a day's labor

This was the last day of ministry-- on thursday we were to hop on a plane. After almost two months of life in Kigali, the thought of being transported out of here to a native world was not yet real in our minds. My task for today was to drive three ladies in our team to a nearby village where they were to hang out with widows and care for them. The pickup was tightly packed as four other local staffmembers joined us for the ride. Driving in Rwanda can be a harrowing experience-- just a week ago one of our friends was involved in a head-on collision, miraculously avoiding serious injury-- but this ride was particularly tricky because the steering wheel was on the right side, the gearshift on the left; the hardest thing was to not confuse the turn signal from the windshield wiper, as they were also inverted in position.
Anyway, we first stopped at the local granary to pick up several large sacks of provisions-- several hundred kilograms of rice, sugar and cornflour. But here, as Jackie was waiting for the truck to be loaded, someone came from behind, snatched her purse, and took off with a wad of money. Pandemonium broke as a foot chase ensued. Luckily the street was crowded with pedestrians and loiterers milling around, and it didn't take long for one of the guys to catch the perpetrator. He turned out to be a kid in his late teens-- a dark fellow with a menacing, defiant demeanor. He seemed unrepentant and indignant at being caught. Regardless, he was now our captive. Several arms grabbed him and marched him towards our pickup. I was both curious and apprehensive about what we would do to him. He had stolen 10,000 Rwandese Francs-- about $20-- over a week's wages for a laborer in Kigali.
After a bit of debate and commotion, Sylvan, normally the gentlest of souls, came up to me and said sternly with a pointed finger, "We will teach him!". With that, he was ushered into the back of the pickup truck and made to sit down among three male staff members. We drove off through the dusty streets, the heavy laden truck straining on second gear most of the way. It was about a 30 minute ride to the widows ministry, and I periodically glanced through the rear view mirror to observe the animated conversation that was going on amidst the back crowd. I wondered what was passing through the theif's mind. Was he thinking we were taking him to jail, or abandon him on a desolate road to fend for himself?
We eventually emerged out of the city to a small village center. As we turned a corner into a community center, we saw about a hundred women gathered by the driveway. Some were weaving banana leaf baskets that they had been commissioned to make by the ladies in our team. We realized then that with such a large crowd, distributing food be a substantial undertaking. I parked the truck a distance away from the crowd. The thief got out gingerly from the pickup. He was noticably subdued, and made no efforts to run. He looked uneasily at the crowd of widows who by now were up on their feet. It was apparent that life on the streets had encrusted a tough and weathered exterior, but not enough to close off his heart completely. He submitted to unloading the heavy sacks of grain from the truck and soon we had all the provisions lined up and ready for distribution.
I had to leave the team behind to get some supplies from town-- it was a busy day since I had planned to purchase and deliver a water pump to a village by the border with Burundi. When I returned several hours later, found the widows aglow and exuberant in their gestures of thanks for the food that now filled their bags, and for the company of strangers who cared for them. Some were HIV patients living from day to day. The thief was hanging out by himself at the side of the building, perhaps still a bit indignant at the turn of events, but not as menacing. We got back on the truck, now more nimble and free of the weight from the morning. With much effort I had now learned not to activate the wiper every time I needed to make a turn.
We unloaded the last cargo right where we started, at the local granary. For an honest day of labor he was given 1000 francs, what any able-bodied man would earn in Kigali if he had a job. His name was Robert, and by now he was no longer a thief, but a fellow worker in the field. We knew where he lived, and Sylvan was going to follow up with him later to make sure he's on the right track.
That was a perfect way to end our ministry in Kigali.
[photo: Robert at work]