Learning to be thankful

I don't know exactly why but for the past few months, one recurrent thought has been on my mind. It is something I had never thought of before, until one late October night talk with my friends (and new shrinks, lol) Angela and Harmonie. And what I've been thinking about is what Dirk Gently would call "The fundamental interconnectedness of all things", or in my own words: How everything that has happened in our lives and in our world to this moment, is the reason we are who we are today, or even the reason that we are, quite simply. 

You know, things happen to us. And in the moment that they do, we're not able to fully appreciate them, because we don't fully understand them. They become (in our eyes) our moments of failure, our deepest regrets, the things we wish we could change if given the chance. And we also feel like this about things that don't directly happen to us but end up affecting our lives. Sometimes we wonder why they happen, sometimes we get angry at the universe. And those of us who believe in God increasingly feel that maybe He's not as powerful as He is said to be, or maybe He's just a sadistic Being who enjoys watching our blunders and our suffering without so much as lifting the little finger.

I was one of those people for quite a long time (I'm still learning how not to be anymore but I'll get to that in a while). But lately I've forced myself to look back on my life and a new truth has dawned on me: that the best version of myself right now and the best things I've gotten out of life were all a product of every single moment and event that has taken place since times I cannot even begin to fathom. I realize this is extremely cliché and not exactly a new discovery, but it is both new and very true for me. 

For example, I've realized that despite having grown up without knowing a significant number of relatives from both my immediate and extended family who lost their lives during the genocide, I wouldn't exist in the first place were it not for that dark chapter in my country's history. My dad was born in exile. For more than 20 years he lived without a country to call his own, and that void in his heart led to him entering the RPA, becoming an officer, and finding himself in Rwanda by the early 90s. My mother's troubled schooling as a result of discrimination led her to study nursing. Somehow by April 1994 she was in Kigali, and as the genocide raged on, God led her to find refuge in the Parliament Building (CND) where she used her skills to care for wounded soldiers and survivors. That is how she met my father, fell in love, and they got married at the end of the genocide. And even though he died in a car crash only a few months after their marriage, on Christmas Eve 1994, I was already on the way. I would be born six months later.

See my point? I was deeply-albeit indirectly-affected by the genocide. Hardly a day passes that I don't think about all those relatives whom I'll never know, who will never be there to share my successes and comfort me in my moments of failure and disappointment. I often find myself thinking about all those shattered ambitions, hopes, and dreams. But I also realize that I am alive and here because of that. I could cry about growing up fatherless (and believe me, it's frustrating) but I know this has made me appreciate the full extent of my mother's strength, resilience and incredible love for me; and I love her more and more with each passing day.

There is more. My best and biggest 2016 moments are the two and a half months I just spent touring the USA as part of iDebate Rwanda. I had a one of a kind experience seeing new places, meeting people from all walks of life (the whole diversity spectrum), challenging them and being challenged in return on a constant basis, seeing firsthand lives being changed by our message, crying and laughing so much it was exhausting, and KAYAKING yaaay 🙌!! These are memories I'm not likely to forget anytime soon, but you know what? They are the products of a colossal mistake I made five years ago; a mistake that I considered my biggest regret for a long time.

Back in 2011, I was preparing to enter high school. I had just finished Junior High at one of the best schools in the country (GSO Butare) and had been admitted to yet another school among the best (Lycée de Kigali) for a History-Economics-Geography combination. I chose instead to stay at GSO Butare and do sciences (Physics-Chemistry-Biology). My mother strongly advised me against that decision but I was stubborn as a donkey. But by the end of the year, having struggled to stay above the 50% mark in physics and with a fail mention in chemistry, I realized too late that sciences weren't meant for me, and that I should change the combination. The next year I tried to enroll at the school I had refused and they returned the favor. I ended up going to APE Rugunga, a school with a not-so-rosy reputation. I also had to retake the year because I would be studying in a new combination.

I was ashamed, feeling like a disappointment, and extremely angry at myself. But let me tell you what happened: I flourished at that school. I became Editor-in-chief of the school magazine and held leadership positions in various student organizations. But most importantly it was there that I met Jean-Michel Habineza, a man who has become the single most influential figure in my life, and the best freaking mentor anyone could ask for. He introduced me to debate, an activity that made me discover my passion for words and made me understand their power. I quickly fell in love with it. He saw potential in me and challenged me to see it too, entrusted me with projects and pushed me to heights I had never even thought I could reach. He believed in me in moments when I didn't believe in myself, and he still does, even when I give him every reason not to. And thanks to him I went from debating to judging, to coaching, to coordinating the Kigali Debate League, to moderating panel discussions with some of the most influential people in Rwanda, to touring the US and debating some of the best teams there, to having rooms full of undergraduate and graduate students at some of the best universities there listen to what I had to say, when I myself had barely finished my first year in college. ALL THAT from a five-year-old mistake!

I look back at all of this, and so, so much more, and I realize that God is faithful. His Word reads in Romans 8:28 " And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God." I'm not sure I fit the description when I read " them that love God". I surely don't act like I do most of the time. But he has made it so that every happy moment and every sad one, every triumph and every failure, every tear of joy and every tear of sadness, every bit and aspect of my existence has woven itself into a labyrinth that has taken me to the place I'm in right now. And even though I know I still have a long way to go, I sure am proud of this place.

So yeah, I am learning to be thankful. And if you're reading this, I challenge you to look back on your own journey, think about every significant moment you can remember, every memory good or bad. Try and reflect on how each of those moments has shaped who you are today. And if you like what you see, be thankful too. And if you don't believe in a Higher Power, it's okay. Just try and learn to better appreciate life; and when those gloomy or troubled moments arrive, be patient and eagerly wait for that blessing that comes afterwards.

The Airplane Experience

[Written on the night of September 9th, 2016]

First off, let me just put it out there that I removed my shoes three times while still in Kigali’s airport. I didn’t like it one bit. But let’s begin from the beginning.

 Well, I didn’t sleep Wednesday night, I spent the whole night pressing my clothes and getting ready. I didn’t sleep on Thursday either because I spent the whole night obsessing over what might go wrong, what thing I might forget and all that; and let me just say, as a guy who forgot his passport on the day of his Visa interview, my fears weren’t that unfounded (yeah I know, I’m not proud of that particular feat). What I’m very proud of on the other end is the fact that I’m gonna spend almost three months on the road with just a carry on yo. Some of you must find it easy, but for someone who is going for that long and all over the place for the first time, I ain’t gonna let anyone mess the deep sense of accomplishment I’m feeling right now.

So yeah I got to the airport and met with the teammates and family and friends who had come to see us off and we prayed and got in. Now let’s go back to the moment after I had had my bag sniffed by dogs, x-rayed, hand searched (I don’t know what they expected to find), x-rayed again, x-rayed yet again, at which point I removed my shoes for the third time. We waited for a few minutes after that and then Gate 3 opened for us to board; and that is when the Airplane Experience begins, from my perspective of course.

The first element of the airplane experience is, of course, the mandatory selfie inthe airport lounge that you then post all over social media with a caption that I dub “The Ultimate Brag”. Case in point: check this out

View this post on Instagram

Finallyyyy 🙌🙌. 10 States, 16 cities, 17 universities 😎😎😎 say whattt?? @idebaterwanda #USTour2016 #grateful2God

A post shared by Bruce Intwali (@intwalibruce) on Sep 9, 2016 at 6:07am PDT

This is of course followed by one with the plane in the background, and we took some pretty neat ones. Then follows entering the plane, settling in and waiting for stage two of the Experience: Take Off. This is what they say about take-off: It gives you the fright of your life. What I got to see is that this statement is both false and true. False because instead of being frightened I was exhilarated. There are probably few physical sensations I love more than the little jump your stomach does when a car moving at high speed suddenly starts descending on a bit of steep slope, and today I got to learn that with a plane the sensation is 10 times more vivid. But the statement is also true for some, I learned it the hard way, with one of the teammates’ nails inches deep in the skin of my arm (and this wasn’t her first flight).

Stage three of the Airplane Experience is food: the unending stream of things to put in your mouth, some of them heavenly and some of them not (sorry Qatar Airways but that salad was horrible). Oh I almost forgot to talk about the flight attendants. One word: on fleek! Maybe it’s because this is my first flight, but I’m impressed. There’s this one guy, you would think he owns the plane. He just exudes self-confidence and assurance with his gait and easy, unforced smile, it took me a while to realize he was one of the people serving us. I’ll probably strike a conversation with him before I get off.

Now to Stage four of the Airplane Experience: the lavatory. The ultra small cabinet that’s occupied 90% of the time you wanna go there, so you just stand there waiting, and end up having a lively conversation with an Indian guy (I thought he was Indian, or maybe Bangladeshi or something… he was definitely from the Indian subcontinent) about the distance from Lagos to Kigali.

Now of course no Airplane Experience would be complete without Stage five: good old Turbulence. This son of a *** surely gives the creeps yo. It’s funny how the gentle voice of the captain telling you to buckle up, sets off screaming little monsters running amok in your brain. You keep telling yourself “It’s nothing man, you’re gonna be fine, most times it’s nothing right?”; then you hear that Gollum-like voice saying something like “Maybe this is one of those ssssometimes!”. Fortunately for us, it was one of those most times.

We get now to the sixth and last Stage of the Airplane Experience: sleep; or rather the absence thereof for me. Right now everyone around me is asleep and I’m here all bundled up in my blanket writing this post because I can’t close my eyes. Let’s hope by the time you read this tomorrow I’ll have slept on the Doha-JFK flight because if not then I’m screwed big time. To end this post, I’ll say this. I’m having a FREAKIIIING BLAAAST!!! That’s it from me folks. More posts will be coming in for the next 10 weeks. In the meantime check out these awesome photos me and Sharon have been taking

 

 

 

 

Confused

I don't know what to feel anymore. I don't know how to feel. You'll excuse me if by the end of this post you feel offended, hurt, attacked or something like that, but at this time I cannot afford to care about pleasing anyone's delicate sensibilities. I am speaking from the heart, and my heart is pretty messed up.

I am supposed to visit around 15 American universities from September to November as part of the team going for iDebate Rwanda's 3rd annual US Tour. This tour, the US Tour is supposed to be a journey. A journey in which we will share our story, a story of rebirth, a story of reconstruction, a story of how a group of youngsters is working to move past the adversity of their parents' generation and the terrible tragedy that arose from it. A story of how we are contributing to building a nation in which we and the generations after us are judged by the content of our character and not the ethnic group we were born in. This tour is supposed to be a journey in which we can inspire those with whom we interact to see our way, to do the same.

Lord knows how excited I was in January when I was selected. Lord knows the enthusiasm, the sheer joy, the anticipation that was bubbling in me these past months. And Lord knows, how in the space of 12 days all my hopes are now shattered. Lord knows, how confused and stricken I feel as I write this.

On June 26, I watched Jesse Williams deliver his moving speech denouncing racial inequality and police brutality as he accepted the Humanitarian Award, a speech in which he mentioned it would've been Tamir Rice's 14th birthday the previous day. The next day a petition was created to fire him from Grey's Anatomy, which now has 23,000 supporters. Part of the petition reads "Jesse Williams spewed a racist, hate speech against law enforcement and white people at the BET awards. If this was a white person making the same speech about an African American, they would have been fired and globally chastised, as they should be, but there have been no consequences to Williams' actions."

Barely a week later, Jesse has been proven right.

Now to the 4500 idiots who petitioned to have him fired from Grey's Anatomy, do you see his point??https://t.co/BPQ8HDbjmI

— Mwene Murangira (@IntwaliBruce) July 7, 2016

On July 5, Alton Sterling was shot 5 times in the chest and back after having been pinned on the ground by two cops. On July 6, Philando Castile was shot by a cop four times in the driver side of his car, with his girlfriend in the passenger seat and her daughter watching from the backseat. He died from his wounds later. And as always, a whole legion of people is now defending both homicides. In Alton's case, criminal records have been pulled out, people countlessly repeating that he had threatened someone earlier, that he was carrying a gun (in an open-carry state, hmm!). But is that the point though, because from my perspective, the point is that he had been subdued. The point is that two videos amply show he wasn't reaching for his gun which an officer pulled from his pocket after he was shot. The point is that he was shot at as close a range as close range can get and the officer had multiple choices of non-fatal places to shoot at, the arms for example. The point is that he chose to point the gun at the chest and shoot twice, wait a few seconds, then shoot again three times. And what of Castile? is the point that he had a gun? Or that he was reaching for his pockets? Or is the point that he had informed the cop that he WAS carrying a gun (for which he had a permit by the way) and that he wanted to retrieve his ID, which the officer had just asked?

This tour is supposed to be about teaching and learning. But how do you talk to someone who doesn't want to listen, how do you teach someone who doesn't want learn? How am I supposed to feel when a petition to fire someone for pointing out the very same things that happened in the last three days has increased in supporters from 23,216 when I started writing this post to 23,262 in the minutes it took me to write these lines? What is the purpose of me going, if it will all have been in vain?

There is no lesson or moral to this post, those are for you to find or not. I am just pouring my heart out. I am crying for those lost souls. And if you are asking yourself why two dead African-Americans would matter so much to an African, ask yourself what prompted you to be Charlie, to pray for Paris, and to cry for Brussels.