I woke up this morning thinking I had a neighbor. Late the night before, there had been a lot of commotion outside the guest house, and I was sure someone would be moving into the room next door. This guest house that I am in is set up almost like a duplex — two separate rooms with exterior doors that share a wall. To my surprise, the other side is still empty of neighbors; it is just me in this quiet little abode for now. There is something very peaceful about it being only the three of us guests on campus right now. Other guests will start to arrive on the 14th, and we will be glad for their arrival. For now though, we will enjoy the time we have in this quieter season.
The morning began as it has most days here: breakfast in the guest dining room and then worship. John and his team continue to serve meals that feel like a form of hospitality all their own. In worship today, Londyn shared the message. She spoke with such clarity and courage; it was a joy to see her do it so well.
Breakfast, Worship, and the Sewing Program
After worship, I went to meet Josiane. Together we headed to meet with the teen mothers in the sewing program. We were originally supposed to gather in their usual room, but because we were using a projector, we moved to the computer lab in the secondary school instead. When I walked in, they were already there — seated, waiting patiently.
The last time I was here, I spoke with single mothers, many of them in their twenties. Today’s group was different. These were young women who are still, in many ways, children themselves. And yet, despite what has happened to them, they are choosing to show up, to learn, and to do better for themselves and their children. The conversation was hard and holy. At one point we had to pause because one of the girls in the back began to cry. I had not come in intending to make anyone cry, but when you spend three hours talking about trauma and trauma informed parenting, it is almost inevitable that big emotions will surface.
Awareness is the first step — you cannot change what you cannot see.
After leaving the sewing program, there was a brief gap before lunch. One of the gifts of this trip is staying in a guest house that sits right in the center of campus. It takes about ninety seconds to walk from my room to the guest dining room. Lunch today was a bit different. The team is still working to resolve the issue with the supplies in customs. The headmistress wanted me to speak directly with the Minister of Education to provide some clarity.
After a few attempts, we were able to connect with her. I explained the situation briefly; she hadn’t been aware and began asking follow up questions about the details, which I turned back over to the headmistress. I still don’t know whether we will be able to recover the items from customs. If we cannot, I will bring them home with me and we will work to get RCCS what they need in a different way. It is not the outcome we hoped for, but the story is not finished yet.
From Quiet Tears to Sideline Cheers
After lunch, I returned to my room for a short rest before afternoon chapel — a Friday tradition here that includes all the students and teachers. The service was student led and wonderful. I had forgotten, however, just how loud worship can be in this setting. Some of that is the sound system; some of it is the sheer joy and volume of hundreds of students singing. It takes a little time to adjust, but once you do, the energy is contagious.
Not the Same Friday Night Football
Different groups of students led worship, and a secondary student brought the message. Francois sat with me for part of the service, and then Devotha joined me. She pointed out different students in the crowd — those who are sponsored, and one very sweet elementary aged girl with developmental disabilities. When she first came to RCCS, she could not walk and crawled everywhere. Now she walks, and she gets around quickly. She is nonverbal but incredibly expressive. I thought, at first, that she really liked me — light skin does draw attention here — but it quickly became clear that what she really liked was my phone. Devotha snapped an adorable picture of the two of us before the girl went on her way, moving confidently holding the hand of a secondary student.
Every Friday there is a football game or some other kind of sporting event. It is more than recreation; it is part of the rhythm of a community learning, worshiping, and playing together.
Later in the afternoon, it was time for the football game. I had not fully understood how much enjoyment was waiting for me there. Male teachers and staff from RCCS played against male teachers and staff from a neighboring private school. The last time they played, the outcome had not gone well for RCCS, according to Devotha. Tonight, the atmosphere was electric — an announcer calling the plays, music pumping through speakers, students lining the sidelines to cheer.
Josiane and I sat at the edge of the field, watching the game unfold. It was just about as perfect a Friday evening as you can imagine. Every goal brought shouts and applause. Every near miss drew groans and laughter. Josiane told me that every Friday there is a football match or some other sporting event. It is part of the rhythm of life here — work and worship, yes, but also play.
As the sun began to set and the game wrapped up, I found myself thinking once again how remarkable this place is. A campus where children once unable to walk now race across courtyards, where teen mothers gather to learn how to rewrite their stories, where teachers and staff pray together in the morning and play football together at the end of the week. It is a community shaped by both structure and joy.
Tonight, I’ll sleep in that same quiet guest house, grateful that the room next door is still empty and that the day was so full.