youthful seeker. Yet these men and women of wisdom refuse to take the title of Rwandan expert. Most even deflect compliments about their wisdom and knowledge. The academics have seen the unending rows of books in the library. They know their knowledge is only finite while expertise is infinite. Others just acknowledge their wounds. Many have found healing. They sing, smile, and dance. Yet, the wounds have left scars. A scar upon one’s joints limits mobility. Limited mobility prevents one from turning one’s body and head. Even when one’s ears are attentive and sound, a wounded joint prevents clear discovery. The healed sometimes is unable to turn and fully see. The wounded mzee’s limitations taught him to go forward quickly. His generation’s task is to build. In the building our wounded mzee may not understand all Rwanda requires. His humility knows this and looks to another for expertise.

As our Rwandan mzee refuses the title of expert many pretenders arise. The Bazungu quickly takes the title of Rwanda expert. He knows with expertise comes fame, power, and reward. His appetite for all is unending. Thus he will pretend and even deceive himself to take the title of Rwanda expert. The Bazungu Rwanda experts come in three flavors. You can meet them all on any international flight into Kigali. The first one to be noticed is the V.I.P. Muzungu. He is one of power, wealth, and influence in his home nation. If he has a measure of wisdom, he like our Rwandan mzee deflects compliments to another. He realizes that like Kaleekeezi sometimes the ball just bounced well for him. He was on a winning team when he may have been a poor player. Yet the appetite for expert status is too much to resist. He is met at the airport by another V.I.P. He is quickly ushered through immigration. He is driven to the Serena. He eats and sleeps well. He tours Rwanda in style. He counsels the powerful. If he is proud, he begins to believe the words that are spoken about himself. In the sweet words and posh treatment he misses that the profound is discovered in waiting and suffering. The V.I.P. Muzungu will leave as quickly as he came. He will never sit and wait in an office. He will never be told to return days after days. His children will not be subjected to Rwanda’s medical care nor even have a minor case of malaria. The only humble Rwandans he will know are the ones he meets in a photo opportunity. Because he never becomes a suffering friend of the humble he will never be a Rwanda expert.

The second Muzungu pretender is the Buvera Muzungu. He enters Rwanda with an item he bought in the international airport just before he reached Kanombe. He walks through customs thankful for the wine, chocolate, and perfume of his last stop. He carries his duty free trophy in a plastic bag. Then he meets a Rwandan customs official and is informed that Rwanda allows no buvera. He does not know what a buvera is, but he knows his property rights. No one will take his plastic bag. The Buvera Muzungu comes arguing. He will stay in Rwanda arguing. He will leave Rwanda arguing. He likely will never even discover what a buvera is. If he does learn the meaning of buvera he will search for buvera in Rwanda. He will find the inconsistency of Rwanda practice. Yes, there are buvera in the trash piles of Kigali. The Buvera Muzungu stands upon these trash piles and argues until he reeks of dirty buvera. None can stand him any longer. He simply leaves and with his buvera enters the blogosphere of Rwanda haters.

The third Muzungu pretender is the “I’ve been around the block” Muzungu. These Bazungu come in 2 sub-flavors. The first is the one who entered Rwanda before 1994. His early discovery of Rwanda came through colored lenses. He may be a master of Kinyarwanda. However, his mastery of Rwandan language and culture is seen through lenses that did not experience refugee living from 1959 to 1994. Rwanda was peaceful before 1990. However, not all Rwandans lived in peace before 1990. If this sub-flavor of Muzungu is wise, he like our Rwandan mzee looks to another for expertise.

The second sub-flavor of the “I’ve been around the block” Muzungu has an old history in the Great Lakes Region, but entered Rwanda after 1994. He knows many people. He hears many rumors. His mastery of Rwandan comes through the lenses of friendships with those who were refugees from 1959 to 1994. He ponders if he like Kaleekeezi is just a recipient of good fortune. He suspects that if he is asked to narrate and participate he will still be the subject of secret jokes. If this sub-flavor of Muzungu is wise, he like our Rwandan mzee looks to another for expertise.

In our search for Rwanda’s Kaleekeezi journalists enter the race. Something about Rwanda fascinates the deepest part of their being. Is it the beauty of Rwandan women, a clean and orderly city, or just an unfulfilled longing? They are enticed with the rewards of being a Rwanda expert. The world’s eyes are upon Rwanda and her story teller will be richly rewarded.

The Rwanda critical journalist enters the race as a Rwanda expert.    For those who learned Rwanda through the lens of Kaleekeezi Rwanda criticism stir deep wounds.    The wounds are so deep that first emotions are of self-hatred.   Naively the Great Lakes once heard banter about peace and democracy in the early 90's.    Naively some of us listened to mythology about Rwandan women's sexual prowess that later justified rape.   Naively I even once provided dinner to Bazungu travelers who told stories of Tutsi invaders from Uganda.  The stories sounded reasonable, but the philosophy a few months later justified genocide.   Many of us are still in a season of repentance that may last a lifetime. 

Our scars are full of pain.  The stories of the Rwanda critical journalist are too close to our old wounds.   Our wounds will be healed by time, compassion, and shared labor for coming generations of children.   Kaleekeezi was an expert to our neighbors through humility and humor.    The critic must humbly acknowledge our pain, and be with us until our tears of grief become tears of joy.   That day is not here yet.   When it comes we'll be overwhelmed by how God's grace took us through such painful reality.

The Rwanda booster journalist may also pick up the title of Rwanda expert. His history is likely entangled with Rwanda. He may be young, but his stories are old. He is well read and connected. His fascination with order reflects his hidden wounds. His childhood heroes are disappointments. He has found a new savior in Rwanda. He pours his full energy, intellect, and resources into Rwanda boosterism. The Rwanda mzee will quietly try to usher the booster away from Rwanda salvation. The mzee knows his and Rwanda’s failings. Another expert must arise. The pretenders must cease.

Rwanda experts are arising. They will be numerous in number. They can be found today in Rwanda’s nursery, primary, and secondary schools. A few may cluster in universities. They are true believers in Rwanda unity. They see the wounds of the bzee and feel no disdain for the bzee’s lack of expertise. They are friends with both those who were refugees in Uganda and Congo. They listen well and ask many questions. They seek before they speak. They know suffering and waiting are the uniting principles of a new Rwanda. Yet, they are not content to live in destructive cycles. They study history not to complain about the past. They study history to discovery Rwanda’s future. They are masters of Kinyarwanda and understand the complexities of Rwanda’s history and culture. They listen to the Kigali’s many radio languages. They choose a favorite radio station, but not a favorite language. Rwanda’s future will be discovered in Kinyarwanda, but implemented in English, French, German, Kiswahili, Lingala, Luganda, Arabic, and Chinese. Languages are only the tools of trade. Rwanda’s experts will arise as her youth become bzee. They will manage complexities with grace and show their expertise through comprehensive wisdom.

So today Rwanda is a nation with no experts, but great wisdom. The wise acknowledge their colored lenses and wounds. They giggle at both their failings and the pompous pride of the pretending experts. The wise listen well to the ambitions and questions of Rwanda’s youth. The wise suffer with a smile and wait for Rwanda’s youth to become mature. Rwanda experts are coming.