Have a Seat

She was sitting on the edge of my bench. I was fruitlessly waiting for the wireless internet to be turned on. The whole town was shut down. Local commemorations were taking place and businesses had been closed for the past 24 hours. People were congregating outside storefronts, waiting.

She started wailing. ‘Jon Paul!’ she yelled and grasped at the air. I was so close yet a whole language away from being able to understand. People were staring from below. Our balcony seating left us as a spectacle to the town of stagnant people. I must have had a pleading look on my face, because within minutes a Rwandan man appeared.

English?
Yes.
Is there a problem?
She just started crying.

He inserted himself on the bench between us. It was a few minutes before she would respond to his simple question of ‘What is your name?’ She launched into her story. He listened quietly, mostly looking away. Whenever I thought she was done, she’d start up again. Yelling, sobbing, pleading, grappling. My Jon Paul! My child! A sweet lullaby came from her lips.

She did eventually calm down. He turned to me with tears welling in his eyes.

She has many problems. It is very sad. She found out she is HIV positive. She went to the sector office but the government would do nothing for her. She is a genocide survivor. Her son, Jon Paul, was killed. I offered her water. She said she would not drink water until she finds Jon Paul.

He went on to explain how he heard her crying out from below. He saw I was the only one there. He came to protect me in case she wanted to fight. As I may have noticed, Rwandans usually do not show emotion like that. In his opinion, the men are fine but apparently when in distress like that the women can be dangerous.

Did she pick my bench on purpose? Did she think I could offer her something? Did she want to hurt me? Was her pain blinding her from any forethought whatsoever?