They call Rwanda “The Land of A Thousand Hills.”
And at the bottom of our particular hill is a well that supplies water to every villager for about a mile or so radius. Every single day, people ride their bikes by our house, carrying their empty jerrycans down the hill to the well. And—if you wait long enough—you will be able to see those same people pushing the bikes back up the hill, jerrycans filled to the brim with water.
One of these people is Lukundu.
I met Lukundu on our very first day here in the village. He was filling his jerrycans at the well and happened to be the only person there that could speak any English apart from “hello, how are you, I am fine!”
After that day, Lukundu would say hello to me anytime he passed by when I was outside on the porch. Eventually, I began accompanying Lukundu on his push to the top of the hill whenever I got the chance. Our conversations never went too far, but they were enough to build a friendship on over the course of two weeks.
Lukundu goes to the well and back five times a day; he gets water for people in the hope that he will be able to earn enough money to send himself and his sisters to school. He never complains about the river of sweat he leaves in his wake; he just joyfully does what God has given him the ability to do so that he can one day provide a better life for his family.
Lukundu’s name is one of the local words for love here in Rwanda.
It’s fitting. After all, love is exactly what the Father taught to me through this 17-year-old boy this month.
Lukundu showed me what it means to just love the life you’ve been given; to love the fact that you have lungs that let you breathe in the fresh air of the Rwandan hillside and that you have legs to help you push a bicycle loaded down with jerrycans full of water; to love the rain that falls from the sky to cool off that hot dirt road; to love the opportunity to make money so that you can get more education in order to better care for those around you.
To love the simplicity of life that lies behind all of the complex layers that our Western culture puts on top of it.
I found love in Rwanda: hiding behind the smile of a boy named Lukundu.
