Ellyn’s Story
When I am in Rwanda, I think of my mother all the time.
She died six months before my first visit to Rwanda, a trip I had been dreaming of since I was a young hairdresser in the 80s, listening to a client tell of their life-changing trip. It felt impossible then to imagine myself ever being able to go, but in mid-2021 we were there: myself, my husband, my two sons, and some friends.
I had severely injured my ankle a few months prior and though it was healed, I became the prime responsibility of our guide, Emmanuel, as the trek can be difficult. We connected immediately; Emmanuel was engaging, with a magnetic personality and a gift for storytelling. We talked about everything – the gorillas, his family, his community – but I stopped short when he told me:
“I have been collecting girls.”
I said, “...Pardon me?”
Emmanuel’s “girls” were teen mothers who had been ostracized from town and their families, a couple dozen in his care. Using his wages as a gorilla guide, Emmanuel was supporting them alongside his own family and children. He’d set up a small NGO to feed, clothe, and provide sewing lessons, all while meeting with the girls’ families to reintegrate them back into their homes. And, of course, continuing to guide tourists to the gorillas. I asked him if he ever slept; he asked me if I was interested in meeting them. I said yes.
While my son worked on conservation research, I fell deep into Emmanuel’s community: his wife and their children, and of course the girls he was supporting. Despite how much Emmanuel’s program was helping the girls, finances were tight and Emmanuel wasn’t sure how much longer the program could stay open for. Sitting at the center, surrounded by the girls and their babies, I realized this is how I could honor my mother and her memory, by helping these girls in a way that she was never helped.
Leaving at the end of the summer felt like I was being ripped away from where I was meant to be. I was determined to not let this program be shut down. Emmanuel didn’t believe me and I understand why; it’s a lot easier to make promises when you’re there on the ground, surrounded by immediate and direct ways to help. Back home, communication dwindles and your own life takes over, but I didn’t want to let Emmanuel down. I promised myself that I would help him and together, we would work to make the center self-sustaining.
Emmanuel and I talk a lot about divine intervention (or however you’d like to call it). We truly feel fate put us on that mountain together that day. Out of all the guides we could have had, out of all the families he could have trekked with, out of all the experiences and all the days – our connection kickstarted something greater than either of us could have imagined.
When I met these girls, I saw my mother’s story in them.
My mother was never forthcoming about her childhood, but I knew she had struggled considerably. After her death, I learned more about the treatment she endured growing up cycling between foster homes and her biological mother’s home. Discarded and unwanted most of her life, she had married my father early and raised three kids despite incredible hardship and zero support.
At the hotel, I remember feeling quiet and thinking a lot. Grief is a really personal journey, and it rises up unpredictably. I had been having a hard time reconciling my grief for someone who meant so much to me but struggled alone so terribly, and how to give her life significance beyond that suffering.
Tourists only stay in Rwanda for a few days – to see the gorillas, the golden monkeys, and then head out. Aside from our son, who was staying for the summer for a science internship, we were set to leave the next day. I told my husband I would be staying too. It might have appeared impulsive, but it was anything but; after months of grief clouding over everything in my life, this decision was a moment of welcomed clarity.
