The Joys of Being Lost

“I’ll be right here when you come back down,” I assured my friends, watching as they continued up the mountain, trailing behind our unofficial tour guide—a boy no older than 10. “The top is just a little further,” he urged them.

“I will take you to Kibuye,” were his first words when we met along the trail—not so much an offer as a declaration. His floppy rubber sandals and skinny frame fit the nonchalant air of confidence he exuded. Our thick hiking boots and Nalgene water bottles felt like neon signs of our musanze-ness as we followed a group of mostly barefoot children up the slope.

Two of the boys stayed back. They frantically gestured towards the path where my friends’ voices were now fading. “Go on. I’m staying here,” I said, mirroring their gestures. They looked at each other then sat several feet away, keeping their eyes pinned on me. I turned away to process my surroundings: a vastness my eyes could barely comprehend–endless layers of lush green hills lined with dirt fields and banana trees, all fading into perfectly sculpted bluish-grey outlines in the distance. As minutes turned into hours, I shifted my focus to a little boy in the distance, whipping goats while pulling his oversized shirt back on his shoulder with his free hand. I watched as he hopped easily up the rocks, his tiny bare feet seeming to mock the arduous battle I had faced earlier.

“I am somewhere deep in the mountains of Rwanda with no phone, no idea where my friends are, and no one in sight who speaks French or English,” I thought.

I glanced over at the two boys still sitting a few feet away, now playing a game of cards in the grass. As if on cue, the sky suddenly let out a monstrous boom, prompting them to duck to the ground. For the first time in hours, one of them approached me, pointing towards the sky and down the hill. “I can’t leave this spot or my friends won’t find me.” But he was insistent.

As it began to drizzle, I followed them down the slippery mud path—both running up to grab my elbows each time I stumbled. We reached a mud hut. I crouched under the open doorway to discover a tiny room with several people gathered along two narrow wooden benches, all seeking shelter from the impending storm. The boys motioned for me to sit. I smiled at the strangers around me in a weak attempt to express my thanks. Unable to do much else, I stared out the door, watching each raindrop make its mark in the dirt as I soaked in the unexpected warmth of the small, crowded room.