Driving back to Kigali from Goma, I talked with our Rwandan driver, Deo. Apparently we were driving through his home region. I asked him if any of his family still lived in the area, since he now lives in Kigali. He said no, going on to say his father and all six of his siblings were murdered during the genocide. After a moment of silence, I asked him how he had survived. He replied, "By the grace of God."
The people who came to kill his family also attacked him, taking a swipe at his head. "This one, he is dead," they said, leaving him to die with the rest of his family. I didn't get the details of how he survived since then, but for 4 years the government and militia fought each other back and forth through his home region. Deo didn't feel safe until 1998, four years after the genocide, when the gov't troops finally pushed the militias back into Congo.
Deo now has a wife and three kids: two girls ages 6 and 3, and a 2 year old boy. He keeps his hair cut very short, as a large scar atop his head keeps hair from growing. He's a careful driver, vary gracious and a wonderful person. I feel blessed to have met him and heard a small portion of his story.
I always thought the phrase "There but for the grace of God go I" still retained some sense of personal choice, some blessing bestowed on us that we were given by God. Deo's story reminds me that I could have been born anywhere, that his story could be my story, that all of those living can say, "By the grace of God, here I am."
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