I've made friends with a crew of glue huffing street kids. I can't even remember how I met them at this point, but almost every afternoon, I hang out with a few of them. Usually I find my buddy, Jean-Pierre, behind the New Savannah restaurant. He wears this beige jacket that's so big it covers his hands entirely. I don't speak his language and he doesn't speak mine. We communicate through gestures and lots of pointing. Sometimes I manage to find someone to translate, but mostly we just hang out in silence or mutual confusion.
All of these kids have been abandoned, with no home and no parents. They've been orphaned to the streets. They look like the most innocent of childhood gangs. They even have their own gang symbols, which probably don't amount to anything serious. Of all the people I've met in Rwanda, they've been the most kind.
While hanging out behind the restaurant one afternoon, I mistook a shed of aluminum as sturdy enough to bear my weight. It wasn't. My left foot fell right into a six foot hole of human feces. Half of the kids helped me out and one took a rag and wiped my foot off. I can't say I would have done that for anyone. These kids are awesome.
I wish I could do more for these boys, but I leave in a few days. They really need a family that will take them in along with a father that will guide them. I can't provide that. So, I do what I can for now. I buy them food, I take Jean-Pierre out to eat a lot. One of my favorite moments on the whole race has to be seeing Jean-Pierre stuff himself so full he could barely walk. He had this look of extreme joy layered on top of unbearable stomach pain that was a pleasure to witness.
Jean-Pierre's hands are covered in boils and scabs. I took him to the hospital the other morning to get him treated. Hospitals in Rwanda aren't exactly first world. I stood in line a long time, and some nice people helped me along. We finally got to the doctor and he recommended that he be admitted for seven days. He had a bad infection under his skin. I imagine it's serious as even our pastor's son wasn't admitted with Malaria. No matter what we said, Jean-Pierre refused to stay at the hospital. He looked terrified at the thought. The doctor prescribed seven days of medication which unfortunately doesn't work as well as injections. You do what you can.
We did get a few of the boys to go to church with us, so that's a blessing. I'm praying they'll continue attending after we're gone. If they have some support behind them, maybe they can get off the streets. I don't know if all of them want off the streets, but a bit of church can't hurt.
People often ask me if I have a chance to share the gospel with people on the race. Most of the time they expect a response like, "Yes, in fact I opened my bible to Romans 6-7," but sharing the gospel message is much bigger than that. I've shared the gospel with these kids everyday, but I never had an opportunity to open up a bible. I had to let my actions do all the talking. It's easy to believe that Jesus needs our words to get across the message of salvation. He doesn't. Words are fine if we have that ability, but Jesus can use us even if we can't use words. I know these kids got the message loud and clear.
The biggest smile ever
Jean-Pierre stuffing his face
Huffing glue
Out to eat with Jean-Pierre
