"Constantly [he thought] he saw his father or his mother beckoning him closer.... He wanted to speak to them, but no sound escaped him. He was alone. Yes, he had friends, comrades, and he would have more in the future, but it was not the same. Nothing can interrupt an orphan's solitude."
- Elie Wiesel, The Forgotten
Getting to know someone in Rwanda is a different process than in the States. Among the questions I am frequently asked here, one stands out in particular: "Do you have family?" In my almost 25 years on this planet, I don't think I was asked that once prior to this past December. I am here, aren't I? Doesn't that guarantee, or at least very strongly imply, that I have at least some family? Apparently it doesn't.
Contrast that experience with the standard "So, what do your parents do?," a question to which I can already respond with an elevator pitch. When I first arrived in Rwanda, to be sure, I would never have dared ask how one's parents make a living. I knew of the deep poverty throughout the country and I thought it inappropriate to assume anyone had a livelihood. As it turns out, though, the issue with such a question happens to be much more fundamental.
Spending time with orphans is a new experience for me. And the truth is that I don't think I gave it enough thought prior to arrival. From camp to Hebrew school, I have grown accustomed to working with children. In many ways, I was already a pro. Mentally, I am realizing, I had prepared myself more for cultural differences than for familial ones. What are their interests, their hobbies? Will jokes still be funny when translated into Kinyarwanda? Do they also feel safe knowing that there are people like Chuck Norris and Liam Neeson protecting the world?
It was only once I met these kids that I began to realize the extent to which we're not in Kansas anymore. Like my first day at school, a number of the kids disembarked the bus with backpacks. Only later did I learn that, for many, these backpacks contained all their belongings.
Another wake up call: a fellow volunteer recounted an embrace she had with one of the children and the gratitude that ensued. "That was my first hug," she was told.
As the weeks progressed, I began to develop a more nuanced sensitivity when hanging out with the kids. In public, I read from a physical book rather than my kindle. Purifying water with my SteriPen also became a private affair. My summary of a recent weekend off needed to be edited- I mostly ate rice and of course never went to the casino. And perhaps most significantly, an argument with my parents was no longer something I could justify complaining about.
Much of that sensitivity, while important, is also self imposed. By and large, you wouldn't be able to tell that the kids at ASYV are orphans just by speaking to them. They are smart, curious, cheerful. And for the most part they are interested in hearing about the first world. American life serves as in inspiration, not a source of resentment. Their work ethic improves as they see what life can be. Shoot for the moon, the saying goes, and even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.
Perhaps the lesson is this: honesty and sensitivity are not mutually exclusive. I do not need to hide who I am and the opportunities I've been given, nor should I rub them in anyone's face. Just as I am excited to hear about the kids' day, they want to know how I am doing. An authentic relationship, built on trust, respect, and love, in the long run, is more important than some exaggerated form of sensitivity. It is a tough balance, but well worth the effort.
I am also beginning to discover that my life's blessings can even serve as a learning opportunity. My digital camera enables me to teach them about technology, as well as discuss concepts such as sight, perception, and memory. Recounting my travel experiences is an ample opportunity to explore geography, history, and cultural diversity. My first-class education, aside from being useful for homework questions, helps foster an environment of creativity and critical thinking. Life has been very generous to me, and that would be a shame to waste.
Part of me, to be honest, is still uncomfortable conversing with children who have experienced such immense hardships. But I think that is a good thing. Such discomfort helps me tread softly. I am incapable of fully understanding what life is like for these kids, but my mission persists. My mentor, Mr. Feeny, taught me that "You don't have to be blood to be family." I have always very much related to that sentiment, but my experience at Agahozo-Shalom has provided me with one important caveat: such an all-encompassing view of family is a luxury, one that may never hold true for each and every individual. Try telling an orphan that friends are enough, that he also has family. Many have never experienced the safety, security and continuity that comes with a stable home setting. While I personally may be able to relate to others as kin, that is because I always had my immediate family to fall back on. Even if I felt lonely, I was never truly alone. I was never forced to wonder what life would be like if I had parents. Friends, I am learning, are an expansion of one's family, but never the core; an addition, not a substitution.
At the village, I was placed in a "family" with 16 boys, a mama, and a big brother. For maybe the first time in my life, I am compelled to seriously contemplate what constitutes a family. Is this arrangement authentic or merely artificial, some "best-case scenario?" Can a historically biological group be so easily replicated? Besides, what is to guarantee that my feelings on the matter match those of the boys?
As Mother's Day approaches, I am reminded that such a holiday does not exist in Rwanda. And it is probably for the better. Why have a festival that few can celebrate? For many of the mothers here that I do know, such a day would just be a sad reminder of all that was lost. I pray that the world eventually reaches the point when Mother's Day can be universal, when questions such as "Do you have family?" no longer exist.
As for me, I will use this holiday as a chance to be thankful for all that my upbringing has provided me. I would not be who I am today if it weren't for the opportunities that life, especially my parents, has afforded me. The best way for me to honor my mother is to capitalize on all my blessings, most of which are, directly or not, the result of her constant care and hard work.
Additionally, I continue to think about the notion of family. What exactly constitutes "family" is hard to pin down. My gut tells me that Wiesel and Feeny may both be right, in the proper contexts. Family may even be one of those concepts, like love, that you can't define but you know when you have it. I know that I have found family at Agahozo-Shalom. I can only hope that the kids feel the same.
