I meant to post this a while ago. It is an email I sent to my mom about two weeks ago. It is one of my favorite experiences from the trip.

Oh! I had the most AMAZING night last night. Ryan and I went looking for a poor neighborhood to go play soccer in. Ryan kept saying, "I don't see many kids." But I saw some, and I knew that once they saw white people, the word would spread and we'd have quite the cluster. And boy, what a cluster it was. At first the few kids didn't know what was going on. They were just excited to see us. Then I put the ball down and kicked it to a little toddler. Everyone died. Adults gathered around to see what the white girl was doing, and then more and more kids came. Twenty to thirty little African boys and girls with two mizungus in a big circle on a dirt and rock sloping road, passing an American-flag printed soccer ball. I wish you could've seen it. After a few minutes, a woman came and took my hand. "Come," she said. She only brought me, Ryan was left behind, and I had no idea what I would find inside the dark hut I was lead to. It turned out to be a large group of men and women who were drinking the traditional beer out of wooden straws. When they laid their eyes on me, they laughed and greeted me, and room was quickly made for me on the bench. I introduced myself in Kinyarwanda, which always backfires, because they assume I speak it. But I think they were just fine talking about me and not talking to me. After I sat down, a woman handed me a tin cup with beer in it. Drink! Drink! Two sips later I was drunk. That stuff is STRONG!

After a while there, the same women who took me in paraded me throughout the village, stepping into peoples homes having me wave, and then going to the next door. Finally she showed me her home. Two rooms. She sat us down, and showed us pictures of her family (3 of her children live in Chicago, one lives here still). She keeps the pictures locked up. When she talked about her husband she slid her finger across her throat, implying that he was killed. She made the same motion when she talked about her eldest daughter. My heart broke in front of her. Her eyes began to tear up and you could see her inner battle, trying to suck her storm back under her calm demeanor. I didn't know what to say, and even if I did, I couldn't because of the language barrier. So I reached for her hand and held it. I told her that her family is keza (beautiful). She said, yes, keza. We hugged and I told her I would visit again. I think I will go back tonight and ask if she would like me to send a letter to her children back in the states. Oh, one funny thing was when i asked if she would ever go to Chicago. She reached in the envelope where she kept the pictures and pulled out a passport. She waved it in the air and said 'maybe' with a taunting smile.

After I left her house, I went back to join the soccer game. Even more kids had gathered. We played for a bit longer, but Ryan and I had to be back at the hotel for a meeting. When we started walking away, the kids chased after us screaming "balo, balo!" They thought we had forgotten the ball, and handed it back to me! I found one girl who spoke English and told her, "this ball is for everyone in the neighborhood. Make sure it is shared. Let everyone play." Then I handed her the ball. All the kids had followed what had just been exchanged, and I was overwhelmed when the little boys and girls threw themselves around my waist and shoulders, screaming thank you. We waved goodbye, and then the two mizungus walked off into the sunset. What a night.