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ROKU AppA Rainy Day in Rwanda: Lessons From a Polaroid
Written by Karen Meeker
Revisiting the wonders of photography and travel helps me to remember another wonder that allows me to see myself—the Holy Bible.
When poet Robert Burns penned his famous line, “O would some Power the gift to give us to see ourselves as others see us!” (“To a Louse,” standard English translation), I’m confident that he didn’t have a Polaroid camera in mind.
But as I read a March 2012 Smithsonian article about Dr. Edwin Land (cofounder of Polaroid, a successful 1940s optical company) and the development of what author Owen Edwards titled the “One-Step Wonder,” I was reminded of this entertaining poem.
According to Edwards, when Land’s young daughter asked why she couldn’t see the vacation photos her father was taking “right now,” it sparked him and his engineers to begin producing cameras that used peel-and-develop film—first in black and white, and then in color.
Wonders revisited
We have a few Polaroid pictures in our family albums, and I remember how delighted our children were as they watched a picture magically appear on a blank film. Gradually, as with most things new, the novelty wore off, and we reverted back to standard photography. I had no inkling that I would revisit this scene, only this time in far-away Africa.
In the spring of 2004 several of us had the unique opportunity to accompany our son Joel to Kenya and Rwanda during the time the Church of God observes the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread. Not only did we have the chance to see exotic countries we had heard and read about, we were able to experience Sabbath and Holy Day meetings with brethren in different cultures.
Rain delay
On a particular Sabbath day we packed in a van along with several local members to make a two-hour trip from Kigali, the capital of Rwanda, to Giti, a small village off the beaten path. Church services would be held in a tin-roofed, mud-brick building.
It had been raining and the roads were slick with mud, creating a slalom course around potholes and puddles. After a rather exciting ride for the Westerners who were used to pavement and superhighways, we safely arrived at the hall where services began in short order.
We were vaguely aware that it had begun to rain, but then the sounds of a downpour bouncing off the tin roof drowned out the minister’s voice. Since there was no electricity and no microphone, the only thing to do was to suspend services until the rain let up.
A Polaroid moment
Our son had brought a Polaroid camera along with a good supply of film. So in the interim he began to take pictures of individual members, handing each a small blank square. He showed them how to hold it by a corner just so and said, “Ne touchez pas”—“don’t touch”—as he pointed to the pale gray film.
Soon the room was filled with people staring quizzically at the “thing” they were holding. Then images seemed to swim up from nowhere and became bright, recognizable pictures of themselves. It was astonishing!
As we watched, friends and family members began examining each other’s pictures—noticing, comparing and laughing with delight as my family had years before. It was the first time many of them had seen pictures of themselves—especially ones that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
Under development
I’ve thought back on that scene from time to time—the puzzlement, the wonderment, the examination and discovery, and ultimately the joy of the brethren in that room. Is there a lesson for me from this snapshot in time? I think so—at least a pause for reflection.
For me, the Bible has been my Polaroid. Oh, it’s not the “miracle” of physics, optics and electronics described in Edwards’ article. Its film is not a layered sandwich of chemicals that insiders called “the goo.”
No. The Bible is the real miracle—the living, God-inspired book that is transforming me with the catalyst of His Spirit from a blank square of humanity to a fully developed picture of a Christian. I can only hope that God gets even more joy out of watching the process than I did on that rainy day in Giti, Rwanda.
Karen Meeker counts her visit to Africa as one of her most enriching experiences.
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