Kavadi

Sunday morning at the Jesus Praise Centre in Kigali, Rwanda.  Looking up as I entered the dim, small room, I noticed the decoration hanging from the ceiling.
"That's toilet paper! "  I said to myself.
"No, it's not."  It looked too sturdy around the edges.  Surely it was some kind of bunting.  I looked more closely.
"Yes it IS!"  It really was toilet paper.
As usual, we were all called up to the front and introduced, and stayed there to join in the singing and clapping. I don't remember how we could've been singing, as the songs weren't usually in English.

Then we found out a baby was to be dedicated.  So we sat down.

 A drama was being enacted.  An usher ran to lift the baby from the hard-packed dirt floor.  No, no, the mother gestured.  This was part of the story.  She apparently was explaining how she hadn't made it to the hospital, and the baby was born on the ground.  She was bringing the baby this day in thanksgiving and gratitude to the Lord. 
We were called up to the front again to pray for the baby. I quickly handed my camera to a young black man to take pictures.

We're not sure if it really was a dedication ceremony for all babies, but now there were three more mothers with their babies standing beside us.

All of a sudden I was handed this precious bundle.  Juggling the microphone in one hand, I asked the baby's name.
"Kavadi"  replied the mother.  I thought it was a girl, but now I see the ribbons on the blanket are blue.  Never mind, I think of Kavadi as a girl.  Such a tiny mite. I touched her head.  Soft hair, so soft, framed her face. It felt like a lamb's wool powder puff.  Choking up with emotion at the honour, I did my best to speak a blessing over this little lamb.  That was a new experience.

Later in the service the mother was calmly nursing Kavadi.  I wanted to see her one last time,  but after the service they had disappeared.

Jesus said,  Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them,  for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.

Signs, signs, everywhere a sign

 A poster advertising the famous visitors from Canada.

 
This is our hotel in Kigali, Rwanda.  Quite nice for $50 a night.  We shared a bathroom with Ben, and the Stalwicks had the VIP suite, all in the same private hallway, with their own bathroom.  A spacious balcony looked out over the neighbourhood, which got filled with people very early.  Terry would wave and say hi to the ladies washing clothes in their tubs, across the street.  A few days later I was startled to hear a loud "HI!" and frantic waving  from another neighbour to whom Terry had previously waved. The lovely bouquets we'd been given at the airport graced the ledge of our large bath tub.  In the evening we were allowed the use of the gas stove in the kitchen to heat water for soup for our picnic suppers, as the hotel was far from shops or restaurants.  And why was it called "Holy Apartment" ?  Apparently it was run by some Christian friends of Pastor Ephraim.

Meanwhile, visitors from a few African nations stayed right at the pastor's house.  They must've been grateful for such accommodation, as the pastors from Uganda, Burundi, Tanzania and Kenya didn't have any extra for a hotel room.  Representatives from country had their respective sleeping quarters.  Inside one of the rooms was a plain double sized bed; I don't remember seeing much bedding.  The floor was lined with backpacks and small travel bags.  The toilet in the hallway was a horror.  The seat was broken completely in half, and it didn't flush.  Sometimes there was a large jerry can of water, but it was too heavy for me to lift.  But desperation led us there all the same.

This was just one of the interesting signs visible from the Land Rover where Terry, Ben and I spent hours in the cramped back seat as we travelled back and forth from the meetings.  We would amuse ourselves taking pictures from the window.

A sign at the Kigali airport.
Really, we didn't see any plastic bags the whole time we were in Rwanda.  Groceries were given in sturdy paper bags.  Any plastic bags we had were kept hidden in our suitcases just in case they weren't biodegradable.  The country is being rebuilt from the many years of war 15 years ago.  Although there were no plastic bags, plastic bottles were so commonly seen they weren't even picked out of the dirt where the soil was being tilled  (by hand, with a hoe) for the planting of beans and corn. 

A sign at the Nairobi airport

One day in Kakamega, Kenya, Ben and I walked down the street to take pictures of a cane truck that had overturned.  Apparently we were a strange sight, as the only white people in a crowd of blacks.  "Are you walking?"  called some teenagers.  "You will spoil your legs!"  I pondered that question for awhile, thinking possibly they were referring to our shoes in that sea of mud.  These weren't the students who called out, but another group of high school students who graciously allowed me to take their picture.

The sign on the side of the school building at the Jesus Praise Centre in Kakamega.  A series of rooms was rented out during the week to a primary school; other rooms were used for Sunday School and pastors' offices.  When in Carpet Colour in Red Deer ordering our flooring this spring, we'd noticed advertising  another trip to Africa, but didn't think too much of it beyond mild interest.  Little did we know we'd soon be on our way anyway!


At the Nairobi Game Park, I was asking directions to the washroom when I was accosted by the Masai
tribesmen who wanted their picture taken, for a fee
of course.  The sign in the washroom, however, was priceless.

Terry forgot to smile

Blowing bubbles

The first afternoon our team was at the pastors' meetings in Rwanda, Ben and I found ourselves "unemployed" .  Terry had been escorted to a room of "youth", actually anyone unmarried.  Donna went off to teach a group of women. 
"Let's just blow bubbles out here in the courtyard, "  I told Ben.
"Are you OK?"  Pastor Ephraim called out.
"Yes."  I replied.  It dawned on me that there was no school in the afternoon, so we wouldn't be teaching just yet.  
 We'd seen children from the neighbourhood hanging around, peering in at the "mzungu". (white person).
Our first attempts at bubble-blowing were feeble.  Soon, however, we'd gathered a small crowd.  I took out some small bubble blowing toys I'd found at a yard sale in Canada, and we passed them around.  The most popular was a blow pipe that created a froth of bubbles as a child enthusiastically blew into it.  As it began to get chaotic, I asked Ben to gently position the children into a line, so they could take turns.  Soon we had a real system going.  I decided to just keep dipping the blow pipe, despite the runny noses.  (By then we weren't experimenting any longer ourselves!) 
Originally, I'd packed the bubble soap as a lead-in to the Bread of Life lesson, to illustrate the fragility of earthly things.  As it turned out, these were not even the same children whom we taught the next day at the primary school.  What a wonderful way to overcome the language barrier, though!  The children had fun, and we had fun watching them.  The highlight of my day!

Safari!

After a series of delays it was already too late to see lions in the Nairobi Game Park. Fifteen year-old Ben was bouncing up and down with excitement, however, as we began to spot other animals.

Hippo surfacing

Ostriches

Black on white, or white on black?

Turtle

Fascinating how giraffes sculpt the trees!

Impalas

Flat topped acacia trees

Donna strolling at a rest stop

                         

Safari van with pop-up top

Not wanting to miss anything, we munched on protein bars through the lunch hour.  Terry busied himself looking up various birds.  The driver was surprised as we kept calling, "Stop, please!", when anyone saw  a bird.  He wasn't used to stopping for birds.  I wish I had a picture of the secretary bird.  If Terry had had his camera, we would've had a great picture, but he'd run out of charge, and had forgotten his charger. A fairly large white bird with black tips on its wings, it sported a  black feathered crest like an Indian headdress turned sideways. 

The day that had begun so frustratingly turned out well after all.