In college, I spent summers doing research in Rwanda. On my first Sunday in the country, I went to church.
I chose a branch of the faith I was raised in, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in the capital, Kigali. It was a two-story house perched on one of Rwanda’s thousand hills. Inside, I saw familiar green hymnals, sent from the church’s headquarters in Salt Lake City. I sat down in a familiar chair, also shipped from Utah. Then I looked up.
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