Tuesday, April 18, 2006

One man's JAM is anothers HOPE


The little white Suzuki motorcar bounces, or should that be leaps, from pothole to pothole as we drive off the well tarred main road that leads to Butare and head towards the JAM (Joint Aid Management) project that I am on my way to visit.

A white Suzuki to most Rwandans is immediately identifiable as UN and is routinely made available to the NGO’s. In fact even this little box I am in has UN license plates.

Import of vehicles carries a hefty tax in Rwanda, but for vehicles under 1500cc only 5% applies. Perhaps this is the reason so many of these tiny workhorses are running around Rwanda – although one would imagine that the UN would have some dispensation on import tax for their cars – or how else would they afford the huge gas guzzlers Land Cruisers that the UN glitterati themselves run around in.

Along the road we pass a homestead of box houses, all neatly placed and with well tilled sustainable gardens that sprout various food sorts.

These belong to the widows and children of the genocide, here they are able to try and pull together a life shattered and ripped apart 12 years ago.

A little further a huge heart shaped roof in terracotta red leaps out from around the corner it’s a Catholic Church convent and orphanage opened by the Pope in 1990. (Nicola said tells me it was 1994 after the genocide – but a little research corrects that)

Where I am going however is on the left, and across the road from the Catholic Church’s sprawling compound.

JAM is a Christian humanitarian organization and specialise in various areas of sustainable development and relief. The Rwanda arm is under the auspices of JAM South Africa and on the ground the training center is managed by Nicola Langton who is the Michael Schumacher of Gitarama and as if to prove the title, she skillfully misses yet another pothole while chatting about the JAM and their projects – I fear to reply for each time I try another pothole thuds me back into my seat almost as if to say “Listen! Don’t speak”

We finally arrive at the entrance to the complex. On the right are children ranging from toddlers to probably some as old as their mid 20’s, all playing football on a wet and grassless pitch.

As in all Rwanda someone is standing sentry at the gate and it is swung open by a smiling guard with white flashing teeth and a wild and happy shaking of his hands.

We dive by a tractor and two Nissan pick-up’s all in various states of disrepair and I enquire? “The pick-ups died last year – Funds you see” Nicola says “Adding “There’s just not enough money to repair them” About the Tractor she is more enthusiastic – “The tyres are in customs and we will clear them soon!”

How much is the budget for the project? “$18000 per month” I calculate quickly in my head. It works out at $2.70 per child, per day and that INCLUDES salaries

We drive on and pass the kitchen where the center prepares 220 odd mails three times a day to feed the local Orphans housed in the complex.

To the right of that is the training centre where children from the area come daily for courses form carpentry to needlework and sewing.

Here, the children build their own school desks and chairs and even are able to provide desks and chairs for other NGO’s in the area.

In the sewing and needlework classes, the children are given skills that are not only practical but stretch toward developing longer concentration and focus times of the children.

No GAP store here, no quick trip to the local store for the latest Diesel or Nike branded merchandise – here they churn out their own clothing and help the others repair theirs, stitching up the odd torn garment or replacing a button perhaps?

It’s a Sunday (In fact it’s Easter Sunday) and the children are at various levels of activity.

There were those playing football dreaming of their heroes, Beckham, Ronaldinho or perhaps even a local star. Others are lazing at the dinning hall chatting or pranking about.

A little toddler waves frantically as he sees Nicola arriving back from her few days away, he can hardly contain himself in his effort to get close to her.

My visit is unfortunately fleeting, but in the short time I am there I can feel that in the air is a palpable hope, that each child must cling onto, in the belief that one day they will be able to leave and start building a life of their own using hopefully the skills and life lessons learnt here.

In fact, Nicola tells me, that one of the problems most orphanages face in the country is that children don’t want to leave, and fear what awaits them.

As we head out again I see again something that is a frequent sight, a loving and gentle touch or pat from one of the older children as he walks past his young “brother”. As these children all share the same parent, fate and genocide that took theirs from them.

Michael Mocke
Gitarama
16 April 2006