We are waiting for a few minutes for Samuel to arrive.  He meant to meet us at 8 so that we could get on the road right away and spend a little time in Nairobi at the ADRA office talking about the peace initiative.  He is running a little late. It gives me a chance to reflect on this trip. 

I feel terribly conflicted.  I am sitting in the breakfast room at the modest hotel where we are staying, a bed and breakfast put up by the Presbyterian Church.  In the background a TV preacher from the U.S. is explaining his version of the prosperity gospel.  He is one of those guys who sounds like he is speaking truth, but something is missing.  “Following the principles of Jesus is meant to give you more cash” something like that.  I wonder if he understands that while this may prosper us spiritually, we may become impoverished financially, yet we are not poor.  “Sell all you have and give to the poor, then come and follow me.”  I think it was Jesus who spoke those words. 

So we give of our resources for the chance to create peace, to bless others in another part of the world, as well as in our own backyard.  We are impoverished, and we are made richer.  We make no apologies for such a life. 
The TV preacher is annoying, but the truth is, there is something else that is bothering me.  I miss those kids in Kapedo.  I remember them, five boys, big wide grins across their faces, holding onto a soccer ball that we gave them.  Girls in school uniforms, orphans who have a future, and hope, because we work on peace in Kapedo. 

But I didn’t have a chance to see them, to greet them on this trip.  They are on an island of flooded rivers and I am on the other side.  In my mind I see them, waving to me as I drive by in my limousine, hoping a few crumbs will fall to them.  But the gulf between us is too wide, and I can only hear their voices just above the roaring waters, still full of hope, trusting that somehow we will find a way.

I can’t explain why they matter to me.  I can only say that they do.  The truth is, I miss them.

It may sound like we have some kind of a Savior complex, and I can understand that.  I have heard that critique of people who do what we do in various forms for decades- criticism of people who choose to live their lives differently, to make of their lives about more than just themselves and their own comforts.  In residency, my advisors suggested that my desire to work in another part of the world was driven by guilt, sort of their psychoanalysis of my motives.  People make a living by accusing good people of being flawed.  Of course we are.  Can we move on now? 
What motivates us is something far deeper.  It was never about ourselves, patting ourselves on the backs, medals, trophies or recognition.  People who are self-centered and egotistical get recognition, publicity, position and power.  Look at Donald Trump.

It is the joy of walking with other humans for whom injustice has overwhelmed them.  They have no clout, they have no voice, they have no resources.  To come alongside them, to open a door for them and to give them hope and a future.  That is a life worth living.  I love that life.  If no one else notices or comes along, so be it, it doesn’t matter, because it was never about other people and what they thought.  The truth is, we are not alone- there are others who are also moved by the suffering of people.  They are quietly going about in the world discovering the good they were meant to do in it.  These are the righteous. 

Samuel arrives and we talk about future plans, getting the supplies to Kapedo when the rain allows, working with some of the other partners in that area for peace.  We talk about budgets, last minute details, getting him a little more money to finish out the year.  He prays with us, he thanks us, he blesses us.  He wants us to know how dear we are to him.  He is changed, and the people in the conflict areas are changed because we don’t give up on them, even when we might have, we keep believing that peace will prevail.  “A light at the end of the tunnel,” he says.
We become curious about his family.  I know only that his mother is still living, last I knew in the wild Akoret area beyond Kapedo.  She is Turkana, but since her deceased husband, Samuel’s father, was Pokot, these are her ancestral lands in that remote Pokot area.  We ask if he has children.  Yes, there are three.  The oldest is named Barry, the second is named Precious, and the youngest is named Shelley.  My wife wakes up as if from a sleep.  “Did you name them after us?”  she asks, surprised.  I smile.  It is the custom of African cultures to name their children after people they wish to honor, to remember, people they wish to tell their children about, to live up to.  “Of course,” answers Samuel.  “Because you have changed my life, I want to remember you each and every time I say my children’s names.”  He promises to introduce his family to us next visit.

We smile, say goodbye, give hugs, last minute instructions, and we are off down the road.  I reflect on what Samuel is telling us in naming his children as he has.  I think he has said in so doing what I am feeling.  He has made us his people.  We are united through a bond that is as profound as our biology.  We are his family.  And so is he to us.  The children in Kapedo, I cannot lay down their memory because I have made them my people.  If they succeed, I will cheer for them.  If they fail, I will sorrow for them.  If they suffer, I will suffer with them.  That has made the difference. 
​
The children are waiting on the other side of the river.  I can hear them calling out to us as we leave this place.  They are waving goodbye.  They are asking us to remember them.  We turn to board the plane, hot, sweaty, beat up, jostled by a thousand potholes, frazzled by a thousand donkey carts, matatus, pedestrians, cows, goats and motorcycles with bedframes strapped on the back.  How can we forget them?  We will come again. 

Samuel's Story
Samuel has worked so hard for peace, and what is amazing about him is that he was a victim of the violence.  In the early 1990’s his father, a Pokot, was killed by the Turkanas during a raid of sorts.   In those days the Turkanas had the upper hand and the Pokots were on the run.  Cattle rustling, thievery, violence, perpetuated over decades.  Samuel identifies with both sides of the conflict since his father was Pokot and his mother Turkana.  He isn’t bitter, but works for reconciliation on both sides.  He finishes his nursing degree next month and he will graduate in the spring.  He dreams of finishing a master’s degree in nursing and becoming the first Pokot lecturer in one of the nursing schools.  He hopes in this way to inspire other Pokots to obtain an education and transform their lives in the process.

Proposal for reconciliation
Overnight I looked over the documents that Samuel gave me.  In one document, he outlined the programs conducted in 2015 as part of the peace initiative.  It is an impressive list of building, nurturing, nourishing, healing, counseling, meeting, etc.  He wants to do more.  He has put together a proposal for 6 million Kenya shillings or so to work on reconciliation between the tribes, educate the young, counsel the traumatized, bring violence as a way of life to an end.  It’s a good proposal.  I have no idea where the money would come from.  We will talk to ADRA on the way through Nairobi and see if there is interest in partnering with us on developing peace.

Conversations with Everlyne:
Everlyne is the chairperson for the peace initiative.  She is a school teacher from Kapedo.  She is one of the women that I remember from 2012 who gave an impassioned speech about the disaster occurring in their community as a result of lack of peace.  She personally lost several family members as a result of violence against them.  Samuel set up a phone conversation with her today.  Here is her perspective.
She mentioned again the challenges with insecurity and water.  She stated that overall the communities are very happy with the support, and that things are going well with the project.  She mentioned the cholera outbreak that occurred this year as a result of contaminated water supply.  Two children died.  Samuel responded and helped with medicine and IV fluids, clinical evaluations, transfer of the sickest patients to Nakuru.  Specific areas that are going well include the orphan support, student support, housing and bedding and food for the orphans, building of the orphan shelter, etc.

Areas that are a priority for the committee include:

• Increase the food support for widows and elderly
• Increase school support for promising and needy children.  Right now they are able to help five Turkana children and five Pokot children to receive education.  This is important to develop leaders for the future who will see the world differently and not be swayed to live life through the barrel of a gun.
• Building a kitchen for the orphans.
• Putting up a water tank for the rainy season to catch water for orphan support
• A small stipend for the matron who cares for the orphans
• Supporting meetings in Nakuru and Kapedo in include professionals from these two tribes who can talk about and meet regarding peace.
• Making the project sustainable, knowing that we had promised them five years of support.  This time frame is rapidly coming to a close. 

There are some important developments taking place regarding peace.  The Pokots are selling mild and firewood in Kapedo to the Turkanas, and the Turkanas are selling crafts to the Pokots.  Trade and economic ties are an important measure of peace.  Pokots are again receiving treatment at the hospital.  People are able to walk across the desert without fear of attacks. 

Some of the biggest challenges that remain include the life of the cattle rustlers.  In Samuel’s proposal for reconciliation, he mentions engaging the prophets and seers.  He explained further the significance of this means.  The prophets are almost untouchable from the outside, very powerful figures in Pokot culture.  They typically call in the young men, slaughter a goat and “read” the intestines.  They will tell the young warriors that they will successfully capture 100 goats and cattle without harm to themselves.  This drives the culture of young warriors stealing cattle, and there is economic gain for the prophet as well, since he gets a share of the cattle.  There are economic and spiritual reasons why cattle rustling with its violence and poverty perpetuates itself.  It is literally the light fighting against the darkness. 
​
What amazes me is that Samuel with two of his partners in this peace initiative went house to house among the Pokots persuading people to give back to the government the guns they had taken when they killed the 22 policemen and security men.  Samuel and his partners in peace are fearless.  And they pulled it off.  They were often met with a Clintonesque response like “I don’t have the guns, but I think I saw where they were hidden.”  Then the person would lead Samuel to where a gun was buried a few feet from their house.  After completing this daunting task, they met the Vice President of Kenya and returned the guns to him.  So our work in Kapedo and our partners in this peace initiative are known all the way to the top government officials in Kenya.

Hardware Store
You have not really lived until you have shopped at the hardware store in Nakuru.  You can’t actually get to the hardware in this store.  You have to talk to a person behind the counter and describe what you want, they plug it into the computer, give you a receipt, you pay the different cashier guy, then he gives the receipt to a different dude who finds all the stuff, then you go somewhere else while that is happening and come back and you find your stuff piled in the back and wonder if this is really what you ordered.  “Everyone comes here,” explains Samuel.  From Baringo, Marigat, all over the area.  That is why it is so busy.”  Dozens of people are wandering through the waiting area and dozens more behind the counters.  When you go outside the lady with mangoes wants to sell you some and the parking guy wants to be paid. 
Good news, we hooked everything together, solar panels made in Kenya, batteries, wiring, hoses, water pumps and they work great.  Now it is up to Samuel with some help in Kapedo to put it all together since we can’t accompany him.   

How do you convince desperate people ruled by violence, thievery, revenge and mystical beliefs that there is a better way to live our lives, and it involves laying down our differences, reconciliation, forgiveness?  The peace initiative has found a formula that works.  It involves a bull, a sleepover, and a whole lot of guts.

When bullets are flying, your vehicles are being torched, your security force are being shot up, things can look pretty desperate.  You might even consider packing your bags.  Unless you live in Kapedo.  Here, the chance to create peace trumps whatever fears you may have.  The peace committee came up with a different plan.

What if we slaughter a bull, invite our enemies to the feast, share our food, assure them of our good will and convince them that we are serious about putting aside our differences and living together in peace?  We’ll place ourselves in the hands of our enemies, even sleep over for a couple of nights in enemy territory for the chance to change the way things are and stop the violence.  What do you think? 

They voted on it and decided that this was the plan.  A feast out in the wilderness, talks of peace over two days.  Sleep in the desert.  In the end?  The Pokots agreed.  They would lay down their guns.  They would stop the violence.  The Turkanas could pass through their territory without risk.  No vehicle attacks.  No road blocks.  Their promise has held. 
​
Pretty cool.  It really worked.  A little much for the vegetarians in the crowd.  Remember the power of a bull, a feast and a two night sleepover next time you run into an impasse with your church board.  Sometimes just thinking about it is enough to change our perspectives and bring our squabbles to an end.  

We met with Samuel this evening, one of our Kenyan partners who has worked diligently on the peace project at Kapedo.  If you look at news clips on the Internet about the violence that happened at that location as recently as December of last year, you will understand how fragile this process has been.  Multiple lives lost.  Atrocities on both sides.  Here’s what we know so far:

We can’t make it to Kapedo this trip.  The roads are washed out, cars have been washed away, and it will be two weeks before the roads can be repaired enough to allow some traffic through.  Nginyang River is washed out, bridges are gone, the message is clear, we can’t go this trip. 

The violence started when a Pokot man was beheaded in Kapedo. We don’t know the circumstances.  When the Pokots asked for his head so that they could bury him, the Turkanas said they didn’t have it.  That started the violence.  Attacks on the road. The chief who has worked with us barely escaped the attack on his vehicle by running off.  All others in the vehicle were killed, and the car was burned.  Guards from the government joined forces with local security people to go and meet with the Pokots and bring in those responsible.  They were ambushed from the hills above and all 22 of them were killed and their guns were taken.  The Turkanas responded by destroying the water supply for the Pokots’ livestock and filling the well with rocks.  The government responded by saying “give us back the guns, or you will all be killed.”  Samuel and two other friends from the peace initiative went house to house to convince people to give back the guns. They were able to recover 20 of the guns and no one else was killed.   The president of Kenya came to Kapedo for the first time and begged them to stop the violence and to use the vehicle of the peace initiative that we created to develop peace.  Samuel and the peace initiative leaders met together to create a plan for peace.  They went together, Turkanas and Pokots, to meet with the Pokots living in the remote site beyond Kapedo.  They slaughtered a bull and invited them to a feast and stayed with them three days hoping to bring about peace. 
​
The Pokots agreed not to kill anyone, not to put up any roadblocks to people passing through, no wrecking cars, no attacking travelers.  They also agreed that if we put up a structure in their community, a multipurpose structure to be used for education, for healthcare, and for spiritual care, they would come.  There is community buy in.
The challenge now is that though we have the stones, cement, roofing, etc., the builders don’t want to build there due to the security situation.  Samuel talked to the district commissioner in a place called Chemolingot and was able to get a promise from him for a tent, three security guards and water for the builder to complete the task. 
Samuel handed me the reports from the past year.  I will be reviewing these overnight tonight, and tomorrow we will put together a couple of 12 volt water pumps to be used to pump river water up to the two communities to develop a fish project, or a garden project.  I also have a donated ram pump that I hope to explain sufficiently to Samuel to make it work in doing a similar process.  I have some supplies to put the electrical generator back on track and a backup generator that can be retrofitted in, we hope.  Finally, I am going to see if anyone can create a dual chamber pump that harnesses the power of the salty hot waterfall of Kapedo and use that power to push more river water up to the village for agricultural development.  This we will go over in detail tomorrow, then we leave it in Samuel’s hands.  He will put this together with the communities’ help.  Water is still critical to make the program work.  Peace is essential or the water we develop will never last.  Water becomes the target to be destroyed because it strikes the enemy where they are most vulnerable.  Without water, the livestock die, their livelihood, their food source, their lives are destroyed.  

Tonight we will meet with Samuel and make a decision based on the best information that we have.  Do we move ahead to go to Kapedo, ford the rivers, get stuck in the sand, float down the river and end up in Lake Turkana where we are rescued by the El Molo tribe and live out the rest of our lives living off crocodiles and fish while providing medical care and English classes to the dwindling band of people?  Will this be our fate?  My understanding is that if Ethiopia follows through on their plans to build several hydroelectric schemes on the Omo River that Lake Turkana will start drying up, in which case the El Molo will need to diversify their economy, and Shelley and I will need to help them raise other sources of food or we will all starve.  I hope that you will come and visit us.  We will be on the east side of the lake.  Ask for the sunburned people.

We decided to visit a place called Ol Pejeta Wildlife Reserve yesterday and it was wonderful.  Expensive, but a great time seeing some amazing animals including seven white rhinos and one black rhino in the wild.  We fed a blind black rhino by hand.  We also learned that there are only four living northern white rhinos in the world, one in San Diego, and three in this reserve.  One is infertile and the other has weak back legs, having been in captivity for so long.  There is only one living male.  The subspecies was wiped out to sell the horns to Asian markets in exchange for weapons during the Congolese civil war. (NOTE: The week we returned, the northern white rhino in San Diego died.)

Because of poaching, the remaining animals have to be guarded all the time.  There are 87 or so black rhinos in the reserve and 64 white rhinos.  We saw two baby white rhinos, so there is a healthy breeding population.

Unfortunately, about eleven rhinos were killed by poachers in Ol Pejeta since 2002 or so, so it is really slow going.  I have to say, it is pretty sobering to stand at the gravesites of the eleven who were killed, knowing that their deaths were for nothing more than some mystical unproven aphrodisiac medicine in Asia related to the use of their horns.  How can you justify murdering animals at any cost?  But the market is such that the poachers are willing to murder these magnificent animals.  We watched a family from about 25 feet away, incredibly wonderful experience.  They are truly glorious creatures.
​
The hardest part of the whole experience was finding the place.  We used google maps, which has saved us several times on this trip, but not this time.  Google maps first sent us down a side road past a British military base to a gravel pit, and the second time past the Pentacostal Church to a rocky alleyway.  “Your destination is on the right,” the reassuring Google lady told us.  We looked out the car window into the face of a bewildered shopkeeper selling cellphone minutes in a rusty tin roof shack in the middle of a slum.  We were supposed to be in a wild game reserve at a resort.  Five stop and ask for direction adventures later, we made it.  Definitely worth the trouble.  

Part of the plan for this trip was to look at another potential site for teaching family medicine.  I heard of a spot on the eastern slopes of Mt. Kenya from a family doctor who practices in Grand Marais, Minnesota, just up highway 61 from where I grew up.  Bruce Dahlman works in the emergency room in Grand Marais so that he has time to go on trips to east Africa developing family medicine here.  He currently works at a place called Kabarak University near Nakuru and has three sites for teaching family medicine at mission hospitals in the works.  The newest spot and arguably the best spot is called Chogoria, an older Presbyterian mission hospital where we will be visiting.  The hospital is situated at about 6000 feet making malaria a rarity.  TB, HIV, gastroenteritis, malnutrition, infections and chronic diseases are common. 

Jim Ritchie and his wife Martha and son James entertained us and showed us around the place.  They have been expecting us for several weeks, but didn’t find out until this past Monday, two days ago, that there was also a big shindig for church leadership planned for today and they also were called unexpectedly to visit their daughter in boarding school.  Our visit will be cut short just a bit and we will need to find something to do in our sorrow, like see some animals at Samburu National Reserve.

We learned a lot in the short time that we had together.  There are several very exciting aspects to this site for teaching family medicine.  There is a great level of need.  Faculty is being developed and the hospital is gearing up to be a teaching hospital.  There is already a nursing school here.  They have started their first class of family medicine residents this year, one of which is from Burundi and plans to go back to develop family medicine there.  They see their mission as being considerably more than just teaching good doctors for hospitals in Kenya.  They want to improve the health of countries the region, and develop family medicine in places like Burundi and South Sudan.  Security is not a concern here, there is a nice campus to stay on, they are not so busy that creating an academic setting is difficult, and they have adequate financial support for the residency, all important considerations.  The two concerns that I have include whether or not there are sufficient patients- in part because of some interesting insurance changes by the government- and whether or not there will be sufficient need for us to be involved as support faculty.  It looks like there will likely be enough help so that we may not be needed.  Either way, if I end up working at another site to help with family medicine, these people are worth knowing about since they will be developing physicians who could become faculty in Bururndi, South Sudan, and elsewhere, helping to establish family medicine in those places.   The only other drawback is that the concentration of road bumps between Nairobi and Chogoria is like nothing else I have ever seen in the world.  This is the highest concentration of road bumps anywhere. 

On the morning we left, I talked to the medical director for the hospital, a family doctor himself, a Kenyan named Franklin Ikunda.  He is very supportive of developing family medicine training here and asked “when can you come?”  He has been in Grand Marais Minnesota in Bruce Dahlman’s home.  His recollection of Minnesota was beautiful and very cold.  He said the lake was frozen over when he was there.  Bruce, who would invite their African friends to northeastern Minnesota in the dead of winter?  Ice fishing?  Snow shoeing?  What were you thinking?
I got a call from Samuel, our Kenyan partner in the peace initiative in Kapedo.  He said again that the rivers are flooding and cars are stranded on either side of the river.  It is very possible that we will not be able to travel to Kapedo in that case.  We will therefore work on a backup plan, in terms of our itinerary.  We will make a decision tonight, Sunday, on whether it makes sense to try to ford the rivers of northern Kenya in flood stage to visit the project there, or to give Samuel the equipment with instructions and let him work it out.  Crunch time is tonight.  We may not have options.  At the very least, we will put the whole system together and test it to make sure it works and hand things over to Samuel.  Not ideal, but better than floating down the river with our luggage.
​
Some of you have expressed concern about the terrorist attack in northeastern Kenya.  This occurred in a place called Garissa, far from where we are, the same location as a university attack a year or so ago.  Very sad, and I don’t want to diminish its significance, but I also want to reassure you that we are very safe.   We are able to continue on with our plans, unless the rivers rise and we can’t move forward.  We will send you updates after tonight’s decision. 

​The house is modest, a tin roof, three cement steps into an 8 x 8 ft sitting room walls painted yellow, bare cement floor, woven seats and table.  Our hostess greets us with the biggest of smiles, a Rwandan embrace, clothed in a traditional dress, hair pulled back neatly.  She is delighted to see us, having never met us before.  She is Albert’s older sister.  She is welcoming us to Albert’s home.

Albert’s biological parents, both mother and father were killed in the genocide.  He has four siblings, plus another six half siblings, all older.  His middle sister just had twins.  We just left the hospital where we met her with her husband, babies and mother-in-law.  Her babies are a boy and a girl, weighing in at 4.5 lbs each, delivered by c/section.  We have walked over cobbled rutted alleyways to this place on the Congo border.  Albert is beaming at our visit.  He shows us around after greetings.  A bare cement house two room house abuts the main house, a bare kitchen and a bedroom.  This is the house where his middle sister lives with her infant of one year.  She has no job, having dropped out of nursing school to care for her infant.  Next to this, another house, unfinished doorway, rough floor, curtain for the front door, in which lives a man with his son.  The income from this modest two room house, about $22 per month, helps to support his sister, for whom Albert, himself a student and unemployed, feels some responsibility as the oldest male member of the family. 

The significance of this house can’t be understated.  That it is livable at all is a story of illogical and improbable odds.  Shelley advertised the Music on the Menu event at our house in early 2012.  An English teacher from Kettle Falls was teaching about genocides and asked Shelley to speak to her class.  Shelley invited a young Rwandan, Albert, to speak directly to the class in Kettle Falls via Skype.  The Kettle Falls class chose as its service project raising money to repair Albert’s house on the Congo border.  We are seeing the results of that gift of kindness given by some teenage kids in northeast Washington trying to understand genocide, touched by one life story of how it feels to be orphaned and transition to adulthood in post-genocide Rwanda. 

Today, that teacher from Kettle Falls saw Shelley’s post and remembered Albert’s story.  Shelley will send a picture of Albert in a yellow painted sitting room, with two of his sisters a couple of the children and an American woman from Colville with a big smile on her face as evidence that their high school project to change the world is paying off.  Albert’s house creates stability, gives roots, provides for family.  One act of kindness changes the world.
One the way back from Gisenyi on the north shore of Lake Kivu where Albert’s house is located, Albert and I talk about hour homeless project in Colville.  He is very interested.  He sees how addressing homelessness changes things, gives families hope and a future.  He should know.  A class of teenage kids from Kettle Falls opened that door for him.

I am here early in the morning on the day of our departure from Rwanda, waiting for my colleague Louse King to arrive.  Louse is an internist who has worked Musanze for several years, taught with us in the family medicine residency here when it was functioning, a classmate of Paul Farmer’s (of “Mountains beyond Mountains”, “Partners in Health), a Harvard Medical School graduate.  I am joining her for hospital rounds this morning for a few minutes prior to boarding the bus for Kigali.  I am breathing in the cool morning air, volcanoes in the distance.  A young woman with a mental illness approaches me and asks me for some food.  Her younger siblings giggle and try to steer her in another direction.  It brings back a flood of memories, both bitter and sweet.  The daily ride into Musanze from our rented home 5 kilometers away on our Indian motorcycle (no, not a real Indian- made in India).

The 7 year old boy I met each day with a hug, so excited just to watch my motorcycle for me.   His father and mother were both dead, and he was the caretaker for his grandma, stranded at the hospital day after day with venous ulcers of her feet, waiting for amputation of both legs.  The research projects to address chronic osteomyelitis and typhoid that never happened because the ministries demanded payment of $1500 per application.  I watch as a woman with one leg hobbles by on crutches.  So many things have not changed.  The family medicine residents are gone now, their program shut down by a ministry of health director who didn’t believe in family medicine.  They are orphaned now in the system they inherited, unable to find jobs as family doctors, scattered without national leadership or support.  Brightly colored bishop birds, the smell of woodfire, community health projects to improve basic services, the quiet of an African night with a stream murmuring in the back yard. 

Louise joins me now, and we go on rounds.  We catch up a bit between patients and we examine an asthmatic who comes in with frequent exacerbations of her disease.  There are few medicines in the country, but she could be treated more appropriately, seen regularly, kept out of the hospital in most cases but she lacks one missing ingredient in her medical plan.  She needs a family doctor, somebody to see her before disaster strikes, to get her on the right medicines before she ends up in the hospital. 

I excuse myself and walk out to the gate with Louse.  I promise that next time I will call sooner rather than 10 hours before leaving so we can talk some more and find out about our lives and families.  I walk out of the gate and find myself walking with a steady flow of Rwandans moving from here to there.  I am alone in my thoughts.  I miss much of what is here now and I miss what has been lost.  I remember something in my black carry-on.  It is a lollipop that I received in 2011, a gift from the boy who guarded my motorcycle.  I could never bring myself to eat it.  I find myself wondering whatever happened to that boy.  

One of the Imbabazi orphans in sick and in the hospital in Kigali.  Our good friend Albert, another Imbabazi orphan, asked if we would like to visit him while here.  We visited him when we arrived and again as we were leaving.  He is very ill, but the doctor is gone in the afternoon so we can’t get any information about his illness.  The mother is allowed only to stay with him for a short period of the day.  Initially he can squeeze our hands, but he cannot talk because he is intubated.  Two days later, they have moved him to the intensive care unit, and we visited him there again.  He appears sedated, unconscious.  No one is around to stop us, so we looked at his vitals, which are stable, and his xrays which show infection in both lungs.  He is on IV antibiotics and IV fluids, some ventilator support with extra pressure and oxygen.  Most likely scenario, he developed an aggressive pneumonia, got septic, became unconscious and delirious, made it to the hospital and now is making slow progress.  Best case scenario, he recovers and has a slow improvement to his normal statue.  Somehow in the middle of all of this, he found his mother, whom he did not know was still alive, for the past 20+ years since the genocide.  The whole Imbabazi family is praying for him since he is their family too.  They are his only support.  His insurance covers being in the hospital bed, but all of his medicines are out of pocket and have to be purchased by the Imbabazi orphans who struggle just to find jobs or complete their education.  They rely on each other and have become family to each other.  They appoint or elect one to be their mother, one to be their father.   Shelley and I left some cash with Albert at the end of our Rwanda time specifically for his care. 
​
Seems a little ridiculous to find a way to help one young person in the middle of Africa, but I don’t think so.  What I am discovering is that our neighbors are those that we make our neighbors.  Our patients are those who we take as our patients.  Our family are those we take in as our family.  Albert is family to us, so his concerns are ours.  We can’t fix everything that is wrong, but lack of ability to fix the world shouldn’t stop us from changing it.  

Day 5-7
The cancelled flight turned out not to be cancelled.  “It was a virus,” explained the agent at the Ethiopian Airlines desk.  We arrived the next morning in Kigali, Rwanda without further incident and met with Albert, Gadi and Musa, three friends, orphans of the genocide trying to make their way into adulthood with less than optimal support from family.  Some have found distant relatives who have helped them along.  Others have really no one and struggle to make schooling or work happen after high school with little additional support. 

Shelley wants to stay connected with these young Rwandans whom she taught in 2011 when we lived here in the north of the country.  I taught family medicine at the hospital in Musanze while she taught deaf Rwandan children to speak English, and other incredibly remarkable things.  She also taught these children of the genocide at Imbabazi English, computers, music and leadership.  Their stories are remarkable for many reasons, including their upbringing at the farm of Ros Carr, an American who lived in Africa for 50+ years and wrote a book called “Land of a Thousand Hills” where she describes feeling compelled to turn her farm into an orphanage as she watched the slaughter taking place during the genocide of 1994.  She had never had children, but after the genocide, she returned to her dismantled farm, rebuilt it and had over 100.  For most of these young adults, Ros was the only mother they knew.  They would argue at night about why they were Ros’ favorite child.  Each year they continue to come back for a memorial service in November.  They write stories and poems and sing songs about their mother, who was 82 at the time of the genocide and lived until she was 94.  They plan to create a documentary called “Letters to Ros”.  They continue to look for ways to connect to the outside world and for ways to get some additional support.  However, as with so many areas of life, the loudest bird is not always the hungriest.  It’s important to look for the one that doesn’t complain and suffers quietly, though they are just as much in need.

We had a supper with ten orphans last night plus three children of the orphans. Several are married now.  A few pictures, a little catching up on things, mostly a chance for the orphans of the Imbabazi to see each other again.  They want to call Shelley mama, mainly because they want to know someone as mother. 

Things we’ve learned since being in the country:

• The Adventist Church is planning to begin a medical school at their university campus in Kigali.  I don’t know if anyone is connected to that project, but I am interested.
• The family medicine doctors we trained here in Rwanda are a bit like orphans, needing to fit into the preexisting French style medical hierarchy they inherited, into which family medicine doesn’t fit well.  There is no family medicine residency in the country at present.
• Musanze in the north where we lived, formerly known as Ruhengeri, is growing a bit, against the backdrop of five volcanoes in Volcanoes National Park along the border with Uganda and Congo. 

Reflections on our hotel in Musanze:
​
The towel rack has fallen off.  There is only one towel.  The shower head has broken and shoots water out sideways.  The toilet seat is broken.  The toilet doesn’t flush.  They ran out of tile on the floor.  The mosquito net is not centered over the bed, so only our feet are safe from malaria.  The TV has several channels, but they are all the same, a blank blue screen.  The overhead light doesn’t shut off, but has just enough electricity to keep strobing all night long.  The electricity quits at 6-9 each morning, precisely when we need it.  The strobe light stops at that time.  There is no shower curtain.  The view overlooks the clothes line.  There is only one pillow.  We love it.  It feels just like home.