Furaha has a shy smile and a serenity that makes you feel you are in the presence of a very special young lady. She is 13 and has just started primary school. She also has no legs below her knees.
We were asked to help Furaha by American missionaries Drs Louise and Caleb King who were, until recently, living and working in the hilltop village of Shyira, where Furaha, an orphan, lives.
Last year we assisted with funding an operation on her leg after an appeal from our local church, along with another volunteer, and this year agreed with Dr Louise to fund her school fees.
We set off on a four hour bus journey from Musanze in the north, via the capital Kigali in the centre of the country, to Nyanza. Buying a ticket for Nyanza from the capital we thought, of course, that the bus would go there!
The roads south were good, much better than those up north, but we had a problem with the language. In the north many speak English, in the south of Rwanda more people speak French – or Kinyarwandan, and our smattering of the native language was not good enough especially when there are problems, which there were on this trip.
The hot and packed bus seemed to be getting near to Nyanza - we saw the signs - and in the guide-book it said the bus went into the town and up to the Mwami’s palace, where the kings of Rwanda were crowned and lived until 1961 when it became a republic.
But although we tried to get people to look at our guide and tell us where to get off, no-one understood, and the bus sailed right past our stop. Eventually someone realised and said it was better to continue to Butare and get a bus back. After an already tiring journey we shrugged our shoulders and phlegmatically soldiered on.
We had already booked a hotel in Butare for the second night so decided to stay there anyway and bus it back to Gatagara, south of Nyanza, where Furaha was at school. Alighting at the bus stop a helpful student in this university town said he would walk us to our hotel. Rwandans are such friendly and helpful people, it always amazes me, though I don’t why it should.
We walked in the hot sun, carrying our backpacks and my laptop, right through the town and out the other end. Where on earth was this hotel, I thought. Eventually we found it, and it was a dump. The guide book said that tour groups and NGO’s often stay there, and as there was a swimming pool I thought it was probably going to be ok. Not! A man showed us a room with a lovely view of a building site and I tried in desperation to phone all the other hotels in town but they could all take us for one night not two. Then as we were resigned to stay there and started booking in the receptionist dropped a bombshell. Paul Kagame, the president, was coming the next day and there was no public transport – we would be trapped and not able to fulfil our promise to visit Furaha the next morning.
We decided to leg it and get the bus back to Nyanza right away and to stay at the hotel we had originally booked there. We found the right mini-bus and the driver said he knew the hotel we wanted. After about three-quarters of an hour we arrived at Nyanza bus station and he walked us round the corner and pointed to a hotel. But it had a different name.
Instead of the Bikini Hotel it was called the Heritage Hotel. Oh well, I thought, it must have changed its name. We arrived at reception and I said: “Is this the Bikini Hotel?” The guy on reception with one eye on a Liverpool v Tottenham match on the corner TV said, no this is the Nyanza Heritage Hotel, as if I was an idiot. He said the other hotel was 2km away. Frustrated, hot and exhausted I asked for a room. It was more than we wanted to pay, but what the heck, we needed to flop.
After a disturbed night with noises echoing up the stairwell to our bedroom, and early morning mega-sized crows pecking on our window, we ate a strange breakfast of omelette and bread and jam and set off for the bus to Gatagara. After help from locals we alighted at the roadside and were besieged with bicycle taxis - normal bikes with a padded pannier on the back. We negotiated the fee and then took a 10 minute down-hill ride through the fields to what we hoped was Gatagara school for the handicapped.
We had found a Gatagara pottery in the guide book that said it was placed near a Catholic centre for the handicapped and hoped this was the place. We arrived at an impressive gateway through which we espied a grand cathedral set in large grounds. Soon we found Furaha’s social worker who greeted us warmly. Walking in the grounds of this beautiful, calm place, with dormitories and classrooms on the periphery, we saw a tiny tot, with metal prostheses for feet, trying out steps with a walking frame. It cut me to the heart to see such a tiny child with this disability.
Then we found Furaha’s classroom and she appeared in her wheelchair, a young girl with the most serene smile. We immediately fell in love with her. She was so pleased to see us and the social worker interpreted our greetings as her English was not very good. We gave her some gifts, a lovely pink embroidered handbag, a bracelet which she immediately put on, a necklace, pencils and an upmarket toiletry bag holding some delicious smelling soap and shower gel that a friend had given me to bring out. She was delighted with it all. We took some pictures and she wanted to hold our hand which touched our hearts.
We pledged to support her for at least 12 years schooling until senior 6, the last class of mainstream education. And she said she needed a new prosthesis so she can romp about on her sticks as she usually does and we promised to look into this. For a young girl with no parents in this poor country life is hard enough, but to have no legs as well, it is a double whammy. The Rwandan government is starting to assist its disabled folk, and there are many, due to the war and illness, but help is in its infancy as there is so much need in this country.
We had also brought pens, pencils and hotel soap and shampoo samples that we gave out to the ever-widening group of kids crowding round us. And then there was a deluge and they were jumping up, fighting to get a ‘present’. The social worker suggested I gave the bag of goodies to the teacher to distribute, which I felt was a more than a good idea.
As we walked back to the gate, with Furaha wheeling along in front of us, two little tots trotted alongside us, holding our hands, as they do in this country. The children are so loving, innocent, and welcoming you feel as though you want to bring them all home with you. I noticed that one held a pen AND a piece of soap, the other a phial of shampoo. They were day pupils and were going home for lunch in the surrounding fields nearby.
Soon it was time to say goodbye and we hugged our new ‘daughter’ and hopped on a moto back to the main road. It had been a magical meeting.
We soon got a bus back to Nyanza and found a scruffy bar to eat lunch.
There we saw other white folk we had met in Musanze and they suggested the goat kebabs and chips for lunch, which we ordered. Then I fainted! No, it was not the thought of eating goat, it was heat exhaustion. One of their party dispensed a rehydration sachet into a half bottle of water and I tried, between flopping on the table, to get it down me. Eventually their driver took me to our hotel, where they found us a quieter room, and I spent the afternoon tucked up in bed, watching tv, and drinking as much water as I could manage. The planned visit to the Mwami’s palace, the reason we decided to stay in Nyanza, was shelved. What a dramatic end to a delightful day!
I WAS AWAKE FOR MY OPERATION!
(Sun 04/03)
Me and Sir Jimmy Savile
(Thu 03/11)
What not to wear!!!
(Wed 15/06)
Rwandan adventure Our sponsored child
(Mon 06/06)
Rwandan Adventure - Lunch Was Alive!
(Mon 23/05)
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