I am tired, but in the best way possible.
This morning we left the villa around 9:00 a.m. to head back to Africa Transformation Network (ATN) for a cultural experience in the morning and a parent session in the afternoon. The streets were quieter than usual because of Umuganda — the monthly community cleaning day when neighbors come together to care for their communities. The city felt hushed, like it was taking a deep, collective breath. When we arrived at ATN, the campus was quiet too. It was Saturday morning, after all.
We met in the upstairs room for a brief orientation to the cultural experience. ATN offers this not only to visitors from other countries, but also to Rwandans who have grown up in the city and never seen what life looks like in the countryside. It is a ministry of storytelling and embodiment — a way of honoring history by letting people step into it, even if only for a morning.
After hearing some background and expectations, we headed down to the farm.
Our first stop was at the gate, where Aloys showed us the traditional way of securing it with tree branches. The students took turns helping, weaving the branches into place. They were troopers — no hesitation, no shrinking back, just a willingness to step into whatever came next.
From there, we moved into the small house. Students lined the walls of the main room, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Small bamboo branches lined the ceiling, helping cool the space, and the walls were painted in a colorful layers of brown, white, and black. It felt both simple and intentional, like a room that has held stories for a long time.
Before we left the house, we all donned traditional clothing. Esther, who is very much the heart of the cultural experience, helped the students get dressed — tying fabric, adjusting folds, making sure everything sat just right. There was laughter and a sense of playfulness in that room as students saw one another in traditional garb, but there was also a reverence for what those garments represent.
Then it was time for the cows.
Every student, our lead student minister Darrell, and resident Ang, milked the cow. One by one, they stepped forward, some more confident than others, but all willing to try. I was so proud of them for jumping into the activity without complaint. It is one thing to hear about rural life in Rwanda. It is another to feel the cow’s utter under your hand, to smell the hay, to concentrate on a task you’ve never done before while everyone else watches and cheers you on.
We divided into two groups after that. Our team headed to plant coffee trees. The students dug into the soil, placed young plants into the ground, and covered them carefully. Again, they did so well. These are not small tasks in a hot morning, but they stepped into each one with steady commitment.
Next came harvesting coffee cherries and processing them. We picked the ripe cherries, then learned how to separate the beans and prepare them for roasting. You could see understanding settle in as students realized how many steps stand between a tree and the coffee in their cups back home.
Around the building, we gathered to peel bananas for banana juice. Some students learned to make butter. Others ground flour and sorghum. It was a full sensory experience — the feel of tools in their hands, the smell of fruit and grain, the sight of simple ingredients turning into something nourishing.
After all the activities, we sat down to enjoy a traditional Rwandan meal cooked over a hot fire. Plates filled quickly, and conversation rose and fell around the table. The food itself tasted like care. When we finished, we wrapped up the cultural experience and headed back to the main part of campus.
“It is one thing to hear about rural life in Rwanda. It is another to feel the cow’s side under your hand, taste the fire-cooked meal, and realize how many steps stand between a tree and the coffee in your cup.”— Dr. Laurie Bailey, field notes
Chapel in the Upper Room
The second half of the day was a parent meeting for Jill and me. It was scheduled to begin at 2:00 p.m., but as is often the case, we didn’t start until about 2:30. At 2:00, only a handful of parents had arrived, and I found myself wondering how many would actually come. The session was not mandatory, and the topic — trauma-informed care and parenting — can feel vulnerable.
By 2:30, about forty parents filled the room. We began with introductions and some expectation-setting. By 2:45, there were seventy-five or more parents in the room, sitting shoulder to shoulder, willing to give a Saturday afternoon to this conversation.
I had adapted the slides I had used with teachers to make them more directly relevant to parents, but I still wasn’t sure how it would land. I am so grateful Jill was attuned to the Spirit and the room. She stepped in with clarifications, asked questions of the group, and offered examples at just the right times. She is a true light, and having her beside me made the session feel more like a shared offering than a solo presentation.
I was also deeply thankful for Mapendo’s interpretation. Some parents clearly understood English; others relied fully on the Kinyarwanda translation. Together, we moved through concepts of safety and felt safety, regulation, connection, and practical ways to support children who carry hard stories in their bodies. The parents asked thoughtful, honest questions. They leaned forward. They nodded. They laughed at examples that felt a little too relatable.
I frequently used myself as an example to make it clear that these struggles are not unique to one culture or nation. Parenting is complex and humbling everywhere. The parents were gracious, welcoming me into that space and thanking us for the session when we finished. It felt like sacred ground — a room full of caregivers choosing to lean into hard but hopeful work.
Parenting is complex and humbling everywhere, and sitting in a room full of caregivers choosing to lean into hard but hopeful work felt like standing on sacred ground
After the parent meeting, I walked out to the playground. From all accounts, and from the stories I heard, the teachers had made a significant difference with the children and youth the previous day. This day had been more active, more challenging, and just as wonderful. You could hear it in the way the team talked about their groups, the games, the conversations.
On the ride back to the villa, the back of the van buzzed with stories of the day — favorite moments from the cultural experience, interactions with children, reflections on the parent session, and laughter over the inevitable missteps and surprises that come with cross-cultural ministry.
Tonight we are having dinner at the villa. As I write, I can hear students forming the line in the hallway, their voices blending with the clink of dishes from the kitchen. Soon we will debrief, talk through plans for tomorrow, worship together, and then finally retreat to our rooms for rest.
Today was a full day. Today was a good day.