Muharo!! (hello)
Amukuru? (how are you?)
I'm wonderful. I'm sorry for the lack of blog posts. I actually wrote a very long one two days ago, but when I went to post it-the internet broke. Ah, welcome to Rwanda.

There's so much that has happened these few days that I have been here. I wish I could fill you in completely, but I don't think that would be realistic. Instead I will begin with today, which was an emotional roller coaster.

Our schedule was jammed packed. We left our guest house at 8:00 am for the Kigali Memorial. The layout is beautiful. A building with large windows is surrounded by gardens, a reflecting pool and an eternal light that burns from April to May (the months during which the genocide occured). Below the gardens there are about 15 mass graves holding 100 coffins and the coffins contain the bodies of 50 genocide victims. This comes out to a total of 358,000 victims that have been collected from the city of Kigali (Rwanda's capital). Just yesterday the museum received the bodies of 12 more victims, each day corpses of the genocide are being uncovered.

Inside the museum is divided into different periods: colonial history, beginning of genocide, during genocide, after genocide, and there's a childrens memorial upstairs along with an outline of each of the 20th century's genocides. I walked through the museum with our Rwandan staffer, Pasi. He has been amazing this past week, and was no different today. "In places like this", he said, "you have to be strong. In Africa, we have a lot of talent. I may write a song, but I cannot go into a studio to record it, like you can in America. So after a while, we forget we have any talent at all."

This experience was much different than Poland. In both instances, I saw the devestation alongside a survivor. But the Jewish holocaust seemed so long ago. The remains of death camps are like ancient artifacts. Here, I see people missing limbs and scarred bodies each day. I am so angry with myself and with the country I come from. I was alive during this genocide - my parents generation did nothing to stop it. And now, I live still witnessing genocide today in Darfur, yet my generation does nothing. I do nothing - or not enough anyway. It is not a racial issue, it is a moral one. Yes, the children from Treblinka and Auschwitz look like me, but the children in the pictures staring at me today were the same age I was when the genocide occured. Neither tragedy is worse than the other. But how can we let such a fate be shared by multiple countries, again and again?

I only had 20 minutes to process my emotions, because next we were off to a primary school. We walked from the museum to the school and a group of small kids dressed in green and white checkered tops greeted us at the gate. They walked us around all of the classrooms - 35 in all. We didn't enter each room. Lots of times we waved through the windows and shouted "muraho!" They would giggle, and return the greeting. Other classes I would reach my hand through the barred window to shake a hand, and before I knew it - the whole class was pressed against the bars. When we did go into classes the students would stand and say, "Welcome veeseetors!" After the tour, the whole school gathered to perform for us and present us with gifts.

In each classroom there are 70 to 100 children who are seated 6 to 7 on a bench. Theoretically, these benches should hole 2 to 3. The floors are either dirt or concrete, and the only other classroom tool they have is a blackboard. To see the passion of these children even in such conditions astounds me. How often did I complain to go to school when I was young? How much did I hate to sit in air conditioned rooms with tiled floors and shelves filled with books? We are so lucky, yet we are blind. So blind.

I gave the elder of the school my contact information, and Pasi translated for me asking him to please keep in touch with me so I can help spread his cause in the states. He hugged me and kissed me three times on the cheek.

Next, we were wisked away to a meeting with an NGO working for womens rights and then off to a peace village. The peace village is an alternative for an orphange. It is comprised of several child-headed households for kids who lost their parents during the genocide or to HIV/Aids. We toured some of the houses and then met with some of the kids (most were away at boarding school). We had drinks and donuts. Pasi found a radio...then the real fun began. All the younger children flocked to the sound waves and I followed. Soon white and black were mixed dancing. Finally I got to show off those West African dance moves I grew up with. And now I have some east African dances for my repitoire. Don't worry mom - I blew their flip flops WAY off. The kids loved that I danced like them. I knew they liked me when many of them opened my hands to put their candy in them. Next a young girl I danced with brought me a sprite.

I don't think this smile has left my face since I landed in Africa last Friday. I have a purpose. Doing these deeds gives me purpose. Pasi said to me, "It was beautiful to see white skin moving slow like ours." But it isn't because I'm white that the children love me. It is because they see someone from outside of Africa who cares about them...who sees their humanity.

I encourage you all to find a cause, and to give your heart to it. Maybe some of you already have. And if you have, you know that feeling of wholeness. I have never felt as spiritual as I do today.

Mura Muche (goodnight), and amahoro (peace).