Rwanda mon pays, nous sommes ensembles. Rwanda mon paradis.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard music so beautiful.


Sitting in the living room this morning, Jewel is trumped immediately by a Spanish guitar and a voice that holds such wisdom, and such a painful love. I cannot stop listening. I am mesmerized. The world slows, and comes to a halt, to listen to a man’s love song about his country.

My landlord Pascal is an artist. I knew he was a painter, but I never knew this was under the surface. I am sitting outside on our porch - half in sun, half in shade - feeling the wind ripple lazily through the trees, background noises of nearby work being done, and his songs continue. He is singing to the entire neighborhood with his amp. I am willing to bet my life that this is the favorite time of day for a lot of people, when Pascal plays. It has immediately become mine.

There is so much to learn. So much that I am missing. So much that I want to discover. There is also a completeness in not knowing. Like this is how it is supposed to be. I am supposed to sit here and listen to Pascal play his guitar and not know. This is not a world that is mine to understand. The love he shares in his songs are his, and it is enough for me to be apart of that. More than enough.

The thunder is going to start, and the songs will end. Pascal will go inside, and so will I. We will have our separate lives and do our different tasks. But when he plays again, I will listen. And I will be thankful to be able to share these moments with him. I will be thankful to have these moments in life. Because they change you.