A letter from Meg Knight in Rwanda
Winter 2014
Happy New Year from the Heart of Africa!
Dear, dear Friends,
It's impossible to believe that I arrived here just over six weeks ago! So much has happened since the wonderful send-off that I hardly know where to start. But before I tell you anything about what's up with me, I first want to thank you for your overwhelming generosity, for your prayers and e-mails, and every kind thought you send my way. It will go a long way to sustain and encourage me in the months ahead.
While all of you were probably still snug in your beds (with or without sugar-plum dreams), Christmas dawned warm and hazy here in Kigali. Christmas was so different than any I had experienced before, I wasn't tempted to feel lost or homesick. No snow, no lights or decorations in my neighborhood, very few carols, and no Santa Claus.
My day, like that of most Rwandans, began with church. Kay Day, the PC(USA) mission worker from Butare in the south of the country, came up to Kigali for a few days, partly because the seminary where she teaches had emptied out for the holidays, but largely to make sure I wasn't alone for Christmas. We went across town for a traditional Rwandan dinner at the lovely home of a colleague of Kay's. Pastor Julie lives here in Kigali with her husband, Emmanuel, an internist with one of the city hospitals. It was a wonderful Christmas day that ended with a lovely Skype call with my son who's holding the fort for me in Ballston Spa.
I saw four Christmas trees all told. All artificial, of course—no Douglas firs here! The first tree was in the rather intimidating Immigration Office where I began the process of applying for an extended visa; the second in the Nakumatt, a Walmart-like supermarket, where there was also a very skinny Santa in a red Coca-Cola suit trying half-heartedly to convince people that Africa is out of touch with the “real” meaning of Christmas; the third in the chapel used by the small English- and French-speaking congregations here in Kiyovu Parish; and the fourth on the platform of the very rural church I visited on Christmas Eve day with Anysie [an-ee-see], my colleague, translator, mentor, and occasional companion.
Anysie is a financial manager for the Presbyterian Church of Rwanda (EPR) and as such she is involved with planning and evaluating denominational initiatives all over the country. Her personal mission, however, is to a congregation at the top of the world in the most remote hill country imaginable. Danascene, the EPR's top driver and head of the mechanical division, drove us in the church's sturdiest four-wheel drive Toyota—first an hour on the excellent paved road heading southwest, and then for three+ hours on the most incredibly rutted, twisted, hairpin-curved dirt roads up and down and up and up and up to what felt like the top of the world.
Here, in Mugano Parish, Anysie showed me the real meaning of Christmas.
This is the parish where she grew up. These are the hills she knew as a child and the hills where her entire family was slaughtered during the genocide. (Mercifully, she was spared because she was away at boarding school.) And these are the hills she is compelled to revisit, despite the pain it causes her, in order to personally make sure that the next generation learns that we are all God's children and that the birth of Jesus means we are all brought together into the family of God. Of course she doesn't use big words like “reconciliation” with the kids. It was a party, and she came with juice and rolls for all. But the message rang clear.
The community is extremely remote and impoverished—many of the children had never tasted bread and the apple juice was too exotic for some. Without any financial resources, they can't afford a pastor of their own to advocate for them. But they are numerous. In Rwanda rural means remote; it does not mean unpopulated. There are tiny houses perched everywhere on the hillsides. Anysie hopes that by establishing even a tiny connection with the world beyond their hills she will open the lives of these children to new possibilities.
The day was a rambunctious celebration of singing and dancing and drumming by 223 children, many of whom had already walked two hours up and down twisting footpaths to get to the tiny church and the Christmas party. No silent night here! Anyone who calls Presbyterians "the frozen chosen" has never been to a Presbyterian church in rural Africa!
It was a powerful experience that will stay fresh in my memory for years to come.
Since Christmas I've been getting to know my colleagues/students here and learning my way around in a city without square blocks or real street names. I've done placement tests, set up a class schedule, and started teaching. I'm working with about 30 people (a fascinating assortment of men and women that includes accountants, pastors, secretaries, drivers, health administrators, educators and trainers, maintenance workers, and more) whose knowledge of English ranges from absolute beginners to advanced.
Every day begins at the EPR offices with devotions and Bible study. Then four days a week I teach in the chapel used for French and English services. I'm teaching three levels, each group meeting twice a week for two hours each time (12 hours of class time total) plus, for this inexperienced teacher working with only one textbook for each level and no blackboard, hours of prep time. I'm beginning to get a sense of how much each group can get through in two hours, so I hope it will become easier with time. I'm really, really tired, but loving it. “Goot morning teachah” is music to my ears. My students require no motivating and the energy and enthusiasm we're all putting into this far exceed whatever skill and experience the teacher lacks.
After four trips to Immigration my visa was finally issued, I moved into “my” apartment on January 11, and I've started making a home for myself. This past Friday I had the first of what I hope will be a weekly afternoon open house for anyone who wants to drop in for casual conversation.
Please hold me, my students, the Presbyterian Church of Rwanda, and the children of Mugano Parish in your prayers.
Love and peace to you all!
Meg (Marg, Margaret)
The 2014 Presbyterian Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 128
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