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.