The Personality Behind the Movement

I open the house gate every morning at 7:00 a.m. to leave for the office. I never know what the day will bring – I might take a trip out to a reconciliation village, or stay in the office to research, or complete communications tasks, or hang out with the street kids and teens who come to the office three times a week, or help translate documents, or visit schools, or meet with partner organizations.

Outside the gate sits a blue truck, driven by Gratien, or a white truck, driven by Geoffrey. If it’s Gratien, I listen to African reggae and practice Kinyarwanda and laugh unstoppably the whole ride to the office. If it’s Geoffrey, he greets me like he hasn't seen me in years. Every morning. Both drivers speak pretty good English.

The drive is about 10 minutes long: turn right at the house gate, drive down a red dirt road, pass a half-built house on the right that I don’t think will ever make progress, turn right again at the street paved with small stones, pass the corner of a big roundabout where huge bunches of grass green bananas sit – in trucks, in baskets, in carts, in arms. I’ve learned that there are 4 or 5 types of bananas here in Rwanda (maybe even more that I don’t yet know about) – and this bright green variety will never turn yellow. It’s “cooking banana,” and Rwandans love it. You cook it in a pan with spices, oil, and water until it’s soft, like potato (see 3rd photo of a very typical Rwandan meal). I’ve had so much green banana stew here that I think I might forget about the yellow type.

We climb up the steep path at the roundabout corner and dodge street vendors, selling everything from cell phones and notebooks to lollipops and cookies. We bump along another red dirt road, then veer off to the left, honking at pedestrians to move out of the way. Yes, honking at pedestrians is considered rude in the U.S. because pedestrians have the right of way. You don’t honk at someone to tell them to hurry up while they’re crossing the street. Here, you do. Moving vehicles (not moving people) have the right of way, which can make for an interesting and perilous life as a pedestrian.

We turn at one of the only street signs that exists in Kigali, which reads: “Niboye.” There are probably 2 street signs in the entire city of Kigali. An added bonus: there are no addresses. People just use landmarks to find things. This makes bus rides difficult, because you don’t know where exactly you’re getting off. Maybe at the blue billboard, or the embassy, or the curvy road. I often have the honor of figuring out how to get to people’s houses with directions like these: “Go up the street that you take to get to the meat market, turn right at the white building, turn left at the first group of houses you come to, walk straight in the roundabout, pass 2 houses with square roofs, you’ll hear a mooing cow. Turn right. Then turn left. My house is behind you on the hill.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been lost here.

We get to the office. I open the door to 13 of the most wonderful people I’ve ever known – the PFR staff. They are what this blog post is about. I’ll say this now: I’ve only been here for about 1 month, and these people have easily become my second family. They call themselves a family; they tell me that I am one of the family; and they surely treat me like one of the family. I miss them on the weekends. Saturday feels kind of empty without them. I look forward to seeing them every day. I consider it such a blessing to work with people like this.

Let me explain.

The first person I usually see in the morning is Jean de Dieu, the guard. He jumps up and down and dances when the truck pulls into the gate. Yes, that’s right. He jumps up and down and dances. “Good morning! Praise God! God is so good,” he says, “God is so good.” His smile is explosive.

Jean de Dieu. I found out that he killed many, many people – too many to count – in the genocide. He spent a good number of years in prison after this happened, feeling remorse and regret heavier than he could bear. When Pastor Deo, the President of PFR, visited the prison where Jean de Dieu was locked up to share about forgiveness and reconciliation, Jean de Dieu’s life was changed. This guy emanates joy. I can’t tell you how shell-shocked I was when I heard his story. Pastor Deo hired him as the guard at the office.

Jacqueline. Jacqueline is usually the second person I see. She works with the HIV/AIDS women who visit the office and she cooks huge amounts of food for the 85+ street children who come on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays (see 4th photo). This is how my conversation with Jacqueline goes EVERY morning (all in Kinyarwanda, as Jacqueline is one staff member who does not speak any English. I squeeze out every ounce of Kinyarwanda that I know with her):

Me: Good morning!

Jacqueline: Good morning!

Me: How are you?

Jacqueline: I’m so good, and how are you?

Me: So good.

Jacqueline: Praise God!

Me: Praise God so much!

Jacqueline: God bless you so much!

Me: God bless you too so much, too!

Jacqueline: I love you!

Me: I love you too!

Jacqueline: You look beautiful today.

Grace: Thank you so much! You look beautiful, too.

Jacqueline: God is good!

Me: All the time.

Then, we embrace for at least 5 minutes. Awesome.

Gratien. One of the drivers I’ve mentioned, who’s introduced me to the African music scene. He loves to sing, like I do, so we belt out African reggae and Celine Dion (he loves Celine Dion) on the way to work at 7 a.m. Trust me, it’s loud enough to shatter the windows of the truck.

Geoffrey. The other driver. He’s an ex-soccer player, played on a Rwandan pro team. He teaches us the ropes every Friday afternoon, when the staff plays soccer at a dirt field close to the office together with a bunch of kids who live on the street. (Gratien and Geoffrey are shown in the last pic).

Guma. He’s the communications director, and he knows the most English. He does a lot of interpreting for me (in the 1st photo, Guma translates for me during an interview at a village). I work with him on all of the communications tasks I do. He has a quiet, peaceful presence, and he laughs at all of my ridiculous jokes when I need someone to joke with in English.

Beatrice (Betty). Betty cleans the office, makes Rwandan tea for everyone in the morning for breakfast, teaches the HIV/AIDS women who come to the office how to sew (see 2nd photo) and is attending evening classes to learn English. She has a very soft voice and a gentle smile. She’s always putting my Nalgene water bottle (most of you know that I carry this thing with me wherever I go) in the fridge to keep it cold and slipping cookies and fruit to me during the day. She probably thinks I’m crazy, because I can get pretty wild, loud, and enthusiastic at the office. I know she loves it though – she laughs quietly.

Claire. Claire is a couple of years older than me. She’s the accountant for PFR. She’s a hard worker, she’s stylish, and she takes breaks from her work to pull up a chair next to me to talk. I love our chats, because we talk about pretty much everything. Her English is a lot better than she says it is.

Faustin. Faustin speaks barely any English, but he is proud of the English he does speak. He’s always talking to me. Faustin makes everyone in the office roar with laughter at lunch. Sometimes I don’t know what he’s saying, but I laugh at the sight of the staff falling out of their chairs. Faustin was imprisoned after the genocide, and his life changed after Pastor Deo spoke in the prison. He was hired at PFR after his release from prison, and his humor fills the office to the brim.

Felix. Felix does a lot of writing for the office. He’s the Director of Programs, so he organizes and runs many of the reconciliation and restorative justice training workshops in the villages and prisons. He has a quiet, sophisticated demeanor and a wide, wide smile. We have a lot of conversations in English at lunchtime.

Zibie. Zibie is the Assistant Director of PFR. She works closely with Claire. She is sophisticated, quiet, and passionate. She prays aloud almost every morning for the staff and for the nation before we begin the day. I am always inspired by her.

Musayidizi. Musayidizi is another guard at the PFR office. He’s patient, polite, and passionate. Once my Kinyarwanda develops a bit more, I’m hoping to be able to talk more with him.

Christine. Christine is Pastor Deo’s wife. She is on fire with dedication to PFR and what it stands for. She runs the programs for the street children, who in too many cases were orphaned in the events of the genocide and now live in extreme poverty. She has 5 boys of her own and has become a mother to the 85+ street children who come to the office during the week. While at the office, the children get hot meals, get love and attention, take baths, run around, participate in different activities, and get some literacy training. All of the street children and youth (anywhere from 3 years old to 23 years old) love Christine. She’s the mother hen. I don’t know how she does it.

Pastor Deo. Pastor Deo lost his sister and other family and friends in the genocide. When he saw the condition of the country in the aftermath of the atrocities of 1994, he left his career in math/statistics and started PFR to intervene in the lives of perpetrators and victims. His confidence in the ability of Rwandans to overcome the past, together with his endurance as he teaches about the power of forgiveness, have touched the lives of 32,000 prisoners, and counting.

I’m blessed to be able to travel with these people, share ideas with these people, and work alongside these people nearly every day of my time here. They are the character of PFR. Each of them is full of personality; each has something different to offer to the movement of restoration and reconciliation in post-genocidal Rwanda. I don’t think it could get much better.