27 Days in America

Rwanda -- USA -- Rwanda all in 27 days.  It doesn't sound like a short trip, until you try to get back into life on both ends of the spectrum.

On April 12th I left Rwanda.  It was time.  I was supposed to come home in January and then March, finally April rolled around, we didn't get the movie into Tribeca but it was time.  There were so many things the Team needed, we hadn't restocked since September.  Personally, I was spent, tired and ready to have a little space, quiet, first world amenities.  Most of all I wanted to ride my bike.  I ride in Rwanda.  I ride quite a bit actually, 100-125 miles a week and it is the most stressful hours of my week.  Riding is supposed to be zen for me, but the constant press of people, fear of hitting a pedestrian on my bike, getting hit with rocks, corn cobs or spit on pretty much erases any zen to be had.  Just give me peace on a bike and I can reset and start again.

Or so I thought....

America was nice, very nice, too nice.  I was part of film screenings for our documentary, Rising From Ashes, at a penthouse in San Francisco, a spectacular home in Scottsdale, Arizona and my friend's gorgeous home in Las Vegas. I stayed with our film editor, Elisa, and her wonderful Italian husband and son in a secluded home in Topanga Canyon filled with cats and dogs and tons of love and food.  I adore Italians.


I was part of Doug Grant's 50 Mile Ride for Rwanda again this year in Southern California where he raised $100,000 at this one day event of which Team Rwanda received almost $60,000!  We live to train another day thanks to Doug, Sandy and all his amazing volunteers and all the people who came out to ride.


We stayed with some very special friends in Arizona who made life PERFECT for four days.  


And in between all these jaunts around the southwest, I landed back in Las Vegas to hang out with friends and catch up with family.


For 27 days I rode in peace in some of the most beautiful places on earth.


One day in Arizona I looked at Jock and said with all seriousness, "I'm not ready to go back.  I'm really not."


That evening we screened the film for a group of friends and supporters in Scottsdale.  As I watched the film I thought to myself...."I'm ready, we can go back now."


Life is hard here, very hard, it is the hardest adventure I have ever tackled.  I am not complaining.  I have freewill and can leave tomorrow.  It is just a statement of fact.  Arriving back in Rwanda I realized how important it is for me to stay.  It is not time to go....yet.


My ex husband saw the documentary the night before I left the US.  I am not sure if it answered some questions for him or helped him understand why I did what I did leaving three years ago.  He sent me this video link in an email I received right before my plane took off from Newark.  

I think he understands.  He is right...all of these riders have changed me....forever.

See, that's the problem.  As much as some days I crave the normality and ease of life back home, it is never enough to make me leave.  Oh, today I thought about how nice it would be to get on the next plane out of here, several times.  In the past 72 hours we have had several hour plus long electricity outages, it is rainy season and extremely cold and damp.  It smells like wet tennis shoes mildewing on the back porch...in my bedroom.  I have had one ride since Tuesday.  On the ride a kid swung a bamboo stick at me.  Kiki turned around and the kids scattered but not before Kiki broke the urchin's stick in half.  Today we were out of water 90% of the day.  I managed to get enough of a dribble out of the back bathroom faucet and by filling buckets and dumping them into the washer I managed to get a load of laundry done....in 5 hours.  I finally got it out on the line and then it rained.  It had been sunny all morning....ugh!

Then the water went out completely.  No dribbles.  I have four people staying at the house, no water, how am I supposed to cook?  Fourteen riders show up tomorrow for camp!

Everything on the internet has taken hours when it should have taken minutes.  I have no idea what is going on.  The internet in Rwanda is slower than the US but not THIS slow.  To send an email I would hit send, walk down the hall, dump a half full dribble bucket of water into the washer, come back, make a cup of coffee and it would send.  How I long for the days of dial up...that would be rocket fast compared to today!

There were two mechanics here all today fixing one of the motorbikes and our still broken down Ford Explorer.  The Explorer has sat in the driveway with the hood cracked open, immovable for the past three months.  Today, the mechanic put on yet another set of parts from America and finally he yanked the catalytic converter and muffler off and it runs great.  A little loud but it moves.  However, in the process of getting in and out of the car to test the motor he broke the door handle and the door won't open or close from outside or inside the car.  We noticed this about 8:00pm tonight.  All I could do was laugh....and tip the box again.  (Code for have another glass of bad South African boxed wine)

I walk in the bedroom to go to bed, flip on the light, it burns out and the base of the light bulb is stuck in the socket.  Seriously?   Damn cheap Chinese crap!

I lay in bed, tossing and turning my mind is racing and there it is, that sound!  zzzzzzzzz mosquitoes....

....and I left Las Vegas for this?

Yes, and as frustrating and exhausting as just one day can be here I know this....

This adventure has prepared me for all things tough in life.  Bring it!

The moments of joy are so profound simply because they are balanced with days of excruciating mental beat downs.

Zulu is the most awesome dog in the world!  He keeps me sane.

I have some great friends who also understand life here.  One friend is trying to save the orphan gorillas in the DRC right now.  Rebels are fighting again, rangers are being killed, everyone is in danger, refugees are fleeing to Goma.  And I'm having water issues?  


And really?  What would I do in Las Vegas?  Get a "real" job and live in my ex husband's spare bedroom?  I am completely unqualified for anything remotely resembling normal.


Yes, these guys have changed me.  I don't have to love Rwanda and the harshness of life here  to love them.  Camp starts tomorrow and life moves forward with or without water.  However....


God, it's me, Kim.  I pray for water....from the faucet.  There are 14 boys, who ride, and sweat and we have two toilets.  Maybe I forgot to specify the other day when I prayed for no water.  I meant no more rain, which thank you for the sun earlier today!  If it be your will....can I please have water from the faucet tomorrow? 

April in Rwanda

Yesterday I asked Felix how late the bank was open.  It was 3:45 and I thought maybe I had time to drive into town and cash a check.  They usually close around 4:00 give or take 30 minutes...it's Africa.  He cocked his head and looked at me like I was clueless, "Kim, it's Easter this weekend.  They are all closed today."

What!?  Easter, this weekend.  How did I miss that?  Wow, I know I'm out of touch with a lot that goes on in the world, especially anything outside this continent, but Easter?  It's a Christian event and if Felix hadn't said anything I would have found out via Facebook.  

The only thing I think of now during the month of April is Genocide.  Yesterday, April 6th marked the 18th Anniversary of the start of the Rwandan genocide.  For me, it is a difficult time to be in the country.  I leave Thursday.  For eleven months out of the year I work with Rwandan cyclists, they are simply Rwandan.  During April there is a rightful palpable sadness and melancholy.  Reality of what these riders experienced eighteen years ago stands directly in the forefront.  It is not that I ignore their past.  I simply choose to focus on their present and future through a constant filter of remembering and accounting for past scars.  As a white American in Rwanda during this month I do not want to be here.  I want to show my respect to the survivors and families, yet I feel almost voyeuristic.  It is their time, their moment to make peace with the past whether they are perpetrators or victims.  As an American, I am embarrassed and appalled at the lack of attention we gave this country eighteen years ago.  I cannot change that.  I can only do what I do today.

Easter is this weekend....how very apropos.

Camp this week was different and in a good way.  I've been going Mach 10 since the second week in January.  We have only had one week without camp and that was the week I threw together an impromptu camp for the CNN Inside Africa segment.

Last week Kiki asked me if he could bring his three year old son, Jonathan to the last camp before we headed back to the US.  I just took a deep breath.  Really, a three year old at camp, no Jock, no Max I am running ragged and I cannot deal with a three year old on top of everything else.  Those of you who know me know I chose not to have children, no regrets, actually not a huge fan of children.  Some I totally adore, generally it tends to be the children of friends in Africa, they are significantly different than most US children.  Must be the lack of video games, who knows.  Something told me to say yes to Kiki and as I sit here with little Jonathan watching the 2004 Giro next to me, I am so happy I did.  Not only is he a great little boy, but I have witnessed the most loving family of young men all engaged with this one little boy.


For the most part I do not see men, at least rural men in my area, engaged with their children.  That is not true of this team of young men.  Jonathan has been the center of attention the entire week.  He had his papa and nine other uncles/brothers.  The team watched him, fed him, cared for him and played with him.  I have never witnessed so much love between men.  I am blessed to have been a part of this week.  


When I saw Jonathan watching the Giro last night with his dad and Geremie, Nicodem and Nathan's younger brother, asking Kiki question after question about the race I was amazed.  Asking questions is not the norm.  Trying to get the team to ask questions has taken five years.  Here was Kiki's son firing away so many questions it wore his dad out.  Perfect!


We may not be able to change what this team of young men have experienced in their lives, but through them we can influence the next generation.  When Kiki was just a bit older than his son he was running for his life.  Everything in his world was horrific.  Geremie was born right after the genocide.  His mother most likely pregnant during the genocide.  Geremie was born into a world turned upside down.  Jonathan was born into a stable world.  His father has given him his full attention and has taken the time to ensure he has every opportunity.  


Rwanda's next generation truly is the future and hope of this country. Perhaps Jonathan will be the next Adrien Niyonshuti 15-20 years down the road.  Maybe his father will be running Team Rwanda and he will ride for his father.  Now wouldn't that be something?

And the Greatest of these is Love

Saturday evening I watched, "Milk", the story of Harvey Milk the first openly gay man to be elected to a political office in California in 1978.

In 1978 I was a 12 year old girl growing up in Kansas knowing nothing about politics, gays, lesbians or discrimination.  I was a white girl growing up in the white bread basket of Kansas.  I grew up in a religious family, Christian, Wisconsin Synod Lutheran.  I went to church every Sunday, attended parochial school until the 8th grade, was baptized and confirmed in the church.  When I was 21 I was removed from the church because I lived in sin with my boyfriend who, seven years later, became my husband.

I always questioned religion.  I always questioned everything.  I have never been a submissive follower of anything.  That was the beginning of my very long search for God, a God of Grace.

Watching the Harvey Milk story I was struck by two things.  One, how one person can lead a movement to change his or her part of the world.  Two, how much hate and discrimination really is at the crux of all conflict in the world and sadly, how much of that hate and discrimination is religious based.

I am not gay any more than I am not black.  I am not a minority in the US, in Rwanda I am.  Whatever my religious beliefs are, and they are strong, they are my beliefs.  I believe in a God of love and grace, not one of adherence to some man made, man interpreted sense of morality.  I rank Anita Bryant and John Briggs, the anti gay legislation advocates right up there with the Muslim Jihadists.  Both groups hate, both groups discriminate, both groups have forgotten the Golden Rule of Life...Love your neighbor.

I believe gays and lesbians should have a right to the same opportunities as a heterosexual.  Does it really matter their sexual orientation?  I personally do not agree with that lifestyle, but honestly, it is not my job to convert, fix, discriminate, legislate or judge their life.  It is their life and it's between them and God, Allah, Buddha or no one.  As a Christian, I only must show grace and love. 

I respect Harvey Milk and the movement he led against Anita Bryant, John Briggs and Prop 6.  I am happy they persevered and yet, I am Christian. Sadly, Harvey was taken from this world much too soon.  Because of the hate of one Christian man, Dan White, two innocent men left this world much too soon.  It is no different than the hate James Earl Ray had for Martin Luther King Jr., than the Sudanese Muslims have for the Nuban Sudanese Christians, than Hitler had for the Jews.  In the end, the hater always loses. 

This morning as I sat down to write I saw an article on Facebook, "Kansas House Green Lights Anti-Gay Bill".  Have we not learned anything?  Does hate have to continue under the guise of legislation?  Kansas is also the home to uber gay and lesbian hater, Fred Phelps.  Is it 1978 again?  When I started "googling" this proposed legislation I came across a blog, Joe. My. God.  I don't know anything about Joe, but he had written a blog about this legislation.  What struck me was not the blog, but the following comments:

I wasn't quite "there" yet, but after reading this I'm beginning to really hate christians.

God I get sick of gay people trying to make excuses for Christianity.  Pick a side and show a little loyalty to your tribe.  Christianity is our enemy, and they deserve all the hatred we reflect back at them.

Just more hate....hate on both sides.  Do not lump me in that hatred pile.  I choose to believe in Grace.  For that reason I pray for both sides.  I pray for all the haters in this world.   At every meal Team Rwanda prays.  We stand in a circle holding hands with one another, with Pentecostal Christians, 7th Day Adventists, Catholics and Protestants, Muslims, and guests, guests who are Jewish, Buddhists and unbelievers.  I hold hands with all and we pray together.  We pray in Kinyarwanda, English and French.  We stand together, white, black, two sides, once mortal enemies in the 1994 genocide.  We are one group with many different beliefs, but one thing we all hold in common....love, it is the greatest of these.

Timshel

"And let us run with endurance the race that God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, on whom our faith depends from start to finish" (Hebrews 12:1-2).

There is a song in the Team Rwanda documentary, Rising From Ashes which, when I saw the final copy, was seared into my soul.  Today I received an email from the producer telling me the name of the song.  He also said how fortunate we were to be able to use this song in the film as this is generally not common for this band.  Every piece, every moment of life is not accidental.  We are all traveling interconnected on this planet. Everything happens for a reason.

The response I have received from friends and acquaintances in regards to my recent post about Gasore, Inside Your Head has been incredibly helpful and encouraging.  When you throw up the SOS flag amazing who pulls up to your island.  Gasore will always have a special place in my heart.  I first wrote about Gasore (or at the time we thought his name was Alex) in 2009.

Jock talked to the riders in Morocco last night about their performance.  A little "come to Jesus" meeting so to speak.  This morning Nicodem took charge and laid out a plan.  One of the "tweets" from MTN Qhubeka 49 minutes ago said, "African Brotherhood of South African, Eritreans and Rwandans driving hte bunch at steady temp. 115km done."  What clicked?

This afternoon when the Team in Rwanda rolled in from training I immediately knew something had happened.  I asked Kiki, "How was training?"  He curtly responded, "We will talk at team meeting."

Kiki had the training program for the session and apparently some of the riders deciding to be their own coaches caused a serious riff within the Team.  I have never seen Kiki take control of the situation like that before.  He said, "You disrespect the program, you disrespect me and if you disrespect me you disrespect Coach and Mucecuru" (I'll discuss in another post what that means...it's my nickname from the team).  An hour later apologies were given, hands were shaken, team intact.  

This has been one of the most difficult weeks of the year.  I feel like I'm on an endurance treadmill and someone kicked it into overdrive.  Physically I'm wiped...mentally I'm worse.  

The passage above I received on my daily devotional emails.  Don't tell me God doesn't speak directly to us.

And the song....the song is Timshel by Mumford and Sons.  This is the song I needed to hear....TODAY...

Cold is the water
It freezes your already cold mind
Already cold, cold mind
And death is at your doorstep
And it will steal your innocence
But it will not steal your substance

But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand
Hold your hand

And you are the mother
The mother of your baby child
The one to whom you gave life
And you have your choices
And these are what make man great
His ladder to the stars

But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand
Hold your hand

And I will tell the night
Whisper, "Lose your sight"
But I can't move the mountains for you

Inside Your Head

Riding is and always has been my sanity.  I ride to keep from going postal.  I am like a Siberian Husky who goes stir crazy when not exercised.  If I'm not out on a bike, I just might eat a flip flop from all the pent up energy coursing through my veins.


Unfortunately, for the most part, riding is complete insanity in Rwanda.  I am never alone.  It is stressful looking for the next potential pedestrian/bicycle collision.  Nothing about riding here calms me....except for the few minutes I am riding with the Team.


When I ride with the Team in the peloton I am protected.  There are no annoying "hanger ons", no "Muzungu Amafarangas", generally no rocks, sticks or corn cobs.  There is just the Kinyarwandan banter of the boys and the quiet of pedals turning, and the gift of appreciation for their physicality, the muscles clearly defined through their blue/black skin.  In these moments I am at peace.  I let everything go in my head and for a few precious minutes all is calm.  Yesterday the moment lasted 42 minutes and 47 seconds today only 13 minutes and 52 seconds.  We clearly know which day was the easier warmup for the Team!

It is hard to get lost in quiet thought after I see the team slowly increase the gap, their colorful jerseys getting smaller along the horizon.  My brain starts shooting rapid fire thoughts along the synapses.


Wow, it is absolutely gorgeous today, no rain, bright sunshine.  The mist in the valley is thick.
Squeak, squeak, squeak....dude, get off my wheel.  Oye...distance.  Murakoze.  Please, oye...dude BACK OFF!
Why is that bus in my lane coming directly at me?
Why is everyone driving so fast, don't they know how many people are killed in pedestrian/vehicle accidents?
Dude...hissss......rumva....LOOK OUT!
Does any Rwanda EVER look before they step into the road?
Perhaps we should start a PSA campaign, "Look Both Ways!"
Why can I NOT get my heartrate above 155 today?  I'm pedaling as hard as I can.  Fatique.  Sure sign...this and no appetite.  At least I'm thin...hmm, not good though.  Just don't want to eat.  How much did I weigh in high school?
Crazy lady with pipe to my left....is she going to twirl out into the road today?  No, she only takes a few steps toward me.  All clear.
Maybe she likes being crazy, life is good, no problems.
UGH....Muzungu, muzungu...don't make eye contact, don't engage, keep riding.  Don't get suckered in to the pleasant "Good morning, teacher!".  I'm not their teacher.  Ok, I'll relent..this one time.. "Good morning."  "GIVE ME MONEY!"  Damn....I knew better.   
Time to play blonde German tourist pretending I don't speak English. 

Ich spreche kein Englisch....good thing I took that one semester of German in college.

Passports...how can I get a second passport?

You throw that corn cob at me I'm going to jump off this bike, chase you down and give you the spanking you should have had years ago you little snot!

Do NOT pull in front of me...seriously?  Nice move Matatu!

I miss Max...miss riding with him, he always makes me laugh.  Miss his "Frenchness"

Did that kid just yell, "F(*& You?!"

Ah....Rocky's town, wonder how Monique is?

Gitarama road or Sashwara...considering my lame heart rate maybe I'll turn around AT the Gitarama road.  That's the ticket.  28 miles is better than 0....that's my motto.

Ugh...I have to pee.  

The loop plays over and over and over while I ride, but it always comes back to...Gasore, what are we going to do about Gasore?

Gasore is having a very poor race in Morocco, horrible would actually be a better word to describe his performance.  He just came back from two months training and racing in South Africa.  Physically he is fine, emotionally, mentally he is lost.  He gives up.  I saw him do it a couple of times in the Tour of Rwanda but it has gotten worse.  Out of the six riders in Morocco, Gasore is 6th out of six.  Joseph and Emile in their first big international race are ahead of Gasore...all because Gasore has something going on inside his head which we may never be able to address.

It is frustrating...heartbreaking.  We have invested so much financially and emotionally in helping him become a great rider, to have a better future.  Do we want it more for him than he wants it for himself?  Is this it, as good as it gets for his life?

The thought crushes me....but I have learned to accept I cannot control the outcome.  I can help.  I can provide an example, support, patch some potholes along the way, but ultimately it is Gasore's choice.

How do I get inside his head?  There are no good Kinyarwanda speaking sports psychologists I know of.  Doubt any exist.  Language barrier aside, we are also dealing with the cultural atmosphere of half truths, omissions and lies.  Gasore may just tell us what he thinks we want to hear and not the truth.  Without the truth how can we help him?

No doubt Gasore has seen his share of trauma, death, sadness, poverty.  He has also seen the other side.  He has visited Switzerland, the most beautiful country on this planet.  Is it all too much for him?  Is it just a slow methodical self sabotage of his life?  

Gasore has been pulled from the next two international races, Gabon and Eritrea.  His racing career is hanging in the balance.  

When I was a Court Appointed Special Advocate (CASA), I advocated for a teenager who had been placed into the system due to neglect.  I worked for years with this girl.  She had her ups and downs but I looked for every opportunity to break the cycle of poverty, abuse and neglect.  At one point, due to changes in the system, we lost touch.  And then I received a call, she was graduating from high school.  Hallelujah!  Maybe just maybe she had seen the other side and was making choices to not lapse back into the generational welfare family role.  I went to her graduation.  She was making plans to go to community college.  She was the first to graduate from high school.  Less than a year later I received a call from her telling me she had just given birth.  No baby daddy, living in Section 8 housing, WIC, food stamps, the cycle had repeated.  I clung to the hope she would at least not abuse and neglect HER child.  I never heard from her again.

I will try to find someone, anyone who can tap into the mental force eroding Gasore's confidence and his career.  I will exhaust every avenue.  In the end it comes down to God and Gasore.  

Time to get off the bike.....I am just too sad to ride.

So Far Removed...

Today is Sunday.  Once again, it is cold, rainy and dreary.  The rainy season has gripped Rwanda.  I used to think of Sunday as the end of the week, looking back on the past week I let out a long, exhausting sigh.  It is over.  Sunday, biblically, is the start of the week.  I should be looking at this day as a new day, a new week and I will start fresh, but not without looking back on one of my most stressful, full, frustrating and joyous weeks in Rwanda.  As I started to think about writing one thought was always at the forefront.  I have had several moments during this week where it has struck me how far removed I am from the old life I used to live.  I reserved my return plane ticket for April 12th and although I want to see my family, some friends, have a moment of peace on the bike, cut and color my hair (yes, a total shallow event) I return with more trepidation than at another other time. 

Without going into all the gory details, my week started with trying to get Jock, Max and six riders on a plane to the Tour of Morocco.  They were scheduled to leave on Tuesday around noon.  On Monday we were still missing three passports for the riders and had to coordinate Gasore and NicNic's passport pick up at the airport when they came back from South Africa on Monday evening.  

Our riders generally travel on service passports.  Service passports stay with the government.  When the riders are invited to a race, we petition the government for their passports with all the race documents and approval from the Cycling Federation.  The passports are returned to the Federation for travel and when the riders return to Rwanda they are held at immigration upon arrival.  The challenge with Gaso and Nic's passports were that they would be retrieved Monday evening and sent to the Department of Immigration Tuesday morning and would not be available in time for their next flight.  We had to make sure we could pick them up when they came in from South Africa.  

By late Monday afternoon, we had Abraham, Nathan and Emile's passport, but Joseph's passport was missing.  There was also a change in flights due to a missed reservation so now the team was leaving at 6:55am Tuesday morning which would necessitate a 2:00am wake up call to leave our home in Musanze, drive to the Federation in Kigali so Max could pack the bikes and then to the airport.  We got Joseph's passport right before Immigration closed, the Federation managed to hold Gaso and Nic's passports when they arrived that evening, however, the team was still missing the official visa arrival paperwork for Morocco.

After 29 hours of travel the team arrived in Morocco and visas were at the airport.

In the meantime, after dropping off the team and running a few errands in Kigali to nab supplies for the coming week I get a call about Obed's visa.  It's not ready, he leaves for South Africa for massage training on Friday.  It's Tuesday, visas take 5 days.....gap in story details....I arrive back in Muszanze at 5:00pm Tuesday evening.  I've now been working, driving, stressing and calling people in South Africa, France, emailing Morocco, non stop for 36 hours on a fitful two hours of sleep.  


As I drift off to sleep Tuesday evening, I get a call from the Cycling Federation President.  CNN is in town and wants to do a story and they want to see a training camp.  We have had training camps every week since January 9th, except THIS week.  When do they want to do the story I ask?  Thursday, he says.  Thursday...this Thursday, like the day after tomorrow Thursday?  


Wednesday I start calling riders to come to "camp".  Kiki and I manage to get six riders to come Thursday.  Kiki and Obed come up Wednesday night.  Obed is still sans visa for South Africa.  I bribe them and love on them with lasagna.  My secret food weapon with the riders!


Thursday morning CNN arrives at the Team Rwanda house.  The show is CNN Inside Africa.  I loved watching this show when I lived in Kenya.  CNN was the only channel I could get so I had a steady stream of CNN news and this show was the highlight of my CNN loops.  Errol Barnett is the host and he was totally engaged in showing everything about what it takes to be on Team Rwanda.  Inside Africa shows the authentic Africa; the people, the reality of life for most of us on this continent.  The show for me was not easy.  I'm the behind the scenes girl, not the front woman of the team.  In my last blog I talked about my extrovert on/off switch.  This day it was taped in the "on" position.  


Friday morning I regrouped, did laundry, cleaned the house, answered about 50 emails.  My assistant Felix was in Kigali all day.  I rode.  I reset. 


Friday morning I woke up to an email from the South African Embassy.  Obed's visa was ready!  Hallelujah.  Friday I spent most of the day going back and forth with the Federation to make sure Obed secured his plane ticket to Cape Town and got on the plane Saturday morning.  I called Obed to go retrieve his visa.  He was so happy.  Over and over again, "thank you Kim, thank you and tell coach thank you.  I will do good.  I will do good for Team."


On my ride that afternoon I thought about Obed, about the enormous opportunity we, us, the Federation, the Ministry of Sport, Megan Leigh, his yoga instructor, and Line' Griffiths in Cape Town had given Obed.  His life is forever changed due to this one moment, this convergence of love and support and belief in him.  He met us half way with his commitment, his work ethic and his consistency.  Whether it was that thought, or all the events of the week or a combination....I cried.  I actually sobbed riding towards Gisenyi on my bike.  


Obed called me last night when he arrived in Cape Town.  I cannot begin to explain the emotions I had as he told me how happy he was finally landing in Cape Town.


And this is where I realize how far removed I am from my old life.  Last weekend I wrote a blog, Cleaning Out My Facebook Closet.  Friends are becoming more spread out throughout the world, while I seem to be losing touch more and more with friends back home for a variety of reasons.  


I do not do what I do for kudos, for admiration, for CNN Inside Africa or even for the controversy I tend to fuel with my views on life in Africa.  I do what I do for the boys on this team.  Period.  I have never felt that kind of love before.  I will not "give" them a better life.  I will help them earn a better life, become better men.  I will kick down doors and remove life altering obstacles for them.  When I think about the remote possibility of instability in this country, I now know, should something happen, I will not leave until I know they are all safe. 


Friday night at dinner my friend from Texas who was staying with me, received a call from her assistant, Thomas, a Rwandan.  He asked where she was and told her to go back to the house immediately.  There had been a bomb threat in our town of Musanze.  We joked about it for a minute.  Yes, there have been several grenade attacks in Kigali over the years, but we're in Musanze, 100kms from Kigali, a small town, a tourist town.  This is the town where people stay to trek the gorillas.  Saturday morning before any of her crew was up and about she showed me a story on her iPad.  One killed and five injured at a bus stop in Musanze.  I have been there hundreds of times.

This is my world....most people cannot relate, nor do they care to.  That's fine, I do understand. 

Yesterday I posted a story about the possible budget cut of the Child Abuse Act on my Facebook page.  Two of my friends felt compelled to state their political views in the comments section.  The political atmosphere in America sickens me.  I simply wanted to make people aware of CASA, an organization I volunteered with for over a decade, a group near and dear to my heart.  Yes, I guess, as one pointed out in an email response, that my wall is an open forum.  I would have hoped however there would have been some thought to how I might feel about the post.  There was none.


Sadly, I sent both women an email.  An email not "scolding" as one put it, but as a simple statement of how it made me feel.  I had hoped for a little empathy from my friends.  Instead I received an "and but, apology".  The apology and then reasons why I was wrong, or the other person was wrong, or Facebook is an open forum, or I should have put a caveat on my post.  Really?  Walk in my shoes for one second....I need your love and friendship and understanding not a confirmation why you think you were right.  Can we not just stop at, "I'm sorry."? 


Of course the tone of a message can always be misconstrued on emails.  Unfortunately, I live a nine hour time zone away and calling is not generally an option.  Although, I did try and arrange a call with one a month or so ago.  Note, if I reach out to you from Africa, if I need a phone call which is rare and never easy to do from here with time zones and connections, it must be pretty important.  I must need you for some important reason. 


I know the longer I'm away the more difficult it becomes to hold on to friendships back home, the more the chasm grows between life here and there.  I need that grounding though.  I need friends who will let me voice my fears and frustrations.  There are a lot of scary things in Africa.  I see things most will never imagine nor care to.  I need friends to help me have perspective.  I live in a world of intense emotions 24/7, extreme need and extreme greed, but a world where a small commitment may have a huge impact, a life changing impact.  I want my friends at home to be part of this journey whether they ever get on a plane and come to Africa or not.  I do not want to feel so far removed...

Cleaning Out My Facebook Closet

Facebook seems to have invaded every part of our lives.  Facebook is a noun and a verb (I'll facebook you.) that didn't exist until the last decade.  Facebook for me started out innocently enough.  My sister had a doctor friend who was starting a non profit to provide medical care and supplies for Sierra Leone.  I joined Facebook as a way to keep up with his events somewhere around 2008.  It has been a meteoric slide ever since.


Facebook is just this really bizarre beast to me.  I am an introvert by nature.  When you see me out and about in my old life of selling and in my new life of promoting a cycling team, that is me with the extrovert switch in the on position.  I would much rather be hanging out with a few friends, or even alone with a good book, or on a great ride solo.  To do what I do in the public eye is exhausting....for me.  And so much of what I do these days centers around the social media world, an interesting dichotomy for a somewhat un social (not antisocial) person.


Facebook is part of my job promoting Team Rwanda.  It has been instrumental in helping us raise money for certain crucial items such as Rocky's glass eye and the magnitude of dental work the riders needed.  It has helped put Team Rwanda on the map and for that I am thankful and will continue to grow that aspect of our social media.  Unfortunately, the constant changes and "improvements" simply add to my work load and in some ways they are not improvements.  I am a change embracer but sometimes, less is more.


Facebook for me personally though has become this oddity of life, of friendships and acquaintances and people who I have no idea how we became "friends".  I have been thinking about this blog a lot over the past few days.  The things I see amongst my FB "friends" are disturbing to me in a variety of ways.  

First is the simple notion of friendship.  There is one person who "friended" me years ago who was never nice to me in high school and frankly is still a self absorbed popularity hound.  Why is she part of my FB world?  Why did I accept?  Did I want to be in the "in" group for once in my life?  Through Facebook?  I believe it was as much my slide back to the hurt I experienced in high school as it was her desire to stay on top of the popularity heap.  I bought into just like a sixteen year old being accepted at the cool kids table.  My error in judgment, my temporary moment of insecurity.


Second is the negativity and hate and miscommunication that occurs in status updates.  Frankly, I am thankful I do not live in the US at this moment with as much hate from left and right that I see happening throughout Facebook.  I'm sure it has infiltrated into daily life as well.  Politicians have won the game as I see it.  It is simply a game everyone has bought into and the price exacted is hatred.  I cringe at the things I see "friends" post.


Third, I'm out there, Jerry!  I have had several friends visit Rwanda who have remarked that they don't see me being able to live in America.  It's "too quiet, too normal, too boring" and a variety of other adjectives.  Perhaps they are correct.  I do find myself becoming more and more separated from life in America.  I cannot relate to the FB "friend" posting pictures of her dresser that is overflowing with so many clothes she doesn't know what to do with them.  I see that and I think about my rider Rocky and his wife Monique and two young children who had every bit of clothing stolen by a jealous neighbor.  Not like they had much to begin with.  That one dresser drawer could have clothed an entire Rwandan family.  I cannot relate.  I cannot deal with that.  I understand it is not her fault, it is her life.  It's just so far removed from my life, the world I travel in, I cannot begin to feel for her dresser space issues.  Again, I know this is my issue, not hers.  I do not pass judgment, but I also cannot have that in my Facebook "face".  

I believe friends come and go for a reason or a season and some are never really friends.  I don't say that in a negative tone, it's simply a matter of fact.  Those people are acquaintances.  Friends have commonalities, similar ethics and belief systems.  When did "defriending" become a verb?   Can't we all just agree it was nice to meet and move on or take the time to actually initiate and grow a friendship? 


So, just like I did years ago when I moved to Africa, I'm cleaning out my closet.  My personal set of FB "friend" rules are simple.  If I wouldn't walk across a crowded room to say hello, if I wouldn't go have a drink with you are we really "friends"?  Do not take it personal.  Before you become angry ask yourself the same question about me.  I'm okay if you don't want to have a drink with me.  You're honest, I'm not part of your world and that's fine by me.


Currently I have 740 "friends".  I culled this list about two years ago and I'm still amazed at the 740 number.  I truly do not know 740 people.  Where did these people come from?  Maybe Zuckerberg should create Acquaintencebook.


My life here is not easy.  I need people to reach down and give me a hand up once in a while.  I need people to help inspire, encourage and make me laugh.  I admit at times I need help.  I need love in my world.  I need compassion, empathy and I need to be surrounded by people who see the world outside their world.  That's just me.  I need friends not Facebook.


My ex husband said his life is so much better now that he has left Facebook.  I still need that connection as my life is isolated from my friends around the world and it is part of my work with the team.  His decision is valid, however.  I think it's time I get back to the real friends who have been along with me on this journey.  Somehow we all got lost along the Facebook way.

Team Rwanda Cycling Inspires The Children – Art for Gorillas

I have always felt that it is not enough to produce good cyclists in Rwanda, our true "job" is to produce great men! I witnessed a show of pure giving back, of giving young kids hope, of being the role models in Rwanda I always pray they will be. The riders of Team Rwanda continue to inspire me!

Team Rwanda Cycling Inspires The Children – Art for Gorillas

Thank You Donald Miller: Let Story Guide You

A couple of weeks ago I listened to a "sermon" from Donald Miller, Let Story Guide You.  I say sermon because every Saturday I take a break from all the craziness of life and I try to get back to my foundation.  Generally by Friday, my house has shifted.  Life, busyness consumes my days during the week.  I read the Bible, listen to sermons online and try to remember that ultimately God is guiding this life, not me, no matter how much I think I can control its direction.  Frankly, I also do this so I don't snap!  When I do, its not pretty.

Ironically this sermon, this talk, was about to go in the recycle bin to make room for more hard drive space.  The nanosecond before the click and delete it was saved, again restoring my belief in everything happens for a reason and nothing is random.  I was supposed to hear this.

I found a link to a very similar version on YouTube as I cannot for the life of me figure out how to put up an MP3 on Blogger.  If you listen to it first you will understand the rest of this blog, if you listen afterwards the pieces will fall into place.

Let Story Guide You

I was at the five year Volvo plan of life and panicked.  I wanted a better story, this was not how life was supposed to end up.  I had the dream job and it was a nightmare.  I needed a story, a big story, an all encompassing story of my passions in life.  Sadly, yet hopefully, I gave up the current story I was living for the story I live now.  Not all endings are happy endings....at first.

Now my story is tightly intertwined with the stories of the riders of Team Rwanda.  

We are in the fourth week of training camps and everything with the riders is really starting to gel.  They are stronger, faster, smarter and eager for more.  More anything, better food, nutrition advice, good vitamins, they want it all.  It wasn't always this way.  Tonight as I started to write, Nathan was saying how this year is so much different than last year.  He said everything is much better.  That is no accident, it is all part of our story.

When you step out to live a larger story of your life you are bound to connect and influence the stories of others.  This week Rocky showed up at the house at 8:15am for a 10:00am dentist appointment in Kigali.  It takes exactly an hour and 45 minutes to get to Kigali.  Rocky has been battling an abscessed tooth and root canals and was now in need of oral surgery since November of last year.  Can you imagine riding an eight day stage race needing major oral surgery?  But that is Rocky, that is who he is.  Rocky spends most of Monday in the dentist chair and comes out of the office looking like he's gone a few rounds with Apollo.  Today is Thursday and finally he has returned from his cauldron of constant pain.  He is on the road to recovery and after being on antibiotics off and on for three months, he should take his last pills on Sunday.  Then, his power will begin to return.  

Imagine how different Rocky's story, his life would have been without the Team.  He would have an empty eye socket and the dentist. if he would have gone or had the money to go, would have simply started pulling teeth.  His life is changed from one split second on a single speed bike when Jock and Max passed him on the road.  He took the initiative, showed up at the house and opted for a better life story.

Last Friday, as I was waiting in the truck at the intersection of the road back to Musanze and the road to Gitarama where the riders had just finished their first race of the season, a woman comes up to the window.  I didn't recognize her at first.  It was Monique, Rocky's wife.  She had come to meet him at the intersection not far from their mud brick home.  She smiled and said, "Kim, it's me, Monique!"  Then she went on to tell me, "Thank you, thank you, thank you for Rocky."  I shudder to think of what life might have been for these two and their two young children.  

Out of the blue, random searchings for new stories intersect.  Last week I met Megan Smith, a yoga teacher and studio owner from New York.

Megan came, very spur of the moment, to Rwanda to teach yoga instructors at a small organization in Musanze, home also to Team Rwanda.  Ubushobozi was founded to teach young girls to sew, to give them a life skill whereby they can earn a living.  Two of the women from the US who run Ubushobozi are clients of Megan's in New York.  Megan found Team Rwanda, contacted Hilary in the US and connected with us when she got to Rwanda.  My thought was to have her use the Team for a couple of instruction classes with the girls so that I might have some options for yoga instructors during training camps.  The first three weeks of camp I had been leading yoga.  Note, I am not a yoga teacher.  I like yoga, have taken a ton of classes, but frankly you do not need a Type A, workaholic freak that can't slow down long enough to sleep teaching you yoga.  The word relax is not in my vocabulary.  

But then Megan's story forever changed Obed's life.  

Obed is 32 and will probably not be strong enough to race internationally anymore.  There are just too many up and coming riders who are stronger and faster.  For Obed, where one career is waning another is now on the front burner.  Obed is a natural at yoga.  He has such a calm presence.  Obed is one rider along with Adrien who we have never had any issues with, never asks for money, there are never any, "Coach, I have a big, big problem" statements.  He's quiet yet commanding.  The man has presence.  Within a week, Obed has gone from a strong yoga participant to leading an hour long class for the team (under the tutelage of Megan).  In addition, he is the rockstar of Ubushobozi.  The young men and women look to him.  He's their hero.  Today, he took a bunch of his autograph cards with him to class.  They loved it.  

This is the most important part of this story.....The young man to the left of Obed is Faustine.  Faustine is an epileptic.  A social curse of death in a country like Rwanda.  There is no "ADA" here.  People with physical, mental or neurological disorders are outcasts.  I have heard the most horrific stories of the lives of people with disabilities.  Faustine was no exception.  One school dealt with Faustine's epilepsy by putting a rugby helmet on him.  No one thought to look for medical help, for a possible solution to the seizures.  He was mocked and one day attacked by a group of school children, beaten and his "helmet" stolen.  Faustine finally received adequate medical treatment, a rarity in this third world country, and with medication his seizures are under control but the mental damage of unchecked seizures has taken its toll.  He is simply, different. Obed took Faustine under his wing and today, Team Rwanda gave Faustine a job teaching yoga during training camps.  Obed, who has continued to ride and train with the team every morning, then spend four hours in yoga training in the afternoon and then teach an hour to the the Team in the evening, is creating his new story, his new career and his new future.  It is all his doing, we simply kicked open the door.  I believe Obed will be even that much more financially secure, stable and successful in this next phase of his life.


All because one woman, Megan, decided to change a bit of her story.

All week I have been thinking about how drastically my life story has changed over the past three years.  I thought about it while I watched Joseph brush Zulu.  Six months ago Joseph was a surly young new rider who I thought would never make it.  Today he smiles, he is happy, he is riding like the international cyclist he is, and he likes Zulu.  The craziest things make me happy.  Watching Zulu stand there in dog scratchin' heaven while being brushed by Joseph made my day.  Seeing the new riders like Jean Bosco and Hassan and Emile gradually release their fear and tension and embrace all that is Team Rwanda training camp makes me happy.

Seeing Max ride again makes me happy.  Max's story is complex.  He receives too much outside pressure, pressure making him feel like what he does here isn't important in the real world, that he needs a real job.  Max has no idea how many lives, how many stories he has influenced.  This week he hired Kiki to work on a bike with him.  He later told me Kiki was good and that he has a knack for mechanics.  Like Obed, we are looking for the next phase for Kiki as well.  Max is part of that.

I am so thankful my life is part of all these evolving stories, these stories of a better life.  I need to make sure everyone knows more about the stories of these riders.  I need to keep telling their stories so that others may be part of the changing stories, just like Megan.  Ironically, I left one story to live another and my biggest fan and cheerleader for telling my next story is my ex-husband.  He too is responsible for more than just a 5 year Volvo savings plan.  Story characters come from the most obscure places....














 

Stories Within Team Rwanda

Before training camp started a couple of weeks ago I was in a bit of a panic.  Petty, our cook who has been preparing meals for the Team for almost a year, was unavailable until mid February.  She is employed by another organization who is currently renting out the front portion of our Team house and they needed her to cook for their volunteers for six weeks.  Who was I going to find, in Rwanda, to cook nutritious, very unlike Rwandan, meals for 15 hungry riders five days a week?  I also had no additional staff to assist with teaching another cook our way of menu planning and meal preparation.  Seriously, I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and go to sleep until February.  

And then came Celestin.  

Celestin was the former cook for the French family Jock lived with in Butare his first year in Rwanda.  He's an older gentleman, okay 60ish but that's really old in Rwanda, and after this French family left he worked for a couple other people but really had fallen on difficult times.  Jock has always stayed in touch with Celestin and every year when the Tour of Rwanda stops in Butare for the day, Jock and Celestin always reconnect.  He is a very nice man, of course I have no clue what he's saying because he doesn't speak English and I still don't speak French.  

This year when we stopped in Butare Jock met up with Celestin and found out that his former boss, a Rwandan, skipped the country unexpectedly and apparently "forgot" to pay him his salary for the month.  Celestin never asked for money he was simply stating the simple truth of his life.  He told Jock he had faith God would provide as He always had and he was thankful he was able to reconnect with Jock again.  Jock came back to the hotel in Butare where we were all staying and told me he was going to give him $100 just because that's what friends do.  

Celestin was surprised and grateful.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks prior to our first camp and my stress freak out about no cook and Jock mentions Celestin.  He did not have consistent employment, he wanted to work and we could give him a job, a good well paying job.  But, all I thought was, "He doesn't speak English!"  

Celestin came the Sunday before our first camp and has been here every week since.  Whenever you have one of those moments when you think everything is going south quickly, sometimes, when you least expect it something truly amazing happens.  

Celestin is a phenomenal cook but that is just the surface of why he will remain with us for as long as he will have us.  He actually knew Abraham, Nathan, Kiki and Obed from the early days when the riders used to train in Butare.  The guys were so happy to see him that first day.  He has this amazing quiet, calm energy.  We need that.  There is never stress over when the meals are going to be ready.  We show up and they are ready.  The kitchen is immaculate, and the pride in his work, his meals is unmistakable.  He orchestrates the most incredible salads, tonight the riders went back for seconds....on salad?  His food is infused with love for these riders.  We give him purpose again in his life, and he gives us the fuel to race and perform, and it's all done with his calm energy, his calm, hopeful energy.


Celestin's life embodies hope.  During the 1994 genocide Celestin, fearing the worst, sent his seven year old son to stay with an aunt.  The aunt was murdered during those 100 days in April.  Before she was killed, the son was sent to another Aunt.  After the genocide Celestin had no idea where his son was and if his son was still alive.  Many people took years to reunite with family and loved ones after those horrific days of summer 1994 in Rwanda.  Celestin took 14 years.


His son had ended up in a tea plantation in or around the Burundi border south of Rwanda.  He was a slave at the plantation.  He had no idea if his father, Celestin was still alive.


Celestin never gave up hope.


Fourteen years later his son came home.


Celestin encompasses everything that is this Team....Hope is an amazing ride.

Team Rwanda Training Camp Week 1...1.5

It's already Wednesday night of our second week of camp.  I was hoping to write about camp each week.  One of the reasons I need to write more often is that so much happens in one week, one day, one waking 12...18 hour period that if I don't it piles up and writer's block sets in.  It's more like writer's panic as to which story should I tell.  I have said before, never have a lived a life like this where every night when my head hits the pillow I marvel at the thought that it was only one day.  How possibly could that much happen in one day?  I'm a week and a half into our 2012 Season and I'm thinking, how did that all happen in the last 10 days?

We started our first training camp of 2012 last Monday, January 9th.  We had thirteen riders, veterans Kiki, Obed, Nathan, NicNic, Gasore, Rocky, Emmanuel "Boy" and Abraham, more about him in a minute.  We also have our newer riders some of whom rode in the Tour of Rwanda in November, Jacques (who now writes his name as Jock) and Kadona (super new kid), and Tour riders Emile, Janvier and Joseph, the winner of the final stage of the Tour.  This year started off very differently.  We came off such a great training season prior to the Tour and then incredible success at the Tour.  The riders stayed in shape and trained during their six week hiatus and all came back ready to amp up their training and eager to learn more about the effects of nutrition and their new found love of yoga on their racing.  Everything seems easier, in a typically exhausting way.  We have limited camps to only 13 riders for economic and staff bandwith issues.  We continue to live in four month financial increments and we do it with only the three of us.  This time, however, the rider's have definitely pitched in more, especially the veterans, teaching the newer riders.  

Abraham is back and he's happy....it makes us all happy.  2011 Abraham spent most of the year off the team and only returned shortly before the Tour.  It was a tough year for him emotionally and financially.  For us, it was hard to watch him battle the forces around him.  Finally, near the end of the year he came to us and asked for another chance.  This is Rwanda, Team Rwanda forgiveness is granted.  This man has a story that I believe no one has ever really heard.  I think he still battles demons.  He was a teenager during the genocide, he lost his first wife to a mysterious death and then had to put their newborn up for adoption.  Abraham is stubborn, more stubborn than anyone I have ever met, that is probably what has saved him in the long run.  But, Abraham seems very different and he is here and he is laughing, riding hard and embracing yoga, he is the total team player again.  He has the best laugh.

Obed, Kiki and Nathan are all leaders.  It is so comforting to watch them handle situations that even two years ago, we would have to deal with.  Tonight Nathan led the stretching class.  We used to call it stretching and then when our volunteers extraordinaire Mel & Jess started leading "yoga" in October of last year, the boys latched on to it and now I'm teaching 45 minutes of yoga every evening.  Very happy I had all those yoga classes in Kenya last year and a handful of old DVDs.  

Janvier is excited about heading to South Africa to train for two months in February and March.  He also just bought a new house for his family from his Tour winnings.  Today we got his passport!

Rocky is well, Rocky.  He got his glass eye, he still kills it in the sprints every day during training.  He is the jokester of the bunch, his English improves daily and he finally can touch his toes in yoga.  Today he was riding "wheelies" in the lawn at the Team house on a mountain bike and biffed it.  I just shook my head and told him no more doctors (he has major dental issues we're still dealing with).  He just kept laughing, all the riders watching him were laughing saying, "Doctors...it is finished!"


We spent the first couple of days last week laughing at all the pictures of Joseph's win where he collapsed in a spread leg position immediately after the finish line.  He had never seen the pictures.  At first I think he was embarrassed but then really, how could you be, it truly was the funniest finish ever.  Don't think Lance Armstrong has ever had such a classic finish!

The riders come in on Monday afternoon.  They train Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and leave Friday morning back for their homes throughout Rwanda.  After their training rides we have lunch, our team meeting, 2-3 hours of down time and then yoga, core workout, dinner and then bed.  We generally head to Kigali on Friday's for supplies and then regroup Saturday, do all our paperwork, accounting, admin on Sunday and we all start over again on Monday.  It's week two and camp fatique has already settled in.  

My days start at 6:00 making breakfast for half the group, then helping with rider testing, slamming out emails, coffee, coffee and more coffee, feed the dog, the cat, make sure Felix knows what he needs to do for the day and has money, get the laundry off the line from the day before.  Get the Cytomax made, the water jugs out, bananas, find my bike, fill my bottles and try to find my clothes in the pile of 13 rider kits.  I usually roll out right before the boys, sometimes with them depending on how brutal I want my ride to be.  I get home about an hour to an hour and half before them, grab a shower, do my marketing/logistics work, make the hard boiled eggs and recovery drink right before they walk in.  When they get in from their training the riders have it down.  Within 10 minutes I have a bucket of dirty kits, and the riders at this house are already in and half way through their showers.  I get the laundry started, head to lunch, sit in during the team meeting, yes, the riders all want to know how my training was and why they dropped me on the hill.  I did attack them today on the flats!  Then back to the house by 3:00, try to do some writing, you can see that's not going so well, get the laundry out on the line, thank goodness for dry season.  Then answer all the questions, "Kim, can you print a picture for me?  Kim, can I use Facebook? Kim...."  Then head to the Team house for 6:00pm yoga and stretching, 7:00pm dinner and back to work at my computer by 8:15pm.  Welcome to my glamorous world!  I would not trade these days for anything.  Today during yoga, when Nathan was leading the class, I just thought about how far we all have come, that we really are building a sustainable team.  I am so lucky to work with these guys.

But, I'm tired....very tired...so, before you armchair internet quarterbacks throw in your two cents about, "Why don't you not ride and save a couple of hours a day?"  I ride for two main reasons, my sanity and freedom from my bitchiness for those around me.  The third would have to be respect.  Respect from the riders that I know what I'm talking about when it comes to cycling and that I'm willing to train hard for no real reason.  Not like I'm going to be starting a racing career at 45!  Plus, they see I do that and take care of them.  It ups the respect factor in a traditionally patriarchal country. 

The best thing lately on my training rides has been the women.  The women walking along the roads I ride.  The young girls are generally quite obnoxious and sometimes even rude, but the older woman, the ones hauling 50 pound bags of potatoes on their heads are my biggest fans and I am theirs.  They always make my day when they see me coming up the road on a long climb and they're looking and looking and then they smile and wave and cheer, Komera, Be Strong.  Lately, we are starting to pass each other at the same time and place every day.  They make me thankful for growing up as a woman in America and to never take my lot in life for granted and hopefully I show them that women can do more than haul potatoes.  That we all have opportunities.  I love these women.  

The regroup Saturday last weekend was not so much.  Monday came again too soon and here it is Wednesday.  One more day of training and then Friday back to Kigali.  Tomorrow NicNic goes back to the dentist in Kigali and Janvier goes for the first time.  I truly opened a Pandora's Box in the dental arena with these riders.  After Janvier we might need to take a break, a financial break!  NicNic goes to the hospital on Friday for xrays on his ankle he broke in the 2010 Tour of Rwanda which continues to plaque him.


Next week we have a Dutch journalist from South Africa coming along with a photographer.  Philip Gourevitch is also going to stop hopefully for a day or two to catch up with the team.  NicNic will go one afternoon (3 hour off road round trip) to a doctor in Butaro who just happens to be an American Foot/Ankle Orthopedic Specialist living in Rwanda and working at a Partners in Health Hospital.  We went there the first Wednesday of camp to take a Brazilian ER doctor up there to meet Dr. Geoffrey Tabin who was here doing cataract and cornea transplant surgeries.  She had heard of us from the Tour of Rio, small world.  We also have a real yoga instructor coming to teach some Rwandan girls to be yoga instructors.  Our boys will be the guinea pigs for a few nights.


If this blog seems like story arrows shot from all directions, it's because it is.  I seriously can't even remember everything that's happened in the last 10 days.  I guess the most important thing, however, has been the announcement of Forest Whitaker as the narrator of our Team Rwanda documentary which hopefully will be premiering in the US in April.  Keep your fingers crossed and I will keep you posted on when and where.

6:00am comes early....it is finished....oh, and I haven't even told you the story of Celestin, our new cook.  For another day....