by Kevin Tordoff
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” On the surface, this common playground adage makes sense, but any victim of name-calling or bullying knows how words can cause pain long after they’re spoken. No one chooses to have a negative label attached to them, a moniker that identifies them as an outcast.
I was reminded of the power of names spoken over us on a recent trip to Gihindamuyaga, Rwanda, a community several hours south of the capital city of Kigali. Traversing the country provided unending views of the undulating hills Rwanda is known for, showcasing the prudent use of land for agricultural purposes. I had long heard from colleagues how much of a jewel this country is, and my visit did not disappoint. The hard-fought progress Rwanda has made since the horrific genocide of the mid-1990s is visible in many ways.