“Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were.
But without it, we go nowhere.”
Carl Sagan
Hearing footsteps, I turned my head and watched as my uncle
Rukundo came outside and sat on the stone step outside the doorway. He didn’t
speak to me or acknowledge me in any way, choosing instead to stare silently
into the distance. Uncle had lost one arm in the genocide; back in 1994, before
I was born. Mama said he had changed since the genocide. I was too young to
remember the happy, laughing man he had once been. Now, he rarely spoke to
anyone. Since he had only one good arm, he could not work to provide for his
only sister, my mother, and the rest of us. He was forced to take only menial,
odd jobs in our village. Mama did her best to provide for us by taking in
sewing jobs. Most people said we were lucky because Mama had been taught a
trade. She always insisted the word was “blessed,” not lucky.
Both of us sat quietly for a while, soaking up the hot
sunshine. Through the shimmering heat waves dancing over the ground, two small
figures came into view. Squinting, I recognized my friends, twin sisters
Umutesi and Umutoni. They were the same age as me, ten. As they passed by the
house, I called out, “Ugiyehe?”
“To the well,” Umutoni called back, swinging the yellow water
containers in her hands. She and her sister each carried two, holding about
five litres of water each. The trek to the well was a daily job for each of us,
as well as gathering firewood, sweeping the dirt yard outside of our homes, and
a multitude of other jobs.
As I shaded my eyes with my hand, watching them disappear
from view, I heard my uncle get up abruptly from his seat. I watched him stalk
towards the center of the village. I didn’t know where he was going, and it was
not my place to ask.
I was just leaned my head back against the wall, when suddenly…
“Ishimwe! Ishimwe!”
I jerked around to see who was calling my name. It was my
little brother, Benimana. Benimana was only six years old, and right now he was
panting for breath and waving his arms like a mad person.
“Iki?” I yelled
back.
Finally he got close enough to reply. “Abazungu! In the village!”
My heartbeat quickened. White people? Here? I had only seen
a few white people in my lifetime, and then only from a distance. My sense of curiosity
was aroused, and I jumped to my feet. “Let’s go!”
I only ran a few steps before I realized my brother was not
following me. “Come on, Beni! What are you waiting for?!”
My brother looked at me hesitantly, and then blurted, “Mbarushimana
said he thinks the white people eat Rwandans!”
I burst out laughing. “Benimana, you know better than to
believe anything Mbarushimana says! He is always full of crazy stories. Now,
come on, let’s go see what they want!”
Both of us ran towards the church, where Benimana said he
had seen the Abazungu. Soon enough, we saw a big white van parked in front of
the church, surrounded by a crowd of people. Leaving my brother to hang back at
the edge of the crowd, I squirmed my way towards the front. Glancing around to
see if there was anyone I could ask, I spotted Hitimana Moises, the pastor’s
son, who was twelve years old. I liked Hitimana; he was always kind to
everyone.
“Hitimana! What’s happening?” I called to him.
He turned and grinned at me. “I don’t know, but the white
people are giving out clothes… and sweets!” Just then, we heard a booming
voice, which belonged to our neighbor, Chance. He usually went by his English
name, since he could speak the language. “Please be patient, people… everyone
will get something!”
I was so busy listening to him that I jumped with surprise
to see the white man standing in front of me. “Muraho,” he said with a big smile. We all giggled at his terrible pronunciation.
Turning, he spoke to the white woman in a strange language, which I guessed
must be English. She reached inside the van and pulled out a handful of sweets,
and I felt Hitimana nudge me in excitement.
The white man handed us each a candy on a little white
stick. We lost no time in unwrapping them and popping them in our mouths. Even
Benimana approached the white people when he saw the treats; he must have
decided the abazungu weren’t too bad!
As the three of us chattered excitedly among ourselves, I noticed
Chance and Hitimana’s father, Pastor Jean Claude, helping the white people
unload huge bags from the back of the van. I wondered what it was that they
had.
A few minutes later, I was again startled when the white
woman approached me. “Witwa nde?” she
asked in the same strong accent, smiling broadly. “Ishimwe Soline,” I answered.
Then I pointed to my brother, “Benimana Patrick,” and to Hitimana, “Hitimana
Moises.” The white woman nodded, then pointed to my feet and asked a question
in her own language. I couldn’t understand what she wanted, so I shrugged and
spread my hands. She repeated the question, pointing to her own feet and then
to mine. Is something wrong with my feet?
Finally, Chance came to our rescue. “She says, ‘Where are your shoes?’” he
told me.
I looked back at him, puzzled. “I don’t own shoes.” Chance
quickly turned and translated my reply to the muzungu, and she turned away and hurried
to the van. I shot a questioning glance at Hitimana, who shrugged in reply. A minute
later, though, she was back; with a pair of shoes! Kneeling by my feet, she
motioned for me to hold out my foot. Carefully, she slipped the purple sandals
on first one foot, then the other. They fit perfectly; they were even a little
big, meaning I could grow into them. I took a few tentative steps, feeling the
odd weight of the shoes on my feet. My first real pair of shoes!
I carefully bent down and removed the shoes from my feet. I
didn’t want to spoil them by walking in the dirt, and I had to show them to
Mama! I felt Chance touch my shoulder and remind me, “What do you say?” Quickly
looking back at the white lady, I blurted, “Murakoze!
Murakoze cyane!” Chance laughed as he translated my thanks, and the white
lady touched my cheek affectionately. Then, I noticed the white man coming
towards us with a small black box in his hand. Chance told me, “Ishimwe, the
muzungu wants to know if he can take your picture.” I nodded and proudly
cradled the shoes against my chest, standing tall and straight. I tried to stay
serious, like Mama was in the picture pinned to our wall at home, but I couldn’t
keep my smile inside. New shoes! Wait until I showed Mama and Uncle! Wait until
I showed my friends!
Just then, I heard a yell from Benimana. Rushing up to me,
he waved a bright red shirt in the air. “Look what the muzungu gave me!” he
hollered. Obviously, I wasn’t going to be the only one with exciting news to
share! “Come on, let’s go tell everyone!” he shouted. I’d never seen him this
excited.
I turned and raced up the hill after my brother, still
clutching my precious shoes. Then, I turned around to catch a last glimpse of
the abazungu. I caught sight of them lifting their hands to wave to me, and I waved
back, calling, “Imana aguhe umugisha!”
As I ran after Benimana, I heard their voices faintly reply,
“God bless you, too!”
NOTE: this story is imaginary. All names and events are
fictional. However, the pictures above are of a real little girl who was given a
brand new pair of crocs by the Shelter Them during one of their Rwanda visits. Notice the lollipop in her mouth, and the huge grin. I’ve tried to bring to
life how a child like her might feel, receiving a new pair of shoes. We don’t know her
name, but she certainly appears grateful! Do you know that YOU can help
children like Ishimwe, Benimana, and the little girl pictured above? Find out
more by clicking this link: Shelter Them
