Note: On our trip, The Caring Place, run by Sera, will be one of the places we will be working. Here is her remarkable and inspiring stories.
Four year olds don’t anticipate brutal trauma. I was no exception. I was a carefree, joyful, fun loving girl who embraced life before the first crack of dawn and packed as much living into that day before the fast fading of daylight closed the door on it.
It was impossible for me to know or understand the reasons behind my nation’s genocide. The conversations exchanged between the adults regarding the tribalism and the potential warfare resulting from it meant nothing to me. But, when the Hutu men finally invaded the village of my uncle and aunt, the family with whom I was staying, it became a personal trauma.
The major components of the frenzied activity surrounding our home are forever etched in my memory. My uncle was the first one chosen. Before the uninitiated eyes of a small child he was dragged to the site of his last moments on this earth. He was dangled from a tree in our yard and then, in one swift flash of steel he was decapitated. My auntie was next in line. My horror was still fresh when she was raped multiple times and then her life was taken with the blunt edge of an ax. I began to wonder what might happen to me as I witnessed my 16 and 18 year old cousins raped. Would I also be violated? Would I live?
After these terrified girls were consumed like a fast food meal, they were stuffed in a grain sack. The youngest was put in the sack head first. Her sister was put the opposite way. Thrown on the back of a truck like so much garbage, they were delivered, with other living girls who had been treated similarly, to the river where they were thrown in the water left to drown.
Fortunately for me my oldest cousin survived the potential drowning, escaped from the sack, and returned for me and Robert and Sharon, both younger than I was. Darkness and the cool damp air of night were falling fast, but we gathered a few things and began walking. I had no idea where we going, but I was happy to be leaving the site of those horrible experiences. Four days later we arrived at the Ugandan border. Fortunately, our little band of children, were taken in by Tutsi soldiers at the border and they cared for us for four day. Discovering that we had relatives in Mbarara, Uganda, they escorted us across the river and into that peaceful nation. We left Rwanda behind to continue its blood bath, but the memories went with us.
Life for me was never like the childhood I shared before this trauma. I lived with relatives for the next 10 years, but life there was not easy. I was an “extra” mouth to feed and my school fees were a burden on them as well. My teachers loved me. God gifted me with a brilliant mind and they came to understand that I was the last one to leave for school as I was earning my existence by doing chores for my cousins and their family.
As I was about to enter my second year of secondary education I relocated to a boarding school. My eldest cousin was a soldier in Gulu. Again God gifted me with love from him. He volunteered to take care of me and to pay my school fees. As I was about to finish my secondary education, a rebel by the name of Joseph Kony began to terrorize the northern part of Uganda. His soldiers came to Sacred Heart Secondary School, for girls only. Fifty girls were taken. 23 were rescued by the Uganda’s People Defense Force, but the remaining girls disappeared to be victimized by these men whose reputation for brutality, rape, mutilation, and death is well known in many parts of the world. Fear was the predominate emotion among those of us who escaped. I told my cousin that I could not stay in such a place. He warned me that he would not pay my school fees if I left, but my fear escorted me south into central Uganda.
My life up to this point observed so much violence. Somehow I was escaping with my life, but my emotions and mind were affected by all that I had witnessed. I had no idea that my young life was a constant training for the destiny God had planned for me.
Although my parents were alive during my existence I lived with relatives. By this time, my mother and dad were back in Rwanda and they urged me to come back “home.” When I revealed what I had been exposed to during the genocide in Rwanda they understood my reluctance to reenter that country. I have never returned to the nation of my birth for more than four days at a time. Although there is peace there, I have never had a desire to settle there. Graciously, my parents told me that if I could get a boarding school they would pay my school fees. I finished my secondary education in Mbarara. The owner of this school was the brother of President Museveni. His daughter was also a student at this school and we were best friends. I was privileged to accompany her to her house on weekends and to meet the mother of these two brothers. She loved me so much and her son paid my school fees for the advanced level of secondary education.
After finishing my education I went to work at the Vienna Guest House in Masaka as a cashier, but the hotel was constantly full of drunkards and men who treated me with disrespect and rudeness. But, jobs were hard to find. I stayed seven months and may have stayed longer, but they were not paying me. What little money I did receive was enough for me to return to my school and clear my debts so that I could reclaim my things.
Computer training was my next attempt at college in Masaka. While a student there I met a young married couple from Chicago, Illinois, name Aaron and Kandra Jessen. They fell in love with me and I fell in love with them. They were in Uganda for three months and became very good friends. When they had to return to the States they asked me to accompany them to the airport. We stayed together in a motel near the airport and they told me about their background, their lives in America, and requested I be their daughter. I was overwhelmed and blessed. Though I had living parents and had stayed with relatives I had never been a daughter. You can only imagine the love and care I felt from them. They left me with $300 which was enough for me to complete my studies.
Four months later, my “parents” came back. They helped me get a Ugandan passport because they had plans for me. They wanted me to return to the United States and study at a university there. Again they left for to the States, but returned later after I had everything I needed, except a visa to return with them to America.
The last time they came to Uganda, we all came to Jinja where I live currently. They were only able to stay two weeks. We knew everything about each other by this time in our relationship and I knew that they had come to help me work on getting my visa. But, a funny thing happened on the way to the Embassy. While I was in Jinja I began to notice young boys that were living on the streets. Aaron and Kandra had plans for me to go to the United States. They were confident that they could help get me a scholarship at a university. They thought the brilliant mind God gave me should get some training. I was torn between wanting to do what they wanted me to do and doing what my heart was wanting me to do.
I began to take food and juice to some of the boys on the street. This is what brought me joy and they hope. I began to wonder if I could provide a safe home for them to live in; a home where they were loved and cared for. When it came time to reveal my passion to Aaron and Kandra I realized that I had a desire to love and care for these abandoned boys much more than accept a once in a life time offer to study in America.
The Caring Place was officially born April 4, 2008. I started with 19 boys who all agreed that they would give up drinking and sniffing glue for an opportunity to live in a home with me as their mama. They agreed that they would all go to school, though none of them had school experience. They promised to follow my directions and obey.
The story, of course, is much longer and filled with many fascinating details, but suffice it to say that I now understand that the trauma I experienced as a four year old in Rwanda help put compassion in my heart for disadvantaged people. The tough circumstances of my life helped prepare me to be a tender and tough mama to some boys that had no boundaries in their lives. I would not trade the constant demands of feeding, clothing, buy shoes, paying medical bills, finding school fees, and loving these boys in so many ways for any degree from the best university in America.
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