One foot in front of the other.
It is my fifth journey of the day down to the well, about a mile from home.
My limbs feel heavy.
I’m not sure I can make it much further.
I look off to the left and I see the house where the muzungus live.
I stopped there a few days ago, and a nice lady fed me.
I’m not sure when I last ate. But, I know it wasn’t today.
So, I decide to stop by again.
I set my water jug down and sit down on their porch.
I glance through the doorway and see the muzungu girl who sat with me last time.
I give my best attempt at a smile, but my head still feels heavy.
I lift my hand in a wave and she comes out.
We sit there in silence as she squats down next to me and puts her arms around me.
She says something I don’t understand and disappears into the house.
A minute later she reappears with three crackers and hands them to me.
I eat them slowly. Savoring each bite.
A man comes out of the house and sits down with us.
He translates the muzungu girl’s questions into Kinyarwanda.
She asks about my family and I tell her that I live up the hill with my mom, dad, and twin baby sisters.
She asks how old I am, but I don’t know.
She asks if I am hungry, and I nod yes.
She asks if I have eaten today, and I shake my head no.
She goes back into the house and brings out something wrapped in silver, rips it open and hands it to me.
I take a bite, it is a strange food I’ve never tried before.
Another muzungu girl comes out and sits with us for a few minutes before bringing me out a glass of water.
The muzungus talk for a while. The first girl goes inside and brings out a grey t shirt, and holds it up against me.
Then, the second girl goes inside and brings out a pink tank top.
She puts it on over my old black shirt that used to be my mothers, and has a habit of falling off my shoulders.
As we sit there, a storm begins rolling through.
The rain drops continuously increase in size as we sit watching the rain and the lightning.
The muzungu girl asks through translation if I am afraid of lighting.
I nod my head yes. She points to herself and says, “me too.”
The muzungus bring me inside their house, away from the rain.
We sit there again, in silence.
The muzungu girl once again, asks the man to come over and talk with me.
She asks if I am cold. I nod yes.
Disappearing once again, she brings out a blanket and wraps it around my shoulders.
She tells me that Jesus loves me, and asks me if I know Jesus.
I shake my head no.
She asks me if I want to know Him.
I shake my head no, and then change my mind and nod.
She tells me a story about how a man was born to help fix all the bad things in the world. He died to save everyone from those bad things because He doesn’t want people like my family to be hungry or hurting.
After the story, a muzungu boy turns on a screen with moving pictures.
I am mesmerized.
After the rain started clearing up and the sun starts to go down, I remember the jug of water I never filled.
The muzungu grabs my hand and I find that my jug has been filled.
She asks me to bring her to my house.
I lead her along with an older lady and a different muzunga girl down the muddy path to my home.
We walk through the dark, across the road, and down the dirt paths.
My mother, who had just left to look for me, is walking on the path near my house, my sisters strapped to her back.
She sees me and makes the short walk back to our house, up the hill and though the cattle my dad helps raise for our landowner.
When we get to the house, the muzungu talks to my mother.
She explains how I got caught in the storm, and they took me in.
She tells my mom that the shirt and the blanket are gifts.
She says it is because Jesus loves us.
As I peak out of the door way, I see the muzungus laying hands on my mom and praying over her.
“Murakoze,” they tell each other.
And, then they wander off into the darkness.
*Muzungu means “white person” or “rich person.”
**This is written from the perspective of a little girl who stopped by our house on Sunday afternoon. This, honestly, has been one of my favorite experiences on the Race so far—to be able to be the hands and feet of Christ in this little girl’s life.
