Child Mob

I’ve become quite accustomed to being an object of curiosity for the kids. Especially in Butaro, where the 3 abazungu in the entire region all work at the health center where kids go only when deathly ill, they just don’t see white skin that much. The adults are polite enough to keep their distance or stave their curiosity due to social norms, but the kids stare wide-eyed and not-so-surreptitiously try to touch your skin or hair.

You’ve already heard me talk about the kids a zillion times, but our experience on the way back from our hike on umuganda was the one that I’ve internalized forever.

Our hike lasted longer than Emily would have liked, and since she’d promised to cook for the PIH compound that night, she hailed an ambulance as it drove by. Luke, Hannah, and I didn’t want to forgo the last stretch of our hike – especially since it was passing through town and by a waterfall. Because of umuganda, there were community events going on, one of which happened to be a soccer game. It appeared to be highly organized; the players had uniforms, they were actually using a real ball, and they all appeared to be around high-school age. Surrounding the field were parents and little kids, all actively engaged in watching the match take place. The three of us were intrigued. We thought, “Hey, this is cool! A soccer game. Let’s watch.” And so we approached the side of the street and stood on tip-toe to see over the crowd and get a better look.

Suddenly we hear “Abazungu! Abazungu! Abazungu!” and the entire crowd around the soccer field (let me remind you this soccer field appears to be regulation size, and the crowd really does encircle the field) starts to stir. Screams and shouts erupted as everyone between the ages of 2 and 14 started moving toward us. Since there were significant people right beside us, not much happened at first, but as we looked out over the field to the kids on the opposite end, we saw them heading at a full-on run toward us. The weight of the crowd shifted second by second, and with one look at each other, we decided that for the sake of our safety, we had to start moving. Apparently watching a soccer game was not going to happen.

We moved back onto the street. Because kids were jumping around in front of us, we could only walk slowly. I felt both my hands get picked up and examined. Some kids were intrigued by my fingernails, probably since most people here work with their hands, and can’t maintain the fingernails endemic to an easy lifestyle. I was wearing a tank top, and I felt small hands run down by back above my shirt. The fact that I was super gross and sweaty from a day of umuganda work and a 4-hour hike didn’t seem to bother them. I felt some of the taller kids try to get my hair clip out of my hair. Kids were screaming and jumping around and grabbing at each one of us. I practically clung to Hannah, but Luke got stuck and ended up quite far behind us in the sea of screaming children.

We walked through town as the chaos ensued around us. The experience was literally overwhelming, and there was a part of me that was quite scared. Even though I was entirely aware of the kids’ motivations and objectives, the crowd was out of control.

Suddenly, in an instant, the kids scattered and the shouting stopped. It was like the light had just come on in a kitchen full of cockroaches. I looked up to see a police officer chasing one of the slower kids with a whip. Although none of us agreed with his methods, we all three couldn’t help but thank him. We walked out of town collecting the last threads of ourselves, heaving huge sighs and trying to calm the thumping in our chests.

Later Luke mentioned how he’d seen footage of Bill Clinton walking through town with a similar crowd, and had attributed it to the fact that Bill Clinton is who he is. He figured that even here in the back-country of Rwanda, people would know who he was. Now, he’s not so sure. Perhaps being umuzungu is enough to qualify you as a celebrity.