It wobbled its way forward as I clung to the rubbery unsteadiness of its traitorous handlebars; the seat was too high, my feet dangled on each side, I was hunched over like the spirit of a broken tree with my eyes locked on the ground. I felt like a tower of blocks about to be pushed over.
I knew If I dare move forward I would tumble, fall, summersault, flip flop, stumble, plummet, plunge face first in to the floor beneath me. My teeth would shatter, my skin would rip, my blood would pour and I would have no one and nothing to blame but my assuming arrogance.
And then he appeared.
He was slight and fast and moved like a lizard with a speed and a grace that was almost like a dance. “Wait…” he yelled. He instructed me to step down as he adjusted the seat. Finally I could lift my head up to the sky.
“Now, get on, we will go…”
I’m confused. “We?” I reply.
“Yes, yes, On! Get on! We go”.
I had no choice in the matter. WE were going to ride.
With my heart beating fast, prepared for the worst, I climbed on and with a push…we were off!
Behind me a man, no bigger than a teenage boy, no fatter than a broomstick or a slender green string bean, ran. And held me.
“Look far! Look at the mountains, look for the distance” he yelled.
I did as I was told and looked beyond. I looked to the mountains, to the hills. I saw the forests of Rwanda spread out in front of me as I sped along the bike path almost ready to take off. I clung to the antlers of this flying contraption. I was zig zaging and wobbling, shaking, trembling, shuddering…flying, soaring, rising! Suddenly I began to steady myself and courage took hold. I began to peddle as fast as I could and my muscles suddenly evoked the memory of my very first bike ride when I was a little girl. And then he let go…and I was a bird!
It felt like when I was 10 years old and I had just pulled off my very first cartwheel. Like when I tasted my first bit of ice cream and vowed never to eat anything else ever again in my whole life, like when my mother said to me ‘One day, you’ll be an artist’, and I believed her and I did it! It felt like my sister was just born, like the first sip of coffee in the morning, like seeing the sunset from my home in Jerusalem. It felt THAT good.
I suddenly understood why they say that God sleeps in Rwanda. I got to see her that day; she was a thin string bean of a man who pushed me until I could do it on my own.
