After a few minutes of talking with the Compassion workers, a young girl with a beautiful shy smile walked in the room. I knew instantly that it was Umuhoza. She looked just like the pictures we had received of her since she was nine years old. She was now 17. While she looked just like the pictures, she was much shorter than I had imagined. Next to Andrea, she was quite small. We met her and gave her a big hug. We told her how happy we were to meet her, and how we had prayed for her every day. I showed her a picture of her that I carried in my wallet to keep her near me. She seemed a bit overwhelmed by it all, and was quite shy at first. She said that she was very happy to meet us as well, and that she had prayed for us, too. I just wanted to hug her and tell her how long we had waited for this moment, but instead we all sat in awkward silence as the Compassion workers readied for a trip to her home.
We all loaded into the SUV for the short drive to Umuhoza’s home. I wondered if she had been in a car before. Umuhoza was the belle of the ball, as the crowd of village youngsters were still gathered around the vehicle as we all loaded up and headed out. Umuhoza sat at the passenger window, smiling and waving at the children seeing us off.
The SUV headed down a maze of dirt roads, past the banana trees and scrub fields until we came to stop in front of a typical rural Rwandan home. The small rectangular house was made of large mud bricks, with each brick about the size of a cinder block. The stacked bricks were then spackled with mud giving the house a smooth finish. All homes had the same centered door, with a small square window on each side and a rusted tin roof supported by unfinished timbers. The door was made of a sheet of corrugated tin, opening to a large simple room with a dirt floor. A curtain hung between the one doorway leading to the back rooms that served as a kitchen and two small bedrooms. This was Umuhoza’s home, but it looked like virtually every home we saw in the countryside of Rwanda.
When we arrived, her family poured out of the house to meet us. The family consisted of her mother, an aunt, a younger brother and two younger sisters. I was also surprised to see her father. We had been told since we first sponsored Umuhoza that her father was in prison. I assumed now that this had been an error in Compassion’s data. We warmly greeted the family, and Umuhoza seemed more relaxed in the familiar setting of her home. The family all looked so nice, dressed in what must have been their Sunday best.
We were invited into the home, where we sat on simple wooden chairs that had been arranged in the front room of the home. While Umuhoza and her father each sat in a chair, the rest of her family sat on a reed mat on the dirt floor. We all said hello and introduced ourselves. I had brought gifts, and began giving them out. We had brought Umuhoza a sweatshirt emblazoned with “Nashville”, and a colorful full length skirt – the kind that Andrea had worn in Rwanda. We also gave her a cross necklace and numerous US coins. She seemed to enjoy the gifts.
I then gave the mother the canvas tote bag that we had used to carry the gifts, and gave the younger siblings a Frisbee and a soccer ball. As I walked over to give them their gifts, I saw the large crowd of neighborhood children crowded around the front door, bobbing their heads to get a glimpse of the strangers. There must have been at least 15 wide-eyed children staring and smiling back at me.
The final gift was for Umuhoza’s father. I had brought inexpensive wind-up flashlights to Rwanda, and gave one each to Umuhoza and her father. As Ebralie explained to him what it was, even the Compassion staff members looked at it in amazement. They had never seen anything like it. Her father said with wonder that he could now go out of the house at night, as the wind would always blow out his candle. I had given this same gift to Cyprien, the director at CPAJ. Ebralie told me weeks after our return that Cyprien emailed to say what a miracle the light was and how much he loved it. Such a simple $12 gift, and in Rwanda it was truly priceless.
After all the gifts were given, Umuhoza’s father began to speak. He thanked us for the gifts, and said how happy he was to have us in his home. He then said he thanked us for sponsoring Umuhoza through Compassion. He said that he and his wife had tried to have children, but their first two children died in infancy. They were afraid that they were destined to be childless, until they had Umuhoza. They were overjoyed, and named her “Umuhoza” meaning “restorer” or “redeemer”. After years of despair, this new baby girl had redeemed their hope and faith.
He went on to say that just a couple of months prior he had been released from jail after 15 years in prison, so that he had been away for most of Umuhoza’s 17 years of life. He said that when I supported Umuhoza via Compassion International, my sponsorship really supported her whole family. What he said next was the most powerful and emotional words I heard the whole trip. He said he wanted to thank me for being a father to his family when he was unable to be there. This was an emotional journey anyway, and those words really hit home. At that moment I really fully understood the power of Compassion. With both of us fighting back tears, we gave each other a warm embrace and handshake, and I felt like there was a genuine connection.
Umuhoza’s dad then disappeared to the back rooms of the house, and returned with a gift for me. He had gone to get a picture of his family. Compassion had taken the picture when he returned home from prison just a couple of months before. I quickly noticed that every family member was wearing the same clothes in the picture as they were wearing that day. The clothes were clearly their Sunday best, worn for special occasions such as the day her dad returned from prison, and the day we had come to visit.
We all then headed out to the front yard to give the children a chance to play with their gifts. The soccer ball was a hit, as soccer was a favorite pastime of the Rwandan children. In fact, I was fascinated to see that two of the neighborhood kids that had been standing outside the door had a home-made soccer ball. We asked about it, and they said that the ball started with a balloon. They then collected plastic scraps and wrapped them around the balloon over and over until it grew to the size of a soccer ball. When it was the proper size, they then wove string around the mass of balloon and plastic. The finished product was an amazing and effective soccer ball that bounced and rolled much like the real thing. While they loved playing with the Adidas ball I had brought, I would have greatly preferred the ball they had crafted!
The kids had never seen a Frisbee, so they all lined up behind Umuhoza to take turns throwing it. It was really fun teaching the kids and watching them try their hands at it. Their giggles, smiles, shy looks and excitement were just precious. Here I had found myself again in a situation that I would have never thought possible. A middle-aged “muzungo” from Tennessee playing Frisbee with the village children in Murambi on a beautiful Wednesday afternoon in July. I tried as best I could to soak it all in.
It had finally come time to leave. We had visited with the family for about an hour, but I really was not ready to go. We took a final picture together, gave our last hugs, and waved good bye. I wasn’t sure if we would ever see them again, but I was sure that I would never forget them. We would later mail Umuhoza these pictures to replace the one her dad had given us.
We did ask the Compassion staff to help clarify one thing about the visit. I was confused that Umuhoza’s father had said he had been in prison for 15 years, yet she had three younger siblings. The staff said that most prisoners could earn weekend visits and even prison furloughs with good behavior. It also seemed clear that her dad must have been involved somehow in the genocide. If he’d been in prison for 15 years, this meant he went to prison in 1994, the same year as the genocide. The staff members did not know his offense, but the timing of his incarceration and release coincided too well with the genocide and recent reconciliation for the imprisonment not to be related to it.
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