“Here, even though there is peace now, we constantly fear war because of the past; we fear having to leave our homes. I learned about the attacks in the United States [on September 11, 2001]- do you fear war in the same way?”
My mind flashed back to September 11 as I struggled to answer my Congolese friend. I attempted to explain that though tragic, 9/11 remained incommensurable with the human tragedy of “Africa’s World War,” longing for the naïve certainty of my 8-year old-self.
“Do you know what this means, Danielle?” My mother tucked me into bed.
“Yes. It means that Daddy will need to leave the country soon.”
One decade later, May 2011: 18-year-old Danielle sits in her family’s Texas living room, exactly one month before her high school graduation. Running CNN headlines verify an onslaught of social media reports: U.S. forces killed Osama bin Laden.
“Does this mean that Dad can come to graduation now?” He was scheduled to leave for Afghanistan the following morning. I smiled a little too widely, chuckled a little too lightheartedly to ensure that everyone knew that I spoke in jest; that I knew of course the day’s events changed nothing.
It is one of life’s greatest idiosyncracies that one is never more acutely aware of personal difference than when one is similar to another in all ways but one. My eyes locked with Diane’s[1] and I shifted my gaze to Justin. She was 20; he 21. Their youthful eyes suggested premature tragedy, their palpable bond revealed shared trial. Diane and Justin lost their mother while Diane was pregnant with Ben (now 1 year). Diane now cares for Ben and her younger sister, Katharine (age 4), while Justin searches for odd farm jobs in neighboring fields. The family lives an hour’s walk from the nearest health center, in a rural Rwandan community in the central part of the country. Justin moved in with Diane when their mother passed away. Their father is not in the picture and refuses to provide the financial support that would enable his children to access healthcare services.
I showed Diane a photo of my own brother (21) and I (22), asking my colleague to inform her in Kinyarwanda of the resemblance. Even as I did this, I was aware of my own absurdity, epitomized by the fact that my chosen instrument to convey similarity was a photo on my iPhone 6. But something about the unspoken tenacity of Diane and Justin’s relationship brought tears to my eyes, not due to the socioeconomic vulnerability of their reality but due to powerful love borne of this same vulnerability. I recognized Joshua in Justin, myself in Diane: a relationship mandated by blood but solidified in another’s willingness to come alongside you when you are at your worst, your least loveable, that one person who can convince you of your value when all value seems irretrievable.
“You know that Africans make a proper song and dance about the ritual of greeting and get quite annoyed when you don’t greet them. The point about greeting someone and asking genuinely after their well being is that it acknowledges their humanity, their personhood. Not to greet someone is to dehumanize them.” (Archbishop Desmond Tutu)
“’Brother Saul, the Lord-Jesus, who appeared to you on the road as you were coming here-has sent me so that you may see again and be filled with the Holy Spirit.’ Immediately, something like scales fell from Saul’s eyes, and he could see again.” (Acts 9:17-18)
Good morning.
Mwaramutse.
How are you?
Ni meza.
I met you on the road
To Rusizi
Blue eyes locked in brown
But not really seeing
Locked into perceptions
So deftly developed
Scales ingrown in intimate embrace
They fuse with my eyes…
“All human life is valuable”
Easy to speak
But harder to feel
Harder still to live in
The silent spaces of my mind…
Good afternoon
Mwiriwe
What is your name?
Nitkwa Daniella
Scales impair senses
Blurry profile, silhouette
Pitiful shadow of a life
Scale-studded goggles
Your humanity in theory
Explicitly co-inhabitants
Equal in so many words
On the slope of this road
Thank you
Murakoze
Linguistic standoff
Both refuse to concede defeat
I see with scales
Do your own eyes have scales?
Language and culture
Layer onto preexisting insecurities
Tighten the paralysis around me
Frozen in fear
You’re frozen in theory
“Good morning”
When you greet me do you label
Your language unworthy?
“Mwaramutse”
Do I deem you
Unworthy of mine?
Scales: benign at the surface but
Corrosive in penetrating
Unrepentant hearts
Stoicism that shields
A moralizing mind
Curating the empty, preserving the hollow
Interaction devoid of humanity
But in truth my scales are more painful
To remove than ignore
Good morning
Mwaramutse
Who are you behind my scales?
Culturally crafted but
Interpersonally sustained
History’s happy accident
On the winning side of
The world’s unjust equation
Humanity imprisoned in theory
Mine freely exercised.
[1] All names changed to protect privacy
Turi Kumwe 