Dusk in Kibuye
Loss and Life Boats
Eve sat at the table next to mine, only 3 to 5 feet separating us. The white, circular plastic tables and matching chairs could have been anywhere in the world, just as Eve and I could have been. She, Dutch by nationality. Me, American. Both of us, alone, in Kibuye, Rwanda. Each pulled to this place for our own reasons. The beauty of Lake Kivu stretched before us at dusk. A beer on each of our tables. French fries, on mine. I think. I can’t recall that detail, but I do remember the look in Eve’s eyes. They were asking a question long before her lips moved and her light, but shaky voice came out:
“Would you sit with me and chat?”
I hear her voice now and long to say yes and have her pull up a chair at my kitchen table in Albuquerque. You may think it odd that a stranger would ask me to join their table. It does feel strange to imagine it now amidst a pandemic, where 6 and 10 feet apart will save lives and masks cover our faces, hiding our true emotions. But, at that time, two years before COVID, and with both of us exploring a new place, it wasn’t odd at all. This interaction in a shared spaces, the outdoor patio of a guest house, felt normal.
I am at this place on a self-proclaimed “Writing Retreat” isolating myself in this beautiful setting as I work on The Leeches, the first book in a three novel narrative…
