I’m totally freaked out. I’m hoping blogging and telling the somewhat surreal story of tonight will calm my nerves and help me go to sleep. It had to happen sometime and tonight my utopian view of Rwanda came crashing down around me and has left me shaken not only with insecurity but the feeling of loss concerning my enchantment with everything Rwanda.
I’m staying in Kigali to meet with some people about Kurera to ask for some advice concerning accounting, taxes, and grant-writing. My field director and I decided we would meet for a curry at an Indian restaurant she had told me about to go over a grant I had been working on. After a good meal, we were walking back towards St. Paul’s, the hostel where I am staying, on an uncharacteristically desolate street. For anyone who knows Kigali I was right in front of Ice and Spice.
Jessi had a small purse she was holding in her left hand and I was holding my computer, which I had brought to show her the new temporary website as well as swap pictures with her. We were walking towards a group of guys about my age and I didn’t think anything of it until all of a sudden one of them sprinted towards us and grabbed Jessi’s wallet. Before I even knew what was happening she was off, chasing after him screaming and trying to get help. I was paralyzed. I’ve never felt so helpless/stupid/insecure/foreign in my entire life. I mean honestly, there I am standing on a dark street, alone, holding a laptop, right next to a group of men who presumably knew the man who Jessi was chasing, without the slightest clue what to do with myself. So naturally I started to laugh because it seems to be the only reaction I am capable of in stressful situations.
As my laughing began to border on hysteria a crowd formed around me looking very inquisitive at this strange mzungu standing in the middle of the street (I guess I subconsciously thought that was safer) holding a laptop and seemingly having a nervous breakdown. Jessi was out of sight, so then I began to panic about what would happen if she actually did catch the guy, I also didn’t know if she had turned or run straight because it all happened so fast and on dark streets. After a couple minutes I hailed a moto and asked him to wait with me because a friend of the group of people who were standing staring at me had stolen my friends wallet and I didn’t know what to do. He understood about a third of what I said but it was enough to get him to wait with me.
All of a sudden I got really angry. I love Rwanda. I love that I feel so safe in Rwanda and I really hated how unsafe I felt in that moment. I hated that one person or group of people could instantly make me feel so insecure. So I turned to them and I said, quite crossly, “You are bad for Rwanda! I feel safe here and now I’m not safe and that’s bad! You’re bad.” The moto driver kind of chuckled at me and I guess thought I could handle myself (don’t know what gave him that idea) and told me he was going to look for my friend. I stared after him quite dumbfounded and then rather sheepishly turned around to the group of people I had just told off (not that they understood) and smiled. I never saw the moto driver again but Jessi pulled up a minute or so later on a white horse of sorts. A very nice man named Jean-Baptiste had come to her rescue.
Jean-Baptiste took us to the police station where the police officer didn’t bother with a report and instead we all just stood listening to different men in uniform exclaim, ‘O Sorry!’ after the story was told to them. Afterwards he dropped me off here at St. Paul’s and I think in my panic I might have just offended a nun who was trying to give me my change from when I paid earlier but I gave her the third degree in my terrible French before I opened the door even a crack.
Update: This whole episode happened last Sunday night but I’ve been sick so I haven’t been to school/internet to post. My trip to Kigali only got more dramatic on Monday. I went to the Ministry of Education to meet with Jessi again an then was off to meet with the accountant. I stepped on to the moto a little off balance and at the same time the moto driver leaned to the right, which was the side I was getting on from. Of course it’s highly possible that my losing my balance led to me leaning heavily on his shoulder and thus causing the lean but I like the version where we share responsibility. Either way, my leg and his exhaust pipe met and I have the gaping wound to show for it. So that’s it, by my next blog I’ll be back to my positive I love Rwanda self.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Don't Lose Your Keys in Africa
WOW! If I can offer one piece of advice for anyone traveling or living in Africa it would have to be DO NOT LOSE YOUR KEYS! I left my house 24 hours ago to post my last blog and have just now returned after the longest and most ridiculous process ever! It all started so innocently on what was turning out ot be a really great day. I was sitting at my school using the internet when Yves came home from teaching and invited me to a baby naming ceremony for one of his friends, who I knew, who had just become a father. Always up for an adventure I decided to join. First though, he, his two friends from university, and I all sat in his living room visiting. I remember looking down seeing my keys sitting right next to me and thinking to myself don’t forget those. Ah the voice of doom. Yves’ very nice friend, Claudine, had brought me sambusas and drinking yogurt from my favorite place so I sat happily munching while they chatted in Kinyarwanda. When it was time to leave I picked up my phone and laptop and we headed out the door. Not even two minutes walk from the house I realized I had left my keys but, not wanting to inconvenience anyone, I decided to just get them on my way back home.
The party turned out to be a pretty awkward mix of people staring at each other but most of all me, and discussing me in Kinyarwanda. Sometimes I want to scream, “Hello! I’ve been here four months I know how to say, “That white person speaks English and doesn’t know Kinyarwanda.” Anyway, frustrations aside, I did have to leave because I had also been invited to visit the school secretary with Mama and Papa Cyizere. They told me to be at their house at 4 and even though I do feel thoroughly at peace with African time they insisted that they were on a ‘mzungu program’ and I had to be on time. SO naturally they were not there at 4 so I decided to go back to the school to get my keys. My heart sank when I walked in the room and they were nowhere to be found. The housegirl claimed ignorance and Mama Cyizere came and said not to worry we would find them when we returned. So we went to the secretary, Agnes’, house who is married to the history teacher at my school. She’s one of my only Rwandan girlfriends and I love her. She’s not quiet and subdued like most Rwandan women I meet, she’s always giggling and joking with me. We drank a couple fantas and then it was time to return. Agnes held my hand the whole dark walk home because she was concerned I had mzungu eyes and would fall and hurt myself. Bless her.
We got back to the school/Yves’ house and of course the keys hadn’t magically appeared while we were gone. Mama and Papa started insisting I stay at their house but I hate not being in my own bed so I fought for a locksmith to come before I admitted defeat. I think they both wanted to kill me but being the wonderful people they are they called the “locksmith”. Imagine my surprise when my favorite alcoholic, octogenarian toilet repair man came stumbling down the path and then stood at attention to salute me before he lost his balance and crashed in to Papa Cyizere. He stank of Waragi(Ugandan Gin) but for some reason no one seemed to mind and thought he should change my lock in the dark regardless. He went to get his “tools” while we walked to my house. He showed up with two screwdrivers and a hammer and I knew we were really in for it. He proceeded to take off the door handle thaen bang on the lock like a crazy person with his hammer until it fell off. This was at 8, after his initial surprise that the door didn’t magically open after his bashing he fiddled around with a screwdriver doing the same thing again and again to the lock over the course of two hours! By the end of the ordeal we had an audience of over fifteen people. And by end, I mean by the time I conceded defeat, I never made it in the house. So a guard from my school had to come guard the house since the crashing had obviously alerted everyone in a five mile radius that I had lost my keys and security was compromised to say the least. I went back to Mama Cyziere’s thoroughly depressed by the whole situation. She seemed mildly offended that I didn’t want to take a bucket shower at her house at 11 pm but I was too exhausted and frustrated to explain. I crawled into bed fully clothed and of course I had to have been wearing my tight jeans that I NEVER wear on this particular day.
I woke up this morning to knocking on the bedroom door that Mama insisted I lock. She told me that the drunk repair man had sobered up and fixed my door in less than an hour and to go meet the guard at my house to get the key. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved, I couldn’t wait to get home. I put on my shoes and was out the door after thanking Mama and Papa profusely but quickly. I looked ROUGH! My hair was a mess, my eyes were all puffy and red and I was just generally discombobulated. Of course the first person I see is a student looking very suspiciously at me. I started laughing hysterically as I usually do in uncomfortable situations and I think he now thinks I am certifiably insane or a total party animal. Either one is slightly mortifying considering he is one my best and favorite students. I didn’t care though, the saga was about to be over! But no. I got to my house and there was no guard, just a locked door and of course at this point my phone was dead. After knocking on every window with the help of my poubelle boys I realized I would have to go back to school. I first attempted to knock on neighbors doors to ask for a charger but this turned out to be humiliating since I have the cheapest possible phone(my third since I’ve been here) because I have a habit of losing those as well and apparently no one else would be caught dead carrying one. So allll the way back to school I went.
I got to school on the verge of tears and Jean called the guard who told him he had brought the keys back to Mama Cyizere’s house. There is one road between my house and Mama Cyizere’s so he had to have passed me. I just about lost it. Happy Claire was gone, I said to Jean, “Are you kidding me? Did he get me confused with the other white girl in Nyanza? O wait! There isn’t one! What an idiot. And why was he in my house! My light was left on what was he doing in there! This is ridiculous.” Jean looked terrified. Mama Shema (Jean’s wife) came and calmed me down and then Tunda(Mama Cyizere’s brother) brought the keys. I couldn’t have been happier if someone handed me a million dollars. Finally! So off I went BACK to my house only this time I knew I would be able to get in. Of course just to add to the excitement a storm was looming. The kind of Rwandan storm that hangs in the air, threatening to unleash a serious deluge of water. Everyone around me started sprinting. This is a bad sign, if Rwandans are running you run, especially if you are being passed up by a man with no foot running on his crutch. I was still carrying my laptop from yesterday’s ill-fated blog post and I didn’t want my laptop to get wet. I thought I was running fast but I kept being passed by Rwandans looking at me as they sprinted past, smiling, and saying, “Mwaramutse!” or “Good Morning!” I have never laughed so hard, no matter how frustrating or difficult things seem to be here, something invariably happens to make me smile. There’s nothing like mass hysteria before a downpour to put a smile of your face. Now I’m back, 24 hours later, listening to the rain, with a warm cup of tea, thinking how happy my mom is going to be that I did three blogposts in two days.
The party turned out to be a pretty awkward mix of people staring at each other but most of all me, and discussing me in Kinyarwanda. Sometimes I want to scream, “Hello! I’ve been here four months I know how to say, “That white person speaks English and doesn’t know Kinyarwanda.” Anyway, frustrations aside, I did have to leave because I had also been invited to visit the school secretary with Mama and Papa Cyizere. They told me to be at their house at 4 and even though I do feel thoroughly at peace with African time they insisted that they were on a ‘mzungu program’ and I had to be on time. SO naturally they were not there at 4 so I decided to go back to the school to get my keys. My heart sank when I walked in the room and they were nowhere to be found. The housegirl claimed ignorance and Mama Cyizere came and said not to worry we would find them when we returned. So we went to the secretary, Agnes’, house who is married to the history teacher at my school. She’s one of my only Rwandan girlfriends and I love her. She’s not quiet and subdued like most Rwandan women I meet, she’s always giggling and joking with me. We drank a couple fantas and then it was time to return. Agnes held my hand the whole dark walk home because she was concerned I had mzungu eyes and would fall and hurt myself. Bless her.
We got back to the school/Yves’ house and of course the keys hadn’t magically appeared while we were gone. Mama and Papa started insisting I stay at their house but I hate not being in my own bed so I fought for a locksmith to come before I admitted defeat. I think they both wanted to kill me but being the wonderful people they are they called the “locksmith”. Imagine my surprise when my favorite alcoholic, octogenarian toilet repair man came stumbling down the path and then stood at attention to salute me before he lost his balance and crashed in to Papa Cyizere. He stank of Waragi(Ugandan Gin) but for some reason no one seemed to mind and thought he should change my lock in the dark regardless. He went to get his “tools” while we walked to my house. He showed up with two screwdrivers and a hammer and I knew we were really in for it. He proceeded to take off the door handle thaen bang on the lock like a crazy person with his hammer until it fell off. This was at 8, after his initial surprise that the door didn’t magically open after his bashing he fiddled around with a screwdriver doing the same thing again and again to the lock over the course of two hours! By the end of the ordeal we had an audience of over fifteen people. And by end, I mean by the time I conceded defeat, I never made it in the house. So a guard from my school had to come guard the house since the crashing had obviously alerted everyone in a five mile radius that I had lost my keys and security was compromised to say the least. I went back to Mama Cyziere’s thoroughly depressed by the whole situation. She seemed mildly offended that I didn’t want to take a bucket shower at her house at 11 pm but I was too exhausted and frustrated to explain. I crawled into bed fully clothed and of course I had to have been wearing my tight jeans that I NEVER wear on this particular day.
I woke up this morning to knocking on the bedroom door that Mama insisted I lock. She told me that the drunk repair man had sobered up and fixed my door in less than an hour and to go meet the guard at my house to get the key. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved, I couldn’t wait to get home. I put on my shoes and was out the door after thanking Mama and Papa profusely but quickly. I looked ROUGH! My hair was a mess, my eyes were all puffy and red and I was just generally discombobulated. Of course the first person I see is a student looking very suspiciously at me. I started laughing hysterically as I usually do in uncomfortable situations and I think he now thinks I am certifiably insane or a total party animal. Either one is slightly mortifying considering he is one my best and favorite students. I didn’t care though, the saga was about to be over! But no. I got to my house and there was no guard, just a locked door and of course at this point my phone was dead. After knocking on every window with the help of my poubelle boys I realized I would have to go back to school. I first attempted to knock on neighbors doors to ask for a charger but this turned out to be humiliating since I have the cheapest possible phone(my third since I’ve been here) because I have a habit of losing those as well and apparently no one else would be caught dead carrying one. So allll the way back to school I went.
I got to school on the verge of tears and Jean called the guard who told him he had brought the keys back to Mama Cyizere’s house. There is one road between my house and Mama Cyizere’s so he had to have passed me. I just about lost it. Happy Claire was gone, I said to Jean, “Are you kidding me? Did he get me confused with the other white girl in Nyanza? O wait! There isn’t one! What an idiot. And why was he in my house! My light was left on what was he doing in there! This is ridiculous.” Jean looked terrified. Mama Shema (Jean’s wife) came and calmed me down and then Tunda(Mama Cyizere’s brother) brought the keys. I couldn’t have been happier if someone handed me a million dollars. Finally! So off I went BACK to my house only this time I knew I would be able to get in. Of course just to add to the excitement a storm was looming. The kind of Rwandan storm that hangs in the air, threatening to unleash a serious deluge of water. Everyone around me started sprinting. This is a bad sign, if Rwandans are running you run, especially if you are being passed up by a man with no foot running on his crutch. I was still carrying my laptop from yesterday’s ill-fated blog post and I didn’t want my laptop to get wet. I thought I was running fast but I kept being passed by Rwandans looking at me as they sprinted past, smiling, and saying, “Mwaramutse!” or “Good Morning!” I have never laughed so hard, no matter how frustrating or difficult things seem to be here, something invariably happens to make me smile. There’s nothing like mass hysteria before a downpour to put a smile of your face. Now I’m back, 24 hours later, listening to the rain, with a warm cup of tea, thinking how happy my mom is going to be that I did three blogposts in two days.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Kurera (2 of 2)
I came to school after a long weekend of guacamole, quesadilla and general Cinco de Mayo merry-making to find about thirty percent of my students walking aimlessly around campus. Come to find out, they had not paid their school fees and as punishment they were not allowed in class. The cost of school grades 7-9 is $66 a term and for grades 10-12 is $80. I was outraged. Imagine being denied lessons because you are tardy with a payment. I really believe in education, and getting to secondary school in Rwanda is no easy feat. While elementary education in Rwanda is universal the students must pass difficult National exams in 6th, 9th, and 12th grade to move on to the next level of education with the competition getting fiercer at each level. I decided I could do something about the fees.
I called my mom and told her about the situation. I envisioned donations from a few friends to help the neediest of students. Apparently the response from her friends was overwhelmingly positive and we decided to start a non-profit. Actually she decided and I was over the moon! I was in the computer lab checking my e-mail the next day on the slow internet when a student, one of the ones walking around, came in and plead his case. He told me his father was killed in the genocide and his mother was very poor and he wanted to go to school so he could help her. Then his eyes welled up and he said he was going to be sent home if he did not pay his school fees is there any way I could help? He then went on to say that if I could not help him financially could I prepare lessons for him since he was not allowed to go to school that week. I was struck by the innocence of his proposition. Just then, and I’m not even saying this for dramatic emphasis, my e-mail popped up and there was a message in my inbox titled non-profit from my mom proposing the non-profit idea. Thus, Kurera fund was born. Kurera means to educate in Kinyarwanda and I thought it was a fitting name for what I want to accomplish. I hope to ensure the education of Rwandans by simply providing school fees. Hopefully, the idea will blossom and with grants I can stay here in Rwanda to see it grow nationwide. For now though I’m starting small. I’ll be setting up a website to connect sponsors with children who need sponsoring at my school in Nyanza.
I’m extremely excited about this new venture but I know I have a ton to learn and seeing as how everything is happening so fast it seems all my training will have to come on the job. Any knowledge or experience with non-profits is welcome and of course financial support once I get the site up and running would be the biggest vote of confidence anyone could give!
I called my mom and told her about the situation. I envisioned donations from a few friends to help the neediest of students. Apparently the response from her friends was overwhelmingly positive and we decided to start a non-profit. Actually she decided and I was over the moon! I was in the computer lab checking my e-mail the next day on the slow internet when a student, one of the ones walking around, came in and plead his case. He told me his father was killed in the genocide and his mother was very poor and he wanted to go to school so he could help her. Then his eyes welled up and he said he was going to be sent home if he did not pay his school fees is there any way I could help? He then went on to say that if I could not help him financially could I prepare lessons for him since he was not allowed to go to school that week. I was struck by the innocence of his proposition. Just then, and I’m not even saying this for dramatic emphasis, my e-mail popped up and there was a message in my inbox titled non-profit from my mom proposing the non-profit idea. Thus, Kurera fund was born. Kurera means to educate in Kinyarwanda and I thought it was a fitting name for what I want to accomplish. I hope to ensure the education of Rwandans by simply providing school fees. Hopefully, the idea will blossom and with grants I can stay here in Rwanda to see it grow nationwide. For now though I’m starting small. I’ll be setting up a website to connect sponsors with children who need sponsoring at my school in Nyanza.
I’m extremely excited about this new venture but I know I have a ton to learn and seeing as how everything is happening so fast it seems all my training will have to come on the job. Any knowledge or experience with non-profits is welcome and of course financial support once I get the site up and running would be the biggest vote of confidence anyone could give!
African time (1 of 2)
So much for keeping up to date! I’ve been a terrible blogger of late, mostly due to having too much going on, but also, and in some ways as an extension of, the daunting thought of getting my blog back up to speed. How do I even begin to summarize the month of April? The highlight was my mother’s arrival on the 1st. Together we traveled back to Nyanza where she got to meet many of my favorite students and teachers, then on to Kigali where we visited the always depressing but very informative Genocide Memorial Museum, and finally on to Musanze to see the gorillas.
We woke up very early to get to the meeting point for the gorillas by 6 am. I was both apprehensive and excited but most of all nervous that I would be the most out of shape in the group. Elizabeth’s family joined us and she and I had been joking for weeks that we would be gasping for air bringing up the rear. Turns out I’m not in as bad of shape as I thought. The hike was awesome, I felt so authentic literally bushwhacking through the jungle then again there were the random freak-outs after the guide yelled, “ANTS!” and we all started sprinting and at first not really understanding why. Turns out ants in the jungle are nasty little buggers and most of us had actual ants in our pants after the commotion. After about an hour and a half of trekking uphill we finally reached the gorillas. We went to see the Kwitonda family and it…was…AWESOME. Normally you are supposed to stay seven meters back from the gorillas but our family was in a grove of bamboo so the guides were cutting back branches and beckoning us closer and closer until all of a sudden we were just a few meters away from a huge silverback. They tell you before you get there not to point but of course I was beside myself with excitement and was totally that tourist pointing at him and then the rest of the family as we came across them. Elizabeth has a video of me whispering as we approached the gorillas, “this is the coolest thing I’ve ever done” which is absolutely hilarious. It was amazing though, and I didn’t expect to react so strongly since I’m not really an outdoorsy hiker type but it was the experience of a lifetime and I strongly recommend it to anyone who has the opportunity.
We left Musanze the next day back to Kigali. Our trip back was complicated due to the fact that we were traveling on the Genocide Memorial day. One thing that jumps out the most about Rwanda is the constant stream of people walking along the road. No matter how desolate a stretch of road may seem you cannot go more than a kilometer without seeing someone walking along. Not this day though. The town was deserted. We knew the busses were not going to run until the afternoon and so we went to an empty but open hotel to have a coffee. The radio broadcast of the ceremony at the stadium in Kigali was playing and we could hear the emotion in the speeches although we obviously could not understand them. All of a sudden we were struck by an American voice thick with emotion speaking to the stadium full of people. The man was a pastor who had been living in Kigali at the time of the genocide and he spoke of the men and women who stood at his gates protecting his family telling the killers of how their children played together. My mom and I, both being pretty emotional, were all welled up his speech was so heartfelt and full of a gratitude. After composing ourselves, we went to the bus station at the time we were told the busses would start running but of course the town was still completely dead. Definitely a case of Africa time but can you really berate tardiness on a day like that? My mom and I settled on a cab and paid the extra money quite happily, well she did anyway, it was a good situation to be in with my mom/money!
Naturally, I was very sad to see my mom go. Thank you to everyone who sent things, all the goodies and supplies are greatly appreciated although I’m not sure my mom appreciated transporting them since I heard about how heavy the bag was every single time we talked leading up to her arrival. I was so happy she got to see my life here. It’s simple and I love it that way. I’m writing this at my house alone on a Friday night and I can honestly say there is nowhere else I would rather be, which will come as a huge surprise to anyone who knew me when I lived in San Diego! Anyway, I had a little taste of the not so simple Kigali ex-pat life the night my mom left when I went with Elizabeth’s family to Heaven restaurant. Yves was visiting me in Kigali so he came along which had me viewing the whole ex-pat experience through a local’s eyes. None of the entrées were less than fifteen dollars and we each ordered an appetizer, main, dessert, and a couple cocktails. Yves looked beside himself when he saw the menu and apart from the waiters he was the only Rwandan in the place. The meal must have cost at least $250 which is equivalent to the GDP per capita in Rwanda so to say the least I felt pretty guilty about our indulgence and Yves’ perma-deer in the headlights expression didn’t help matters!
Our holiday over-indulgence didn’t stop there though. Elizabeth’s mother and brother left and then she, her father and I were off to Gisenyi on Lake Kivu. The guidebook describes Gisenyi as Costa del Kivu but we were there during rainy season and genocide memorial week so mostly we just thought Costa del depressing. The town was deserted and somewhat run-down but the lake is undeniably gorgeous and the hotel we stayed at had hot showers so I can’t complain too much.
We then went on a very eventful trip through the Nyungwe national forest. Which was more about our endless hunt for gas then the actual forest thus including somewhat humiliating forays into tea plantation worker housing and amusing enactments of the act of putting gas in to a car trying to get our point across. We ended up going village-to-village getting liters of gas at a time until we reached Cyangugu at the southern tip of Lake Kivu. Also our car finally succumbed to the endless potholes on the Nyungwe road so we had string holding up the running boards of the car, which was cause for endless amusement as well as work for enterprising villagers at every place we stopped. We had not planned on going all the way to Cyangugu but the quest for gas proved it necessary. Why we left Butare with an empty tank I will never understand but the eleven tedious hours in the car I will never forget.
My two-week holiday came to an end with a mid-service in Kibuye for the program I am here with. Kibuye, in the center of the lake, is beautiful and was by far my favorite of all the lake side towns I visited in my Tour du Rwanda. Seeing all the other volunteers made me realize how happy I really am here. Everyone had so many complaints about their schools and living situations which is really just so boring to listen to especially when surrounded by gorgeous scenery in perfect weather. I imagine most of my contentment comes from having previously been in such a bad situation. I know how bad it can be so the lack of communication and disorganization is relatively inconsequential. Although, I did just find out that my English classes are not counted on the student’s report card. Which wouldn’t bother me had I not spent HOURS marking 300 exams and then painstakingly recording all their grades in a timely manner for the reporting period. I think the entire exam experience has proven that exams and I are just not meant to be. I will not be partaking in the exam hullabaloo this term and my sister’s arrival right in the middle of them will make the perfect excuse.
So now I’m back. When my mother was here she opened the door to three little boys while I was out running an errand. Those three little boys (the poubelle boys) have now turned into twenty and seeing as how my porch is a flat surface (that whole land of a thousand hills thing is true) they play very lively games of soccer on it almost every day. Little Emmanuel is by far my favorite and I just found out that he and his two brothers and mother are homeless. They sleep on a mattress behind my house. All the boys dress in rags and their ball is a scraps of plastic wrapped in string. They are so much fun and I love playing with them and teaching them English which has actually proved very helpful in improving my Kinyarwanda. Anyway, if anyone has old clothes for boys aged about 4-12 and want to send them my sister is coming in July and they would be greatly appreciated.
I was greeted by my Rwandan mother Mama Cyizere (chizAray) and father Papa Cyizere when I returned to school. She is the school accountant and he is a scientist at the instititute of agriculture in the north but he returns home every weekend. They invited me to come eat with them and asked me what day I would like to come for dinner. We settled on that Saturday which I had no idea was the Genocide Memorial Day for Nyanza. I arrived to their house on time, of course, and they arrived thirty minutes later in purple bandanas. Yves had told them I like Amstel, based purely on the fact that I had one on my birthday two months before but nevertheless the rumor around town is that I can’t get enough of the beer. So of course they had bought me FIVE! I have had about five drinks in total since I arrived in Rwanda four months ago so the task of drinking them was extremely daunting. I think I was on my second by the time the issue of the nature of the day came up and my alarming cultural faux pas was almost too much to bear. So THAT’S why everything was closed today I thought. Then I remembered when Mama Cyizere told me she had lost her entire family in the genocide in Nyanza fifteen years earlier and I just wanted to curl up in to a ball at the awkwardness of it all. It was 7:30, I still hadn’t eaten and there were still three beers lined up waiting to be drunk. I began to panic about whether or not I should stay for dinner. My cultural alarm bells were ringing but I couldn’t decide if it was just the alcohol talking. I decided to open another beer and grin and bear the rest of the evening, which after confirmation with Yves turned out to be what was expected of me. Needless to say, the walk home is a pretty fuzzy memory!
Papa Cyizere was very angry with Mama Cyizere for not having told me about the genocide memorial day so she is now my official informant at the school. Last Friday was Rwandan Labor Day, which is taken very seriously here. Not really having any idea what to expect, I was told to arrive at the school at 8am. Not wanting to be left behind I arrived at 7:50 and I think I have finally learned the African time lesson. No one else arrived until 9:30. The headmaster wasn’t even awake when I got here! (He lives at the school) When we finally got to the stadium it was 10:30 and the parade, which was supposed to begin at 10, wasn’t even close to beginning. At 11:30 we finally started marching. And by marching I mean marching army style. So embarrassing. I guess when everyone is doing it, it’s not so bad but I did have the added bonus of being the only white person there. As usual I was quite the spectacle but it was a great experience if only for the blog-worthiness of it all! The entire town was there and after the march around the stadium the organizer grabbed my arm and brought me straight to the governor’s tent to sit on the chairs. I’m not one to pass up a seat especially with the prospect of listening to three hours of Kinyarwanda speeches looming!
I’m finally back to my routine and the students seem to have readjusted to my accent so we are all getting along swimmingly. I have begun a new project that I think is worthy of its own blog post but I am beginning this term with a newly defined sense of purpose which leaves me very excited!
We woke up very early to get to the meeting point for the gorillas by 6 am. I was both apprehensive and excited but most of all nervous that I would be the most out of shape in the group. Elizabeth’s family joined us and she and I had been joking for weeks that we would be gasping for air bringing up the rear. Turns out I’m not in as bad of shape as I thought. The hike was awesome, I felt so authentic literally bushwhacking through the jungle then again there were the random freak-outs after the guide yelled, “ANTS!” and we all started sprinting and at first not really understanding why. Turns out ants in the jungle are nasty little buggers and most of us had actual ants in our pants after the commotion. After about an hour and a half of trekking uphill we finally reached the gorillas. We went to see the Kwitonda family and it…was…AWESOME. Normally you are supposed to stay seven meters back from the gorillas but our family was in a grove of bamboo so the guides were cutting back branches and beckoning us closer and closer until all of a sudden we were just a few meters away from a huge silverback. They tell you before you get there not to point but of course I was beside myself with excitement and was totally that tourist pointing at him and then the rest of the family as we came across them. Elizabeth has a video of me whispering as we approached the gorillas, “this is the coolest thing I’ve ever done” which is absolutely hilarious. It was amazing though, and I didn’t expect to react so strongly since I’m not really an outdoorsy hiker type but it was the experience of a lifetime and I strongly recommend it to anyone who has the opportunity.
We left Musanze the next day back to Kigali. Our trip back was complicated due to the fact that we were traveling on the Genocide Memorial day. One thing that jumps out the most about Rwanda is the constant stream of people walking along the road. No matter how desolate a stretch of road may seem you cannot go more than a kilometer without seeing someone walking along. Not this day though. The town was deserted. We knew the busses were not going to run until the afternoon and so we went to an empty but open hotel to have a coffee. The radio broadcast of the ceremony at the stadium in Kigali was playing and we could hear the emotion in the speeches although we obviously could not understand them. All of a sudden we were struck by an American voice thick with emotion speaking to the stadium full of people. The man was a pastor who had been living in Kigali at the time of the genocide and he spoke of the men and women who stood at his gates protecting his family telling the killers of how their children played together. My mom and I, both being pretty emotional, were all welled up his speech was so heartfelt and full of a gratitude. After composing ourselves, we went to the bus station at the time we were told the busses would start running but of course the town was still completely dead. Definitely a case of Africa time but can you really berate tardiness on a day like that? My mom and I settled on a cab and paid the extra money quite happily, well she did anyway, it was a good situation to be in with my mom/money!
Naturally, I was very sad to see my mom go. Thank you to everyone who sent things, all the goodies and supplies are greatly appreciated although I’m not sure my mom appreciated transporting them since I heard about how heavy the bag was every single time we talked leading up to her arrival. I was so happy she got to see my life here. It’s simple and I love it that way. I’m writing this at my house alone on a Friday night and I can honestly say there is nowhere else I would rather be, which will come as a huge surprise to anyone who knew me when I lived in San Diego! Anyway, I had a little taste of the not so simple Kigali ex-pat life the night my mom left when I went with Elizabeth’s family to Heaven restaurant. Yves was visiting me in Kigali so he came along which had me viewing the whole ex-pat experience through a local’s eyes. None of the entrées were less than fifteen dollars and we each ordered an appetizer, main, dessert, and a couple cocktails. Yves looked beside himself when he saw the menu and apart from the waiters he was the only Rwandan in the place. The meal must have cost at least $250 which is equivalent to the GDP per capita in Rwanda so to say the least I felt pretty guilty about our indulgence and Yves’ perma-deer in the headlights expression didn’t help matters!
Our holiday over-indulgence didn’t stop there though. Elizabeth’s mother and brother left and then she, her father and I were off to Gisenyi on Lake Kivu. The guidebook describes Gisenyi as Costa del Kivu but we were there during rainy season and genocide memorial week so mostly we just thought Costa del depressing. The town was deserted and somewhat run-down but the lake is undeniably gorgeous and the hotel we stayed at had hot showers so I can’t complain too much.
We then went on a very eventful trip through the Nyungwe national forest. Which was more about our endless hunt for gas then the actual forest thus including somewhat humiliating forays into tea plantation worker housing and amusing enactments of the act of putting gas in to a car trying to get our point across. We ended up going village-to-village getting liters of gas at a time until we reached Cyangugu at the southern tip of Lake Kivu. Also our car finally succumbed to the endless potholes on the Nyungwe road so we had string holding up the running boards of the car, which was cause for endless amusement as well as work for enterprising villagers at every place we stopped. We had not planned on going all the way to Cyangugu but the quest for gas proved it necessary. Why we left Butare with an empty tank I will never understand but the eleven tedious hours in the car I will never forget.
My two-week holiday came to an end with a mid-service in Kibuye for the program I am here with. Kibuye, in the center of the lake, is beautiful and was by far my favorite of all the lake side towns I visited in my Tour du Rwanda. Seeing all the other volunteers made me realize how happy I really am here. Everyone had so many complaints about their schools and living situations which is really just so boring to listen to especially when surrounded by gorgeous scenery in perfect weather. I imagine most of my contentment comes from having previously been in such a bad situation. I know how bad it can be so the lack of communication and disorganization is relatively inconsequential. Although, I did just find out that my English classes are not counted on the student’s report card. Which wouldn’t bother me had I not spent HOURS marking 300 exams and then painstakingly recording all their grades in a timely manner for the reporting period. I think the entire exam experience has proven that exams and I are just not meant to be. I will not be partaking in the exam hullabaloo this term and my sister’s arrival right in the middle of them will make the perfect excuse.
So now I’m back. When my mother was here she opened the door to three little boys while I was out running an errand. Those three little boys (the poubelle boys) have now turned into twenty and seeing as how my porch is a flat surface (that whole land of a thousand hills thing is true) they play very lively games of soccer on it almost every day. Little Emmanuel is by far my favorite and I just found out that he and his two brothers and mother are homeless. They sleep on a mattress behind my house. All the boys dress in rags and their ball is a scraps of plastic wrapped in string. They are so much fun and I love playing with them and teaching them English which has actually proved very helpful in improving my Kinyarwanda. Anyway, if anyone has old clothes for boys aged about 4-12 and want to send them my sister is coming in July and they would be greatly appreciated.
I was greeted by my Rwandan mother Mama Cyizere (chizAray) and father Papa Cyizere when I returned to school. She is the school accountant and he is a scientist at the instititute of agriculture in the north but he returns home every weekend. They invited me to come eat with them and asked me what day I would like to come for dinner. We settled on that Saturday which I had no idea was the Genocide Memorial Day for Nyanza. I arrived to their house on time, of course, and they arrived thirty minutes later in purple bandanas. Yves had told them I like Amstel, based purely on the fact that I had one on my birthday two months before but nevertheless the rumor around town is that I can’t get enough of the beer. So of course they had bought me FIVE! I have had about five drinks in total since I arrived in Rwanda four months ago so the task of drinking them was extremely daunting. I think I was on my second by the time the issue of the nature of the day came up and my alarming cultural faux pas was almost too much to bear. So THAT’S why everything was closed today I thought. Then I remembered when Mama Cyizere told me she had lost her entire family in the genocide in Nyanza fifteen years earlier and I just wanted to curl up in to a ball at the awkwardness of it all. It was 7:30, I still hadn’t eaten and there were still three beers lined up waiting to be drunk. I began to panic about whether or not I should stay for dinner. My cultural alarm bells were ringing but I couldn’t decide if it was just the alcohol talking. I decided to open another beer and grin and bear the rest of the evening, which after confirmation with Yves turned out to be what was expected of me. Needless to say, the walk home is a pretty fuzzy memory!
Papa Cyizere was very angry with Mama Cyizere for not having told me about the genocide memorial day so she is now my official informant at the school. Last Friday was Rwandan Labor Day, which is taken very seriously here. Not really having any idea what to expect, I was told to arrive at the school at 8am. Not wanting to be left behind I arrived at 7:50 and I think I have finally learned the African time lesson. No one else arrived until 9:30. The headmaster wasn’t even awake when I got here! (He lives at the school) When we finally got to the stadium it was 10:30 and the parade, which was supposed to begin at 10, wasn’t even close to beginning. At 11:30 we finally started marching. And by marching I mean marching army style. So embarrassing. I guess when everyone is doing it, it’s not so bad but I did have the added bonus of being the only white person there. As usual I was quite the spectacle but it was a great experience if only for the blog-worthiness of it all! The entire town was there and after the march around the stadium the organizer grabbed my arm and brought me straight to the governor’s tent to sit on the chairs. I’m not one to pass up a seat especially with the prospect of listening to three hours of Kinyarwanda speeches looming!
I’m finally back to my routine and the students seem to have readjusted to my accent so we are all getting along swimmingly. I have begun a new project that I think is worthy of its own blog post but I am beginning this term with a newly defined sense of purpose which leaves me very excited!
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