The Island

The Island in Lake Rweru

We went there to view a performance by a volunteer theater troupe about healthy life choices and disease prevention. It turned out that we were as much part of the entertainment as the performers, because we are “Muzungu” (white people).

Lake Rweru is a broad, shallow body of water that seperates Rwanda and Burundi. It lies at the end of two-hour ride down a rutted dirt road, amid a plain planted with corn and bananas. Somewhere in the lake is a island that does not appear on any of the maps we could find. It is home to a village of about 600 people, most of whom can neither read nor write, nor as we were told, had ever seen a white person.

We think we were told the truth, because when one of the mothers pointed us out to her daughter and said “Muzungu”, one of our co-workers asked her, “How do you know they are Muzungu? Have you ever seen Muzungu before?” She looked puzzled, and said, “No”. Others who were born and raised in the village confirmed that we were the first anyone had seen.

Many of the children ran away from us and were afraid to shake our hands at first. But after the show, they were less afraid and crowded around us for a good look.

As we headed back to the leaky wooden boat that would ferry us and the theater troupe across the water, we thought of the pregnant women who deliver their babies at home, We were surprised to learn of their belief that it is both dangerous and bad luck for a woman in labor to cross the lake, and so they sometimes die for lack of maternity care.

When we saw that they had no motorized craft in which to cross, but instead relied on dugout canoes, paddled by hand, we realized the wisdom of their belief. Maybe it would be better for a woman to take her chances at home, we thought. But then, what do we know? After all: we're just Muzungu.