Update #9

 

Friends and Family,

 

Yesterday, after a series of long flights interspersed with journeys through foreign airports, I finally returned safely to my home in Dallas.  I spent the afternoon by first taking a shower and brushing my teeth, then (of course) getting some Mexican food, followed by some quality time with the parents, and finally by getting some much needed sleep.  Though I will miss Africa greatly, it is definitely nice to be home.  There are so many little things (like high speed internet) that we as Americans completely take for granted.  And, as I hope my updates have helped you comprehend, there are also so many things that we fail to understand about our world and the people we share it with.

 

The last several days I spent in Rwanda were some of the best of my entire trip.  I spent Saturday afternoon teaching English classes for a group at a Methodist church.  Teaching is always enjoyable.  On Sunday, I somehow manage to skip out on going to church, which is awesome considering that the average church service only lasts about five hours.  So in lieu of worshiping, Hunter (another American) and I took a projector from an ALARM office, hooked it up to his computer, and spent the rest of the day watching movies and episodes of The Office.  On Monday, we took a trip out to Butare/Maraba to visit an organization known as the SPREAD Project (Sustaining Partnerships to Enhance Rural Enterprise and Agribusiness Development).  This is a collaborative effort by Texas A&M University, USAID, and several Rwandan universities to connect regional coffee to global markets in order to empower local farmers and provide economic stability in post-genocide Rwanda.  Currently, it is managed by an A&M graduate.  So when he discovered that I was an Aggie myself, strings were pulled, certain doors were opened, and we were given a personal presentation on the workings of SPREAD while sipping gourmet coffee as well as a private tour of their coffee processing facilities in Maraba.  Oh, and we were also offered to buy bags of coffee before they hit commercial markets and the prices were jacked up.  Yes, it is great to be an Aggie no matter which side of the globe you are on.

 

As great as these excursions were, the most powerful and moving of them was a trip we made to Ntarama Church in Nyamata, a city just south of Kigali.  In the early April of 1994, the beginning of the genocide campaign, Ntarama Church served as a refuge for an estimated 3,000 to 5,000 men, women, and children.  They had locked themselves inside the church walls to try and escape the violence, but unfortunately were unable to do so.  With a small hand grenade the rebels blew open the front door and began the process of massacring everyone, the young and the old, both male and female.  Today the church serves as a memorial, maintained by the people of Nyamata as a reminder of the events of the genocide.  The structure itself has been well preserved and remains exactly as it did after the massacre.  The lock still hangs on the front door, though the metal is twisted and bent from the grenade.  Shrapnel holes and blood stains still cover the fifteen foot high ceilings of the church.  The clothes that were removed from the victims before they were murdered have been piled across every pew, filling the entire church.  It was a dark and harrowing sight.

 

In the back of Ntarama they have constructed three mass graves to honor and commemorate those whose lives were taken.  Two of these graves are accessible to walk down into.  The feeling that overcame me as I walked down the stairs and into the mass graves is truly indescribable.  The first grave was filled with shelves and shelves of coffins, most of which I was told contained the remains of up to twelve victims each, at least the portion of remains that could be found.  After walking through the first with Josh, I was not sure I wanted to venture down into the second, but I decided to anyway.  I needed to confront the gravity and weight of the memorial in its completeness.

 

As I approached the second mass grave, a Rwandan ALARM pastor named Benjamin stepped in front of me and began walking down the stairs.  Out of respect for his story, which has been abused in the past, I will not give all the details of Benjamin’s history.  But I think it is important for you to know in the context of this story that during the genocide he was twice captured by extremists, stripped naked, and told to face a wall for hours to await his execution.  Thankfully, he managed to escape both times.  So as Benjamin came to the bottom of the stairs, he took a right down the narrow walkway of the grave, passing amongst the shelves of coffins.  At the end of the walkway there was a window cut high into the wall, which streamed in light from the outside world.  It looked like a great picture, so I turned on my camera as I continued to walk between the shelves.  As we neared the far wall, I snapped a picture just as Benjamin turned from the window to face me.  Bringing the camera down from my face I realized two things.  First, the shelves surrounding us were no longer filled with coffins but with rows and rows of human skulls.  At my feet was a pile of femurs about two and a half feet tall.  Secondly, as I looked at Benjamin, I noticed his eyes were closed and under his breath he was crying out a prayer that carried this tone of desperation.

 

In this moment, I was struck with the heaviness of what such a memorial might mean to a Rwandan like Benjamin.  Any one of these skulls could have been, and almost were, his own.  Staring into his face and seeing his pain allowed me, even if just for a moment, to better grasp the humanity of what was currently surrounding me.  When visiting places where such atrocities occurred, it is often hard to digest and connect with the reality of what actually happened.  It seems so diluted, so movie-like, so distant.  But the reality is each of those skulls had personality, had friends, had family, was loved by others, and probably loved someone themselves.  Recognizing this allowed me to grasp what was a minute fraction of the pain most Rwandans have experienced in their lifetime – and it was burdensome.  The potential for humans to carry out the most evil and abominable acts is unbelievable.  However, through my interactions with heroes such as Benjamin and Abraham, I have also seen that within us, we have the potential to bring radical love and transformation to our world.  As much darkness and evil as we may face, there is reason to have a hope which equals, if not surpasses, the pain we may experience. 

 

In Africa I have met men and women who were former child soldiers, who have had their houses burned to the ground, who have seen their friends, families, and neighbors chopped to death with machetes, and who have seen their communities and their countries explode into warfare.  The diversity of tragic personal experiences is immense.  But despite the different horrors each of these persons may have faced, they share in common the active belief that they can institute change not through vengeance and not down the barrel of a gun, but by living and preaching concepts of radical love, reconciliation, forgiveness, and mercy – in short, a Christianity that we have lost touch with in the West.  The primary medium through which this change is initiated does not occur through politics or mass movements but in the everyday, mundane interactions between individuals.  Change is about relationships.

 

This was reconfirmed to me on Tuesday afternoon as I prepared to leave Rwanda and head back to the United States.  The ALARM staff members and pastors pulled me into their office before we left for the airport to express their thanks and to say their goodbyes.  What they were thankful for was not that I spent time teaching English at their girl’s school.  It was not that I used my money to buy crafts from their women’s initiatives as gifts for my family.  What they were most thankful for was that I took time out of my life to travel to Rwanda and spend time with them, to invest in their lives, and to use my company to “reenergize” them to continue the work they do throughout the year.  They were most thankful that my trip provided them a new relationship, a friendship.

 

In this moment, I could not help but think of several emails back when I expressed my frustration that I was not being used efficiently or effectively, that my time was being wasted.  What I was failing to recognize was that time spent with others is never wasted time because it is inherently valuable.  What provides meaning and purpose to our lives is often that which we most frequently overlook, the community we share in the human experience.  Yes, change is about relationships or REALationships as my professor Mr. Musoma likes to say.  There is power when we intentionally and honestly invest our time into others.  In the interchange our weaknesses and vulnerabilities are manifested but attended to by the other person.  Similarly, our strengths, if properly used, can serve to uplift and edify the other, making the exchange mutually beneficial.  Those of us who claim to be activist or humanitarians need to realize that to bring about change, we need not to look any further than the people we often ignore or those we look down our noses at in superiority.  These relationships are where changing the world begins.

 

I want to thank you all again for your support throughout my travels.  Many of you on this list supported me financially, some emotionally, some through prayers, and some of you simply gave a listening ear to my ramblings.  To all of you I am more than grateful for the role you played.  These adventures minister to my growth and development in so many ways, a fraction of which you get to read about on my updates.  I consider myself blessed to be able to have the time, opportunity, and ability to explore while I am young.  I hope I have been successful in communicating some of my thoughts and experiences so that you too could share in part of my journey.  If you ever have any questions or needs, do not hesitate to contact me.  I will let you all know when my child sponsorship page is set up on the Family Legacy Missions site.

 

“In the face of scoffers live as if your heart is open, kiss as if your eyes are open, and never surrender.”

 

Taylor

Update #8

Hello Friends and Family,

I am happy to report to you that this week was much more satisfying in the sense that I was able to substantially pour my time and effort into something of worth – teaching English.  It is easy to say this in retrospect, but there were definitely moments that tested my patience and moments where I was afraid the “ugly American” would come roaring out of me in all its fury.
 
Many of you who have traveled outside the Western world know that one of the most difficult cross-cultural adjustments to make is operating under different concepts of time and scheduling.   As I mentioned to you in my last email, I spent all last week sitting and reading, despite the fact that I was told before my travels that I would be teaching for two weeks.  Much to my chagrin, however, this was shortened to one week because ALARM, “forgot they would be running a pastors’ conference,” as one of the Rwandan directors told me.  I was promised this week would be different.

So on Monday, as I prepared to head out to IWE Girl’s School, I was told by my director that we needed to make some “scheduling adjustments.”  Rwanda had two national holidays this week (Tuesday and Friday), and therefore, I would only be able to teach for three days.  More than that, they had forgotten the girls were in exams this week, leaving me to teach teachers – at least those that were able to show up.  I very calmly put up my “Okay-We’ll-See-What-We-Can-Do face,” but inside I was calling for damnation of the entire Rwandan way of life.  It seemed so ridiculous to me that the office had confirmed the exact dates for the two and a half weeks I would be in Rwanda, but that they somehow overlooked the fact that a week and a half of that time was already booked with pastors’ conferences and holidays.  You just come to the point where you realize that’s how things are run here.  Much more laid back. T.I.A. (This is Africa).

Fortunately, after the first day of teaching, the teachers agreed to use one of their holidays to meet with me for an extra lesson.  So I was actually able to teach four days instead of three.  This put me in a much better mood, not to mention that each session went really well and the teacher were incredibly encouraging and genuinely interested in learning.  At the end of the week they asked me, “why are you only here for one week?  Next time you need to tell ALARM to schedule more time.”  I just smiled and responded with a simple, “I know, I’ll be sure to do that next time.”

Along with scheduling frustrations, there was another event that provided more realization of just how “American” I actually am: the 4th of July.   Now, normally the Fourth would not have terribly too much significance in my life.  I love fireworks and my country, but there are many things that I love more and that know no imaginary, politically drawn boundaries – like people.  But when you travel anything that reminds you of home holds a special place in your heart.  So what did we do to celebrate?  We took a little trip to the Embassy of course, and boy did it pay off!

When traveling through Africa for any significant amount of time, you quickly realize there is only so much rice, beans, and plantains a man can eat before he goes mad.  Now, I do a pretty good job of choking it down, but imagine my excitement when I entered the gates of the Embassy and saw a buffet of burgers, brats, potato salad, and desserts made with real (not fake) chocolate.  Then I gaze to my left and see what they referred to as the “Marine bar” stocked with ice-cold brews and even Dr Pepper.  As I listen to my surroundings, I no longer hear the sound of cars backfiring or music I cannot understand, but the classic American tunes of none other than Bob Dylan.  And as if this all weren’t enough, it dawns on me that, low and behold, everyone here speaks English!  In this moment, as my heart grew giddy, I realized that despite my love of traveling and adventure, I am undoubtedly a product of my culture and there is much about it that I grow to appreciate even more while traveling abroad.
 
My time in Africa is quickly dwindling, which really makes me sad.  Josh and Holly just returned from Congo, so I hope to be able to spend a significant amount of time with them before I leave.  Left on the schedule, I have a visit to a director’s church (where I may teach English), a trip to Butare to visit the Maraba Coffee Cooperative, and a trip to Nyamata to visit one of the preserved church-massacre memorials.  On Tuesday night I leave for home.   It’s hard to believe it is already coming to an end.  Hopefully I will be able to send out one more update before I leave the continent.  Talk to you then!

“To make a mountain of your life is just a choice.”

Taylor

Update #7

 

Hello Friends and Family,

 

The email I last left you with gave the story of my very eventful weekend with ALARM’s Youth Advocacy Program.  If there is anything to say about this week, it is that it was entirely different.  I had a lot of down time, which was definitely nice after a long weekend, but after three or four days I became very anxious and frustrated that my limited time in Rwanda was being wasted.  I have since talked to some directors and made it clear that I did not want next week to resemble this week at all.  I want to return to the States completely worn out.

 

Though there were not many activities, the amount of free time allowed me to do a decent amount of relational investment with the other A&M team members (who just left this morning) and a group of ALARM pastors who were here for a conference.  The pastors came from all over Africa: Uganda, Burundi, Zambia, Congo, Sudan, and others.  Their stories were simply incredible and truly displayed how little we know about faith, hope, forgiveness, and reconciliation in America. I would like to share a couple with you:

 

I would like to start with the president and founder of ALARM, Celestin Musekura.  In order to tell his story I will not use my own words but the words of one of my favorite authors, Shane Claiborne.  This comes from his most recent book “Jesus for President.”

 

“We have a friend named Celestin who grew up in Rwanda during the genocide when about a million people were mercilessly killed.  In the middle of that madness, Celestin became a pastor and felt God calling him to teach tribal reconciliation to the Hutus and Tutsi during the conflict.  Forgiveness wasn’t very fashionable, and he landed on the hit list of both tribes because he called them to repent of their violence.  He was beaten again and again and saw some of his closest friends tortured and killed.  At times he was angry, confused, heartbroken, but he never ceased preaching about the nonviolent Jesus.  In December 1998, Militants came into the village and killed more than seventy people in Celestin’s congregation and village, including Celestin’s father.  And yet he continued to preach the gospel of reconciliation, with blood on all sides.  Eventually one of the relatives of the soldiers who killed Celestin’s church members surrendered his life to Christ, put down the sword, and took up the cross.  Now that person is caretaker for Celestin’s aging mother, as an act of repentance.  That’s the gospel of grace” (Pp. 270 -71).

 

In my opinion, Celestin embodies what should be the ultimate Christian ethic: radical love, forgiveness, mercy, and reconciliation even to those who we might consider enemies.  If you consider the story of Christ this should not seem so farfetched.  Christ, who we claim is God, humbles himself to the form of a human and dies at the hand of man so that man might have the opportunity to fully experience His love.  And this is who we are called to emulate.  We must ask how much our lives and our actions bless even those who desire to take our lives or our livelihood.  How do we treat the criminals?  The illegal immigrants?  (And dare I say) the Islamic terrorists?

 

What is great about ALARM is that these ideals are not just embodied by Celestin, but ALARM pastors are empowered and encouraged to practice such radical love.  Now the story of Abraham:

 

Abraham is a pastor in a town called Lietnhom in southern Sudan.  Lietnhom is primarily made up of peoples from the Dinka tribe, most of whom are closely related through friendship assosciations or even marriage.  A river runs through Lietnhom separating it into Eastern and Western districts, and although the peoples on both sides of the river share a common ancestry, a history of tension and violence exists between them.  On May 6th of this year, a group of rebels from the West crossed over the river into Abraham’s district and massacred many of his friends and family in broad daylight.  They then proceeded to burn the entire city to the ground, including Abraham’s house.  As Abraham told me this story over lunch, I just sat there shocked.  It is one thing to read about ethnic violence in the news, but to sit across from a living and breathing human being who has seen his friends and family members gunned down in the streets or hacked with a machete adds this inexplicable sense or reality to the whole experience.  What surprised me most about this story, however, was Abraham’s response when I asked him what he thought was the solution.  He spoke nothing of militarization, police forces, walls, or defense mechanisms.  He told me that violence only begets violence and that many of the problems in his community come from a history of people taking vengeance into their own hands for a death of a loved one.  Abraham’s response was to travel into the Western district, to the very people group who burned down his home and murdered his friends and family, and to preach love and forgiveness upon them – to bless them and to serve them.

 

These are only two of the many stories I heard this week that completely blew me away.  I realize that such ideas may be hard to understand and even controversial in America, especially when put into the context of our situations with illegal immigrants, Islamic terrorists, and those “flaming liberals” I hear about so much in the South.  But I challenge all of you who identify yourselves with Christianity to try and read the Gospels through such a lens.  We approach even our theology with so much cultural baggage that we often confuse God’s agenda with America’s.  The Africans I have met this week have seen enough violence to understand what truly transforms communities.  Soldiers and governments may be able to keep order but they have no reign over changing people’s hearts.  More than that, as Christians, we need to realize that no ideology or politically drawn borders separate who is made in God’s image and who is not.  For further reading on the subject you can check out Shane Claiborne’s Jesus for President or John Howard Yoder’s The Politics of Jesus.

 

I have more to say, especially about my visit to the Genocide Memorial and Hotel Milles Colline (Hotel Rwanda), but I realize this is getting long and I probably have some of you fuming by now.  As I mentioned earlier, the other group of Aggies that was here in Rwanda left this morning.  I was lucky to spend about a week with them, and I am actually surprised at how much I already miss their company.  Next week I should be teaching English classes to teachers and spending time with Josh and Holly from Portland.  I am particularly having a great time with these two.  Josh and I already had a great theological conversation over some Mutzig (local brew) while chilling on the back patio of Hotel Rwanda – I know you are all jealous.  Did I mention last time that he is friends with Donald Miller and Tony the Beat Poet?  It is strange to think I only have a little over a week left, but I am planning on making the most of it.  I love and miss you all.

 

Taylor