Checking in from the grand Hoosier State here, reporting that it is weird as hell to be back in America.
From the moment I walked in to my mother's house (where there was a hand-made welcome home sign) to the moment I sat down at the computer to start writing this, I have been struggling with balancing the "Rwandaself" and the "Americaself." Neither self is better than the other in total, but together, they truly are my "Bestself."
First part of "Bestself" was to take the longest shower I've had in the last four months. It included many different soaps, shampoos, conditioners, body scrubs and moisturizer. The bathroom was a literal fog when I was done with it. After that I went to the kitchen and was disappointed. I was craving chapatis and samosas!!
I set off the next day to the store to purchase "Rwandaself" requirements: ginger, raw sugar and soymilk (ingredients for African tea) and naan bread (as close as I could get to chapati). I've been scared to eat anything super-processed for what it will do to my stomach, so I've been sticking to pretty basic meals. Then my dad had us all over for dinner and served the most amazing chicken noodles and mashed potatoes with a huge salad and a strawberry/rhubarb cobbler. I ate and told stories about Rwanda and had so much fun. It was so nice to be surrounded by family, but sometimes my reminiscing about Rwanda made me incredibly sad and miss it so much.
So far in the interest of maintaining the amazing friendships in "Rwandaself", I've been able to talk with or email with or chat with everyone back in Kigali and that is truly comforting. There's nothing better than knowing technology prevails over oceans and thousands of miles.
It has been nice to shop at grocery stores, but it's still overwhelming. There's no hotbox with warm goodies in the form of samosas, fresh bread and chapatis. I can use my Visa card at every turn and I drive to and from the store (I would walk, but its about 10 miles away). There is something nice and relaxing about being able to drive a car - even though some of the country roads rival the potholes of Kigali.
So, besides the fear of food making me pray to the porcelain Goddess - I'm bringing as much of Kigali to Indiana as I can. I'm still perfecting my African tea - the soy milk substitution is hit or miss, but I've definitely mastered the ginger! And I continue to dig my room out of the madness I left behind, it's strange not to be in a tiny dormstyle room with my best friend. I'll sometimes yell out at her, and then remember she's not 50 feet away at all times. I think I've gotten to the point where every comfort here in America has a corresponding feeling of missing something in Kigali.
In closing, there is so much I miss from Rwanda but I am really happy to be able to talk with my friends every day and whenever I want. I'm really happy to be with my family (even though they are CRAZY!). There will always be a piece of my heart in Rwanda and I think about my kids every single moment of every day - there is almost nothing I miss more than them. The job search is daunting and requires more patience than I have the capacity for. I start substitute teaching at the end of the week AND they've put me on two school districts, which will hopefully keep me distracted while I wait for responses from companies.
We're still rockin' the Manolos attitude, except now the bush is in Mass and Indiana. The good thing, is that the bush is a little more familiar and a little less full of foreign animals and languages. But it is still full of questions unanswered, chapters to be written and dreams to be fulfilled. The blog will be different from now on, but so are we, and that's really exciting.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Leaving On A Jetplane - one of these days
Morale: Much Improved
Beer Supply: Abundant and holding steady
Days Trapped in Uganda: 5 and counting
On Sunday, we managed to locate the one reasonably efficient KLM employee working out of Uganda - the only woman in the office, naturally, and a flight attendant to boot. She has tentatively re-scheduled us to fly on Friday, so if we don't get on a plane before then, at least we have a seat. There's an air of optimism today as Schipol has opened and planes are going in and out, and the UK is opening airspace, but there are, as ever, a number of complications. Unless we have a confirmed seat on a connecting flight, we cannot get on ANY plane to Amsterdam. It's still a question of wait-and-see.
In the interest of preserving what was left of our sanity after our adventure in the tent, we went to the zoo yesterday rather than stalking helplessly around the airport. It was amazing. It's technically a "wildlife education center", and many of the animals aren't even in cages. Those that are, like the lions, were never more than a few yards away. We were INCHES from an ostrich, which ambled over to check us out after RA1 called to it, and they are the most awesomely absurd creatures. We hung out with three camels that were tethered to the playground equipment and ran into hordes of monkeys that run around like they own the place - a few of them were carrying babies or teaching their offspring to jump from branch to branch on the trees. We also saw rhinos, crocodiles, otters, giraffes, zebras, hyenas, turtles, cool birds, very old trees, and the most awe-inspiringly huge snakes, which RA2 likes very much. One was a python which appeared to have eaten a cat.
Last night we were booked at a steep discount in what we are referring to as "The Palatial Sweet", which has a full-size bed for each of us, with a set of stairs rather than a ladder leading to the top bunk, our own bathroom and a little porch area. Seriously, the height of luxury. Many many many thanks to Dad and Mama Soli for ensuring we could remain there, as we have moved all 8 of our bags every morning for the last 5 days. Many thanks also toMama Stipps, for continued funding, and to Tami for amking a deposit from Boston in New York so we could get it Entebbe. It has made RA2 rethink her stance on globalization.
In other small adventures, we had both ordered the grilled fish without incident several times for dinner, and gotten nicely breaded fillets. Last night, RA2 ordered the grilled fish, and received a whole flayed creature, head still attached, little burned eyeballs staring blankly and accusingly up at her from the plate. RA1 showed her how to eat it and it was delicious. Our standards of civility may have changed somewhat.
Beer Supply: Abundant and holding steady
Days Trapped in Uganda: 5 and counting
On Sunday, we managed to locate the one reasonably efficient KLM employee working out of Uganda - the only woman in the office, naturally, and a flight attendant to boot. She has tentatively re-scheduled us to fly on Friday, so if we don't get on a plane before then, at least we have a seat. There's an air of optimism today as Schipol has opened and planes are going in and out, and the UK is opening airspace, but there are, as ever, a number of complications. Unless we have a confirmed seat on a connecting flight, we cannot get on ANY plane to Amsterdam. It's still a question of wait-and-see.
In the interest of preserving what was left of our sanity after our adventure in the tent, we went to the zoo yesterday rather than stalking helplessly around the airport. It was amazing. It's technically a "wildlife education center", and many of the animals aren't even in cages. Those that are, like the lions, were never more than a few yards away. We were INCHES from an ostrich, which ambled over to check us out after RA1 called to it, and they are the most awesomely absurd creatures. We hung out with three camels that were tethered to the playground equipment and ran into hordes of monkeys that run around like they own the place - a few of them were carrying babies or teaching their offspring to jump from branch to branch on the trees. We also saw rhinos, crocodiles, otters, giraffes, zebras, hyenas, turtles, cool birds, very old trees, and the most awe-inspiringly huge snakes, which RA2 likes very much. One was a python which appeared to have eaten a cat.
Last night we were booked at a steep discount in what we are referring to as "The Palatial Sweet", which has a full-size bed for each of us, with a set of stairs rather than a ladder leading to the top bunk, our own bathroom and a little porch area. Seriously, the height of luxury. Many many many thanks to Dad and Mama Soli for ensuring we could remain there, as we have moved all 8 of our bags every morning for the last 5 days. Many thanks also toMama Stipps, for continued funding, and to Tami for amking a deposit from Boston in New York so we could get it Entebbe. It has made RA2 rethink her stance on globalization.
In other small adventures, we had both ordered the grilled fish without incident several times for dinner, and gotten nicely breaded fillets. Last night, RA2 ordered the grilled fish, and received a whole flayed creature, head still attached, little burned eyeballs staring blankly and accusingly up at her from the plate. RA1 showed her how to eat it and it was delicious. Our standards of civility may have changed somewhat.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
You Can't Go Home But You Can't Stay Here
We slept on the front lawn of our hostel in a tent last night.
We do not wish to discuss this.
It's becoming clear that Amsterdam is not opening today, and with so many delays, when flights are up and running they will probably put passengers on their regularly scheduled flights, leaving those whose flights were cancelled to fight it out Gladiator-style in the nearest stadium in order to keep the populace entertained until the World Cup. "Two will enter one will leave! Two will enter one will leave!"
We have come to the deeply disturbing conclusion that we may not go anywhere for another week, and since neither of us maybe necessarily got a great night's sleep, we've put on our "We want answers" face, honed over many years of being paid to acquire answers for others, now being put to, we hope, optimal use for ourselves. We discovered that KLM operates out of the EU, and there are a series of laws that govern their relations with their passengers whether said passengers are stranded in England, Uganda, or on the moon. We will be discussing this with the KLM attendants when they arrives at, we hope 5pm, as they have not seen fit to yet open the office (only many hundreds of desperate stranded people here, no rush!).
We're considering trying to talk our way into an extra week in Kigali, as it will be more enjoyable and less stressful than continually stalking KLM attendants. We have a bed tonight, the beer is plentiful, and our families (bless you a thousand times over) have made sure we have enough money to keep buying both of those things until someone lets us go home.
On the various plus sides: many of our fellow travellers and refugees are awesome, and one bought and cut up a pineapple for us (with a swiss army knife) on the steps of our hostel yesterday. We saw monkeys running around the airport today! All the music played here is the soundtrack to our high school years. CNN is really entertaining right now, and keeps running such encouraging headers as "Volcanic ash cloud getting worse", "Passengers expect to be stranded for up to an additional week" and "Travellers running out of money."
We do not wish to discuss this.
It's becoming clear that Amsterdam is not opening today, and with so many delays, when flights are up and running they will probably put passengers on their regularly scheduled flights, leaving those whose flights were cancelled to fight it out Gladiator-style in the nearest stadium in order to keep the populace entertained until the World Cup. "Two will enter one will leave! Two will enter one will leave!"
We have come to the deeply disturbing conclusion that we may not go anywhere for another week, and since neither of us maybe necessarily got a great night's sleep, we've put on our "We want answers" face, honed over many years of being paid to acquire answers for others, now being put to, we hope, optimal use for ourselves. We discovered that KLM operates out of the EU, and there are a series of laws that govern their relations with their passengers whether said passengers are stranded in England, Uganda, or on the moon. We will be discussing this with the KLM attendants when they arrives at, we hope 5pm, as they have not seen fit to yet open the office (only many hundreds of desperate stranded people here, no rush!).
We're considering trying to talk our way into an extra week in Kigali, as it will be more enjoyable and less stressful than continually stalking KLM attendants. We have a bed tonight, the beer is plentiful, and our families (bless you a thousand times over) have made sure we have enough money to keep buying both of those things until someone lets us go home.
On the various plus sides: many of our fellow travellers and refugees are awesome, and one bought and cut up a pineapple for us (with a swiss army knife) on the steps of our hostel yesterday. We saw monkeys running around the airport today! All the music played here is the soundtrack to our high school years. CNN is really entertaining right now, and keeps running such encouraging headers as "Volcanic ash cloud getting worse", "Passengers expect to be stranded for up to an additional week" and "Travellers running out of money."
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Stuck Like Someone Who Can't Drive Stick
You know what, friends? We had it a little easy here in Africa. The water was almost never hot, but it was RUNNING. The food wasn't any good unless Damian cooked it, but it was plentiful. And when the good Lord, so popular here and in Rwanda, bowed his head over our situation, he was like, "Look, you should really get the full experience, you know?" And so we just happened to schedule our flight home on the day that a volcano that had had the good grace to lay dormant for TWO HUNDRED YEARS went and erupted in Iceland, disrupting airspace across Europe in ways that we literally struggle to conceive of, screwing up our flight home in ways we go beyond struggling to understand.
The Manolos are currently stranded in Entebbe, Uganda - literally in the middle of Lake Victoria. Unfortunately, the views don't make up for the delayed flights and EPIC VOLCANIC ASH.
We were on the second flight to be delayed out of Entebbe, so we're crossing our fingers to be on the second flight out of here to Amsterdam. The second flight may come as early as Monday, or as late as Wednesday - your guesses are as good as the actual information we have received. We have - in typical Manolo fashion - befriended the local KLM agent, Godfrey, and are pumping him for information every chance we get.
Once we get to Amsterdam it's fair game as to when we'll actually get back to the contiguous. We're praying for the air space to open up and be smooth sailing once we leave, but we're also just praying to get out of Africa and in to Europe... at least in Europe they have to like, feed us and stuff. We understand that Amsterdam is a virtual IDP camp, but tonight, due to full hotels and hostels from stranded passengers, we are quite LITERALLY camping, in a tent, on our hostels front lawn.
We'll try to keep you posted with the random and limited internet access we have and hope you'll all pray for us. One of us is a Jew, and we have been informed that since the Jews killed Jesus her prayers come at a discount. We were informed this, by the way, since our arrival in Uganda. Know what we miss right about now? RWANDA.
xoxoxox
Soli and Stipps
The Manolos are currently stranded in Entebbe, Uganda - literally in the middle of Lake Victoria. Unfortunately, the views don't make up for the delayed flights and EPIC VOLCANIC ASH.
We were on the second flight to be delayed out of Entebbe, so we're crossing our fingers to be on the second flight out of here to Amsterdam. The second flight may come as early as Monday, or as late as Wednesday - your guesses are as good as the actual information we have received. We have - in typical Manolo fashion - befriended the local KLM agent, Godfrey, and are pumping him for information every chance we get.
Once we get to Amsterdam it's fair game as to when we'll actually get back to the contiguous. We're praying for the air space to open up and be smooth sailing once we leave, but we're also just praying to get out of Africa and in to Europe... at least in Europe they have to like, feed us and stuff. We understand that Amsterdam is a virtual IDP camp, but tonight, due to full hotels and hostels from stranded passengers, we are quite LITERALLY camping, in a tent, on our hostels front lawn.
We'll try to keep you posted with the random and limited internet access we have and hope you'll all pray for us. One of us is a Jew, and we have been informed that since the Jews killed Jesus her prayers come at a discount. We were informed this, by the way, since our arrival in Uganda. Know what we miss right about now? RWANDA.
xoxoxox
Soli and Stipps
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Reading in Rwanda
RA2 really does love her alliterative little blog titles, and apologizes to all who, justly, find this habit immensely irritating.
Deprived (sometimes quite happily) of movie theaters, TV, general mindless consumerism, and most entertainment, really, besides each other, 600RWF Primus, and Ian’s Guitar-Playing Remera Bar Sing-Alongs, the volunteers generally and the RAs in particular have spent a great deal of time reading. Books are prohibitively expensive here, so we have traded two dozen or so between us all. Below is our Rwandan Reading Review. At least one RA read every book on this list, but in general, what with the trading and the time to kill, we both read almost all of them.
Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie
Rushdie’s grasp of the English language is, to understate the matter, exceptional. Take as an example this line, not even from the book itself, but from the introduction to the 25th anniversary edition: "then all at once I understood that there was no contest, that Children of Midnight was a banal title and Midnight's Children a good one." The book follows a group of children born at the midnight hour of the independent state of India’s birth, endowed by their magical nation with a special set of widely varying powers, talents and traits. The narrator writes the book while rapidly falling apart, physically and emotionally, and the book itself follows the same pace as his deterioration, beginning strong and slow, ending quickly and frantically, spiraling all the while and taking the reader with it.
Say You’re One of Them by Uwem Akpan
This collection of short stories explores various conflicts in different African countries through the eyes of children living through them. They include a brother and sister unaware they are being prepared by their uncle for a life of slavery, a Muslim boy fleeing with Christians from conflict and two girls finding a friendship around religious strife. The title piece, “Say You’re One of Them”, is about a family of Hutus and Tutsis being brutally ripped apart by the Rwandan genocide. It does an excellent job giving at least an idea of this country’s pain and was, to say the least, particularly poignant to read while here.
A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson
RA2's mother sent this in a care package after she mentioned a weird desire to read it that came to her upon her arrival. There must have been something to it, because reading the author's account of his months spent hiking the Appalachian Trail with his ill-equipped childhood friend were strangely reminiscent of our time in Kigali. Like the RAs, Bryson traversed an unknown landscape for the sake of adventure that he came to feel, at long last, a certain mastery of, which he retains a clear fondness for, and which he would very much like to return to, and probably will throughout his life. Like Kigali, the AT had its own language to be learned and geography to be navigated. Like the RAs, Bryson spent a lot of time dreaming of Oreos and a long, hot shower, as well as sleeping on weirdly uncomfortable surfaces. The book is wickedly funny throughout and has made RA2 draw up plans for hiking when she gets home, because God forbid she spend any time in one place.
Avalon by (apologies - RA2 cannot find the author online and needs to just post this already, as she has been drafting it for what seems like eternity)
A very nice, interesting break from our usual reading material (thanks Mama Stipp!), the book follows two people who can’t get their act together through court intrigue from Britain to Iceland in the 16th century.
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
Being in Rwanda gave interesting perspective to this story about the African-American experience in a rural Ohio town. It is painfully sad and simply told, following two young sisters as they watch their friend undergo experiences they cannot begin to comprehend. It depicts endless internalized racism and self-hatred, something everyone who works with children, as we have done here, is concerned about.
Baking Cakes in Kigali by Gaile Parkin
More than anything else RA2 has ever read, this book captures the feeling, the daily idiosyncracies and the intimate ins-and-outs of life in Kigali. Written by a woman born and raised in Zambia, it holds the flavor of life in Rwanda in a way a book about the country's history never could - partially because Rwanda is, in every sense, a startlingly young nation. Angel, a "professional somebody", cake-maker, grandmother and amateur matchmaker, meets a series of customers and reveals intimate details of Rwandan life as she learns their stories. This book covered some of the most fascinatingly mundane aspects of the culture here, including most countries' tendency to claim that AIDS is everywhere except within their borders, the population's deep belief in voodoo and witch doctors despite their devout Christianity, the common occurence of men taking two wives and what that means for Rwandan women, and the way genocide survivors live in a country that took their families.
The End of Mr. Y by Scarlett Thomas
Our fellow volunteer Ian traded this to RA2, jailhouse style, for a pack of cigarettes and information about the outside (probably not true). A book-within-a-book, the not terribly strong plot becomes completely brilliant when the author uses the story as an opportunity to explore a series of odd, scientific, meta-physical ideas that one gets the idea had been kicking around in her head for awhile, looking for any flimsy opportunity to be expressed. At least half of the book was fascinating enough to be worth reading the whole thing.
What is the What by Dave Eggers
Thank you Emily Mowery! This was RA1's Christmas present and it was truly an amazing read. It tells the story of Achak Deng, one of the "Lost Boys" in the Sudan's civil war, almost entirely as he related it to novelist Dace Eggers. The two men depict Deng's life from IDP camps to barely-legal immigrant in the United States with heartbreaking honesty, and the tragedies contained bring the story of a refugee in to crystal clear perspective.
You've Come a Long Way, Maybe by Leslie Sanchez
A personal gift from the author to RA1, the book looks at the somewhat disparate question of what the media's sexism towards Sarah Palin, Hillary Clinton and Michelle Obama means for women in politics. It was nice to bring a piece of DC with us to the bush.
It by Stephen King
As RA2 wrote home to her loved ones, this book found its way into her possession at a perfect time, in a perfect way, with the usual ka of all things King-related. As we mentioned, books are rare and expensive here. On our way to Gisinye for the last week we would spend there, we stopped at Nakumat (Rwandan Walmart, ish) and she wandered away to gaze longingly at the books, most of which were slim "beach book" romantic-comedy paperbacks costing an average of 30 unjustifiable USD. On that particular day, though, she noticed a stack of Stephen King books. The only one she hadn't read but wanted to was It. She checked; they had it. As it was the length of a Bible, she knew she couldn't afford it, but she flipped it over anyway. At 9USD, it was the cheapest book there, and probably cheaper than she could even buy it used at home. She purchased it IMMEDIATELY. When we arrived at Gisinye we were not led to our usual room attached to the dining hall building, or to one of the rooms on the main building, or even to one of the buildings a stone's throw from the other two. Instead, we were led down a volcanic-rock lined path (unlit, naturally) down 4 steps that probably led directly to an as-yet-unknown circle of hell (Dante never visited Africa, that we know of) and to a virtually abandoned set of rooms from which we could not see the main set of buildings, nor could anyone see us. Nor, for that matter, would anyone hear us if we screamed as we were being hacked to pieces in the night - and did we mention we were in a technology-free northern Rwandan town bordering the Congo? it was the perfect setting to read one of the most terrifying books ever written about childhood nightmares and things that live in sewers, drains, basements and dark places. When RA2 did manage to sleep that week, she was afraid to put any appendage over the side of the bed, and kept imagining she saw faces in the window. THIS EXPERIENCE COMES HIGHLY RECOMMENDED, JUST FYI.
The #1 Ladies Detective Agency by Alex McCall
In reviews, this book draws frequent comparisons to the aforementioned Baking Cakes in Kigali, leading one to wonder if reviewers bothered to actually read the two books. While both books take place in African countries (Ladies is set in Botswana) and feature female main characters who learn about their customers' lives through their work, Ladies is by far the sharper, more interesting and better written of the two. While Baking Cakes is, ultimately, about Rwanda, Ladies is about a strong, fascinating, independent woman and her extremely interesting neighbors, and happens to be set in Botswana. Also, Ladies is now an awesome show on HBO, which the RAs love (Baking Cakes has yet to achieve this fame), thus proving once and for all its superiority. Baking Cakes is an excellent book in its own right, but if idiotic people insist on comparing the two, no one shall call them equal, the end. Richard, thank you for the loan!
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
This book about crazy people and a man slowly driving himself insane seemingly for the fun of it is written in such a way that reading it feels in and of itself slightly schizophrenic.
Flapper by Joshua Zeitz
We ended up reading a surprising amount of non-fiction here, and this was a great example of a fascinatingly rendered, historically accurate account. Using the Fitzgeralds as an anchor, the book traces the music, theater, literature and movies, as well as the more prominent personalities, that were touchstones of the jazz age. The direct-source quotes from writers like Fitgerald's (increasingly insane) wife Zelda and Lois Long are particularly interesting and often encompass whole pages.
In the Footsteps of Mr. Kurtz by Michela Wrong
Drawing occasionally from the themes and and passages of Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness and written by a journalist who actually lived in Congo while the AFDL was moving in to liberate the country from an ailing Mobutu, this book was a strangely eerie one to read while living in Rwanda. It is one of the best examples of the frequent attempts by visitors to Africa to encapsulate and render widely relevant their time on this continent. Wrong traces Mobutu's corrupt history, her personal experiences during the changeover, the history of colonization and its impact on the independent state of Zaire's psyche, and the West's gigantic and hugely whitewashed responsibility for Mobutu's reign and the economic fall-out, while managing to tie the narrative together - no small feat for a book that seems determined to do a lot in 300 pages. Some of the book is based on her interviews with infamous Zairean players, including one of Mobutu's sons. Her observations are pointed and her prose is excellent. It was cool and strange to recognize places she named as places we ourselves had been, to realize the enormous and awful history that had been under our feet, and to get a clearer sense of Rwanda's and the genocide's part in undoing the already unstable country.RA2 has never been particularly interested in Africa's history outside of Rwanda, but recognizing now that the borders between countries are a product of very recent colonization and based on arbitrary interests in minerals and resources, she would very much like to read every book like this that she can get her hands on when she returns home. Richard, thank you for the loan!
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon
Recommended by Dad (Mr. Soligan), this was one of RA2’s favorite books of the trip – one of her favorite books, really, of all time. Set during the Golden Age of comics, the story follows two cousins, one a native New Yorker, one barely escaped from Nazi-occupied eastern Europe, as they create one of the biggest super heroes in comic book history. Engaging, funny, and brilliantly sharp, this book will break your heart in astoundingly creative ways roughly every dozen pages.
and
The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon
After hearing how much the Manolos enjoyed Kavalier and Clay, Papa Soli sent this one along in a care package with the caveat that, "like Kavalier, this may require a certain Jewish sensibility to enjoy." He then pointed out that the time the book spent on the NYT best-sellers list just went to show how many Jewish readers buy books (or, yes, also, how many Jews live in NYC). Based on the never-realized concept of a Jewish settlement in Sitka, Alaska, the book takes place in a world in which Israel never survived the 6-day war. A crime story that takes place in 2008 but recalls hard-bitten detective stories of the 1920's, the books best thread (of many) is the realistic yet gorgeous love story. When the narrator describes his ex-wife as a Jewish woman who lives out of her handbag, the kind of woman who will be the continuation of the race and religion, you know just which woman he means, and just why he'll never stop loving her.
Deprived (sometimes quite happily) of movie theaters, TV, general mindless consumerism, and most entertainment, really, besides each other, 600RWF Primus, and Ian’s Guitar-Playing Remera Bar Sing-Alongs, the volunteers generally and the RAs in particular have spent a great deal of time reading. Books are prohibitively expensive here, so we have traded two dozen or so between us all. Below is our Rwandan Reading Review. At least one RA read every book on this list, but in general, what with the trading and the time to kill, we both read almost all of them.
Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie
Rushdie’s grasp of the English language is, to understate the matter, exceptional. Take as an example this line, not even from the book itself, but from the introduction to the 25th anniversary edition: "then all at once I understood that there was no contest, that Children of Midnight was a banal title and Midnight's Children a good one." The book follows a group of children born at the midnight hour of the independent state of India’s birth, endowed by their magical nation with a special set of widely varying powers, talents and traits. The narrator writes the book while rapidly falling apart, physically and emotionally, and the book itself follows the same pace as his deterioration, beginning strong and slow, ending quickly and frantically, spiraling all the while and taking the reader with it.
Say You’re One of Them by Uwem Akpan
This collection of short stories explores various conflicts in different African countries through the eyes of children living through them. They include a brother and sister unaware they are being prepared by their uncle for a life of slavery, a Muslim boy fleeing with Christians from conflict and two girls finding a friendship around religious strife. The title piece, “Say You’re One of Them”, is about a family of Hutus and Tutsis being brutally ripped apart by the Rwandan genocide. It does an excellent job giving at least an idea of this country’s pain and was, to say the least, particularly poignant to read while here.
A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson
RA2's mother sent this in a care package after she mentioned a weird desire to read it that came to her upon her arrival. There must have been something to it, because reading the author's account of his months spent hiking the Appalachian Trail with his ill-equipped childhood friend were strangely reminiscent of our time in Kigali. Like the RAs, Bryson traversed an unknown landscape for the sake of adventure that he came to feel, at long last, a certain mastery of, which he retains a clear fondness for, and which he would very much like to return to, and probably will throughout his life. Like Kigali, the AT had its own language to be learned and geography to be navigated. Like the RAs, Bryson spent a lot of time dreaming of Oreos and a long, hot shower, as well as sleeping on weirdly uncomfortable surfaces. The book is wickedly funny throughout and has made RA2 draw up plans for hiking when she gets home, because God forbid she spend any time in one place.
Avalon by (apologies - RA2 cannot find the author online and needs to just post this already, as she has been drafting it for what seems like eternity)
A very nice, interesting break from our usual reading material (thanks Mama Stipp!), the book follows two people who can’t get their act together through court intrigue from Britain to Iceland in the 16th century.
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
Being in Rwanda gave interesting perspective to this story about the African-American experience in a rural Ohio town. It is painfully sad and simply told, following two young sisters as they watch their friend undergo experiences they cannot begin to comprehend. It depicts endless internalized racism and self-hatred, something everyone who works with children, as we have done here, is concerned about.
Baking Cakes in Kigali by Gaile Parkin
More than anything else RA2 has ever read, this book captures the feeling, the daily idiosyncracies and the intimate ins-and-outs of life in Kigali. Written by a woman born and raised in Zambia, it holds the flavor of life in Rwanda in a way a book about the country's history never could - partially because Rwanda is, in every sense, a startlingly young nation. Angel, a "professional somebody", cake-maker, grandmother and amateur matchmaker, meets a series of customers and reveals intimate details of Rwandan life as she learns their stories. This book covered some of the most fascinatingly mundane aspects of the culture here, including most countries' tendency to claim that AIDS is everywhere except within their borders, the population's deep belief in voodoo and witch doctors despite their devout Christianity, the common occurence of men taking two wives and what that means for Rwandan women, and the way genocide survivors live in a country that took their families.
The End of Mr. Y by Scarlett Thomas
Our fellow volunteer Ian traded this to RA2, jailhouse style, for a pack of cigarettes and information about the outside (probably not true). A book-within-a-book, the not terribly strong plot becomes completely brilliant when the author uses the story as an opportunity to explore a series of odd, scientific, meta-physical ideas that one gets the idea had been kicking around in her head for awhile, looking for any flimsy opportunity to be expressed. At least half of the book was fascinating enough to be worth reading the whole thing.
What is the What by Dave Eggers
Thank you Emily Mowery! This was RA1's Christmas present and it was truly an amazing read. It tells the story of Achak Deng, one of the "Lost Boys" in the Sudan's civil war, almost entirely as he related it to novelist Dace Eggers. The two men depict Deng's life from IDP camps to barely-legal immigrant in the United States with heartbreaking honesty, and the tragedies contained bring the story of a refugee in to crystal clear perspective.
You've Come a Long Way, Maybe by Leslie Sanchez
A personal gift from the author to RA1, the book looks at the somewhat disparate question of what the media's sexism towards Sarah Palin, Hillary Clinton and Michelle Obama means for women in politics. It was nice to bring a piece of DC with us to the bush.
It by Stephen King
As RA2 wrote home to her loved ones, this book found its way into her possession at a perfect time, in a perfect way, with the usual ka of all things King-related. As we mentioned, books are rare and expensive here. On our way to Gisinye for the last week we would spend there, we stopped at Nakumat (Rwandan Walmart, ish) and she wandered away to gaze longingly at the books, most of which were slim "beach book" romantic-comedy paperbacks costing an average of 30 unjustifiable USD. On that particular day, though, she noticed a stack of Stephen King books. The only one she hadn't read but wanted to was It. She checked; they had it. As it was the length of a Bible, she knew she couldn't afford it, but she flipped it over anyway. At 9USD, it was the cheapest book there, and probably cheaper than she could even buy it used at home. She purchased it IMMEDIATELY. When we arrived at Gisinye we were not led to our usual room attached to the dining hall building, or to one of the rooms on the main building, or even to one of the buildings a stone's throw from the other two. Instead, we were led down a volcanic-rock lined path (unlit, naturally) down 4 steps that probably led directly to an as-yet-unknown circle of hell (Dante never visited Africa, that we know of) and to a virtually abandoned set of rooms from which we could not see the main set of buildings, nor could anyone see us. Nor, for that matter, would anyone hear us if we screamed as we were being hacked to pieces in the night - and did we mention we were in a technology-free northern Rwandan town bordering the Congo? it was the perfect setting to read one of the most terrifying books ever written about childhood nightmares and things that live in sewers, drains, basements and dark places. When RA2 did manage to sleep that week, she was afraid to put any appendage over the side of the bed, and kept imagining she saw faces in the window. THIS EXPERIENCE COMES HIGHLY RECOMMENDED, JUST FYI.
The #1 Ladies Detective Agency by Alex McCall
In reviews, this book draws frequent comparisons to the aforementioned Baking Cakes in Kigali, leading one to wonder if reviewers bothered to actually read the two books. While both books take place in African countries (Ladies is set in Botswana) and feature female main characters who learn about their customers' lives through their work, Ladies is by far the sharper, more interesting and better written of the two. While Baking Cakes is, ultimately, about Rwanda, Ladies is about a strong, fascinating, independent woman and her extremely interesting neighbors, and happens to be set in Botswana. Also, Ladies is now an awesome show on HBO, which the RAs love (Baking Cakes has yet to achieve this fame), thus proving once and for all its superiority. Baking Cakes is an excellent book in its own right, but if idiotic people insist on comparing the two, no one shall call them equal, the end. Richard, thank you for the loan!
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
This book about crazy people and a man slowly driving himself insane seemingly for the fun of it is written in such a way that reading it feels in and of itself slightly schizophrenic.
Flapper by Joshua Zeitz
We ended up reading a surprising amount of non-fiction here, and this was a great example of a fascinatingly rendered, historically accurate account. Using the Fitzgeralds as an anchor, the book traces the music, theater, literature and movies, as well as the more prominent personalities, that were touchstones of the jazz age. The direct-source quotes from writers like Fitgerald's (increasingly insane) wife Zelda and Lois Long are particularly interesting and often encompass whole pages.
In the Footsteps of Mr. Kurtz by Michela Wrong
Drawing occasionally from the themes and and passages of Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness and written by a journalist who actually lived in Congo while the AFDL was moving in to liberate the country from an ailing Mobutu, this book was a strangely eerie one to read while living in Rwanda. It is one of the best examples of the frequent attempts by visitors to Africa to encapsulate and render widely relevant their time on this continent. Wrong traces Mobutu's corrupt history, her personal experiences during the changeover, the history of colonization and its impact on the independent state of Zaire's psyche, and the West's gigantic and hugely whitewashed responsibility for Mobutu's reign and the economic fall-out, while managing to tie the narrative together - no small feat for a book that seems determined to do a lot in 300 pages. Some of the book is based on her interviews with infamous Zairean players, including one of Mobutu's sons. Her observations are pointed and her prose is excellent. It was cool and strange to recognize places she named as places we ourselves had been, to realize the enormous and awful history that had been under our feet, and to get a clearer sense of Rwanda's and the genocide's part in undoing the already unstable country.RA2 has never been particularly interested in Africa's history outside of Rwanda, but recognizing now that the borders between countries are a product of very recent colonization and based on arbitrary interests in minerals and resources, she would very much like to read every book like this that she can get her hands on when she returns home. Richard, thank you for the loan!
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon
Recommended by Dad (Mr. Soligan), this was one of RA2’s favorite books of the trip – one of her favorite books, really, of all time. Set during the Golden Age of comics, the story follows two cousins, one a native New Yorker, one barely escaped from Nazi-occupied eastern Europe, as they create one of the biggest super heroes in comic book history. Engaging, funny, and brilliantly sharp, this book will break your heart in astoundingly creative ways roughly every dozen pages.
and
The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon
After hearing how much the Manolos enjoyed Kavalier and Clay, Papa Soli sent this one along in a care package with the caveat that, "like Kavalier, this may require a certain Jewish sensibility to enjoy." He then pointed out that the time the book spent on the NYT best-sellers list just went to show how many Jewish readers buy books (or, yes, also, how many Jews live in NYC). Based on the never-realized concept of a Jewish settlement in Sitka, Alaska, the book takes place in a world in which Israel never survived the 6-day war. A crime story that takes place in 2008 but recalls hard-bitten detective stories of the 1920's, the books best thread (of many) is the realistic yet gorgeous love story. When the narrator describes his ex-wife as a Jewish woman who lives out of her handbag, the kind of woman who will be the continuation of the race and religion, you know just which woman he means, and just why he'll never stop loving her.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Sometimes in April
April marks two things for Rwandans: the start of the rainy season (totally skewed by climate change, as we have mentioned) and the month of mourning for all that was lost in Rwanda's genocide.
The genocide remains, by and large, a peripheral part of life here. Sixteen years after the worst of it, people are beginning to mention it in conversation; we get snippets of stories, a moment here or there, a girl we work with turning to point at a building and saying, "We hid there, after they killed my parents." There is a struggle between the need for privacy and the need to have the events that occurred here known and remembered.
We were aware that April was a totally different story, but were unsure what to expect. Last year was the 15th anniversary, and stories from ex-pats included people crying all through the month, in restaurants and on street corners. We were told that no music is played except mourning music, what little nightlife there is dies down considerably, and schools are closed for the first two weeks of the month. And we have found that this is all true, to some extent, but it doesn't really do justice to how Rwandans commemorate their loss.
April 7th, Wednesday, was the official Genocide Memorial Day, a national holiday for which all industry closes. We went to the stadium to hear the president speak (this marks the second time the RAs have been present when a sitting president gave a speech - we were both also there for President Obama's inaugural address). The stadium is a perfect example of Rwanda's struggle for both privacy and recognition. For the first two hours, a narrator droned on in Kinyarwandan, and throughout the stadium, you couldn't hear a pin drop, except for the people going into hysterics. There was pure silence from thousands of people, and then the screams of what could only be someone being ripped apart, in absolute agony, then more silence, then more screams, as Rwandans either experienced flashbacks or engaged in a socially acceptable form of grieving. According to our friend Amir, last year's 15th anniversary was worse; he said it was as though people in the stadium had lost their loved ones that very day. The stories that were triggering this grief were not repeated in English.
When President Kagame spoke, he alternated between Kinyarwandan and very pointed English intervals. He is an excellent speaker, and clearly beloved by his countrymen, some of whom were good-naturedly mimicking his mildly eccentric speech patterns next to us. Even though we only understood half of what he said, the half-hour went by quickly, and people around us would occasionally burst out laughin at something he said in Kinyarwandan. But when he switched to English, he had a point to make, and it was largely political. He chastised people who claimed there wasn't free press in Rwanda (there isn't, in some major ways) and those who say Rwandan's don't feel free to express themselves (they largely don't, politically). He made the extremely fair point that it is these same countries who call for greater freedom of expression that get angry when Rwandan's point out the role they played in the genocide (a great deal of the speech indicated that France's President Sarkozy irritated Kagame considerably during his recent visit). His speech, to our delight, also included the perfectly enunciated phrase, aimed at Western countries, "I. Don't. Give. A. Damn." But most of what he said about the genocide was said in Kinyarwandan, privately, to his fellow countrymen, in words the muzungus wouldn't understand.
By and large, aside from a slightly eerie day in which every single bar, store and restaurant in the city was closed, life moves on this month much as it always did. But occasionally, something reminds us that privately, Rwandans hold this time sacred. Assumpta, who manages our guest house, has worn something purple every day. When we were in Remera, a place known for it's drunks and giant $1 bottles of Primus (the two are probably not unrelated) as well as it's truly unspeakably appalling "bathrooms", almost every bar on the street (made up entirely of bars) was closed, and we were asked to leave around 10pm. We've seen more soldiers on the streets this month, and in places we don't usually see them, as genocide deniers sometimes do things like throw grenades at memorials during April. And today, RA2 realized that Rwanda Television, the only television station available to most of the population and renowned for it's extraordinary bad taste in programming, was showing nothing but genocide memorial themed music videos. This month, mourning is a private experience that a whole country shares.
The genocide remains, by and large, a peripheral part of life here. Sixteen years after the worst of it, people are beginning to mention it in conversation; we get snippets of stories, a moment here or there, a girl we work with turning to point at a building and saying, "We hid there, after they killed my parents." There is a struggle between the need for privacy and the need to have the events that occurred here known and remembered.
We were aware that April was a totally different story, but were unsure what to expect. Last year was the 15th anniversary, and stories from ex-pats included people crying all through the month, in restaurants and on street corners. We were told that no music is played except mourning music, what little nightlife there is dies down considerably, and schools are closed for the first two weeks of the month. And we have found that this is all true, to some extent, but it doesn't really do justice to how Rwandans commemorate their loss.
April 7th, Wednesday, was the official Genocide Memorial Day, a national holiday for which all industry closes. We went to the stadium to hear the president speak (this marks the second time the RAs have been present when a sitting president gave a speech - we were both also there for President Obama's inaugural address). The stadium is a perfect example of Rwanda's struggle for both privacy and recognition. For the first two hours, a narrator droned on in Kinyarwandan, and throughout the stadium, you couldn't hear a pin drop, except for the people going into hysterics. There was pure silence from thousands of people, and then the screams of what could only be someone being ripped apart, in absolute agony, then more silence, then more screams, as Rwandans either experienced flashbacks or engaged in a socially acceptable form of grieving. According to our friend Amir, last year's 15th anniversary was worse; he said it was as though people in the stadium had lost their loved ones that very day. The stories that were triggering this grief were not repeated in English.
When President Kagame spoke, he alternated between Kinyarwandan and very pointed English intervals. He is an excellent speaker, and clearly beloved by his countrymen, some of whom were good-naturedly mimicking his mildly eccentric speech patterns next to us. Even though we only understood half of what he said, the half-hour went by quickly, and people around us would occasionally burst out laughin at something he said in Kinyarwandan. But when he switched to English, he had a point to make, and it was largely political. He chastised people who claimed there wasn't free press in Rwanda (there isn't, in some major ways) and those who say Rwandan's don't feel free to express themselves (they largely don't, politically). He made the extremely fair point that it is these same countries who call for greater freedom of expression that get angry when Rwandan's point out the role they played in the genocide (a great deal of the speech indicated that France's President Sarkozy irritated Kagame considerably during his recent visit). His speech, to our delight, also included the perfectly enunciated phrase, aimed at Western countries, "I. Don't. Give. A. Damn." But most of what he said about the genocide was said in Kinyarwandan, privately, to his fellow countrymen, in words the muzungus wouldn't understand.
By and large, aside from a slightly eerie day in which every single bar, store and restaurant in the city was closed, life moves on this month much as it always did. But occasionally, something reminds us that privately, Rwandans hold this time sacred. Assumpta, who manages our guest house, has worn something purple every day. When we were in Remera, a place known for it's drunks and giant $1 bottles of Primus (the two are probably not unrelated) as well as it's truly unspeakably appalling "bathrooms", almost every bar on the street (made up entirely of bars) was closed, and we were asked to leave around 10pm. We've seen more soldiers on the streets this month, and in places we don't usually see them, as genocide deniers sometimes do things like throw grenades at memorials during April. And today, RA2 realized that Rwanda Television, the only television station available to most of the population and renowned for it's extraordinary bad taste in programming, was showing nothing but genocide memorial themed music videos. This month, mourning is a private experience that a whole country shares.
Tell Me That You’re Alright… That Everything is Alright
We’re at that point. The point where we can say things like “This time next week I will be: in a shower, in clean sheets, in a bed bigger than a twinsize (made of something besides RwandaFoam), drinking an iced coffee, etc.” But, for everything we’re looking forward to, we are incredibly, incredibly sad to be leaving Rwanda.
It’s hard to explain. As two girls who really love heels, America and Perez Hilton, how can we miss this developing country with its uberlimited internet bandwidth, 20-people-in-a-space-meant-for-7 bus rides, and perpetually muddy feet? But we will, because somehow this country has completely stolen our hearts. And if anyone knows the RAs – our hearts are famously hard to steal.
We came to Rwanda for one reason – and it was not the typical, bleeding-heart, volunteer reason. It was because we needed to see our lives from a new perspective (cue new Panic at the Disco song…). One of us quit her job and is in the process of finding a new one and the other was accepted to every grad school she applied to. Our lives are in completely different places, but the fact that we needed to turn our backs on our old lives and move forward with new glasses was at the heart of both of our motivations for coming here.
And Rwanda did not fail us. It may have tried to get us down (scrunching us into bus seats; making coffee irrationally difficult to find in a country for which it is a major export; frowning upon eating in public), but some days it gave us a sunrise or a sunset or a city view that took our breath away. Some days Rwanda sent us children who were dead set on making us miserable and other days their cuteness and sweet faces made us melt. Also not to be forgotten were the $1 beers that were as big as our heads… and some days, those went a long, long way.
We became part of Rwanda’s blossoming art scene. We learned a pretty formative Kinyarwandan vocabulary. We become muzungu aunties to a newborn. We saw giraffes and zebras. We pee’d in places that we dare not even THINK about ever again. We became “Teacha! Teacha!” to a hoard of children. We became experts in chapatti selection and samosa quality. We became lovers of Primus. We went to Congo. We stood on the shores of Lake Kivu. We were extremely, unquestionably lucky.
And now, its time to open a new chapter. Fortunately, we truly feel like we’re keeping in the same book. Before we came to Rwanda, we were excited to begin a whole new book. But now, this book, the one that has Kigali as its first chapter, is the book we’re excited to write. It’s the book that one of will write from grad school and the other will write from a desk somewhere. It’s the book that lets us start over, never forgetting where we came from, but always knowing where we get to go. It’s the book that’s scattered with African sunsets, giraffes and a group of children who are walking around (seemingly unknowingly) with pieces of our hearts in their grubby, dirty little hands.
Leaving Rwanda is a mildly terrifying prospect. We are happy here. We know what each day will bring. Home is completely unpredictable (finding jobs, paying bills, turning our cells back on), but we know that it's time to finish the story of our lives that we started here (with the understanding that this will take, at minimum, another 120 years and infinite mixed drinks). As we move on, Rwanda will move forward, and as excited as we are to see how it turns out for this, our strangely adopted country, we’re even more excited to see what our book will look like.
It’s hard to explain. As two girls who really love heels, America and Perez Hilton, how can we miss this developing country with its uberlimited internet bandwidth, 20-people-in-a-space-meant-for-7 bus rides, and perpetually muddy feet? But we will, because somehow this country has completely stolen our hearts. And if anyone knows the RAs – our hearts are famously hard to steal.
We came to Rwanda for one reason – and it was not the typical, bleeding-heart, volunteer reason. It was because we needed to see our lives from a new perspective (cue new Panic at the Disco song…). One of us quit her job and is in the process of finding a new one and the other was accepted to every grad school she applied to. Our lives are in completely different places, but the fact that we needed to turn our backs on our old lives and move forward with new glasses was at the heart of both of our motivations for coming here.
And Rwanda did not fail us. It may have tried to get us down (scrunching us into bus seats; making coffee irrationally difficult to find in a country for which it is a major export; frowning upon eating in public), but some days it gave us a sunrise or a sunset or a city view that took our breath away. Some days Rwanda sent us children who were dead set on making us miserable and other days their cuteness and sweet faces made us melt. Also not to be forgotten were the $1 beers that were as big as our heads… and some days, those went a long, long way.
We became part of Rwanda’s blossoming art scene. We learned a pretty formative Kinyarwandan vocabulary. We become muzungu aunties to a newborn. We saw giraffes and zebras. We pee’d in places that we dare not even THINK about ever again. We became “Teacha! Teacha!” to a hoard of children. We became experts in chapatti selection and samosa quality. We became lovers of Primus. We went to Congo. We stood on the shores of Lake Kivu. We were extremely, unquestionably lucky.
And now, its time to open a new chapter. Fortunately, we truly feel like we’re keeping in the same book. Before we came to Rwanda, we were excited to begin a whole new book. But now, this book, the one that has Kigali as its first chapter, is the book we’re excited to write. It’s the book that one of will write from grad school and the other will write from a desk somewhere. It’s the book that lets us start over, never forgetting where we came from, but always knowing where we get to go. It’s the book that’s scattered with African sunsets, giraffes and a group of children who are walking around (seemingly unknowingly) with pieces of our hearts in their grubby, dirty little hands.
Leaving Rwanda is a mildly terrifying prospect. We are happy here. We know what each day will bring. Home is completely unpredictable (finding jobs, paying bills, turning our cells back on), but we know that it's time to finish the story of our lives that we started here (with the understanding that this will take, at minimum, another 120 years and infinite mixed drinks). As we move on, Rwanda will move forward, and as excited as we are to see how it turns out for this, our strangely adopted country, we’re even more excited to see what our book will look like.
Monday, April 5, 2010
You Heard That Right: The RAs Go To Church
On Saturday one of our beloved 16 year old students, Jen, invited us to attend her baptism. In the usual T.I.A. fashion, everything from attempting to show up on time to the follow-up afterwards led to a series of mini-adventures, some quite beautiful, most ridiculous.
We had been told that the church was in Kimironko "by the mosque." We had no idea where it was, and the moto-taxi driver informed us it was actually in Kybagabaga which, due entirely to its name, is RA1s favorite place on earth. When we got to the mosque we started wandering into churches looking for Jen - "Jen ari hehe?" and "Baptism of Jen ari hehe?" - with minimal success. Finally we wandered back up to Kimironko and ran smack into Jen herself, who was looking for us (thank the sweet Rwandan Lord, although we still cannot determine WHY, not that we care). We met Jen's mother and hopped on a bus to Nyabagogo and then on moto-taxis to take us up into the mountains (two notes: the baptism was NOWHERE NEAR THE MOSQUE, thanks, and we spent a lot of time on motos that day). We got about halfway up the mountain when all the motos stopped and Jen's mother got off and began arguing with them. The words "amafaranga" and "nyangahe" were tossed around, leading us to conclude that because of the extremely steep terrain, they were asking for more money. In response, Jen's mother walked off with a purposeful stride, still carrying the moto helmet, until the men in desperation agreed to do what they had agreed to do in the first place, and we all got back on our motos. The trek was so steep that in parts we all, drivers included, had to get off and walk the bikes up the hill, which has never happened in the three months we have been here. But the view was spectacular. We walking along a gushing river, staring at the most beautiful green vistas imaginable. When we got to the top we found a crowd of people and, weirdly, a photographer, and in one of the usual weirdly surreal Rwandan moments, found a crowd of people insisting on having their picture taken with us. Occasionally a woman would throw one of us her baby, adjust her outfit, reclaim her child, smile for the camera, and wander off.
After a few minutes of this and several phone calls, Jen's mother concluded that we were in the wrong place.
Jen and RA1 got on a moto TOGETHER, another new and interesting moto feat for the day, and sped back off to the very bottom of the mountain to make it to Jen's Baptism, while RA2 and Jen's mom went for a long walk. Halfway down, the moto returned, RA2 presumed, to carry her and Jen's mother back down to meet them. But no. The moto, having not negotiated the price upfront, wanted an exorbitant amount of money, and not having gotten said exorbitant amount from Jen and RA1, had come back up the mountain to try his luck with the other muzungu.
By the time RA2 and Jen's mother got down the mountain, Jen was good and baptised. RA1 watched as the Pastor dunked Jen, fully clothed, under a wide and gushing river, true Come-to-Jesus style, and asked her afterwards, "Are you happy?" Jen smiled beatifically, "I am very happy," then smacked her lips, frowned, and said, "That water is very bad."
Afterwards one of the three church pastors, a woman, invited the RAs to attend the service following the baptisms. One bus ride and a moto later, we arrived at the actual church, which was, in fact, quite near the mosque. A terrifically energetic preacher, appearing to have The Spirit coming through him in vast quantities, ranted, prayed, cajoled and extolled, frequently emitting a full-bodied "HALLELUJAH" followed by the congregation's equally heartfelt "AMEN!" At intervals, the entire church would get up out of their chairs and dance with unrivaled enthusiasm, occasionally dropping to the floor in unison to pray for their specific names. The no-less passionate but slightly more controlled pastor would then rise and, praying in both English and Kinyarwandan , would explain the Kingdom of God, which apparently asks for your energy, your time, your power and your money (in an odd stroke of weird, we heard her giving the same sermon on the radio this morning over breakfast). Some version of this went on for several hours until RA2, late and hungry, quietly excused herself.
RA1 stayed to witness what was clearly the highlight of the day: a Rwandan exorcism. At some point roughly 4 hours into the service (not joking) two of the pastors went over to a woman lying on the floor and began shaking her violently and praying. The man next to RA1, who had been translating, looked at her thoughtfully and said, "She has a demon," then returned to watching the events unfold. As the pastors went on shaking and praying until RA1 feared they might actually break the woman's ribs, the man would sometimes turn and comment thoughtfully, "They are getting the devil out of her," or "Yes, she has a demon."
In summation, we have truly never seen Jen so happy. When she sings and dances she is a completely different person. This country desperately needs extracurricular activities.
We had been told that the church was in Kimironko "by the mosque." We had no idea where it was, and the moto-taxi driver informed us it was actually in Kybagabaga which, due entirely to its name, is RA1s favorite place on earth. When we got to the mosque we started wandering into churches looking for Jen - "Jen ari hehe?" and "Baptism of Jen ari hehe?" - with minimal success. Finally we wandered back up to Kimironko and ran smack into Jen herself, who was looking for us (thank the sweet Rwandan Lord, although we still cannot determine WHY, not that we care). We met Jen's mother and hopped on a bus to Nyabagogo and then on moto-taxis to take us up into the mountains (two notes: the baptism was NOWHERE NEAR THE MOSQUE, thanks, and we spent a lot of time on motos that day). We got about halfway up the mountain when all the motos stopped and Jen's mother got off and began arguing with them. The words "amafaranga" and "nyangahe" were tossed around, leading us to conclude that because of the extremely steep terrain, they were asking for more money. In response, Jen's mother walked off with a purposeful stride, still carrying the moto helmet, until the men in desperation agreed to do what they had agreed to do in the first place, and we all got back on our motos. The trek was so steep that in parts we all, drivers included, had to get off and walk the bikes up the hill, which has never happened in the three months we have been here. But the view was spectacular. We walking along a gushing river, staring at the most beautiful green vistas imaginable. When we got to the top we found a crowd of people and, weirdly, a photographer, and in one of the usual weirdly surreal Rwandan moments, found a crowd of people insisting on having their picture taken with us. Occasionally a woman would throw one of us her baby, adjust her outfit, reclaim her child, smile for the camera, and wander off.
After a few minutes of this and several phone calls, Jen's mother concluded that we were in the wrong place.
Jen and RA1 got on a moto TOGETHER, another new and interesting moto feat for the day, and sped back off to the very bottom of the mountain to make it to Jen's Baptism, while RA2 and Jen's mom went for a long walk. Halfway down, the moto returned, RA2 presumed, to carry her and Jen's mother back down to meet them. But no. The moto, having not negotiated the price upfront, wanted an exorbitant amount of money, and not having gotten said exorbitant amount from Jen and RA1, had come back up the mountain to try his luck with the other muzungu.
By the time RA2 and Jen's mother got down the mountain, Jen was good and baptised. RA1 watched as the Pastor dunked Jen, fully clothed, under a wide and gushing river, true Come-to-Jesus style, and asked her afterwards, "Are you happy?" Jen smiled beatifically, "I am very happy," then smacked her lips, frowned, and said, "That water is very bad."
Afterwards one of the three church pastors, a woman, invited the RAs to attend the service following the baptisms. One bus ride and a moto later, we arrived at the actual church, which was, in fact, quite near the mosque. A terrifically energetic preacher, appearing to have The Spirit coming through him in vast quantities, ranted, prayed, cajoled and extolled, frequently emitting a full-bodied "HALLELUJAH" followed by the congregation's equally heartfelt "AMEN!" At intervals, the entire church would get up out of their chairs and dance with unrivaled enthusiasm, occasionally dropping to the floor in unison to pray for their specific names. The no-less passionate but slightly more controlled pastor would then rise and, praying in both English and Kinyarwandan , would explain the Kingdom of God, which apparently asks for your energy, your time, your power and your money (in an odd stroke of weird, we heard her giving the same sermon on the radio this morning over breakfast). Some version of this went on for several hours until RA2, late and hungry, quietly excused herself.
RA1 stayed to witness what was clearly the highlight of the day: a Rwandan exorcism. At some point roughly 4 hours into the service (not joking) two of the pastors went over to a woman lying on the floor and began shaking her violently and praying. The man next to RA1, who had been translating, looked at her thoughtfully and said, "She has a demon," then returned to watching the events unfold. As the pastors went on shaking and praying until RA1 feared they might actually break the woman's ribs, the man would sometimes turn and comment thoughtfully, "They are getting the devil out of her," or "Yes, she has a demon."
In summation, we have truly never seen Jen so happy. When she sings and dances she is a completely different person. This country desperately needs extracurricular activities.
Folks, We Haaaaaaaave a Winner
Claudine has named her beautiful daughter Cynthia, pronounced, in the French-influenced Kinyarwandan way, Sehn-tee.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Surprise Visit
It truly is Good Friday!!!! Today we got a phone call telling us that the women we visited in Gisenyi had just arrived in Kigali and were coming to see us. We pulled ourselves out of our various stages of post-Salsa night (hey, they told us we had the day off!) and ran down to the office.
We'll post pics as soon as we get our hands on them from today - but we are very excited to bring to you today all the picture updates from our last trip to Gisenyi. You can check out the full album on our Snapfish account.
Words can't begin to describe the women we've met in Rwanda - but especially the women in Gisenyi. They are so brave and so energetic. They came in to Kigali dressed to kill and carrying a letter to the FVA headquarters requesting additional support for their upcoming ventures to reach out to more women. They told our bosses Claire and Willy that they had been really encouraged by our visits and wanted to keep expanding their network. The Manolos wanted to cry (ok, maybe we did cry....) we were so excited for these women. Then - they really did make us want to cry when they proposed that their foundation, when they have it up and running, should be named after us. [Little did they know, both of the Manolos are deep in job search mode currently and could have possibly jumped on any opportunity to find employment ;-)].
It was an amazing visit, even though it was so short. We hope you enjoy the updates below of our trip to Gisenyi - they are anything but short, but they are everything as in filled with tons of pictures. These women have a really special place in our hearts and we hope reading their stories and our experiences with them will spur you to acts of courage and inspiration in your day.
We'll post pics as soon as we get our hands on them from today - but we are very excited to bring to you today all the picture updates from our last trip to Gisenyi. You can check out the full album on our Snapfish account.
Words can't begin to describe the women we've met in Rwanda - but especially the women in Gisenyi. They are so brave and so energetic. They came in to Kigali dressed to kill and carrying a letter to the FVA headquarters requesting additional support for their upcoming ventures to reach out to more women. They told our bosses Claire and Willy that they had been really encouraged by our visits and wanted to keep expanding their network. The Manolos wanted to cry (ok, maybe we did cry....) we were so excited for these women. Then - they really did make us want to cry when they proposed that their foundation, when they have it up and running, should be named after us. [Little did they know, both of the Manolos are deep in job search mode currently and could have possibly jumped on any opportunity to find employment ;-)].
It was an amazing visit, even though it was so short. We hope you enjoy the updates below of our trip to Gisenyi - they are anything but short, but they are everything as in filled with tons of pictures. These women have a really special place in our hearts and we hope reading their stories and our experiences with them will spur you to acts of courage and inspiration in your day.
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