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.