Simple Visits ... Again

On Saturday afternoons, Jocelyn and I tutor university students in English who are part of Women in Action. Mostly we just all read aloud together and go over words they don’t know. Its helping with their vocabulary and practicing their conversational English. However, Jocelyn knows some French from living in Quebec for a short time, so she uses French A LOT with them to help explain things. At times, I don’t know what we’d do if she didn’t know French … wish I knew some, it would be SO helpful. Although Rwanda is moving towards English as the second language, the majority of the people still know and speak French. And all the signs are in French, too! But, I’m learning little bits – like jambon is ham, and fromage is cheese. :) Can you tell its because I’ve had to order from a French menu?!

Anyway, after our “lesson” yesterday, one of the ladies had us come to her house for tea and peanuts! Initially we didn’t want to go because we’ve found that usually when someone here invites you over, you are expected to stay the whole day or evening! But we didn’t stay long so it worked out well. I think she really just wanted us to see her home, and that’s it. When she and her friends were walking us down to the bus stop (its customary for you to walk your guests to the main road, which is usually up or down a big bumpy, dirt hill and can be the equivalent of several blocks or more), she said at least twice how happy she was that we had visited her home. She was glowing! Again I was asking myself why it means so much just to have us come for a short time, or even come period. It seems so simple … and I hestitate to say it, but meaningless. Maybe its because in the States sometimes people just stopping by can be an imposition. Because you are interrupting their day or they have to clean and make it presentable or they have their own schedule to keep. Or maybe its because Rwandans are just so proud of what they have, even if they don’t have a lot. This lady, like a lot of the people we visit with Ubuzima, lived in a mud hut/shack with a tin roof that’s maybe the size of my storage unit. But its her home, and she was proud to have us see it and sit in it and drink tea with her. Maybe its just that a visit for a muzungu is a big deal … and the fact that we would treck up the hill and go out of our way, even if its just for a short time, means a lot of them. But its amazing how blessed she, like others, feel from our visits. And you know, when I think about it it makes me a little uncomfortable. I mean, its like we’re movie stars or something. Really, we’re just normal people ...