Ikaramu
Today I woke up appreciative, having celebretad Velitas in Colombian fashion yesterday; our thanksgiving. I would like to share this eye-opening experience I had this summer.
31.05.2022
Today we woke up around 7 but got out of bed at 8:20. We had breakfast looking over the little enclave of Lake Kivu over which our hotel was set. After eating scrambled eggs, we got on the road towards Goma, the second largest city in the Democratic Republic of Congo.
Some 45 minutes after leaving the lodge, Gio asked to stop to take some pictures of the tea plantation. We got out all three camping chairs, enjoying one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen. Enjoying it for a while, with some soft reggae by Vicente Garcia in the background, I appreciated just how lucky I am. “It is often not the life we deserve, but the one we are fortunate enough to live.” With every passing day I become aware of how privileged such a claim is in a more saddening reality around me.
With 70% of Rwanda’s population being the youth, they also represent the demography we drive by. While our car is often greeted with smiles and waves, these are often followed by “money” or the more demanding “give me”. White saviorism is a real phenomenon, clearly hardwired in the minds of these kids from a very young age. They see a 4x4 and two white men and directly associate it with hand-outs.
Once we were approaching the northern Rwandan-Congo border, the poverty levels seemed to rise, although the city had a buzzing vibe. We went up to the border, a feat that seems crazy considering the active conflict between the two countries. Crossing would have been quite the experience, but the logistics required proved too complicated.
The road from there to Ruhengeri was spent reading further into “A long walk to freedom”. Some 20 km before reaching our destination, we got out to see the Rwandan volcanoes from afar. I noticed a one-legged boy approach us from some distance. Tired of the constant begging, we got in the car and heard his begs through the window. At first, I thought it was the same old story we had heard countless times before, but the word seemed unfamiliar. “Ikaramu! Ikaramu!”. I asked Allan what the word meant, and his response greatly surprised me. The little one-legged boy who had made the effort to walk uphill towards the car was asking not for money but for a pen. The expression across his face when I gave him a pencil was something I will never forget. The mix of joy and excitement for having received something to write with. To learn. To create and empower himself. The craziest part was that this happened right when I was immersed in Mandela’s narrative on education as the main tool towards empowerment and freedom. I hope for the boy, whose name I regret not asking, that he continues to pursue knowledge, and become an example of the power of education, even through hardships; it would serve the world well, and it will surely stick with me.
