I am the Mother of the Word

Most of my time spent in Rwanda was outside the capital of Kigali in two provinces, one in the north and one in the south.

The northern province is called Musanze where Niamh, one of the Fulbright ETAs in Rwanda, brought me to a tiny village where we visited a library and a preschool. Traveling in Rwanda is much easier than it is in Madagascar. The bus terminals are still loud, noisy, bustling, and filled with shady dudes trying to “help” you get where you need to go. But once you’re on the bus, the roads are smooth enough that the twists and turns through the mountains and hills aren’t that bad.

The country is extremely green, provided for the volcanic soil that is amongst some of the most fertile in the world. In fact, the northern province is lined with dormant volcanos that stretch across the horizon and mark the borders with the DRC and Uganda. Niamh and I made it to the tiny town off the main road and walked the rest of the way (about three miles) along the dirt road. We arrived to the village where the children (ages 3-6) were just finishing their hard boiled eggs and bananas for their morning snack. They love Niamh who makes it a priority to visit the village every weekend to teach and read to the kids. Once they saw her with another stranger, they rushed to me and started dutifully inspecting me. A few of the kids liked my bracelets. And suddenly to their surprise, they found my arm hair.

Africans rarely have a lot of body hair. Although this is too much personal information to share with you, I am an extremely hair human being. One of the kids was playing with my bracelets, realized that there was hair. She touched it. Pulled on it a little. Looked up at with me the most confused face imaginable. And proceeded to rub my arm, calling over her friends to do the same, very proud for having discovered this rather unique trait of mine. Within a few second, I had a dozen kids manhandling my arms and pulling at my arm hairs. This isn’t the first time it has happened. Malagasy kids also get a kick out of it, but they are too shy to try to touch. Once I take off my hat and let my long hair fall down, kids absolutely lose it.

We also tried some of the local banana beer. It sounds gross, and it is. We went into this tiny building and asked if we could try some. I said I just wanted to try a sip. So they told me they would bring me a small. The small proceeded to be a full cup. I didn't want to see what a large would be like. Nonetheless, I had about 5 sips of the room temp, murky liquid which had a distinct banana taste once you got passed all of the little seed and stems that were floating around the whole thing.

Anyways, we walked around a bit and met all sorts of locals before I departed the village and got a car to drive me to the southern region of Butare where I had a mission. Well, a pilgrimage, not a mission.

One of the things that fascinated me about Rwanda is a little place called Kibeho. Kibeho is a Catholic pilgrimage site, the only place in Africa with an approved Marian apparition. Thus, I made it a priority to get there.

Early the morning of my pilgrimage, I woke up and met my motorcycle driver who would take me the 30min to Kibeho from Butare. The village of Kibeho is really small. But there is a large church there as well as an outdoor chapel for big events and masses as well as a small chapel where the apparitions took place. I arrived during the first mass, as it was Sunday, and took the opportunity to occupy the apparition chapel alone.

I’ve mentioned thick and thin spaces before, and Kibeho is without a doubt a thin space. In fact, that little chapel is the thinnest space I’ve ever been to. There is something about that place that pulls you away from the earth. The ground itself tries to launch you into prayer. Despite my years of exploring prayer and mediation, I rarely have emotionally driven prayer experiences. Part of it is that I’m not a very sensing person. It takes a lot of physical stimulation for me to feel satisfied or moved. Yet kneeling and praying in that chapel put me at a peace I have not felt in a long time. And I’m not sure I’ll ever forget that seemingly uneventful moment. No lightning strike. No epiphany. No visions. Nothing of the sort. Just peace.

Afterwards, I found the priest and went to confession, something which is a must on a pilgrimage to Kibeho. As with all apparitions, Mary doesn’t come down to earth for no reason at all. She always bears a message, words of guidance for the human race as an expression of her love for mankind. In Kibeho, she presented herself to the three young Rwandan women as “The Mother of the Word”, which if you don’t know, the Word here is Jesus. Her message was one of repentance, conversion, and profound prayer for the changing of ways. The apparitions took place in the 80s, and the Mother of the Word warned that if things did not change, there would be a horrible war. The prophecy was fulfilled a decade later with the Rwandan genocide where one of the women was killed with her husband. The second woman lives as a nun in Italy. And the final, the one who first received the visions, still lives in Kibeho.

Hence, confession is a must in Kibeho to make the pilgrimage parallel with the theme of the Mother of the Word’s message of repentance and conversion. In fact, Kibeho is the perfect place to make a definitive mark of conversion and transformation, even if there are no thunder clouds or booming voices from the heavens. In all honesty, we are all in need of conversion. If you don’t think so, then that’s proof that you do. I won’t bore you with my common sins, I’m such a boring sinner that I put an old priest to sleep once in the confessional, a moment in my faith journey that made me realize that I should get more creative with my sins (the last part is a joke, putting the priest to sleep is not). The message of the Mother of the Word, by far my favorite title for Mary, is one that should strike at each of our hearts.

As I said in the blog about Gorée island, sin causes four fractures; a fracture with God, a fracture with ourselves, a fracture with society, and a fracture in the cosmos. Regardless of our sins, even minor, they contribute to the immense suffering we see in the world. Thomas Merton noted very often that so much suffering could have been avoided in the world if he had just repented of his sins and sought a continual and never-ending conversion. That if he had just lived his vocation, which is all of our vocations, to be a saint, the world would be a better place. He goes so far as to say WWII could have been avoided had he been a saint. It seems farfetched, but the underlying reasoning of his seemingly exaggerated position is true enough. If we live our vocations to be saints, we inevitably bring into this world peace, grace, and love. If we ignore it, if we say, “I don’t need to change my ways. I’m just fine,” then we contribute to the very suffering we see in all the world. No sin goes unnoticed in the cosmos, and each sin ripples throughout it, regardless of how tiny. It makes me realize how much I have to repent and let go of my own desires and thoughts.

After confession I visited the spring to touch the water. Not sure why. Just seemed like the natural thing to do. Then I went into the main church and prayed before mass began. Mass was rather uneventful to be honest. Long masses (2.5hrs in this case) in a foreign language you don’t understand at all is a cross to bear. But as I told a nun once, “Jésus est Jésus, la langue n’est pas importante.” Jesus is Jesus, the language isn’t important.

Following mass, I lingered a bit longer, bought a few trinkets from their little store, and called my motorcycle guy to bring me back to Butare where I spent the night before driving back to Kigali the next day.

That would be my stay in Rwanda. As you are reading this, I will be on my way back from Mahajanga in north-west Madagascar where I’m helping with the training of English club moderators and helping kick off the beginning of the new Access program there. It will be my last travel in the country before returning to the capital, just in time for Independence Day on June 25th/26th, after which I will be preparing to leave the country in July.

As always, know that you are in my prayers each morning. All I ask is that you do the same for me.

May God be praised.