Rwanda Reunion

  Feb. 12
   A land of vulcanism surrounds me here in Gisenyi, Rwanda, a mere 5 hours from Kabale. I stay at the Presbyterian Hostel recommended to me two years ago, and it is beautiful. The stern overseer who two nights ago reluctantly found me a room for 6 thousand francs (12 bucks) turned up on my volleyball team yesterday and we won four games together. We're fast friends now.
  The road from Kabale to Kisoro and the Kyaniko border crossing was amazing beyond belief as it climbed and fell and even touched the farthest extention of Lake Bunyoni. Dense jungles of preserved forest and gigantic bamboo overreached the road from time to time, while the steep cultivated hillsides bristled with hundreds of plots of onion and sweet potato, Peruvian style. The new road surrendered to its pitifull predecessor as the pumice and slag took control and made for very slow going. But who's in a hurry. The hulking volacno of Muhabura looked down on our feeble progress, and if we'd been zipping along in the hired taxi we'd have missed the swapland below us that hosted 50 crested cranes in their nesting homeland, majestic whenever they took wing in white splendor. Huge brown hawks and eagles swooped before our broken windshield often, defying our intrusion on their turf. It was magnificant.
  I crossed into Rwanda and the contrast with Uganda was instant. Plastic bags are forbidden here, and the roadsides and construction are orderly and neat. Even the tea plantations and silver roofed villages share in this unaccustomed neatness, as opposed to the comfortable squalor of Ugandan villages.
  The daily rains here in Gisenyi, are inconsequential, like Hawaii. Also familiar ore the close dramatic clouds, the tropical blooms and the piles of volcanic stone everywhere -- as walls, as foundations, and as rolling pellets of peril for a clumsy Muzungu carrying an oversized duffelbag. Gisenyi is built on a vast lava flow, and its roads are both the best (where Chinese projects are concluding) to the worst (everywhere else).
  Stunned upon arrival in a new city, as travelers always are, Frederick and his smile were welcome as he zoomed up on a moto and hugged me warmly, even without hands. He'd lost his during the genocide and now worked at the Ubumwe Community Center for handicapped kids and adults.  Within 15 minutes I'd be there playing volleyball with amputees, wheelchair boun, club footed, mentally challenged and deaf volleyball enthusiasts -- none disabled, all elated.
  Two young blind students practiced their rap in Kinyarwandan that they would perform soon, while other with various problems learned computer skills, how to sew, knit, weave and make beads. 200 people train at this amazing center that enjoys support from several Santa Barbara organizations.
  Yesterday, Zachary, Frederick's co-director, took me to his home to meet his family: Lucky (2), Christian (7), and Sylvia (10).  Lucky loved the hand puppet lion I'd brought from Costco and my last pack of Starburst was a huge hit.The sky suddenly erupted and the electricity failed, but the puppet power soared in the dim light of evening as the ids taught me to count to three in Kinyaruandan.
  When the sky cleared, Frederickl showed me where he lived and the wealth of photo albums that chronicled his incredible life -- the tragedy, the recovery, the surgeries and his world travels in the name of forgiveness. What a man. We rode motos past the huge football stadium set against the looming green cliff and saw the new house that he had under constuction. It awaits new funds to apply the next stage of bricks and a roof, cash he'll seek from his paintings and photograps that he sells worldwide.
  He's a lucky man.
  So am I. I played with some very good players both yesterday and today on a concrete court and have emerged drenched in sweat and fulfillment but uninjured. That and the dozens of Rwandan friends I made on the basketball and volleyball courts, convince me of my impossible good fortune, and that my journey is still viable, and this life a joy.