Sometimes there just aren't enough words to describe the heaviness of seeing the body of an infant boy buried and seeing the glistening eyes of the boys father as he tried in vain to hold back the tears that so effortlessly rolled down his cheeks. To see such pain in the eyes of a man and a man who has fought off thieves for a living and who is accustomed to pain, it really makes the whole situation real.
The day honestly started off really well, minus the re-aggravation of an ankle injury I sustained in march. I had plans to walk up the mountain path once again in order to give a lady at the top a family portrait that I had taken last time I did the hike. My mother had been so kind as to develop it and bring it to me in Ethiopia this past week and I was so excited to be able to present it to her. It was probably the only family portrait she would ever have. After about an hour of hiking up the mountain I arrived at her home to find that she was not there so I slid the pictures (in an envelope of course) under the door and proceeded down the mountain. All in all the hike took around 3 hours and as I was finishing up I ran into my right-hand man at the shop I manage. He looked at me and told me that the night guard who guards the house we work in had lost his less than a year old son the night before and that he had specifically requested for me to come visit him and to attend the funeral. Now this came as some-what of a surprise because I had only met the man a few times and it was always at night so, if I am being honest, I had no idea what he looked like. Faustin (my right hand guy) told me that the guard was also asking for an advanced salary to help pay for the funeral and the costs that went along with it. How could I refuse? I mean the man just lost his son so there was no way I would refuse a request that was so simple but that could mean a world of difference to him.
So around 2:45 in the afternoon I get dressed in my suit (the first time I have had to wear it) and place on my dress shoes expecting to walk at the most a KM and most of it on the main road so it would be paved. Faustin shows up at 3 and we proceed to the guards house. We run into Gilbert who teaches the men at His Imbaraga to sew and the three of us start trekking. Now I had already hiked once early that morning and was already somewhat tired and sore from that but as we start walking I realize that this was not going to be just some short hike. The road in front of us turns out to be a dirt road with lava rock scattered throughout making it a very uncomfortable walk (especially in dress shoes that are not meant for that kind of terrain). We walk around 2 or 3 KM through dust, dirt, and rock, until we finally arrive at the guards house. The house is located at the very tip-top of the mountain and although it lacks electricity, the view was breathtaking. Looking out over the city of Nundo I could see the main highway as well as all the colored roofs of the different schools, houses, shops, and orphanages and when looking the other way I see that the land below is shaped out like a U with myself standing smack in the bottom center portion of said U. The view itself was worth the hike but I knew that there was an even greater purpose for me being there. We step into the home with the guard leading us and I immediately notice the dirt floor and the only furniture he has in his home is two wooden chairs and two wooden benches. It was incredibly simple but it was his and I could tell by his look that he took pride in the simple living that he had carved out for himself. We sat down and he told us that he was so happy to have us in his home, especially me. I didn't understand why I was so important but come to find out white people are held to such a high status amongst Rwandans that when they see a white man out in the rural area headed to somebody's home that person is then considered to be of a higher status themselves. So by my presence there in the home I was raising the social status of the man. Crazy I know.
So we are sitting there and I look into the man's eyes and can see the glistening and it would not have taken an expert to tell that he had been crying for a major portion of the day and I wouldn't blame him if he had been. the loss of a child must be one of the hardest things a person can deal with in life. He brings us fantas which I again wonder why would he serve us? He was the one who just lost a child, we should be serving him.
We sit there an talk and discuss his loss and I find out that the man never left his post the night before even when his child was in critical condition. The man received the news of the death and yet still remained to guard the house until his time was up. I ask myself why didn't he leave? why did he not wake up either myself or someone else and tell us he needed to leave or his child was near death? Why did he even show up to work in the first place? I also discover that the infant child could have been saved for a mere 30,000 Rwandan Franks (roughly $50 American). And again I question why he did not come to us for help? We continue to talk for around 15 minutes and he shows me the grave. A simple garden in the side on the side of the mountain; no marker, no cross, just a simple plot in the ground. His family could not afford the gravestone nor did they need one. In there explanation they told me that the child was so young and the gravestone so expensive that it just wasn't feasible. According to him, many bodies laid beneath the soil without any marker at all; that's just how it is here. Death for people in this part of the world is just a fact of life and something they contend with and face every day.
We prayed with the father and took the descent back down the mountain, the man's face forever etched in the corners of my mind. To know that the child could have been saved, that the man stayed to guard the house even in the midst of such heartbreak, it is a heavy thing to carry and yet it is nothing in comparison to what he must be going through. I realize that the medical care and medicines that we all take for granted, like Tylenol or Ibuprofen, are a rare and life-altering luxury here. To think it would have only taken $50...who knows what that boy would have become or who he would have become. Could he have been the man who discovered the cure for cancer or the politician who changed the fates of millions? There is no way of knowing but there is one thing to take away from this and that is that death is a fact of life and we all face it, whether we are in a rural village in the middle of Rwanda or sitting on our couch watching tv in America. There are many uncertainties in this life but one thing we can be certain of is that we all will die. What will you leave behind you when you do? Will this world be a better place because you were here? Will you have used your God given talents and gifts to further his kingdom? or will you have wasted this precious gift that we call life? We must realize that death is a reality that we all will face, and we must all face this reality.
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