A funeral

Today was Kiwi's funeral.

He's a direct cousin of Serge. Their dad's were brothers. He grew up in Congo, fled, got himself through school, left the camp to settle in Rwanda, became a nurse, was married and had three children.

On Monday night, someone found him unconscience on the road. His motorbike was in one direction and he was laying facedown in another direction. This was in the mountains. It took about 2 hours for the ambulance to get there.

We awoke Tuesday morning to hear that they had transfered him to Kigali during the night - a 2 hour drive from his home village.

He never regained conscienceness ... he had internal bleeding and who knows what other complications.

His name was Kiwi because his skin was darker than most - after the Kiwi shoe polish!

His parents still live in the refugee camp. This is their second son to die.

His older brother is married but can't keep a job. He's too generous with people and his bosses don't like that.

The youngest son has just graduated from high school and is back in the refugee camp wondering what is next for his life. We trust university...

Kiwi was the only one in the family with a job and contributing to the rest of the families' life.

I just talked to Serge. They had travelled the 2 hours back to Musanze for the burial this morning. They are back at the house.
The week of mouring begins. Serge isn't sure if he'll be back tonight or not as he wants to make sure that all that can be done is done for the dear widow and their children.

Now what? As many of us are wondering ... burdened... what will become of this family?