Part one:
It’s graduation season in Rwanda. As with every rite of passage here, this is a community event to be celebrated with family, friends, neighbors, elders, distant relatives, classmates, professors, and housemates-of-distant-origin-of-friends-of-cousins.
I generally fall into the latter category.
Saturday I attended the graduation party of a cousin of a friend of my housemate Susan who recently earned her Master’s degree from a distant university in the UK. No one I asked seemed to know exactly which one, or seemed particularly to care. Most Rwandans perceive university education as the primary harbinger of success, and a degree from Europe or the States is the epitome of social and intellectual achievement.
The celebration was only fitting for such an accomplishment: two tents sheltering hundreds of guests from the afternoon sun, DJ, prom-esque attire, Fanta and Amstel flowing like water, all-you-can-eat buffet. Not to doubt the credentials of Susan’s cousin’s friend—like most Africans who earn scholarships to study abroad, I assume she pursued Business or Economics at a relatively prestigious institution—but I had the distinct impression that she could have attended classes at an unaccredited university on a disputed island territory off the coast of Greenland and it wouldn’t have affected the turnout a bit.
Just as many Americans, such as the US Secretary of State on the eve of the Genocide in 1994, struggle to pinpoint Rwanda on a map, most Rwandans have only a hazy sense of Western geography. The difference, of course, is that American images of “Africa” tend to be associated with poverty and illiteracy, whereas Rwandan images of “the West” invoke prosperity and academic rigor. Bad for Africa; good for Africans with Western degrees on their resume.
The highlight, though, was a friend of the graduate who doubles as an aspiring pop star in neighboring Uganda. I’ve rarely seen such a determined performer. Donning a glittery pink gown with a pink-hued beehive to boot, she wrestled the microphone away from the MC, dragged her stone-faced husband to the floor, and invited us to “clap for Jesus” during an impressive interlude of song, dance, and wild gesticulation as her husband looked haplessly on. It was a hilarious, albeit heartfelt, tribute to the power and the glory of the books.
Part two:
Kay Hammond, mother of the family who so graciously invited me into their home last summer, has devoted her past months to directing a theatrical production on the Book of Ruth at Christ Church in Kigali. Forty Sunday School students—about a third of whom speak solid English—made their theatrical debut on Sunday.
I had looked forward to attending for weeks, but unfortunately God had other plans.
My moto driver and I ventured forth at a healthy 9:25, plenty of time to make the 10:00 curtain call according to my directions. I was to go down the hill past the MTN Center in Nyarutarama, right up the hill past Kobil gas station, right again at the “Y,” and left at the first road. Fifteen minutes, tops.
Half an hour later, a storm was brewing and we found ourselves at a hilltop hamlet that seemed a pretty far cry from the condos and NGO offices I associate with Nyarutarama. Mmmmm. Moto plus serious rain generally equals danger, so we pulled off as the drops began to pellet us from above.
The only shelter in site was a nondescript building filled to its tin-roof brim with local residents who beckoned us inside. Three hundred pairs of eyes examined the pitifully drenched pair but the rain muted any possibility of expressing thanks in my modest Kinyarwanda. The storm punctuated the sermon as if to emphasize the power of God’s fury and I resolved, once again, not to wax poetic.
We departed when the drizzle set in—my moto driver had clearly not envisioned a Sunday of worship—to retrace our steps. Two hours later he delivered me safely to a crowd of parishioners lauding Kay with praise. Hopefully God understands why I tipped the driver my offering for the day. “Blessed is this life, and I’m gonna celebrate being alive.” Clap, clap, clap for Jesus.
