I wanted to share this story with you because I thought you might want to hear it, and because it is important to me. Lots of people have asked me about my trip to Uganda, but this is not a story I often tell. I originally wrote this on June 5, 2011. So here goes...
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I have a brother in Uganda and his name is Kabagambe Shafic. He is 20 years old and an amazing footballer, artist, farmer, cow hand, digger, dancer, clothes washer, french toast maker, party planner, leader, singer, and friend. I love him more than words can say and he will forever be my family, my brother for life. Shafic grew up in Rwanda and at the age of 3 he was taken from his parents during the genocide to live with aunts and uncles in Uganda. His parents hoped to relocate there themselves, but went back for the rest of his siblings and the ENTIRE family was never seen or heard from again.... murdered in the fury and chaos of one of the swiftest and most destructive genocides in human history.
I had the honor of taking Shafic back to Rwanda for the first time since he left, and experiencing that journey with him has changed me forever. I don't think any one event in my life has impacted me more than this did. Believe me when I say, I am not here to tell you a sob story or add any drama. Simply put, this is a TRUE story - not a movie character, not some faceless statistic. He is my brother and I love him with all of my heart. His story is deeply personal to me.
I walked through the Kigali Genocide Memorial with him, holding his hand, seeing the pictures, and hearing the truth about what happened during those dark and bloody days. I fought back tears like I never have before and we walked in silence. All I could do was pray because I felt completely unqualified for such an experience, but I did my very best and supported him the best I could. We entered a room called "Orphans" and he started shaking his head, "No." Perhaps in sadness, in disbelief, or disgust. Or perhaps because there were really no words he could say. I am not sure. Against the rules, he grabbed my camera and began taking pictures of the children and the plaques on the wall. (Some of them are attached here.) After a long silence, he spoke. He said, "This is me. These are my brothers and sisters." Those words echoed through my body and it felt like someone punched me in the heart. My mind swirled and part of me went into shock. We kept walking. As we moved on, I felt a speck of relief, thinking we had walked through the toughest parts of the exhibit but we turned a corner and came into a new room. I kept praying and tried to remind myself to breathe. Shafic went ahead. I followed him into the next room where there were people crying and speaking French. I scanned the room to see what the situation was. There were thousands of photos, from floor to ceiling, and I realized they were the faces of people killed. For one second, I thought, "Oh wow," but then I turned and saw Shafic in the corner and I stopped breathing. The look on his face will be seared into my heart forever. He was not skimming over the photos like an exhibit, he was inspecting them, looking at every face- he was searching for his parents.
I am in tears now as I type.
I felt a part of myself die in that moment. I felt the universe crack open and I could almost hear it happening. It took every ounce of courage, prayer, and strength to not cry in that moment. I wanted to scream out at the French tourists, "THIS IS NOT JUST SOME EXHIBIT!!!!! THIS IS HIS LIFE!!!!!!!!!!" But I stayed silent. The room was spinning. I walked over to Shafic and began searching through every picture, too. I didn't even know what his parents looked like, but it just seemed like the right thing to do. We went on and finished the entire memorial in silence. Whatever pace he wanted, I was there with him. Outside was our final stop - the mass graves. We walked and I kept praying. We walked down every path there was to walk on and we sat by the graves, reading the plaques. I wanted to speak, but instinctively I knew this was perhaps the most delicate moment for him so I did not speak at all. I just prayed silently and was present.
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| Shafic taking a moment near the mass graves. Kigali, Rwanda |
Finally, we sat in a tranquil garden together and eventually the time was right to speak. The words felt heavy at first, but then they began to flow. He told me all of the details of what he knew and what happened to him and his family. I listened, supported him, tried to lift him up, and opened my heart the best I could. We prayed together for the people whose lives were lost and we prayed for his parents, his brothers, and his sisters. I imagined they were so proud of him and I hoped that at least some healing begun that day for him and for his parents. I hoped they could finally rest in peace. I already loved him, but in that moment, sitting in the garden, I knew that I would ALWAYS love him and that I would do everything in my power to be there for him, to help him, and to make sure that he is never alone again.
I am going to return to Uganda this summer and my goal is to get his paper work together so he can get a passport, and to get him enrolled into school. He is finishing O Level now, but has nowhere to live once he's finished. It costs about $500 US for one term with books and uniforms and lodging, so I am starting there, but ultimately my goal is to help him get a scholarship to a university in the USA. That is his biggest dream in the world, and one I plan on helping to make a reality.
I feel like Shafic was put into my life for a reason and now if you are reading this, he is a part of your life, too. I am by far not a rich woman when it comes to money, but my heart has never been so full. I feel it is my duty to honor Shafic and his family and to tell part of their story. He is the best friend I could ever ask for and I am overpaid. Sometimes it gets overwhelming because there are so many people who need help, who need money, who want something - I just decided, I'm going to try and do what I can. Even if it is something small, or even if it means helping one boy feel loved... I'm just going to try. If you want to help out, too, email me and we can talk. This is just the beginning. If you would like to donate money, that would be wonderful! Lord knows, I can't do it alone, but I hope you know this email is about way more than just that. Your support and a prayers mean the world. I hope you find what I have found, and I wish you all the joy and love that one can wish. Thank you so much.
All the best,
Photos taken by Shafic at the memorial
This blog gave me goosebumps multiple times, your ability to write and make someone feel something is uncanny. I would love to donate to help Shafic, as if he is your brother....I guess that means he is mine too :)
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