The Owl

"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."
- Roald Dahl

Looking back at my first few weeks here, most of my memories have merged into one big blur. Time'll do that to you. Especially in a new environment. Everything was both exotic and familiar somehow, scary and exciting, confusing and comforting. Time itself seemed to move at a different pace. But there was one scene that I remember vividly, and it centered around an owl of all things.

It was my fifth day in Rwanda. The entire staff of Agahozo-Shalom gathered together for staff orientation. Like most orientations, our time was divided between logistical training and team-building exercises. As most of the sessions were conducted in Kinyarwanda, I strategically situated myself between potential translators. But as I soon learned, the ability to speak English does not necessarily prevent losses in translation.

During one of the discussions, the American volunteers noticed an owl perched on one of the rafters. It was beautiful and so close! I don't know much about ornithology, but I am pretty sure that, outside of zoos, this type of owl does not exist in the states. I have certainly never seen one in New Jersey. As the Americans began to take pictures, one of the Rwandans screamed. In an instant, a gang of able-bodied locals converged on the owl. Armed with whatever they could find (sticks, chairs, etc.), they began taking swings at it. I was horrified. Who would want to harm such a majestic creature? I looked confusedly at the woman sitting next to me, who calmly explained the situation: we needed to kill the owl before it kills us.

Okay. Shit just got real. What kind of owls do they have in this place? And if there is such a prevalence of deadly birds in Rwanda, wouldn't this have been a good thing to include in the orientation syllabus? I had been here for less than a week and I already experienced my first brush with death. But as the owl flew away and the excitement began to die down, I started to realize something amid the ensuing discussions. The lethality of that breed of owl, apparently, does not lie in its physical makeup. Owls are, in Rwandan culture, a bad omen. The presence of one signals that someone in the area is going to die. It was then, at that moment, that I began to think about the cultural differences I will likely encounter over the next year.

There is a long history of superstition in Rwanda, specifically in the east. Where and how these beliefs originated is beyond me, but I wouldn't be surprised if they are remnants of precolonial religious practices. After Belgium invaded and colonized the region, the local population slowly became overwhelmingly Christian (as of 2006, about 94% of Rwanda self-identified as practicing some form of Christianity). Yet, even the most dogmatic and standardized religions can become localized when introduced to a new place. As a result, the current Rwandan culture is replete with examples of latent mystical beliefs that would cause even your grandmother to raise an eyebrow.

One area, a potentially dangerous one at that, where this is visible is medicine. The region's idiosyncratic approach to illness has been known for some time, especially since Marc Vincent, a Belgian pediatrician who practiced in Rwanda and Burundi (then just one joint colony), chronicled his experience in the 1950s. He describes an interaction with an eight-year-old boy who told him: “Yes, death exists, but all those who die here, it’s not ordinary death, it’s sorcery. When you spit on the ground, one takes your saliva, one takes the dust on which you walked. My parents told me to watch out.” Illness and death in Rwanda, then, have traditionally been viewed as something metaphysical rather than scientific.

Superstition, on the plus side, also has the ability to heal. Jean-Claude Muzerwa, my colleague turned friend at ASYV, is living proof of this. About three years ago, he was repairing something on one of the roofs at the village when he slipped and fell. He landed flat on his back. Those who were there at the time told me earnestly, "he should have died." At the behest of Hilam, the head chef of ASYV and a strong believer in the supernatural, Muzerwa was rushed to a "traditional doctor." Here's how it works: someone with a physical injury, a fracture or broken bone usually, visits one of these experts during the middle of the day. The expert draws an outline of the patient's shadow in the sand. Then the patient can go home, as the rest of the "surgery" is done remotely (i.e. only on the remaining shadow-outline).

There is, no doubt, people reading this who are rolling their eyes. I too entered these discussions with great skepticism, and much of that skepticism remains. Yet I have also met plenty of people who underwent such treatment. They swear that they were able to feel every bit of work that the traditional doctor did once they had left his presence. And somehow, don't ask me how, they have since healed. Regardless of if one believes these stories or not, Muzerwa's miraculous recovery, especially, illustrates something even more significant than the healing powers of sorcery: while science and western medicine have, since Vincent's time, become the norm for health care in Rwanda, there are still those in the 21st century who seek "alternative" forms of treatment.

[It should also be noted that, based on my experience, there is no direct battle in Rwanda between traditional and modern forms of medicine. Those who believe in supernatural methods of healing also seem to trust in modern medicine. The differing treatments seem to be viewed as complimentary, rather than exclusionary.]

Arguably the most famous, and puzzling, example of sorcery in the region is the story of Dian Fossey, the world renown zoologist and Cornell University professor who spent 18 years of her life studying the habits of mountain gorillas in northwest Rwanda. Her work revolutionized the field and her book is still one of the most widely read books on gorillas to date. Fossey, in all respects a scientist, allegedly made every effort to burn her hair and fingernail clippings after she cut them, lest someone find them and cast a spell on her. When confronted in the US about whether she actually believed such superstitions, she responded angrily: "Where I live, if I didn't I'd be dead." Just a few years later, she was found murdered by a machete in her Rwandan cabin. The Fossey assassination remains one of the most heated debates in the country. The investigations into what exactly took place, and the extremely odd circumstances surrounding it, have yet to yield a coherent explanation.

Not every example of this cultural phenomenon is so exotic, or even necessarily superstitious. It doesn't take long to notice that waiters and bartenders in this country open drinks in front of the customer before pouring them into glasses to be served. Yet few realize the historical significance of this custom. Bottle caps are removed in such a manner because of the fear of poison. Even bottles with slightly loose caps are cause for concern. A factory-sealed bottle is the only way to ensure that the drink has not been tampered with. While this fear is not inherently mystical, it does illustrate the degree of suspicion that permeates even secular Rwandan society. Patients suspect voodoo, Fossey worried about witchcraft, patrons fear poison.

Sometimes it even seems like those who don't fear the mysterious at least welcome it. Conspiracy theories may still be popular in the United States (the Kennedy Assassination is my personal favorite), but not to the same extent that they are here. For months, I have been trying to clear my name at the village. In February, my kids purportedly saw me give someone across the room a secret sign. They immediately identified me as a member of the famed Illuminati. Not having any idea what they were talking about, I called up my private investigator: Wikipedia. Apparently, the Illuminati is a secret society believed to be made up of members who sold their souls to the devil in exchange for wealth, fame, and influence. With regards to its influence, Wikipedia elaborates:

"They are often alleged to conspire to control world affairs, by masterminding events and planting agents in government and corporations, in order to gain political power and influence and to establish a New World Order. Central to some of the most widely known and elaborate conspiracy theories, the Illuminati have been depicted as lurking in the shadows and pulling the strings and levers of power in dozens of novels, movies, television shows, comics, video games and music videos."

Despite my persistent objections, the kids are utterly convinced that I am involved. "That is exactly what an Illuminati would say," is their only response. Oh well. At least I am in the company of Jay-Z, Rihanna, and Justin Timberlake, under the leadership of Lady Gaga no less. But the fact remains: there is a long history of superstition and mystery in Rwanda, even in seemingly mundane interactions.

Once one gets past the exotic intrigue of Rwanda's underlying superstitious beliefs, some serious questions emerge. These questions not only concern my personal values, but are fundamental to the future of the nation as a whole. Something I have noticed, when it comes to the still extant mysticism in Rwanda, is a generational divide regarding how seriously these beliefs should be maintained. Take, for example, the owl menace from earlier. After the "attack," an argument erupted as to whether or not the owl was indeed cause for concern. The younger staff members dismissed the situation outright, deeming it an affront to "science" and "philosophy." Many of the older generation took offense to this, worried that universities have seduced, corrupted, and blinded their youth from potential dangers. 

This divide concerns more than just "science vs. faith" (an age-old argument which many believers find personal ways to reconcile). Rwanda, as a nation, is currently at the crossroads between tradition and modernity. Europe modernized over the course of many centuries. Each moment was an opportunity for examination, for either slow progress or the preservation of tradition. Nothing was final. Rwanda, on the other hand, has the difficult task that many developing nations face: as modernity was suddenly thrust on this fledgling nation, it is forced to make an immediate decision regarding these tensions. Each step taken, verdict handed down, has immediate and life-altering consequences. There is basically no going back. What, for instance, will the education system decide to teach the next generation? Further, should "alternative medicine" be sanctioned, or even allowed, by the Rwandan government? In a broader sense, is it possible to discard ancient practices, in the name of "development," without destroying a culture?

If you ask me my opinion, I would noncommittally respond "it depends." For certain things, such as medical care, I think the answer is simple (populist voodoo recovery stories notwithstanding). And what about my owl friend? Well instinctively, out of concern for the animal's well-being, I am inclined to reject this potentially detrimental superstition. But then again, I have traditionally taken a different approach with regards to animal sacrifices in my own tradition (Judaism). While some may justify my apparent inconsistency by considering "gifts to God" as its own category, both cases point to the same underlying question: does religio-cultural tradition trump animal rights? This is an important, and I would argue fascinating, discussion in the context of if and how modernity leaves space for tradition. But while I have the luxury of making my own value judgement, for Rwanda the stakes are much higher.

Tikkun Olam

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'" 
- Mr. Rogers

One of my favorite aspects of the village is, without a doubt, the emphasis on Tikkun Olam. From the Hebrew meaning "repairing the world," the concept has been adopted by a variety of faiths and peoples. It is, in essence, any act, big or small, which positively contributes to society. Some view Tikkun Olam as a utilitarian necessity, while others value its effect on one's character. And still others attach a splash of mysticism to it. For me, the beauty of Tikkun Olam is that it encompasses all of these ideas.

From day one, the kids are immediately introduced to Tikkun Olam as part of the village's philosophy. One of the major reasons for this is so that they know the full reason why they were brought to ASYV. Many came from nothing, and are now given opportunities they could never have dreamed of- access to health care, a stellar education, technology, even love. The village strives to help those most vulnerable, but such an opportunity is not a handout. Our goal is to assist and empower all of Rwanda, not just a select few. It is important, then, that these kids realize they were given a responsibility, not a gift. By equipping these students to tackle the nation's most pressing challenges, we are not only attempting to rebuild a nation, but actively teaching the next generation that it has a duty to do so. To quote Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, "Morally speaking, there is no limit to the concern one must feel for the suffering of human beings, that indifference to evil is worse than evil itself, that in a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.”

For mostly logistical reasons, the service projects ASYV undertakes tend to be in the nearby villages. This year alone, students have begun to teach computer skills to local adults, assist in health clinics, lead English-enrichment activities in schools, and build houses for those in need. The latter seems to be the most popular among the kids. Since the village opened its gates five and a half years ago, the kids have built twelve homes in the local community.

Another American volunteer, who accompanies the students on their community service, described what she saw of someone's living conditions (read more here): "...a small house constructed of mud and a tin roof. The current roof is riddled with holes leaving little shelter for the upcoming heavy rainy season. They are without running water, electricity, toilet facilities, furnishings, and often, food." When I heard this, I couldn't help but wonder if this is the type of environment in which some of the kids in my family grew up. Regardless, the students of ASYV jump at the opportunity to make a difference in any way they can.

Introducing Tikkun Olam to Rwandans, as it turns out, was not a difficult task at all. That's because Rwandan culture has had a similar value for centuries: Umuganda. Loosely translated as "coming together in common purpose to achieve an outcome," Umuganda began as a custom where members of the community would assist one another in completing difficult tasks. In modern times, the government harnessed the tradition as part of its national development agenda. On the last Saturday of each month, Rwandans between the ages of 18 and 65 are required to participate in community service, often focusing on infrastructure development and environmental protection. Not only does each Rwandan have the privilege of participating in shaping his country, but Umuganda also fosters a tremendous amount of unity and pride. And for those of you who are still skeptical: the value of Rwanda's "Tikkun Olam" initiative to its national development is estimated to have exceeded $60 million USD since 2007.

Toward the end of the book of Exodus, Moses is instructed by God to take a census of the Israelites in the desert. Enigmatically, the method of counting is required to be as follows: each member of the community is to donate a specific sum to the temple. Moses will then sum the contributions and determine the size of the nation. The obvious question is: why such a roundabout way of counting?

To this, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks offers a novel interpretation. A census is usually taken to determine the strength of a nation- militarily, economically, demographically. In all of these arenas, the more the merrier. Traditional thought teaches us that there is strength in numbers. And to this, God responds emphatically: the strength of a people is not in how numerous they are, but in how much they give. Lest one think for even a moment that mere numbers are enough, we are reminded that we are worthless unless we tangibly contribute to society.

It is easy to look at Rwanda and despair. Less than a generation ago, the nation was decimated, both in numbers and in hope. Geographically, the country is so small that on most maps the name "Rwanda" doesn't even fit in its geographic borders. But seen through the lens of Tikkun Olam, the conclusion shifts drastically. The imperative to contribute to humanity, to help anyone in need, to assist in any way possible, isn't just a tendency among Rwandans; it is in their very core. Many challenges still lie ahead for this fledgling nation. But with such indomitable strength, the possibilities are endless.