Taking the GMAT in Africa

Most business schools in the United States require a GMAT score as part of the application packet. The GMAT is a standardized test that is offered by Pearson Vue. In the United States, there are Pearson Vue testing centers in pretty much every town worth some salt. Outside of the USofA, however, testing centers are few and far between. On the continent of Africa, let's just say there are maybe a handful.

Well. Since I decided to apply to business schools this year, it became apparent that I would need to take the GMAT somehow. I looked up testing centers near Kigali. The nearest one was 470 kms away, in Kampala, Uganda. Oh goodie.

In order to take the test, you have to sign up well in advance, and pay a $250 fee. Oh extra goodie. I signed up for the 10th of October, hoping I'd be able to study for the test and find a way to Kampala before then.

As it turns out, there's a bus that runs from Kigali to Kampala every morning. Since the GMAT on Saturdays are only offered at 9am, that meant I had to take a bus friday morning. Oh goodie - I could waste a whole vacation day taking a bumpy, hot, cramped bus ride to a city I was mildly afraid of. I was told to expect to spend at least 9 or 10 hours on the bus ride. Oh goodie goodie.

Well, surprisingly enough, the bus ride was rather uneventful. At the Kigali-Uganda border, we all had to get out of the bus, check out of Rwanda at the Rwanda counter, walk across no-mans-land and check in again at the Uganda counter. Since 50 zillion busses all leave Kigali at the same time, there were 50 zillion and a half people trying to cross the border simultaneously. I could have complained about that, but I didn't mind being able to walk around, buy some water, go to the oh-so-yummy-smelling bathrooms that were really just holes in the ground, and exchange money. I did eventually get to the check-in counter in Uganda, and, oh goodie, I had to pay a $50 fee for the visa.

We arrived in Kampala at about 5pm. It was 11 hours door-to-city-center. Thank GOODNESS for a friend of mine who lived in Kampala for several years. She lead me through the city's chaos - and when I mean chaos, I mean chaos - and deposited me on a mutatu that actually drove me to my hotel. Thank you Ameliah, you were a god send. The mutatu ride was only 1000 shillings, but the value of the money that was pick-pocked from our bags will forever be unknown.

Dinner and a chat on the phone later, I was tucked into bed for a good night's rest. Lucky for me, however, there was a party going on down the street that thought everyone in Kampala should reap the benefits. I got to listen to thumping reggae, hip hop, and random pop songs all night. Oh goodie. The music stopped around 7:30 am. At least it was pivotal in making sure I was awake on time.

I asked the hotel to get me a moto driver that would take me to the right college at the right university in Kampala so I could take my test. Freddie arrived at 8:05 with a bike and no helmet. Oh goodie. We drove through the city, weaving between gridlocked cars and cutting through gas stations to avoid traffic lights. At one point a cop tried to grab Freddie's shirt, and he put pedal to the metal while I hung on for dear life. Later, when we reached the university entrance we did an about-face and scrambled around a corner into a little dirt alley way between shacks selling phone credit and tomatoes. This time I demanded an explanation.

"Oh," said Freddie. "Those police men are trying to arrest me."

Oh goodie again. Not only was I scared for my life as we skidded through traffic, now I was aware of sitting on the back of a moto controlled by a fugitive. Fun fun.

20 minutes of driving around looking for the right college ("I know where it is!" said Freddie, a few too many times) he leaves me at the Faculty of Technology. Unfortunately, the testing center is in the Faculty of Information Technology. Meh. It was only on the other side of campus. Goodie.

Oh crap! It was 8:45!! My test was a 9, and according to the GMAT website, if you're not there at least 15 mins early, you forfeit your chance to take the test. Shit.

I hissed another moto down and told him to book it over to the RIGHT faculty. That was fun. Yet again my life was held in the balance as wind blew around my non-helmet-protected hair.

I got to reception, and there was a dude whining about how he paid the registrar, but he still wasn't enrolled. Whaa whaa whaa. I could hear my heart thumping in my toes. I kept staring at the clock on the wall. 8:54.... 8:55.... 8:56... Finally the dude left.

"The Pearson Vue testing center. Where is it?" I'd lost all sense of propriety.

"9th floor"

"Where's the elevator?"

"There isn't one"

Oh extra goodie.

I ran up the stairs like a maniac. I only had to stop twice behind slow-ass african-style walkers who took up the entire width of the stairwell. "Excuse me, excuse me" I said as I pushed past them with my african-style pushing-past skills.

I got to the door of the testing center at 8:59am. I wasn't 15 minutes early, but technically, I was there before my exam was supposed to start. Phew.

Shit.

The testing center was locked. I totally KNEW it! They had left already because I was late. Great.

I asked the dudes at the Thompson Prometric center also on the same floor if the Pearson Vue people were supposed to come by. "Oh, she doesn't come by on Saturdays." was the response I got. Oh extra goodie. I wondered if the printed internet receipt I had of the $250 I'd paid and the appointment information was going to hold any clout if I needed it to.

Back down the 9 floors to reception, I asked if I could please get in touch with the Pearson Vue testing center lady as it was extremely important that I take my test THAT day. I thought about giving the full sob story, but she stopped me by saying "Oh. She's probably late. She'll come. Just wait." Oh those famous African words. Just wait.

Ok.

Back up the 9 flights of stairs, I sat down on a oh-so-comfy chair made of metal spokes and random rusty nails. "TIA," I thought. "This is Africa."

Good thing I passed out during the hour and a half that I had to wait. I never would have waited that long otherwise. Seriously!

Well, at least she showed. At least I managed to take the test. By the time it was over, I was starving... but it was over. Finally.

I rode with the fugitive back to the hotel. Why not, eh? TIA, baby. TIA.

Article in the Financial Times

A few weeks ago, I spent a day with a correspondent for the Financial Times who was doing a piece on Rwanda. Based out of Nairobi, he was attempting to get as comprehensive a picture of Rwanda as possible in one short week. This is what he came up with. I find it remarkably on the nose:

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/64d9911e-a654-11de-8c92-00144feabdc0,dwp_uuid=3a66dad4-a656-11de-8c92-00144feabdc0.html

The Month of April

April is the anniversary month of the Genocide here in Rwanda.  The plane crash that started it all was on April 6, and within hours thousands of people had been killed.  The first couple months saw an unprecendented death toll.

15 years later, April is the month of rememberance and mourning.  Everything has been cancelled.  Band rehearsal is on indefinite hiatus, salsa classes don't meet for the next few weeks, night clubs are shutting down, taxis are rare, and hardly anyone even walks the streets.  There's pretty much nothing going on.

Tuesday next week will be April 6th.  It's a national "holiday" so no one's supposed to come to work.  On top of that, Hannah's leaving for a week to India, and Erik's peacing out to Zanzibar.  Whaaa!  I'm going to be all alone for almost a week... with NOTHING to do - quite literally.  Well, I guess I'll get a lot work done.

Salsa All the Time

So even though I wasn't making a point of being conspicuous, I've apparently made such a name for myself dancing at Pasadena on Thursday nights, that Christian asked me to help him teach some classes.  Christian is one of the Rwandese dancers who started dancing salsa when it first came to Kigali about 4 years ago.  He's an exceptional leader by any measure, but even more so because he rarely has anyone to learn from.  He spends most of his time trying to invent new moves with his own creativity, watching youtube videos (on an internet connection that hardly makes youtube watching worthwhile) and scouting around for expats that have recently come to Kigali that happen to know salsa.  He and a few of his friends run a tuesday-night salsa class at the local rec center.

Christian asked if he could practice with me in order to try some new moves and learn whatever patterns I had to teach.  He offered that I go to the tuesday class, help some of the other students, and then we'd practice afterwards.  For the past two weeks I've been going.  It's been quite fun, despite the fact that I feel grossly underqualified to be teaching him anything.  We mostly work on simple lifts and dips that he then tries on unwitting partners on Thursday nights.

Anyway, Evette, the Rwandese girl that helps Christian out with the organizational details of the salsa classes asked me if I'd teach a ladies styling class.  Again, I have to appreciate what a small pond I'm in if I am the one they come to for styling tips.  Nonetheless, today was my first ladies styling class.  We worked on arm styling and some basic hip movement.  It was actually quite fun, and I was surprised how eager and willing all the students were.  Christian has also asked that I keep an eye out for any women with special talent that he might recruit for a demonstration group.  THAT would be fun.

A Disgusting Show of Overpriveledged Entitlement

Yes, I'm ashamed to admit it, but today I believe I've out-done myself in terms of laziness and outright overpriveldged behaviour.  Waking up to a house that had litterally been trashed from the inside out, Erik, Giudi and I sat our butts down on the couch we had moved outside for the party and literally have not moved all day.  This wouldn't be such a big deal since we did party quite aggresively last night and because we're all feeling the effects of it today, but we're all rather ashamed of ourselves because Emmanuel, our weekend guard, has been up and at it all morning.  He cleaned up all the beer bottles left all over the front yard.  He's picked up all the bits of balloons and washed away the broken glass.  He's even cleaned out the dead coolers that were left half-filled with ice last night.  Then he started on the floor.  The couch we're camped out on sits on a balcony that is floored in tile and covered in mud from the constant flow of traffic last night.  Emmanuel has crossed in front of us 100 times at this point, mopping the tiles over and over, pushing murky water onto the driveway every time.

We called 'Sol e Luna' for pizzas since they deliver and won't require us to move.  We're starving, but can't cook breakfast.  There's nothing to cook anyway.

At least my hair still looks hot from last night.  Mike and Erik agree that I might actually be one of the few white girls who could look good in dreads.  Oh, if only I could grow them without worrying about little things like keeping a job...

Greece/Grease Night

Last night my house threw a ridiculously giant party.  We'd been working on it for weeks.  Erik had a dorky spreadsheet that he passed around with various amounts of beer bottles in various brands and various sizes and costs, as well as options for entertainment and catering.  I was even nominated to create the "flyer" that was sent out electronically to our entire Rwanda-based email list.  We picked the theme Greece/Grease, and said people could do whatever they wanted with the theme, as long as they had a story or explanation.  

A lot of people came in Togas - I guess that was the easy option, and by far the most do-able here in Rwanda - but we did have a "grease monkey" (mechanic) a bunch of 50s-esque outfits from the musical Grease, a few greek gods, and even a greek flag or two.  I was hoping someone would show up as an olive or Ouza or something, but I suppose that's asking a little much.

Erik showed up in a toga outfit he'd acquired in London last week.  Hannah and I went to the Novotel to get our hair done and showed up as Sandra Dee and Medusa respectively.  Neither the DJ nor the Brochette maker showed up as anything in particular, but then again, we paid them to show up.

Hannah's greatest artwork to date was displayed proudly on my arms and ankles.  Thanks Hannah!

Probably the most interesting aspect of the party was the fact that between the four of us, we only knew about 20% of the people that showed up to the party.  Who knows how the word spread so widely, but my goodness did a lot of people show up for some free booze and some music.  No matter... we all had fun.

For more pictures, go here.

Kigali's Diva

So last night marked my emergence as a bona-fide diva in Kigali.  Okay, so maybe not completely, but having already made my name in the city as the girl who dances salsa (more on that later), it was a rather thrilling experience to now also sing in a band.  That's right, you read right.  I officially sing lead vocals in a band.  Hee hee!!

A few weeks ago, I went with Erik to the Goat & Gorilla for the first time.  Only recently opened, the pub sits inside the British Embassy, serves only Mutzig and Amstel beers, and only opens on Thursday evenings for cocktail hour.  Surprisingly, (or not) the pub has become a huge hit, and a standing thursday after-work event for anyone who can get an invite (since it's inside the Embassy, one either needs a British passport, or a willing escort with a British passport).  As part of the entertainment there's a cover band that plays.  Occasionally they even sound good.

Anyway, the band was trying to get some audience participation, and offered up a free beer to anyone who wanted to sing a song with them.  With the not-so-necessary coaxing from Erik and Gary, I suddenly found myself up there singing Shania Twain and quasi regretting my earlier willingness to sing.  Despite my meager performance, I did receive my free beer and a rather over-enthusiastic response from the audience.  The following week I was approached by Richard (the guy who's the organizational energy behind the band) and offered the opportunity to rehearse and sing with the band on a regular basis.  Heh!  Who knew.

And so this week I attended rehearsals on both Tuesday and Wednesday and yesterday we had our first pre-rehearsed show together.  Granted, I only did four songs since we didn't really have time to rehearse more than that, but it was a good time nonetheless.  I even managed to get them to do 'Fever', so yes, I can officially check off my Bucket List "Sing 'Fever' in Front of an Audience."  Yay!

Anyway, since we have the standing gig at the Goat & Gorilla, it's a great way for me to get some performance experience without the stakes being all that high.  Apparently this band (I still haven't got their official name) also does gigs around town once in a while, so when that happens I'll hopefully be prepared.