Day 4 in Rwanda
There’s a slight incline on the street that stretches along the side of my house. I jog up this street to start my pre-dawn runs. I don’t go full stride. I don’t challenge my lungs to deliver my oxygen to my body. I go at a leisurely pace, one that probably would result in a 12-minute mile if I didn’t accelerate my pace at the street’s crest.
One of the highlights of jogging up this incline is seeing the dark morning sky. There’s not even the glow of sunrise in the east. The streetlamps create a halo effect, but this cannot compete with the stars. Those rips in the black fabric of heaven. I often look up with the threat of tripping on something that wasn’t on the road yesterday. A rock. A can that someone tossed out of their car. A rug of loose leaves. The formation of a new pothole in the asphalt. Nevertheless, I tilt my head upward and notice the flickering firmament.
Peace.
Quiet.
No cars.
Stillness.
No other joggers.
Meditation.
Behold.
The sky stretches overhead from pole to pole, all around the planet as if hands have gripped the two ends and pulled it taut until the seams marry. And it’s that same sky that I sat and stood and stretch and balanced beneath on my fourth night in Rwanda.
The day flooded with experiences. A man from the Twa people lectured to us about their struggles and efforts. We then climbed into the bus that has been at our service and drove to a small building where women made clothes on a manual sewing machine, without patterns. We returned to the compound. Lunched. And then drove to Ellen DeGeneres gorilla research center. After touring the exhibits, we sat for another lecture from a man who studied mountain gorillas up close. We returned to the compound to find the Rwandan Olympic Cycling team preparing to end their day’s long workout with a yoga session.
We were invited to join them. I took the offer.
I ran to the guest house that I was sharing with three other men. Changed from jeans to sweats. Ran back to the concrete slab where they had unfurled grass mats. I found me a place between two cyclists on either side, and two Spelman sisters in front of me.
The day aged as we followed the yoga teacher through various postures. I’m not that flexible. I know my capacity. So, I didn’t do all of the poses exactly as they were to be done. But I tried each one.
American R&B songs flowed from a Bluetooth speaker. A couple of the cyclists, who were evidently used to the postures and didn’t have to focus on doing them, chatted away. Sometimes it was hard for me to hear the yoga teacher instruct us out of a pose.
Night descended, but I could still see those around me and the yoga teacher at the front, facing us. There we all were, between and in the cradle of two large volcanoes that towered miles in front of the compound and miles behind it.
Apart from the speaker and chitter-chatter:
Peace.
Quiet.
No cars.
Stillness.
No passersby on the other side of the fence.
Stretching.
Behold.
Rwandan sky.
