Catch and Release

"Tok, tok, tok."  I look up from my book toward the window and see a fluttering behind the curtain.  "Inyoni!" Shouts Valence, a boy who works in my directors house.  For the weekend I was invited by my school director Froudouard to stay with him and his wife Louise in their house close to Kibuye.  My village, Rugabano, is very quiet right now - especially because I live in a house on a hilltop right above school grounds and school doesn't start until February 1st.  The boarding school will have about 600 students and teachers, so very soon I can expect constant action in my little village.  "Reba!  Inyoni m'inzu!"  He shouts again.  I walk to the window and see he has used a curtain to trap a tiny bird against the glass.  I tell him that I will take it out and move him to the side before he hurts the frightened creature.  I gently cup it into my hands and walk the little guy to the open door.  I can feel its tiny heartbeat humming against my palm.  When I reach the door I peek into the space between my thumbs.  Its as small as a finch, maybe a touch bigger, and has small wide black eyes and a bright orange beak.  The feathers are soft and change in color from deep red on its head to dark purple toward its tail.  "Beautiful.."  I say into my hands.  "Beautiful." Valance repeats, watching me hold the little bird.  "O.K. You're free." I say as I open my hands and point it toward the sky.  It blinks once in the bright sun and takes off into the open air.  I watch the little jet of color soar over a field, sweep up a hill and land in a tree across the road.  Below, three children follow each other in a line carrying bundles of wood on their heads.  The oldest has a large bundle, the middle slightly smaller and the youngest grips the smallest amount with one hand and swings the other playfully at his side.  Behind them a moto is approaching and gives a warning honk as it passes.  On the moto a man and a woman hunch down against the wind.  The woman is older and wearing a traditional colorful wax print skirt and shirt.  She has a bag of vegetables in one hand and holds a bright piece of cloth around her shoulders that flaps behind her like a cape.  They zip past a woman with a bucket of water on her head and baby tied to her back.  She is talking animatedly to a barefoot man with a hoe slung across his shoulder.  A group of giggling children dart across the road.  The One That Leads carries what seems to be a dirty and frayed ball of string, but what I know by now is a homemade soccer ball.  The group scatters and disappears behind a hill.  The woman in the road adjusts her baby on her back, shakes the man's hand goodbye and continues on, balancing her bucket expertly.  The drone of the moto fades in the distance and the three children in a row continue their journey-one behind the other behind the other.  I close my eyes and let the warm sun sink into my skin and hear a cacophony of whistles from the trees.  I wonder if one of those chirps comes from the bright tiny bird whose heart once hummed in my hands.