Keza, Keza, Keza

Avery, my birth name, was dropped a long time ago. I accepted that it gets lost in translation with the language barrier. L’s and R’s are reversed here, at best I get Everly. When I received my Rwandan name, Keza, I went with it, and it works great.

I live in a decent sized area, I have a market that is open 7 days a week, although Wednesday and Saturday are ‘market days’ when it is the busiest, full of vendors, veggies, and clothing. There are numerous boutiques in town and always someone in the street.

While there are some days when I think that I am invisible behind my sunglasses, deliberately hiding behind them, it is a great feeling to know that I am not invisible at all and to be known in my community. I walk down the street and people scream out to greet me. They know my name and call me by it, they treat me like I belong here and have always been here. Some people still blatantly stare at me, touch me because they want to know what my skin feels like, and pull on my hair every once and a while to see what happens. However, there is comfort in people saying hello to me by name, asking me where I have been if they have not seen me in a few days.

Yesterday my host mother called me and asked me to come over. I assumed she needed something, although I did not know what she could possible want. Upon my arrival next door I asked her if everything was all right. So told me everything was fine, she just wanted to greet me, she missed me and wanted to say hello. The children woke up from their nap and we played, we sang and was counted to 100. It is nice to feel there is a general acceptance and understanding that I live here, that I am a neighbor, a community member, a friend, and a family member.