A few nights ago after the service, Pastor John presented me with a guitar and a question: “can you fix this?” The neck of this six-string had snapped almost completely off just below the tuning pegs. It was holding on by just a few slivers of cherry oak, threatening to separate from the rest of the body at any moment. I explained how to properly glue it back together, and put it back into its case to be repaired the next day.
Two days later Arnold, our 20-year old resident translator brought that familiar case into the living room. I was surprised to find the neck all in one piece, complete with 2 completely different size and styled nails driven into the wood, the ultimate death penalty to a guitar’s value; somehow I don’t think value carries near as much weight as utility in Rwanda.
I pulled a mess of strings from the cavity of the guitar, and begun to pull out the pegs, dislodging the worn out metal strands from their respective holes. I handed the bundle of wires to Arnold, who plainly asked, “what do we do with these?” I had already pulled out a pack of new strings from my own case, and answered, “we throw them away.” One would have thought I had spoken in German, for he surprisingly repeated the statement, in the form a question. “Yes,” I replied, “they are worn out and are in horrible condition.” Arnold, instead, said, “I am going to call Perfect and tell him I have an E string for his guitar. He will be so excited.”
Perfect is a neighbor whose home we visited a few days ago. While visiting with his family, we sang a song with them, and I remember spotting an old classical guitar, that looked to be made out of the remaining slats of an old fishing boat, sitting against the wall. It was indeed missing the first string. I then recalled jokingly saying that morning, “that’s a classic 5-string!” Little did I know that missing string would be a lesson of utmost importance. I brought 7 pairs of strings with me that I bought on eBay for $15 a few weeks before leaving.
In this place the Perfect guitar is completed with a tangled, worn out piece of wire that I call trash; he proudly calls it his E-String.
