The most amazing part of my life here in Rwanda is the
community that surrounds me. Never
before have I felt so loved and supported and truly communed with as I do
now. Let me give you a glimpse of said
community via an unfortunate incident that occurred this afternoon, with a
little pre-story for added perspective:
This morning, I woke up way late for church (like 4 minutes
after it started) because I stayed up too late last night bowling with a dozen
expat friends. I bowled abysmally, but I
had a splendid time fellowshipping with sweet friends, sharing jokes and
stories and experiences until way past my bedtime.
So, I got to church late, but there was still a seat for me
in the row in which I usually join friends.
That was nice.
After church, five of us decided to go to lunch
together. Well, actually, I had two
different options of groups to join for lunch… Now, at this time last year, I
would have sulked my way back to my house and scrounged up some food and gotten
in my bed and spent my Sunday bored and lonely, so just the prospect of lunch
with friends is something in which to rejoice.
I had a lovely lunch of a BBQ sandwich and then headed back home, which
is when all the excitement went down…
The plan was to take Micki home and then grab my fabric from
my classroom and meet Heather, Abby, and Julia at the market for a jaunt this
afternoon, but as they so often do in Africa, plans changed.
As I was beginning to ascend the hill up to the
neighborhood, a friendly moto-driver was hastily descending a bigger hill out
of the neighboring neighborhood paying no regard to the yield sign that should
have proffered me the opportunity to safely climb my hill home untouched. Well, as they often do in Africa, the
moto-driver ignored the yield sign and headed directly towards Micki and me on
my little Scooty Pep+. So, naturally, I
swerved out of the way, and as it often does in Africa, it had recently rained
rendering the pavement slick and wet.
So…. We fishtailed, I uttered a choice word, and flew Superman style off
to the left as my scooter fell to its side ensnaring my left foot. Micki took it much more gracefully (as she so
often tends to do in most things, like Zumba and Justin Bieber dancing, for
instance), and was fortunately saved from nasty hip road rash by the big wad of
money in her waistband that she had just changed at the Forex Bureau
(Fortunate, also, is the exchange rate and the fact that it takes quite a few Rwandan
Franc bills to equal a couple hundred US Dollars).
We calmly assessed the situation and asked, “Whom should we
call?” (Let’s be serious, we weren’t thinking in quite such good grammar in our
state of shock… it was “Who should we call?”). I digress, but having options of
people to call is another good indicator of the level of community we have here
in Kigali. We decided on the headmaster
who dropped everything to head our way.
I also called “Mama” Natalie as she lived just at the top of the hill,
and I knew she had a first aid kit, not that it would be adequate for the state
of my foot... Then, I sent Micki to the
supermarket on the corner for a bottle of water to rinse off all of the blood
and a towel to squeeze my foot to stop the bleeding.
One more digression.
At one point, I was looking for my cell phone to make another phone call
when I noticed my pocketbook was presumably missing. I immediately accused the growing crowd of
spectators of taking advantage of this poor injured Muzungu and stealing my bag
(which we are so often apt to do) when one of the onlookers kindly pointed out
that Micki was holding my bag. One of
the innocent bystanders had actually been kind enough to save my bag from the
masses and handed it to me, but as I was busy clotting blood, I gave it to
Micki for safe-keeping, and in our mental state, we overlooked that
detail. Now, back to the regularly
scheduled programming…
Then within 5 minutes, the doctor dad of my of my students
(and husband of our friendly librarian) drove by and saw a crowd and came to
assess the situation. He assured me that,
as it so often is, the hospital was unnecessary and also that calling the
police (which the locals realllllly wanted me to do) would just cause more
hassle than it was worth. Then, along
came Jamie in her little red car. She
saw a crowd and a Scooty Pep+ and knew it was one of “our girls” (as three of us
now drive said vehicle). All of our supporters emerged on the scene practically
simultaneously. Jamie drove me to Micki’s house, Dr. Miller went to get his
first aid kit (which was like Goliath compared with Natalie’s David-esque kit),
the headmaster helped Natalie start my scooter which she drove to the house,
and the real assessment began.
Here are a few pictures, taken by Jamie for longevity’s sake,
after a bit of cleaning and during the administration of lidocaine:
A few shots of lidocaine, four sutures (you know, to close
in the exposed tendon), one nice dressing, and two hours later, all was (relatively-speaking)
well with the world.
I can’t forget to mention the support of Emily sharing one
of her epic stories as the doctor shot my sensitive little foot full of
lidocaine to distract me from the pain and the gift of a Lindt Dark Chocolate
with Sea Salt bar from Abby who was intent on boosting morale through the sacrifice
of her favorite chocolate and Jamie and Natalie running to the pharmacy to buy
more supplies and medicines and Micki picking up the things I dropped and
bringing me water and just being there and Natalie offering me her bed for a
few nights so I don’t have to live alone in pain and travel so far to work and
Jamie taking me to my house to pick up some belongings and the headmaster and
deputy headmaster stopping by to check on me post-surgery.
These people love me, and I love them, too, and I’m not sure
what I would do without the love of Christ shining through each and every one
of them in my times of need this year. I
can only hope to embody Christ to each of them as they face their own difficulties
in the years to come. The joys of
community make the pain of scooter accidents oh-so-much more bearable!
