Give Me Your Eyes

I was recently listening to Brandon Heath’s song “Give Me Your Eyes,” and realized that the lyrics began to reflect a prayer that I have had in my heart for me to see each person I encounter in Rwanda as a child of God and see them through Christ’s eyes rather than my own, jaded ones.

Lord,

Give me your eyes for just one second,

Give me your eyes so I can see everything that I keep missing.

Give me your love for humanity.

Give me your arms for the broken hearted, the ones that are far beyond my reach.

Give me your heart for the ones forgotten.

Give your eyes so I can see…

Give me a second chance to see the way you have see the people all along.

Lord, give me your eyes.

During my first trip to Africa, I remember being so shocked as I rode a bus through South Africa on the way to Swaziland. We passed several communities composed of tin shacks, and less than a quarter of a mile there was a brand new gas station! I remember being indignant—how can you build a brand new, luxurious gas station next to people who are dirt poor? Does no one see the disparity?  On that first trip, I often felt so guilty that I skipped lunch when we were out in the community, giving my bagged lunch to the pastor to give to the children who were most in need.

Now, a short four years later, this is my fourth time in Africa. I realize that in a lot of ways I have become desensitized to the poverty that surrounds me. The need here is so overwhelming—even people who are considered well off and have nice jobs would be on welfare in the US—that at times I wonder how I can help without causing more harm than good. I have been cautioned not to give out money on the street because it just reinforces the kids’ behaviors. The first English phrase that the kids learn is, “give me money.” I get asked for money so many times a day that now I almost come to expect it when a child approaches me and I either ignore the request or say no. 

When did my heart become so hardened in this aspect? When did I stop looking at each child as a child of God? I realize that in some way, it is a survival mechanism. If I walked down the dirt road and gave each child 100 francs (about the equivalence of a 15 cents) like they ask, would that do any good? They could maybe buy a loaf of bread (or more likely a piece of candy), but the next day, they would be hungry again. And before the day is over, I would be out of money. I feel like there is so little I can do individually that at times I find myself asking why do I bother to do something at all? I know that this is very cynical. It is an issue that I have been grappling with since I got here. 

Plus, I hate that some people here see my white skin and think of me as a means to get money. I know that this is not the case for every person, but there have been many times when I feel like I am being used and that people only try to be my friend so that they can get something from me. For example, there was a student who I passed every morning who kept asking me if he could run with me. I agreed to run with him one morning, and the first thing he asked me was to pay for his school fees (about 800 dollars).

I have had some experiences here that have made me reflect on how good intentions can only get you so far. Recently, we tried to partner with compassion (an international organization that helps children in poverty so that they can get meals, go to school, etc) in an event that we thought would result in children getting sponsors, but ended up in a catastrophe. It’s a long, complicated story, but in short, we thought there would only be about 15-30 children there who were registered in the program but did not have sponsors and we agreed to take pictures with the kids and try to find sponsors for them at our churches once we were back in the States. When we got to the small compassion center, there were hundreds of people gathered. Then we learned that none of the 30 children who were supposed to be there were there, and instead there were hundreds of other village children and their mothers crowding the tiny office. We almost just turned around and left, but the compassion leaders urged us to take the pictures anyway, which they could use if these other children decided to register for the program in the future. (Side note—in order to register, the children have to come to the office with a guardian and apply, and the program then determines if they are poor enough to qualify). Things got out of control quickly with many people trying to sneak in the back door and a riot almost ensued. Mothers, desperate to have their children in the program, were shoving their kids into the door. It got to the point where we were afraid that people would get hurt, so we shut it down and left. We found out later that there was a lot of backlash and anger in the community because supposedly the people thought that they would get paid by the mzungus if they got their picture taken-- no wonder they were so frantic to do so! Somehow word had gotten out to all of the village leaders and health ministers to send their poor to get sponsored (and once people heard that they had an opportunity to get money, everyone showed up). It was also sad because there were kids there who really needed the aid, but there were also kids who were healthy and rather plump who really did not need it! Anyways, it was a mess, and it made me realize that even if you have good intentions to help, if you do not go through the right avenues you actually cause a lot more harm than good. It was a hard, but important lesson, and it kind of made me realize that it’s pretty complicated as a missionary. There are plenty of times where our actions help to contribute to the dependence in the society. We need to find ways for them to empower themselves rather than look for handouts.

Hundreds of children and their mothers lined up hoping to be enrolled in the Compassion program.

I want to end this blog on a positive note—because 99% of my experiences here have been amazing. I love how I can walk down the street and almost every single person greets me, I love how the patients in the hospital care for each other and share food, and I love how the staff at the hospital welcome any newcomer who is here to help or just observe. The majority of people my age (nursing students and other hospital staff) who I have gotten to know are remarkable. I have made several good friends. There is one guy, a first year nursing student, who I run with almost every morning and helps me to translate on Sundays when we go around and pray with the patients. He has gotten to be a close friend, and he even invited me to his house to watch the USA-Belgium game and eat with his family. There are other students who have invited me to come play soccer with them, and others who have helped me to shop in the market so that I can get a good price. There are several others who put a smile on my face every time I see them. The one generalization I can make is that the people as a whole are very friendly and welcoming, and that is something that has made me fall in love with the Kibogora community.