Turasubira

See you soon.

I want to pretend I'm sitting at a round table giving a toast. Around me are all of my closest friends and those who make me better. I don't want to get sentimental, but I have to tell you about Rwanda. I have to tell you now because soon I will be gone.

I've already got that sinking feeling like I'm dipping down from the height of a ferris wheel. One month is not enough. One month is not enough after you've found a place that could be your home. I remember how I felt one month ago -- giddy, young, unsure. The dust and vibrant fabrics and grumbling motors gave me tiny headaches in the beginning. But then I didn't know. I didn't know how quickly those stimulations would become a part of me.

Here, in Rwanda, I walked the broken streets and the clay-like dust stained my toes. Here, in Rwanda, I  stuffed my belly with local spices and plants. Here, in Rwanda, I zipped through stalled cars on a flying moto; an old man resting in the shade of a tree smiled at me and motioned for me to lower the visor of my helmet. Here, in Rwanda, people looked out for me. Here, in Rwanda, I sang songs with my moto driver even though we did not speak the same language. Here, in Rwanda, I played Cat & Mouse with the kids. We chased each other and giggled and held hands. Here, in Rwanda, I danced with my arms extended to the sky, stretching, smiling. Here, in Rwanda, I shopped for biscuits and eggs next to women in business suits and men with children trailing their tails. Here, in Rwanda, I became someone's daughter. Here, in Rwanda, I became someone's friend. Here, in Rwanda, I became one of them.

I will miss this place and it is not possible to equate how much. Here, I learned about the resilience of the human condition; I learned about connection, communication and humanity.

Rwanda, you humbled me. Thank you for teaching me how to be human.

Turasubira. See you soon. 

Cheers.

Yanna