7.3.2005 BACK FROM RWANDA

July 3, 2005

I don’t even know the day. I realize that I have been home for less than 6 days, but it seems as though I am still figuring out what month it is.

We went to a zoo today. Brookfield. Expensive. Every exhibit and activity cost something. How ironic is it that 7 days ago I was in a national park in which I scoured a savannah for giraffes, walked on the shores to observe hippos and a camouflaged croc and watched in fright as our very own guide opened our bus door to taunt the baboon community for only $30 U.S.? Today, I had to fight off hundreds of people to peer into a glass cage made up with fake rocks and various logs which hid one lonely bobcat. Of course that is not the only animal we saw, but still I think we paid over $100 just to see wild animals. That doesn’t even count lunch.

I am also fighting off the strangest feelings. For instance, today I was standing in the shower and shutting my mouth against the stream of hot water pouring down my face. It is instinctive in Rwanda to make sure no unbottled water is swallowed, therefore the shower paranoia. I also spent time walking down the congested streets of Naperville, there was a fest of some kind going on. I watched the pedestrians walking up and down the crowded block and kept seeing the streets of Kigali in my mind. There was just no comparison other than the amount of people. People here are so clean. They have clothes, pretty ones. No one was shoeless. I saw no unattended children running around. No beggars. No bicycle taxis. There wasn’t a single person carrying anything on their head. There were children being carted around like aristocrats in strollers more expensive than my bedroom furniture. Ben even mentioned that they had families. Yes, most of them were with their family.

Family. One word can hold so much emotion. Frustration, belonging, joy, even hate. But for the Rwandan’s, that word can also provoke feelings of terror. Loosing an entire family, which is all you have when you are poor, must be worse than death itself. Loved ones are the only reason you hang on when you have no food, no shelter and no life at all. Life is wrapped up in people. And here in America, people are plentiful, food is plentiful, houses are plentiful…but relationships…well they are usually what is missing. Maybe we are experiencing our own kind of war.

I feel like celebrating America on Monday. I began to ponder all of the wonders around me even on my drive home: Where did we get so much gravel to put down on the highway? It’s crazy. We have so much asphalt. Where did that come from? And how great is it to have lights on whenever we want them? Electricity doesn’t suddenly shut off in airports or at home. Hot water is always ready to come out of a clean faucet. Roaches are a non-issue thanks to Orkin (and thank God for the Orkin man). And myself, I am a woman with the right to go anywhere I want and feel that I matter. My opinions matter. I don’t have to leave the politics up to Ben. I can say whatever I want. I can even say I disagree with the President, if I did, without any worry about retribution on the government’s part.

But most of all I am struggling with my faith. I am still struggling with why God allows poverty. I know he isn’t the cause. But I am deeply concerned about my own doubt… I am wrestling with the fact that He could stop it. He could do something miraculous. And if poverty and pain exists in the kindest people I have ever met, than I have asked myself, “Why wouldn’t it happen to you”? I guess it could happen to me. I feel confused and sad. And maybe my sadness isn’t so much over another country but over what could happen to us. I am grieving the pain of Rwanda, and wondering why. There is no answer. I certainly have heard all of the pat answers. But one thing I keep doing is asking God. Maybe I will never get an answer about why Rwanda struggles. But I can’t get stuck there. I must keep doing something. I can’t let the question stop me from trying.

Sleep evades me. Processing takes so much energy. And yet, the road opens in front of me and I must follow it. Who knows where it leads next.