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.

St. Patrick's Day Ball

So this weekend was a real ex-pat experience.  Until now, I've had many occasions to feel how ridiculously small the ex-pat community is... everyone knows everyone.  Or so it feels.  This weekend, however, I had quite the opposite experience.  I was absolutely stunned by how many people there really are.

St. Patrick's day was last Tuesday.  Of course the Irish community here in Kigali (I believe there are 12 or 13) thought it would wildly fitting to throw a giant St. Patrick's Day ball, and were pleasantly surprised to discover their am

bassador decided to make an appearance in the country to coincide with the event.

For weeks and weeks they have been postering and plugging the evening everywhere you went. At the Goat & Gorilla (a pub at the English Embassy that opens only once a week for happy hour), I was offered tickets by every third person I talked to.

Despite the exorbitant price (more than $60), Hannah and I were eventually convinced to join Erik's group of friends.  They had a few extra seats at their table, and we eager to not look lame.  

Not too much coaxing was needed to get Mike to come along too (Mike is Hannah's flame as of late).

The evening was "black tie, or whatever you can get" so people had a wide range of outfits on.  Kate and Sara got their dresses made by one of the tailors in town, but since Hannah and I didn't commit ourselves until the last minute, we had to make do with the stuff we already had in our closets.  Ok, so I actually planned ahead a wee bit and spent last Sunday sunning myself by the pool at Novotel (a hotel walking distance from my house) in order to have hot legs for the party.  My dress, after all, is a leg dress.

The event itself was very first-world.  Held in a hotel, the lobby was converted into an art gallery full of art from our favorite artist friends.  Upstairs, there was a cocktail hour outside the main ballroom during which we were served Guinness mixed with cheap champagne.  Yeah, I didn't get it either... but we had to appreciate the fact that there was Guinness at all.  Cocktail hour was followed by a buffet style dinner that boasted food so good I probably tucked away 15 pounds of it.  Then there were speeches upon speeches I hardly paid attention to, and finally an Irish cover band played for hours and hours and we all got to dance the night away.

What astounded me more than the fact that I got to have cheesecake, or that the band was actually good, or that we got to have free wine (almost) all night was the fact that giant ballroom was jam packed with ex-pats, and I only knew about 12 of them.  I felt like all my conceptions about what comprised the ex-pat community here was totally off base.  Even Erik was stunned by the shear volume of people he had never seen before.  Turns out Kigali really is the trendy spot to be for development workers.

For more photos, go here.

Trivia Night

Oliver challenged Erik and I to a trivia night, so we got together a team of non-PIHers and set out to Torero for their weekly wednesday trivia game.  Having never been to Torero, I was pleasantly surprised.  Sitting below the street, the little bar/cafe boasts warm ambient lighting, a small stage (that incidentally had a solo guitarist/singer playing when we arrived), walls decked out with art from our favorite local artists, and not-entirely-ridiculously-expensive draught beer.

Trivia night has apparently quite the draw, because the place was packed, and about 9 teams competed.  Erik had put together a team of a few of the Blairs (Brits who are here working for Tony Blair), a dude from DFID, and of course Hannah and I.  Hannah brough along her new flame Mike as well.

And so trivia night began.  The prize for winning is a round of beers on the house, and since we decided to call ourselves "And in Third Place," Erik offered to get us all a round if we actually did come in 3rd.  Of course the questions were absolutely impossible.  One we did manage to get was "The word that is used to describe a group of owls" (Parliament), and another "The animal with the largest eye" (Giant squid).  One we got 75% of, but not completely was "The word 'Golf' used to be an acronym for what?" (Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden).

Anyway, as luck would have it, the we and the PIHers tied for 2nd place.  We didn't win, nor did we really get 3rd, so no free beers for us.  Boo.  Maybe next time.

Mount Kibuye

Yup. I decided to climb another mountain this weekend.  Or rather, I decided to go on another hike this weekend - the climbing a mountain part was something I THOUGHT I had done before, but I was completely mistaken.

Sam, our usual taxi driver, has been taking tourism and business development classes, and wanted to try out an "excursion" that he plans to offer in his personal tourism business that will one day be launched.  We were all willing

 victims... Erik, myself, and Omondi, a Kenyan who works for a different Clinton Foundation initiative.

On Friday, Sam sent us all a text message on our phones that said "Be ready at 7am, wear hiking shoes, and don't go out tonight."  We all found it rather endearing, but basically paid little heed to it.  Erik, having done the Inca trail in Peru, was superconfident of his hiking skills.  I, having just completed a nice little hike last week, felt I could handle Rwanda's hills.  We both were puffing up our chests.  Erik was even telling me he didn't want to be annoyed by my silly girly whining and hoped I'd be able to keep up on Saturday.

So, Friday night, when Hannah suggested playing Billiards at Planet around 8pm, Erik and I figured we could afford one drink and a few games.  Since Planet is only walking distance from our house, we set ourselves up for a simple night, with the plans of being home by 10 or 11. 

Well, Erik finally won a table and let Hannah and I play.  Our game took over an hour to complete on game (we sucked that much).  Since we took so long, we felt obliged to buy drinks, and before we knew it, we were each about 8 beers in, dancing up a storm on a packed dance floor, and discovering it was 2:30 in the morning.  Oops.

We went home, slept briefly, attempted to quell the threatening hangover with a glass of water and some coffee, and slumped into Sam's car at 7am the next morning without breakfast and with a festering headache.

Mount Kibuye is about 1.5hrs north of Kigali.  We drove out of the city on the same road we took to Butaro last week.  Eventually we found the turn off, drove a bit into the little village, dumped the car, and started walking.

At first it was a wide path - probably wide enough for a car, if you had the patience for the quality of the road.  The weather was nice, and the air fresh.  Although the road continually wound upwards, it was passable, and only a mild challenge.  Of course, the compulsory gaggle of children quickly collected, as Erik and I were yet again, a sight to be seen.

The path narrowed and turned steeper, our hangovers threatened on the brink of our consciousness, and we kept climbing.  Eventually we come to a stream and hop across on a few rocks that had been strategically placed.  There was a little teeny tiny footpath on the other side.  That's when Sam said "ok, now we start."

WHAT?!  We're only starting NOW?  I had already broken a steady sweat, was filthy from my knees down (dust kicks up a lot) and quite annoyed already by the oogling kids.  Omondi and Sam had made repeated attempts to instruct the kids home, but it made little difference.  Erik was ready to pass out.

But we climbed and climbed.  The path wound left and right across the face of the hillside since going straight up was way too steep.  The kids ran ahead, then ran back, then ran ahead again, making it ever the more obvious we abazungu can't hike to save our lives.

And we kept climbing...

And climbing...

Finally Erik asks Sam how far along we are.  He's ready to stop altogether.  Sam told us that the first group of American's he tried to take up the mountain had finally crapped out about half way up.  Erik wanted to make sure we were at least past half way.  We weren't.  We were about a third.  Oh god.

We passed plot upon plot of cultivated land.  I saw got an extreme close-up view of random crops I've seen growing my whole life, but never actually took the time to SEE before.  I asked Sam a zillion questions about cultivation practices and ripening patterns of random fruits.  I noticed, as well, that the altitude had less to do with the crop being planted than did the actual slope of the earth.  As the slope got steeper and steeper, the only thing left growing as Eucalyptus trees.  Yes - Eucaplyptus trees.  My notion that Eucalyptus trees only grow in Australia was wildly off base.  Oh well... you learn something new every day.

Eventually Erik quit.  He'd had it.  He wanted to sleep anyway.  Sam, Omondi, and I kept going.  Then the trail ended.  Err, rather, Sam directed us off it.  That was it - no more obvious way to go.  Now we just had to head up.  As long as we were going up, we were going in the right direction.

The slope became so steep that we literally pulled ourselves up the mountain using the tree trunks as both arm and foot holds.  Because the ground was mostly loose rock, it was easy to lose your footing, so we scrambled and grabbed and stumbled and reached and inched slowly up and up.

Sam then announces we're going to take a detour because he wants us to see this cave he stumbled upon last time he climbed the mountain.  A cave?!  Oooh!  Coolness.  And so we suddenly cut across the mountainside, holding onto trees as we move.  Then it's up between two rocks, around a few giant shrubs, and voila! a ridonculously giant cave.  We ventured a few "rooms" in before it got so dark we wussed out.  Next time we're bringing flashlights, we decided.  Sam mentioned we might want to be careful of bats and snakes too... so we stood outside and took pictures and made grand plans to come back geared up for a caving adventure.

Detour complete, we continued our way up.  Unfortunately, now that we were in cave country, the mountainside was pretty much loose rock, some grass, and a few weak shrubs.  Our handholds were no where to be seen.  Suddenly my limited rock-climbing skills seemed a giant help.  We were literally on all fours because every time we tried to "stand up" we experienced vertigo and lost our footing.  None of us could look anywhere but at the mountain in front of us.  Looking at the wondrous view was way too freaky.

Anyway, as luck would have it, we did eventually make it to the top of the mountain.  There we found a cute little pond and pine trees.  Yes, pine trees.  We sat on a big bed of pine needles next to the water and ate peanuts and chapati - the only food Sam had brought along.  (Our morning rush had caused both Erik and I to be vastly underprepared in terms of food and water.  Goodness me.)

That's when the rain started.  I should have known that it would rain since it's rained pretty much every single day since I got to Rwanda.  But in some random moment of idiocy, I decided to risk it when leaving the house in the morning.  And so it rained, and I got wet.  And it rained and rained, and I got soaked.  With the new rainfall, we had to start heading back down the mountain... this time jumping from tree to tree and using our arms to stop our momentum so we didn't just roll headlong down the mountainside.  Every time I hit another tree, I was showered with extra-heavy raindrops off the leaves.  Then, of course, I had to slip in the mud and end up with a great big swath of mud smeared across my butt.  Fun fun.  By the time we finally reached Erik (who had passed out on a rock, and woken to rainfall in his face), I was so completely soaked, my bones were wet.  Oh joy.

Well, we still had a good hour of walking to get back to the car.  We lost our gaggle of children, finally, as they all scurried away for cover, but we didn't lose the oogling stares since now we had both adults and children trying to figure out what the hell we were doing walking through the rain like wet rags.

Sam and Omondi ran ahead in a vain attempt to get to the car with at least some part of their bodies still dry.  They failed miserably as the car really was a good hour away.  Erik convinced me into "waiting it out" under a tree... but 15 minutes later the rain still hadn't let up, and I convinced him back into the rain.

The ride home was cold and wet.  Like I said, my total lack of preparedness forced me to sit soaking wet and shivering in the car while we drove for the 1.5 hours back home.  Sam and Omondi, obviously the better-traveled and substantially more experienced two had dry sweatshirts and pants in the car.  Bastards.

Seriously though, the hike was awesome.  When we entered the city limits of Kigali, Erik called ahead to a pizza joint in town and ordered a whole pizza for each of us.  I didn't think for a second that I wouldn't eat it all.

For more photos, go here.

Sheer Strength and Will Power

I remember writing a blog entry about the strength of the people in Nicaragua. At one point, I marveled at Ronald’s ability to do a pull-up into the ceiling and hang there forever, on one hand, as he motioned and gave directions with the other. I took pictures of the workers in the taller hauling ridiculously heavy boat engines around the yard like they were nothing. All the white boys that tried to do the same buckled under the weight.

Here, again, I find myself impressed by the strength of the people. But this time, it’s the women and children. I spotted a kid that was racing down the mountainside with an even littler sibling in tow. Frustrated by the limitations of his siblings short legs, he hoisted the kid onto his back in one fell swoop, without missing a beat, and continued his run down the hill to join the posse of children following us about.

Not quite as exuberant, but equally as visible, are the women who toil in the fields. I was so stunned by the image of this woman here. Barefoot and pregnant, with a child tied to her back and a huge pile of branches on her head, I watched her as she labored up a hillside that sits at a 75° angle to the horizon while the sun beat down on her. She endured so quietly, and when I got close enough to hear her breathe, I was stunned to find her breath even, regular, and hardly strained. How?! I was carrying a water bottle and a camera, and looking for ways strip off clothing in order to lower the amount of weight I had to carry. I tried pawning my bottle off on everyone at least once. I was huffing and puffing and wheezing and sweating.  And here was this woman, calm and quiet.

Child Mob

I’ve become quite accustomed to being an object of curiosity for the kids. Especially in Butaro, where the 3 abazungu in the entire region all work at the health center where kids go only when deathly ill, they just don’t see white skin that much. The adults are polite enough to keep their distance or stave their curiosity due to social norms, but the kids stare wide-eyed and not-so-surreptitiously try to touch your skin or hair.

You’ve already heard me talk about the kids a zillion times, but our experience on the way back from our hike on umuganda was the one that I’ve internalized forever.

Our hike lasted longer than Emily would have liked, and since she’d promised to cook for the PIH compound that night, she hailed an ambulance as it drove by. Luke, Hannah, and I didn’t want to forgo the last stretch of our hike – especially since it was passing through town and by a waterfall. Because of umuganda, there were community events going on, one of which happened to be a soccer game. It appeared to be highly organized; the players had uniforms, they were actually using a real ball, and they all appeared to be around high-school age. Surrounding the field were parents and little kids, all actively engaged in watching the match take place. The three of us were intrigued. We thought, “Hey, this is cool! A soccer game. Let’s watch.” And so we approached the side of the street and stood on tip-toe to see over the crowd and get a better look.

Suddenly we hear “Abazungu! Abazungu! Abazungu!” and the entire crowd around the soccer field (let me remind you this soccer field appears to be regulation size, and the crowd really does encircle the field) starts to stir. Screams and shouts erupted as everyone between the ages of 2 and 14 started moving toward us. Since there were significant people right beside us, not much happened at first, but as we looked out over the field to the kids on the opposite end, we saw them heading at a full-on run toward us. The weight of the crowd shifted second by second, and with one look at each other, we decided that for the sake of our safety, we had to start moving. Apparently watching a soccer game was not going to happen.

We moved back onto the street. Because kids were jumping around in front of us, we could only walk slowly. I felt both my hands get picked up and examined. Some kids were intrigued by my fingernails, probably since most people here work with their hands, and can’t maintain the fingernails endemic to an easy lifestyle. I was wearing a tank top, and I felt small hands run down by back above my shirt. The fact that I was super gross and sweaty from a day of umuganda work and a 4-hour hike didn’t seem to bother them. I felt some of the taller kids try to get my hair clip out of my hair. Kids were screaming and jumping around and grabbing at each one of us. I practically clung to Hannah, but Luke got stuck and ended up quite far behind us in the sea of screaming children.

We walked through town as the chaos ensued around us. The experience was literally overwhelming, and there was a part of me that was quite scared. Even though I was entirely aware of the kids’ motivations and objectives, the crowd was out of control.

Suddenly, in an instant, the kids scattered and the shouting stopped. It was like the light had just come on in a kitchen full of cockroaches. I looked up to see a police officer chasing one of the slower kids with a whip. Although none of us agreed with his methods, we all three couldn’t help but thank him. We walked out of town collecting the last threads of ourselves, heaving huge sighs and trying to calm the thumping in our chests.

Later Luke mentioned how he’d seen footage of Bill Clinton walking through town with a similar crowd, and had attributed it to the fact that Bill Clinton is who he is. He figured that even here in the back-country of Rwanda, people would know who he was. Now, he’s not so sure. Perhaps being umuzungu is enough to qualify you as a celebrity.

Hiking the Countryside

The second half of umuganda consists of community meetings and events. Since they were all going to be in kinyarwanda, and our participation would be limited, we instead decided to head off into the hillside to enjoy some of the views. Since Emily lives up in Butaro, she knows the hills really well, and lead us on an adventure to see some of her favorite sights.

My first thought was on the sheer steepness of the hills. Gosh. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest after only 3 minutes of walking as I was basically walking up stairs the whole time. Thankfully we only had to climb for about half an hour or so before we were high enough up that the hillside smoothed out a little.  This shot was taken at the top of the first hill.  Luke leads the way, with Hannah, myself, Emily, and Eric (and of course, the gaggle of kids) following behind.

My second thought was on the sheer beauty of Rwanda. Mountains give amazing views. You can get up high, and look down on life going on all around you. What was particularly interesting to me was this was a mountain view that was actually defined by HUMAN life as opposed to the “natural, untouched landscapes” of most mountain views I see. Houses and carefully cultivated farmland dominate the hillsides, and what you see is human subsistence-living going on everywhere.  Here, Hannah, Luke, Emily, Eric, and I pose in front of the valley we were about to walk through.  You can barely see the path we walked in the mountain behind Hannah.  It sits about halfway up the mountain side, and is wide enough for a single-file line.

We wandered through the pathways that act as the main routes of most transportation here. No one has cars – people walk. We wound around the perimeter of that valley (Emily has a particular affection for it), and entertained the revolving group of children that followed us in our apparently aimless wanderings.  Here Hannah and Emily were far enough ahead that the group of abazungu were split up, and the kids followed behind whichever umuzungu was most interesting to them.  I love this shot.

Umuganda

Umuganda is a great concept that would NEVER fly in the United States. On the last Saturday of every month, every able-bodied person in the entire country is expected to work for three hours in the morning on some kind of community project. The community leaders have the authority to choose the project and everyone in town is expected to show up. Those that don’t are fined a rather hefty fee. Of course, being an umuzungu, no one really expects you to participate since the hefty fee is totally affordable for foreigners. But since Partners In Health is so integral to the community here, and we wanted to do something worth talking about, we participated with gusto.

The day started out EXTREMELY rainy, which rather affected the general level of enthusiasm in the area, but we persevered. The task for the day was cleaning off and fixing up the road that leads into town. Now, as a non-kinya-speaking umuzungu, I had a little trouble trying to figure out what the hell we were doing. I thought that since erosion is a giant problem with the roads, we’d want to KEEP the plant-life growning on the sides of the road. Simultaneously, I though that perhaps creating a drainage system might help – perhaps cleaning out the ditch along the side of the road would allow it to collect water in lieu of having a natural ditch create itself erratically across the middle of the road. I also figured creating controlled trenches across the road to guide rainfall into the roadside man-made river (and cover those trenches with wooden slats, much like what I did while in France) would help to create a more permanent solution to the eroding roads. But well, I was obviously mistaken as to our objectives. Instead we cut back all the plant life, killing whatever could possibly help to keep the road in place. We did clean out the ditch, but then spent a significant amount of time moving the recently-deceased plant life across the width of the road, (probably with the objective of dumping it over the side of the mountain) which effectively left piles and piles of dead grass and leaves and whatnot all over the road. I can just see the rainfall tomorrow moving it all right back into the ditch. Yeah, I didn’t get it at all. But hey, I was participating nonetheless. Of course, my skills with the hoe left a bit to be desired.  I couldn't tell if all the attention I was getting was because I was white and participating, or if it was because I was absolutely useless with the tools I was given.  Notice how graceful I look here [above left], and my devoted audience.  I eventually got a lesson on how to hoe properly from a dude who wanted to marry me until he found out I was WELL beyond child-bearing age. [right.]

Anyway, what made the whole event even more exciting was having Oliver there. Oliver has been in Rwanda off and on for over 5 years now, and actually speaks a decent amount of Kinyarwanda (although he didn't help us understand exactly what our umuganda objectives were). He was socializing with the soldiers/community leaders in charge of the event and getting the crowds to sing and dance to random American tunes they had never heard before. Peter took some footage on a video camera that was such a hit, the kids were going crazy. Since the little ones aren’t expected to participate in umuganda, they mostly just hung around being jealous or watching the abazungu (that’s plural for umuzungu) super-intensely. [right]

Staff Party in Butaro

Upon arrival in Butaro, Emily whisked us off to the kitchen where serious pre-partying was going on. After all the preparations for Umuganda (we’ll talk about this later) were complete, the party fell under way. Hannah and I were a little overwhelmed since we seriously didn’t know anyone outside of Emily, Oliver, Luke, and our driver. On top of that, hardly anyone spoke French, let alone English. We spent a good amount of time simply learning words in Kinyarwanda and smiling stupidly.

Some interesting observations/events from the night:

• men don’t mind dancing with each other
  
• men don’t even mind holding hands and grinding with each other
  
• the concept of homosexuality is flatly rejected on grounds that it doesn’t exist
  
• When the guy:girl ratio is 30:1, no one cares.  Notice the plethora of dudes in this picture as compared to the two women appearing in the frame.
• the body odor of 35 Rwandese men dancing together in a room with zero air flow is thick enough to cut with a knife.
• Job titles are paramount to all things – especially high-level ones. While hitting on me, a dude told me his name once, and the fact that he was Head of Radiology about 40 times. Later that night, the Mayor of Butaro prefaced a compliment he gave me not with WHO he was, but WHAT he was.
• People really are obsessed with my hair. I had a butterfly clip in that fell out at one point, causing my hair to swirl around and stick to my sweat-ridden face. The men were enthralled enough to try stealing my clip the rest of the night and cop a feel. For the first time I actually felt violated by someone touching my hair. The fact that my hair was slightly wet and sticking together only added to their curiosity.
  
• Dancing occurs in full florescent light. All attempts by amazungu (white people) to turn the lights off were thwarted by a Rwandese man who eventually stood guard over the light switch.
  
• People love Bob Marley so much that they can coordinate an entire room full of dancers to stop dancing to the thumping music that’s playing and sing “One Love” a cappella until the DJ puts it on.
• Warm beer never tastes good – no matter what brand it is.
• The compliment the mayor paid me was that I was an exceptional dancer and that he enjoyed watching me. At least he didn’t try to touch my hair.
• Kissing in public is regarded as highly inappropriate.
  
• Peter, a big-wig at the hospital, sang a drinking song in Kinyarwanda which was totally unintelligible to me, but apparently a big hit among the locals.
  
• Patrick, the other big-wig at the hospital, danced a Merengue with me that caught the attentions of the locals as well. Who knew Haitians can dance Merengue?

Ride to Butaro

Hannah and I decided we were sick of Kigali and finagled out of Emily an invitation up to Butaro. Emily works for Partners in Health there, and since there is a staff party going on tonight, we decided to head up north and check out some of the Rwandan countryside.

The first bit of the trip was paved and rather uneventful. We managed to get a ride in one of the ambulances that was carrying medical supplies up north, and climbed in the back with big Styrofoam coolers of meds with Oliver and Luke. Since the road was paved and the sun was still out, things ran smoothly, and we eventually left the city of Kigali behind the first hill.

The ride became a little more interesting after the sun went down and the road changed from pavement to dirt to a horrible excuse for a road. Suddenly we were winding around the hillsides with a sheer drop on one side of us and a solid wall on the other. The “road” consisted mainly of riverbeds washed out by daily torrential rain, a few wooden boards laid across the especially deep ones, and the more-than-occasional rock that jutted out of the road to remind me with every jar of the tire and jolt of the steering wheel that my spinal chord is on the fritz. Our driver drove slower and slower, mindful to blare the horn every time we came to a bend in the road in order to warn unseen oncoming traffic of our presence. Only, there was a bend in the road just about ever 10 seconds or so. Add to that music that was blasting on a blown out speaker system, my desperate desire to pee, and the fact that even after putting on TWO bras, I still had to hold myself down. Then make it a 4 hour ride. Oh goody. Poor Luke eventually got motion sickness from the whole thing.

Thankfully good company and a seemingly-endless-but-not-quite road brought us to Butaro’s Health Clinic safe and sound.

Uneventful Week

My apologies to all of you readers out there trying to live vicariously through me. Unfortunately, this week has been rather uneventful. My office job is just that – I get to work every morning by 8am, sit behind my computer frantically trying to build a data model, have random meetings with Erik and Pascal, eat a lunch I brought from home, and eventually go home again. I spend Thursday night at the salsa place again, and met a few more people. That was cool, although not too interesting to you guys. Friday night we went out to dinner and dancing with the PIH crew again – Heaven was having a half-price special on their cocktails and appetizers since it was a brand new menu. The food was ok, my stomach ache afterwards wasn’t. Dancing was at a place called Black and White, which turned out to be fun only because the PIH crew was 18-deep, and the club was totally empty besides us. I could dance like a maniac, and not worry about decapitating anyone. Plus, they had black lights, and I wore a white tank, so I was glowing, quite literally. Heh. Saturday I went out with the Blair Group – that’s the name we’ve given to the group of Brits that work for Tony Blair here. They live, eat, and work together, so they’re kind of one entity. We went to a Chinese place called Flamingo, and were so surprised by the speedy service we didn’t really know what to do with our evening. We were finished eating by 9pm, and knew that dancing wouldn’t happen until much later. So it was back to Papyrus for drinks (VERY tequila-heavy margaritas) and on to Planet Club and B-Club. I feel like such a crazy club-hopper now… Basically every night I go out, I end up dancing. If I don’t lose weight simply by not eating enough, I surely will with all the dancing storms I’m creating.

Dinner Party

Last night was AWESOME! Erik decided we were going to have a dinner party, and nominated me as the head chef. Since I had nothing better to do, I complied. We spent the morning wandering around town looking for various ingredients – some of which I was damn impressed to find. I decided to make a Thai Musaman curry just because I figured since we’re near the equator we must have somewhat similar produce to Thailand. It was a little bit of a stretch, but since we came across Thai Curry Paste at the grocery store owned by a bunch of Indians, we were pretty solid.

The afternoon was spent chopping and simmering. My wonderful sous chefs (Hannah, Giudi, and Erik) cut more veggies than I have seen in quite a while. I simmered that beef for a good 3 hours, and BOY was it worth it. Yum yum yum.

Our dinner party turned out to be extremely fun despite the fact that I have only been here a week and a few days, and basically don’t know anyone. Erik invited his entire network of peeps, and Hannah and I went around meeting people. I’d say we had a bout 25 people or so, and luckily, enough food to go around. I’m happy to say the curry went over VERY well… I’m afraid I’ve set a standard I may not be able to meet next time around. Uh oh. But hey, at least people think I’m a cook now. We were expecting it to be a rather low-key event, but after the 8th bottle of wine, and the majority of people had left, the party just kept rolling. Gary, a hilarious Brit, did dance moves well into the wee hours of the morning. A few local guys (from the art studio I went to the first day I was here) stuck around, and we drank and smoked a hookah. This picture is from the end of the night.  Innocent, Gary and Hannah strike a pose.  All in all, the night was a success. The question now is whether or not I can make it through this week… I definitely have NOT started out on the right foot. Oy.

Out with PIHers again: Shang Hai, Papyrus, Planet Club

Last night turned out to be another night with the PIH crew. This time Hannah came along. We started at Shang Hai for a decently good Chinese-food dinner, went to Papyrus for a free ice cream (they were having a promotion, and they’re basically the only creamery in town) that was surprisingly good, and ended up at Planet Club which was way cooler than B-Club because it was actually packed with people. They had pool tables (yay!) and a lounge and a dance floor… AND one whole wall of the dance floor is mirrors… so you can stare at yourself while you dance. Heh.

It was a good time. I’m noticing a pattern with the PIH crowd though… dinner, drinks, and dancing. Definitely something I can work with ;-) I also got entertainment as Oliver hit on Hannah ruthlessly. I think that was Emily’s plan all along.

Run-In with the Kids

One of the most iconic images of Africa white people seem to send home are pictures of themselves surrounded by local children. I always thought it was a little kitchy, but then I decided to walk home from town after running a few errands.

Town is full of paved roads and wide sidewalks, but once you go into residential areas, the roads become dirt (and extremely uneven) and little kids run around playing the street playing soccer with balls fashioned from old socks and rags. They look at any white person crazy enough to WALK shouting “umuzungu” and waving their hands furiously. Some speak English, some speak French, but most speak neither and just kind of stare at you in awe.

During the walk along the dusty road to my house, I managed to collect a bunch of kids following behind me. The girls spent most of their time trying to touch my hair and rubbing my skin. The boys just played with my camera. They managed to get a few decent shots, which I’ve posted here.

Genocide Memorial

Today Emily wanted to see the Genocide Memorial that commemorates the Tutsi Genocide in Rwanda in the 90s. Hannah and I went along. I figured it was probably a good idea if I learned a little more about the history of the people here – especially because it’s both so recent and horrifying. Everyone here has vivid memories of the time although talking about them is not common.

The memorial was actually designed by the same people that did the Holocaust memorial in Washington DC.  Here's a picture of it.  It was well designed and quite informative. It was split into three parts – the history leading up to and the actually events of the Genocide in Rwanda, Children as victims, and then other genocides that have occurred in the world. Emily, Hannah and I made it through the first part before we were totally drained, entirely upset, and ready to leave. We decided to do the other two parts another day, when we could handle it.

A little factoid I found interesting was the fact that Tutsi and Hutu differentiation didn’t even exist before the Belgian colonists arrived. Those labels used to refer to the level of income a person had, but was used across all the different tribes living in Rwanda. It was more of a label of class, and was never used as a way to limit a person’s opportunity. People could move from one class to another simply by becoming more or less profitable. According to the memorial, there were somewhere around 12 different “tribes” that lived in Rwanda prior to the Belgian imperialism. When the Belgians came, they made an effort to register people and give out ID cards that differentiated the people according to a Hutu or Tutsi label. Basically everyone that had 10 or more cows was a Tutsi, and everyone else was a Hutu. This all happened years and years before the actual Genocide, but is essentially want laid the groundwork for bad blood and irrational hatred.

The designers of the memorial put a lot of graphic imagery and video interviews of survivors throughout the space, and by the end I was such a mess I couldn’t see any more. When I walked outside, the contrast of the bright sun to my dim mood is probably the only thing that made the rest of the day possible.

Here’s a picture of Emily, Hannah and I. We made valiant efforts to smile…

Dinner with PIHers, Bel Aire, B-Club

Last night I finally went out with Oliver, the man I’d heard so much about via my multiple avenues of 2-degree separations. He invited me to dinner with a bunch of his friends from Partners in Health. They are all stationed in posts around the country, but come into Kigali once in a while to party and get much-needed resources.

We ate at Papyrus, which is one of the fanciest places in town, and a total expat hangout. They double as a creamery and specialize in ice cream, yogurt, etc. They serve Italian food that’s definitely cream-heavy, but quite good. They’re also notorious for being exceptionally high-priced. Boo.

Dinner was cool. It was good to meet some other people. These guys are mostly Americans and were younger, on average, than the crowd I’d met so far. Most of them are in Med School or doing year-long fellowships as a break from university. I even met two architects who are designing a new building for PIH. I couldn’t help but think of you, Maya, again.

I also met a girl named Emily who happens to know Hannah – my room mate that moved in Thursday night – from a previous gig in Tanzania. Oh the joys of 2-degrees.

After dinner we drove back to the PIH house which is even more giant that my house and used as a half-way house for the PIHers all over the country when they need to stay in the city for a night or two. There were mattresses and rooms all over the place. Oliver tried inventing ways to entertain himself with the infinite mattresses. Mattress-surfing down the stairs was even suggested.

Eventually we decided we didn’t want the night to be over, and went out for drinks at a place called Sphinx Bel Aire which was a 4 second walk from the house. The place was very Carribean – it was basically a big barn made of bamboo-like wood. They played random music that was reggae-heavy, shined a strobe light on an empty dance floor, and served us Waragi with Fanta (which is sort of like a gin and tonic… sort of).

Finally Emily rallied, and got a sub-set of us to go to a club called B-Club. I was a little surprised when they charged a cover of 5000 RWF, which is close to $10. Ack! Well, it immediately became obvious why when we walked up the stairs, and I found myself in NYC swank. Plush leather couches, red and black lighting, low glass tables, a DJ booth, bar tenders in bow ties… the place was like a cut-out from a designer magazine that had been plopped down in the middle of Africa.

Well, I got over the un-authenticity of the place soon enough as rockin’ 80s music came on, and I lost myself to dancing.

Salsa Dancing in Africa

Of course I should find a salsa group here in Kigali... why not, right? I found out about it via an ex-pat newsletter that Erik sent me. One of the advertisements was for a salsa event happening at a place called Pasadena. They mentioned a facebook group they had, so I randomly joined it. Thursday night finally came around, and I was unsure of whether or not to go, since I wasn’t going with anyone or didn’t know anyone I could possibly meet there. Erik thought I was crazy to go, and Judy, another house mate, mentioned she knew the Belgian guy who was running it, and said some interesting things about his style and demeanor. So, I was a little wary. But the two degrees of separation kicked in just in time. A girl named Amy sent out a facebook reminder email to the entire facebook group, and what do I find? She’s friends with Laura Noons… yup laura… you came through for me again! ;-) A quick message to Amy, and I suddenly had a name that I knew, and a face to look for in the crowd.

I arrived at Pasadena after a relatively easy cab ride (thank you Sam for speaking English) and walked in to an open-air courtyard with a dance floor in the middle PACKED with salsa dancers. Amy was there (and a little surprised I actually showed up) and get this… a bunch of MIT ballroom dancers were teaching a beginner’s lesson. Yes… MIT ballroom dancers. Once again, my two degrees of separation proved true as I mentioned my sister’s name, and a recognition light bulb went off in their heads. Whoot! Not only were there a LOT of dancers, but there were GOOD ones as well. Within two seconds I was part of the inner dancer’s circle (I only had to dance a few times with Phil, the guy leading the event, who happened to NOT be the Belgian dood, since he’s retired from running the events) and I was set.

It turned out there were several local dancers as well with some real talent. I will say, however, the best part of the whole evening was discovering that there were more MEN that could dance well than women. That NEVER happens.

So yup… I’m set for Thursday nights from now on. Obviously I’m going to become very good friends with a few of the local dancer types (many of whom learned all their salsa skills from watching youtube videos – don’t ask me how). It’s decided.

2 Degrees of Separation

I’ve now talked to a few people here and discovered that everyone seems to know each other. The whole 6 degrees of separation thing is being blown out of the water and I’m beginning to think it’s closer to 2. I sent an email a while back announcing my arrival in Kigali and was pleasantly surprised when Jared, a friend of mine, wrote back with the name of a friend I should meet, Oliver, who happens to be here in Rwanda as well. Well, I shot Oliver an email and he invited me out to dinner with a few of his friends for this Friday night.

Later, I was talking to another friend of mine, Jon, who’s completely disconnected to Jared, and find out that Jon actually worked for Oliver when he was here in Rwanda.

Later still, I was telling Amy, one of the girls that’s living in my house this week, about how I thought it would help if I could get an intern the work on the project with me. She was mentioning how she knew a few people that might be able to help, and that I could probably find an intern through the Orphans of Rwanda organization. Well, goodness me, guess who founded that organization? Oliver. I haven’t yet even met this dude, and I’ve heard his name so much already.

Burundian Drummers

The Burundian Drummers were the closing act of the ceremony. The center had brought them up from Burundi to do a show, and my goodness did we get a show. They opened their act by entering through the audience. They each carried a giant drum on their heads, and as they walked down the aisle, they banged on their drums and danced around, the whole time keeping the giant thing balanced on their head. The leader dude was actually doing high-kicks, and playing the drum with his feet! Yes… it’s true. I was convinced some giant accident was going to happen, but nothing did.

When they arrived on the stage (still playing and dancing away) they took turns lowering the drums to the ground. That’s when I realized those how much those drums weigh. The leader dude actually had to walk around helping people lower them down because they were giant and bulky and HEAVY! Judging from the level of strain these boys were exhibiting, I was guestimating the drums were probably somewhere around 50 or 60 pounds each… minimum.

Then for 30 minutes or so, the drummers did a whole act with different rhythms, acrobatics, chanting, singing… It was crazy. They seemed to be led by one guy that stood in the middle of the semi-circle of drummers and played his own rhythm. I guess based on his hand motions or shouts or something, they all seemed to know exactly what to do when. I was extremely impressed. I kept imaging my days of a cappella singing, and realized we were DEFINITELY never as in tune with each other as these boys were.

I don’t think I blinked for the full half-hour.

National Performance Dance Troupe

The performance that kicked off the Inauguration ceremonies was definitely one-of-a-kind. All the performers were dressed in the whitest white I’d ever seen, bordered by woven geometric designs in really bright colors. All the women had these white ribbons/ropes tied around their heads that made them look like Aida or something along the lines of Nubian princesses. Then, they all had bells on their ankles that they rang by stamping around.

I have seriously never seen any dancing as extreme as this was. The dancers were bending over backwards and standing up again in a heartbeat. They waved their arms around and kicked their feet up… I imagined them losing their balance every other second, and yet they managed to pull it all off without much trouble at all. For their finale they did this one dance where they all jumped like 10 feet in the air, and managed to land exactly on the beat. I thought that was damn impressive… until they did it about 400 times in a row. Then I was just astounded. I couldn’t believe none of them passed out!

Simultaneously, the other half of the troupe was drumming and singing in order to create the music for the event. They were as interesting to watch as the dancers.

First Day of Work

Woah. Let’s just say that I will NEVER walk around without a camera again. Who would have thought that my first day at work would probably be one of the most amazing cultural experiences of my life? What an IDIOT I was to not bring a camera. ARG! I apologize to all you blog readers out there who have been commenting on my distinct lack of photos as well… I will do better, I promise.

Anyway, what did day one have in store for me, you ask? Ha! Well… here goes.

The first few hours were boring bureaucratic stuff. I read a bunch of documents about the overall structure of the organization within the context of Rwanda, all the other partners and their roles, what the Healthcare Expansion Framework is, etc, etc blah blah blah. I also got a phone (yay!) and ate a croissant (yay!).

Then it was time for a field trip. Basically the entire CHAI group (all 5 of us) got in a little van-car-thingy and drove about two hours east outside of the city of Kigali. Apparently, a training center that is kind of the first really big project that Partners In Health and the Clinton Foundation have spearheaded together, was being inaugurated. This was particularly interesting to me since I worked so closely with Maya in Nicaragua, who was designing exactly the same kind of thing – a convention center / office / training facility / dormitory–esque space. The center itself is on the same land as one of the hospitals CHAI and PIH renovated together. I approached the space with a particular eye for sustainability, since that’s what I’d been so focused on in Nicaragua. I figured out soon enough, that was NOT one of the objectives of PIH nor the Clinton Foundation in terms of this building, but it was nevertheless, a beautiful space. Apparently Paul Farmer, the founder of PIH, has a side-hobby of landscaping, and you could totally tell. The entire space was landscaped beautifully with plants he’d imported from various parts of the world. There was a pond and a waterfall in the central courtyard, and rock gardens in every open space (that, at least, is totally sustainable).

The inaugural proceedings were impressively interesting as well. Granted, there were a whole bunch of VIPs that had to give little speeches, but that becomes an interesting exercise in attention when some speakers are speaking in French, others in English, and still others in Kinyarwanda. The mayors of both the district we were in, and the neighboring one gave their two cents. Then there was the director of Partners in Health for Rwanda, Mike Rich. Then there was Paul Farmer, the founder of Partners in Health, the Ambassador to Rwanda from the United States, and the distinguished and honored guest, the Minister of Health in Rwanda. The list went on and on. It was cool to meet/see all these veeps on my first day of work.

I also got to meet a whole bunch of expats from all different NGOs that had something to do with the center. Obviously there were several clinical workers from PIH, but also there were people from USAid-funded projects and smaller local NGOs. There was lots of chatting, mingling, and socializing. The best parts of the proceedings, however, were the bookends – performances by a dance troop and by Burundian Drummers. I’ll talk about those in separate entries, since they were awesome in their own right.

Anyway, we had this fancy schmancy inauguration. I got home around 8pm, after a two-hour drive home during which I slept almost the entire way. I guess I’m still adjusting to the time difference.

The Journey Home and an Art Gallery

So after Bourbon Coffee Erik and Amy and I split up to do random things. I was left alone in the middle of the city to wander around, get lost on purpose, and finagle a way home again. I discovered a few things, one of which was that a super-cute pair of shoes that looked to be about Payless quality was being sold for US$100. I guess that settles whether or not I’ll be buying any shoes while I’m here. I stopped by the supermarket, which is like a super Walmart because it sells food and TVs and office supplies, and basically whatever you could possibly want. However, unlike Walmart, it’s DAMN expensive. The yougurt was selling for about $5 for half a liter. Boxes of cereal run in the $9 range. The cheapest bottle of wine I could find was going for $12, and the whiskey was $100 a bottle!! Ugh… being broke is so annoying sometimes.

Anyway, I wandered the streets and found that two left turns actually brings you back to your starting point… so this’ll be interesting trying to navigate the city. Then, against all recommendations, I took a motorbike (they’re about a tenth the cost of a cab) back to the house. That was an experience since I didn’t realize HOW much French I DON’T know, and the driver didn’t speak a word of English. Erik had written explicit instructions on the back of a receipt (albeit, in English, so I’d understand) with landmarks and left turns all delineated, but once we got to the last main landmark in town, and I had to direct the driver myself, I was hopeless. I couldn’t even remember the word for “pond” or “road”. Seriously… I’m screwed.

With some luck, and a few questions to passers-by who spoke both English and Kinyarwanda, lots of gesticulating and a bunch of false starts, I made it back to the house. A quick shower and a change of clothes (it’s COLD here man, I needed a sweater desperately) I went to meet Erik again. He had a painter-friend who wanted to show him his studio. Oh my god… WAY cool. It’s a little space that acts as a studio and art gallery for about 12 painters. Some of the stuff in there was SUPER amazingly good. I’m jealous I’m broke and can’t buy any – especially since they’re running for only about $300. Erik wants to outfit his house with a bunch of paintings, and boy did we come to the right spot. It was also cool because a bunch of the artists were just hanging out there, and you could talk to them and ask them questions about their work and whatnot. One guy was even nailing together canvases on frames. I was really impressed. Erik mentioned that I was amazingly lucky to see something like this studio on my first day in town only because there’s not a lot of artists around – especially not any good ones – and he’d apparently been looking for something of the sort for the last several months. Anyway… the plan is to go back and make friends. Maybe they’ll even give me a class or two.

After that it was dinner with a bunch of British expats… pesto pasta that tasted remarkably like pesto. I was impressed.

Bourbon Coffee

So even though we don’t get internet in the house, we DO get it at the local hangout; a Starbucks-like café called “Bourbon Coffee”. The service here might compete with Bluefields for the worst in the world, but the couches are comfy, the coffee’s good, and there’s electricity plugs everywhere to hook up your computer. Right now they’re playing reggae music, so I’m being brought even further into my Nicaragua nostalgia, but the fact that I’m speaking English with the waiters and actually kind of chilly is reminding me that I’m here instead.

The clientele are ALL expats. I hear French, English (both American and British), Spanish, Dutch, German… I’m definitely in an international environment, that’s for sure. Everyone also has a little computer with them… most of them are Mac’s, I’m happy to note. I totally feel like I’m in Brooklyn, to be honest.

Outside it’s rainy. Boo. According to the locals, we’re in the rainy season even though the rainy season is supposed to end mid-January. The weather patterns seem to be changing everywhere you go the world. Rainy season means either a torrential downpour for a few hours each day followed by Ithaca-like overcast skies the rest of the time, or intermittent misting all day… it depends on who you ask. So far today, it’s been the torrential-downpour kind of day, but now it’s misting. I think I’m gonna assume both parties are correct, and it depends on what time of the day you’re napping.

The music’s changed to hip-hop now. Yup, I’m in New York.

The café here is sitting inside a mall-like structure that has a bunch of little stores and a GIANT supermarket. I’m going to take a little tour of the place later, when the café here becomes boring. Since I’m paying more than a dime a minute for internet service, I might peace out soon.

And we’re back to Reggae again.

So earlier today I went to a little general store called T-1000 or something like that. It’s got everything. I bought a surge protector, some hangars, and changed some money. There was a little boy that stood outside with a humongous umbrella (when I say humungous, I mean the diameter was probably about 8 feet or so) who walked me to the car like a princess. He smelled like pot and his eyes had trouble focusing, but I guess his job is boring enough he looks for other ways to entertain himself.

First Impressions

The Smell – There’s something so specific about the scent of tropical air that makes me feel so completely at home. I stepped out of the airplane and the smell of lush-ness just enveloped me. Mommy, you told me I’d be overcome by an impressive waft of heat, but that didn’t happen. I was actually quite comfortable in my jeans and leather jacket, but it felt like a clear summer night after a day rain, when the steam starts to come off the earth and the greenness of the world almost turns into a taste it’s so thick on the air.

The Moon – I don’t know if it’s just the fact that traveling again has me reminiscent of Nicaragua, but Maya, I send a shout-out to ya. The first image I had of Rwanda was a valley of lights crowned by a giant full moon. You know how intimately aware of the moon we were in Nicaragua. I get the feeling it’s going to be very similar here.

The House – It’s giant. It’s more giant than my house in Jersey. It’s got weird light switches all over the place, with no apparent rhyme of reason. My room is giant. I have a KING-sized mattress. I’ve never had a King before. I also get a closet and desk. We have a big giant living room that looks like no one ever sits in it. There are 4 long couches arranged in a square and a huge dining table that seats 10. There’s also a cat. Yay! She was insanely curious of all my stuff as I unpacked it, and had to sit in every single one of my bags and climb all over my piles of clothes. I suppose she was sniffing out my potential. I’ve already found a few of her special spots, and now, as I type this, she’s sitting on my desk (which is huge) right next to me, purring away. Word. To Do: Make a friend… check.

The Electricity – Yeah, this is gonna be interesting. The airport had four power surges, or outages, or whatever they were, in the hour or so that I was there. The people in immigration didn’t seem to have issues with it, and every time the lights went out, they pulled out their backup lamps within 13 seconds. A few minutes later, the lights would come back on, and all the backups would promptly be shut off. Now I’m sitting in my new giant house in complete darkness, because yup, the electricity’s out again. I see my computer battery will be put to good use.

The water – we have a water heater!! I actually took a HOT shower when I got in. Yes… and I mean HOT. I scalded myself all over my stomach. It’s still red, and I took a shower about an hour ago. Ow.

I’m pooped. I’m passing out.

The Flight

So I’m gone again. This flight was relatively painless. Nothing was delayed, and I only had a bit of turbulence a few times. I actually got two meals on both legs of the flight (which is debatably good or bad, depending) AND the seat next to me was empty both times too.

Hanging out in Brussels for a few hours was interesting. I had forgotten how distinctly European people can look. All the women were super tall, with short cropped hair cuts and a very euro-esque bone structure. They were all blonde too. What’s with the blondeness? There was actually a group of about 15 SUPER-platinum blonde (and natural to boot), freckled girls in their 20s on my flight to Kigali. Andy… I thought of you. I wonder what they’re doing here in Rwanda now… and how people are reacting to them. Seriously, even I couldn’t look away.

Tilke and Marissa, a shout out to you both. I impulsively bought the 2nd book in the Twilight series while in the airport in Newark, and was infinitely happy with my purchase. I finished the 600-page book before landing in Kigali, and was able to leave the thing on the plane for the next poor soul imprisoned there for eight hours. To all of you who are prejudiced against the series, you can shut it. I haven’t been that riveted by a book in a VERY long time, and even though it wasn’t nearly as good as the 1st, I’m still planning on reading the other two when they come out in paper back. I wonder if there’s a bookstore here that sells NY Times bestsellers in English.

And So It Begins Again

That's right... I'm on my way to another whirl-wind adventure.  This time I'm going with the Clinton Foundation, and it's not to Latin America, but to Africa.  Yup... time to break out those French skills I've managed to squish so way down in the depths of my brain, they're probably sitting somewhere near my stomach (not to say my stomach has brain cells in it.... ok... gaa... bad image). 

AAnnnyyyway.  So yeah, I've replaced the stolen camera from my last trip, injected myself with a live culture of the Yellow Fever, boostered up on Polio, gotten hoards of cash in $100 bills dated after 2003, washed and folded and re-stored in the basement all my clothes, and given notice at the temp job I was using to occupy myself.  Things are falling into place, and even though this time I only have a few weeks to prepare instead of a few months, I may actually be ready on time.  For all of you friends based near Philadelphia, I'll be having one last climb at Go Vertical on Tuesday the 3rd, and for those of you in NYC, I'll be in for Happy Hour at Verlaine on Wednesday the 4th.  Then it's run home, zip up the bags, cancel the phone and netflix services, and off on a 22-hour flight across the world to being a new life again.

Wish me luck, and try not to forget about me.