I Met a Young Boy

I met a young boy, probably age ten or twelve; people here tend to look much younger than they are. I was on my way into the compound at the Kinyinya Branch to prepare to teach a workshop on how to make jam. . .more on that in a minute.

As I got out of our car, as usual, a swarm of smiling children greeted us. They are wearing their yellow school shirts with blue shorts or skirts. They're starting to know us because we come every Thursday to see what's going on with the Kinyinya self-reliance workshops or to meet with the Branch President on a variety of matters.

But this youngster was different from the other curious children watching us. (We've learned from experience that if we don't lock the car, they will climb right in to see what it's like).

This boy had no yellow shirt. The tee-shirt he wore was in tatters. "Please, I am hungry." He made a gesture that we have come to know well. He rubbed his stomach in a circular motion.

I truly had no money with me. "I have no money with me," I said. We had bought three loaves of sliced bread to use for the workshop students to sample the jam so I added, "I can give you a piece of bread." I opened the wrapper and gave him a slice.

He took it with a confused look on his face. "Thank you, " he said. But then he tried again, "Please, I don't go to school."

"I'm sorry." And I truly am. I suspect that I had already experienced his full repertoire of English and he thought he was asking for money and got bread instead. Here and there we've seen children begging under the watchful eye of a well-dressed adult.

This boy looked healthy, (we've seen children with the distended stomachs of Kwashiorkor, (insufficient protein). It also was significant that he approached us immediately, as though he had been waiting for us.

But there's no question that that child and so many others are in genuine need. It's a constant subject of companionship discussions, How can we do the MOST good. It's a fine line. It would be easiest to pass out cash and say, "Go buy food." In some emergencies, that's necessary. But we need to be SO careful not to present ourselves as Mr. and Mrs. Santa Clause. When we give to a beggar, we potentially train him or her to be beggars, just as a gambler is made worse by every payout. It takes prayer and fasting for wisdom and to keep from feeling overwhelmed by all the need.

We went inside to teach our workshop. I wanted to teach these people to make jam because I like to make jam. Jam is very expensive here, fruit is very inexpensive. It doesn't require a lot of complex equipment, and many are looking for a skill or product that they can sell to improve their finances.

"Congratulations, Mom," our son Brian joked. "You singlehandedly introduced Type 2 diabetes to Rwanda."

Well, anyway, We started the charcoal fire in the clay receptacle of the "Burner " on the homemade stove. I showed them the ingredients for the jam. I had to repeat the word jam many times. The translator, (A handsome young returned missionary named "Welcome" who has an interesting story of his own) explained what it was and what jam is used for. He only knew because I had explained it all to him a few minutes before.

They laughed when I told them how much I had paid. It turns out that we pay double the going rate and we have already changed to less expensive fruit stands than where we started out. A large pineapple costs them about fifty cents. Passion fruit is fifty cents a pound and lemons cost about 15 cents apiece...where they shop.

They were very curious about the white sugar. They thought it was salt. They asked if they could use brown sugar instead. . .They didn't know where someone might buy white sugar. I gave them a little white sugar in their hands to taste. Many made a face like it was unpleasant.

I showed them the containers I had bought at the department store that could potentially be used to market the jam.

I had bought a pressure cooker to use for the jam because it was heavy enough to stand up to the coal fire and deep enough that it could handle a good-sized batch. Since we intend to give it to the group to share around, I thought the pressure cooker's versatility might come in handy for some other ideas I have for them.

As we began the stirring, the group that is learning hair styling and another that is learning soap making and a dozen children swelled our workshop to 60 people.

A cheer rose up when I told them we had brought bread for them to try the jam on.

One of the sisters asked me if it would be a good food to "take every day." (as she worded it.)

One woman asked if we (Americans) eat jam often. I couldn't bring myself to admit that I bottle it in quart jars for practical reasons each fall. Nor did I want to admit, "only about once a day," so I said, "Too often. That's why Americans are fat." They gratified me by laughing uproariously. Then one kind lady asked sincerely, "Why didn't you get big?"

Another thing I love here is that the woman are not unhappy about their body shape, whatever it may be. They generally dress nicely for whatever their shape happens to be. (That's a topic for another day)

The memory of Brian's comment shaded my response to the original question, "No, it's better to save jam for special occasions and not eat too much sugar. It's not good for your teeth at all. "

"That's what I was thinking, " she agreed.

We had a hard time keeping the fire hot enough to bring the mixture to a boil. Sometimes we pulled it away from the fire and Welcome fanned it up to red coals again and added a bit more homemade charcoal.

Once it boiled and began to thicken, it took another 25 minutes to get it to a soft-set stage.

That's Welcome in the tie. (Yes, he has a reason to be dressed in missionary attire) He is one of the very best translators because he speaks good English.

I usually chill a plate and drip some jam on it to see if it sets up to the consistency I want. There was no refridgeration available. But it seemed like it was close, so I explained that it needed to cool a little before we gave out the samples. They were SO excited to try it.

The ladies suggested that we put the pot in the tub of wash-water to cool it more quickly. That did speed up the process quite a bit.

Frankly, this pineapple, passion fruit, lemon jam is some of the very best jam I've ever had! (no I'm not going to publish the recipe and jeopardize somebody's future trade secrets!)

Elder Stephenson and Welcome cut the loaves in half. I spread about a half tablespoon on each half slice, and they handed them out.

Oh, they were so eager to receive it, holding out both their hands in a cup, (the customary gesture when offered something.)

I expected throes of ecstasy as they took their first bite.

Reviews were mixed. Some said "It is like honey."

Some liked it, but they're not used to very sweet things. A chocolate bar costs about $5, so sweets are definitely rich-people food. That's a good thing because only rich people can afford to pay $6 a pint for jam.

Who knew that something like jam is an acquired taste?

Most of the onlookers are not ready to start a jam business. I think they're eager to try, but some of their questions suggested that they don't know much about what a successful business will require.

But there were a few taking careful notes and asking good questions that suggested to me that they were thinking about packaging, marketing, shelf-life, etc.

If one family's circumstances improve from knowing how to make jam, then it's a success. I just need to remember to measure success as missionaries by the value of the 99th lamb.

One way or another, the people are generally fun and welcoming and we simply enjoy spending time with these sweet saints.

The clouds burst just as the last person received their bread and jam, so after a chorus of "Thank you and even some ladies blowing kisses, we drove the windy, steep, crowded streets home through a driving rain storm to our safe and well-stocked apartment.