Since there was no food at the teacher’s lodging today and I was very hungry I went to the restaurant that UCK has a deal with and ordered lunch there. Well, one of the staff saw me being all Canadian and struggling to remove the meat from the bone of my chicken with my fork and knife and some degree of delicacy. He asked if he could help me and not sure what else to say I agreed. After washing his hands he proceeded to rip the meat from the bone for me with his fingers while I tried not to look absolutely mortified or laugh out loud from my embarrassment and draw attention to my ridiculous situation.
Other entertaining tidbits…
- I successfully navigated the Rwandan 3 cheek kiss greeting today for the first time. Woo!
- Conversation at the pub with Patrick and Vivens this evening revolved around cultural differences in marriage and domestic help. I learned that neither of these two grown men are able to make their own beds, never mind cook and clean for themselves!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Family Dinner (September 21)
After returning to Gitarama and taking a short nap in my room I endeavored to follow Patrick’s terrible directions to reach the point on the main road in the city where he was waiting for me. As such is my luck, my phone ran out of minutes as I was doing this. Luckily I managed to find him without incident and he introduced me to his sister Bijoux. We then set out to walk to Vivens’ house for dinner.
The walk to Vivens’ house turned out to be quite a trek since he doesn’t live in Gitarama-proper but in Byimana. Nearly an hour later the three of us arrived and I couldn’t help but feel that the shower I had taken just before leaving was all for naught. After ringing the bell, being let in the gate and led into the house I realized this was to be no small dinner party – in attendance were Vivens’, his wife Clarisse, myself, Patrick, Bijoux, Vivens’ sister, brother, brother-in-law and niece as well as his best friend/neighbor, David. Most everyone was settled in the living room of Vivens and Clarisse’s beautiful and large house chatting while Clarisse bustled about making sure everyone always had more beer or Fanta to drink. Vivens’ mother and father also joined us and after introductions (me attempting to greet them in Kinyarwanda) and once again embarking on the weird half-hug Vivens’ reminded me to say amakuru? They were very curious to learn more about me but speak only the local language so that made things very difficult. Vivens translated a few times and at one point his father challenged his mother to ask me for some particular piece of information about me herself since she didn’t deem his answer satisfactory. This made everyone laugh and me smile once the transaction was translated.
At one point one of the house girls brought out Linda, Vivens and Clarisses’ beautiful and very big 11 month old daughter. In true style of one so young she chose to play strange and cling to her dad for quite some time. While she turned away from almost everyone in near tears, she was eventually persuaded that David wasn’t so bad and passed some time on his lap. Some time thereafter the strange looking white girl was far too interesting and seemingly safe enough to visit and so Linda walked (with help) right past her Uncle Felix to me. Like every other baby I’ve met, the more any individual tried to get Linda to come to them the more adamant she was in her refusal, thus I think my choice to let her be helped my case very much.
Dinner was meat that I think was slow cooked with carrots and green bananas and onion and was served on four or five large platters each with multiple forks. This meal was probably the best thing I have eaten since I arrived in Rwanda. Eating behavior, aside from everyone attacking the platter nearest him/her with a fork and the help of the people sitting nearest them, seemed to follow the general idea of “do what comes natural.” By that I mean that you use whatever implement is most effective to eat any particular piece of food – fork, fingers etc. – and after chewing all the meat off a bone simply spit it out and move on. I had seen similar behavior before (ex. Eating brochette right off the skeer where at home if would remove the meat onto my plate and eat it with my fork) and am beginning to embrace it. Frankly, eating with a greater emphasis on function rather than form (fancy table manners) is a bit refreshing and certainly more efficient. And Clarisse promised to show my how to make the dish we ate so hopefully I might be able to recreate it when I return home.
After digesting dinner for a bit Vivens made a small speech welcoming everyone to his home and me to Rwanda and essentially to his family and inviting me to join them again. This practice of making a small speech at such gatherings of friends seems to be quite common here (Apollo did the same thing at his house, after we ate, for Hannah’s farewell) so I think I may have to get better at responding to such gestures as I generally don’t know what to say.
Daily Smiles
- Navigating the half-hug with considerably greater success this time relative to last time.
- Linda and everything about her. She’s absolutely adorable. I love children.
- The unavoidable “one last round” biting Patrick in the butt more than me for once!
- The ride home, during part of which 4 of us were packed into the backseat of Vivens’ car.
The walk to Vivens’ house turned out to be quite a trek since he doesn’t live in Gitarama-proper but in Byimana. Nearly an hour later the three of us arrived and I couldn’t help but feel that the shower I had taken just before leaving was all for naught. After ringing the bell, being let in the gate and led into the house I realized this was to be no small dinner party – in attendance were Vivens’, his wife Clarisse, myself, Patrick, Bijoux, Vivens’ sister, brother, brother-in-law and niece as well as his best friend/neighbor, David. Most everyone was settled in the living room of Vivens and Clarisse’s beautiful and large house chatting while Clarisse bustled about making sure everyone always had more beer or Fanta to drink. Vivens’ mother and father also joined us and after introductions (me attempting to greet them in Kinyarwanda) and once again embarking on the weird half-hug Vivens’ reminded me to say amakuru? They were very curious to learn more about me but speak only the local language so that made things very difficult. Vivens translated a few times and at one point his father challenged his mother to ask me for some particular piece of information about me herself since she didn’t deem his answer satisfactory. This made everyone laugh and me smile once the transaction was translated.
At one point one of the house girls brought out Linda, Vivens and Clarisses’ beautiful and very big 11 month old daughter. In true style of one so young she chose to play strange and cling to her dad for quite some time. While she turned away from almost everyone in near tears, she was eventually persuaded that David wasn’t so bad and passed some time on his lap. Some time thereafter the strange looking white girl was far too interesting and seemingly safe enough to visit and so Linda walked (with help) right past her Uncle Felix to me. Like every other baby I’ve met, the more any individual tried to get Linda to come to them the more adamant she was in her refusal, thus I think my choice to let her be helped my case very much.
Dinner was meat that I think was slow cooked with carrots and green bananas and onion and was served on four or five large platters each with multiple forks. This meal was probably the best thing I have eaten since I arrived in Rwanda. Eating behavior, aside from everyone attacking the platter nearest him/her with a fork and the help of the people sitting nearest them, seemed to follow the general idea of “do what comes natural.” By that I mean that you use whatever implement is most effective to eat any particular piece of food – fork, fingers etc. – and after chewing all the meat off a bone simply spit it out and move on. I had seen similar behavior before (ex. Eating brochette right off the skeer where at home if would remove the meat onto my plate and eat it with my fork) and am beginning to embrace it. Frankly, eating with a greater emphasis on function rather than form (fancy table manners) is a bit refreshing and certainly more efficient. And Clarisse promised to show my how to make the dish we ate so hopefully I might be able to recreate it when I return home.
After digesting dinner for a bit Vivens made a small speech welcoming everyone to his home and me to Rwanda and essentially to his family and inviting me to join them again. This practice of making a small speech at such gatherings of friends seems to be quite common here (Apollo did the same thing at his house, after we ate, for Hannah’s farewell) so I think I may have to get better at responding to such gestures as I generally don’t know what to say.
Daily Smiles
- Navigating the half-hug with considerably greater success this time relative to last time.
- Linda and everything about her. She’s absolutely adorable. I love children.
- The unavoidable “one last round” biting Patrick in the butt more than me for once!
- The ride home, during part of which 4 of us were packed into the backseat of Vivens’ car.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Kibuye Weekend (September 19 – 21)
Since Patrick had not been home in a while and since I was new to Rwanda and had not yet made the journey Patrick offered to take me to spend the rest of the long weekend in Rubengera – his hometown – complete with a visit to the nearby tourist destination of Kibuye and Lake Kivu.
After the ATER meeting we went to catch the bus that would be our transport. The bus was of the same style as the one Tina and I took in Kigali and since it runs a route from Kigali to Kibuye and we were getting on part way, in Gitarama, all the good seats were clearly taken. Thus, I spent the ride on one of the fold up seat in the aisle with by bags on my lap. Overall the journey was not bad – the young man sitting next to me did his best to help me when the time came for me to attempt to awkwardly stand up and let people pass me to get off the bus and asked to borrow my book. Thus he spent the time before the sun went down reading slowly through the first chapter of To Kill a Mockingbird. Oh yes, and I’m pretty sure a woman in the front third of the bus got car sickness as there came a point when the guy next to her stood up abruptly and she could be seen trying to wipe something up. Shortly thereafter a distinct putrid smell wafted back to me. I vowed to do my best to sit next to people who look like they have strong stomachs from then on.
We arrived in Rubengera at about 6:30 pm and made our way to Patrick’s mother’s house to stash our things. At the house I was introduced to Patrick’s Grandmother – a very cute thin old lady who I never saw eat over the course of the weekend but who I did see put back a few beers. After that we went to the pub that Patrick’s mom owns in town and had a few drinks. It was here that I met Patrick’s mother – who only speaks Kinyarwanda. We said hello and she asked amakuru? which I understood but quickly realized I did not know the answer to. Throughout the night many people stopped and greeted us and exchanged words with Patrick. One of Patrick’s friends, Jean Marie, also joined us. He was already a few beers in and proceeded to try and woo me with some terrible French but it wasn’t long before we returned to Patrick’s mother’s house for dinner and rest.
The next morning we slept “late” for Rwanda, waking at about 9 am. Patrick showed me a video compilation of photos from a vacation a few years ago with friends and family. This sentimental side of Patrick was unexpected. After bathing and breakfast (bread dipped in egg and fried, kinda like French toast but, sadly, without the cinnamon and syrup) Jean Marie dropped in and continued his efforts from the night before, much to my embarrassment. I did my best to be polite and clearly uninterested. Apparently at least Grandma got the picture as she made a joke in Kinyarwanda at Jean Marie’s expense.
Thankfully it wasn’t long before all of us headed to the pub – Patrick, his mother and Grandmother, Jean Marie and myself – and almost immediately after it started to storm. Loving the heavy rain and wicked winds I took a couple videos on my camera while Patrick laughed at me. Just before the storms had ended we were joined by Patrick’s sister Angelique (I still am not sure if she is his biological sister or just a very close family friend as they tend to use the words sister and brother very liberally here and don’t understand the distinction they convey in Canada), a fascinating and kind male friend of hers who I dubbed “Awesome Guy” in my head since I can’t remember his name for the life of me, and by Patrick’s fiancée, Alida. Once again I was surprised by Patrick, I’d had absolutely no idea he had a fiancée.
Angelique quickly became the life of the party – being a vocal and lively participant in all conversations, telling jokes and drinking Mutzig. We then at lunch and had some drinks in the leisurely African style I am still getting used to. Even though she spoke in Kinyarwanda I could tell Patrick’s mom didn’t think I’d taken enough food and was trying to feed me more though I managed to fend her off more successfully than I have done to everyone else who has tried to overfeed me so far. I was however harassed into having a beer with lunch – Patrick argued that my taking water was clearly a step back in preparation for a leap forward (into beer).
After lunch Angelique, Alida and I piled into the back of Awesome Guy’s car, while he and Patrick took the front seats and we all headed to Kibuye and Lake Kivu. The drive was beautiful, filled with huge green hills and winding roads, as are most drives in this country. The drive ended with a brief tour of Kibuye town, including special note for a church where more than 10 000 people were killed during the genocide, and stops at several of the resorts in the area which cater mostly to European tourists. By this time I learned that Alida was indeed quite quiet, that Awesome Guy spoke English. Also, broken conversations in French with Angelique were increasing, especially as she took me by the hand and we headed down to the lakeshore to dip our toes in the water.
Lake Kivu is so beautiful it stuns you into silence. The water is an extremely tranquil blue-grey with massive hills rising out of it on all sides and in the middle with majestic grace. There are resorts on the lake but not the kind you find in North America. They are nestled into the sides of the hills and make no attempt to impose or dominate the dramatic landscape. The closed comparison I can some up with to anything in Canada is Lake Louise - the water of Lake Kivu has the same peace to it. That’s where the similarities end though. There is no colossus of an overpriced hotel and the small parking lot is hidden on the far side of the resort buildings from the lake rather than next to it. Most distinctly lacking are the throngs of tourists snapping photos and disturbing the hushed silence. Instead you are left with the near illusion of being at your own lake front cottage with a private beach. I never wanted to leave, I could lose myself staring out at that water forever.
My fantasies of simple quiet isolated living were destroyed by a fisherman in a wooden boat who paddled by singing loudly and off key at the top of his lungs. Angelique looked at me with big excited eyes and said “Tu veux?” When I nodded she ran off to the lakeshore, yelling after the fisherman in Kinyarwanda. I followed, ignoring Patrick’s protests that “it’s not safe,” and after Angelique finished speaking with the fisherman the two of us put on life jackets and climbed into the boat for a short ride. The boat ride was quite fun – the fisherman continued to sing his song which Angelique translated to be something like “the lake is good, the boat is good, brochette is good, and beer too!” I told Angelique about Sam, Mark and I attempting to canoe in Kenora and she told me about the car accident that killed her parents and sister three months ago. I couldn’t come up with the appropriate French words to say “I’m sorry.”
When we returned to the rest of the group there were some tasty small friend fish waiting for us and a little more conversation before getting back in the car and heading to Kibuye town. In town we stopped at a restaurant owned by Angelique’s aunt where we had another drink while she visited family and Patrick caught up with some of his acquaintances. During this time I got to have wonderful conversation with Awesome Guy about Rwandan culture and weddings, about him seeking to buy some property in Quebec and about his vacation time in Rwanda while he is between contracts with the UN! I also reached the conclusion that this guy is fascinating and I hope I will meet him again.
We left Kibuye for Rubengera just as it was getting dark and shortly after we got on the highway it started to rain again. This was particularly treacherous as night here is incredibly black (the moon and stars are usually obscured by clouds and mist; by comparison nights at home are really more of a midnight blue but certainly not black) and the rain was very strong and coming in the broken drivers window. Angelique held a piece of clothing to cover much of the window to keep the rain out and we drove slowly and with great caution for the duration of the journey to Patick’s mom’s pub.
We found Jean Marie at the pub, and he joined us at a table for the standard drinks and conversation. During this time I tried to tell the story of Aminou’s foreigner moment and the difference between being a regular and being regular however when I got to the end of the story I realized I didn’t know the French word for “poo” and could only say “number 2.” Awesome guy was the only one who understood me and thought this was pretty funny. Since no one else got it I tried again only to come to the same roadblock in my vocabulary and this time “number 2” was so funny that Awesome Guy actually got up and left the table he was laughing so hard. By the time I explained what I meant, through laughter and embarrassment, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any funny left for the rest of the group.
Shortly thereafter we parted, the two women and Awesome Guy to return to Kigali and Patrick and I to head back to the house for dinner. It wasn’t long before the Kigali party was at the house though, there was to be no more driving tonight, they’d return in the morning. I tried my very best to stay up until everyone else was ready for bead but I was totally beat and it was pretty obvious. I felt like the exhausted child at Christmas dinner who is determined to fight sleep with every bit of strength he can muster for fear of missing the interesting things that will surely happen after he is asleep.
The next morning after breakfast Patrick took me for a walk around his hometown. He showed me the hospital where he was treated for malaria, his primary school and that of a few others, the tree behind which many women have their babies when they can’t make the whole walk to the hospital before giving birth and a women’s cooperative produce market. We then returned to the pub for one last drink and this time I was able to bargain for a small beer instead of a big one. Unfortunately, over the course of the weekend the bartender somehow got in one the joke and brought me a bit Mutzig anyway!
Daily Smiles
- Patrick’s grandma taking off her headscarf and running her hands through her hair before busting out a model pose for Patrick’s camera.
- Still being very unused to the idea of eating dinner after returning home from the pub rather than before you go out.
- Attempting to wait politely for Patrick to start eating breakfast only to be forced to admit that I was also waiting to see how to eat the egg-toast.
- Shoes in the house – if it’s your house you trade your outdoor shoes for flip flops that you wear around the house. If it’s not your house you wear your shoes right in (most of the floors are concrete or tile). When you reach the edge of a carpet you remove your shoes, and if you’re wearing them you also remove your socks. Seeing Jean Marie do this made me think of KO doing the same thing at my front door and me thinking he was mildly crazy before shrugging it off.
- At lunch, Angelique saying she’s going to have to work to remember all her French from school so she can speak to this umuzungu. Patrick’s mom saying she’s going to have to go back to school for the same reason.
- Watching Patrick’s mom add extra food to the plates of the other women without their permission.
- Explaining to Patrick and awesome guy why I wasn’t eating right away. That for me it’s impolite to start eating before everyone has their food. And why I wasn’t eating much. Because in my house you were always allowed to go for seconds but you must finish everything on your plate so it’s better to start small.
- Angelique going everywhere barefoot and her extra emphatic speech noises (there are a lot of noises that are a regular part of speech here, and they have specific meanings. Does that make them words?).
- Angelique always asking “Ça va?” and whispering “Je t’aime” in my ear as we hugged goodbye.
- The continuous challenge between Patrick and I regarding what constitutes flat. People in this country have no idea.
- The random little girl in the street who cowered and cried in fear when she saw me. That's a new reaction for a child seeing a white girl. I tried not to laugh too loudly.
- Actually managing to nap a little on one of the little seats on such a jaunty bus ride back to Gitarama.
After the ATER meeting we went to catch the bus that would be our transport. The bus was of the same style as the one Tina and I took in Kigali and since it runs a route from Kigali to Kibuye and we were getting on part way, in Gitarama, all the good seats were clearly taken. Thus, I spent the ride on one of the fold up seat in the aisle with by bags on my lap. Overall the journey was not bad – the young man sitting next to me did his best to help me when the time came for me to attempt to awkwardly stand up and let people pass me to get off the bus and asked to borrow my book. Thus he spent the time before the sun went down reading slowly through the first chapter of To Kill a Mockingbird. Oh yes, and I’m pretty sure a woman in the front third of the bus got car sickness as there came a point when the guy next to her stood up abruptly and she could be seen trying to wipe something up. Shortly thereafter a distinct putrid smell wafted back to me. I vowed to do my best to sit next to people who look like they have strong stomachs from then on.
We arrived in Rubengera at about 6:30 pm and made our way to Patrick’s mother’s house to stash our things. At the house I was introduced to Patrick’s Grandmother – a very cute thin old lady who I never saw eat over the course of the weekend but who I did see put back a few beers. After that we went to the pub that Patrick’s mom owns in town and had a few drinks. It was here that I met Patrick’s mother – who only speaks Kinyarwanda. We said hello and she asked amakuru? which I understood but quickly realized I did not know the answer to. Throughout the night many people stopped and greeted us and exchanged words with Patrick. One of Patrick’s friends, Jean Marie, also joined us. He was already a few beers in and proceeded to try and woo me with some terrible French but it wasn’t long before we returned to Patrick’s mother’s house for dinner and rest.
The next morning we slept “late” for Rwanda, waking at about 9 am. Patrick showed me a video compilation of photos from a vacation a few years ago with friends and family. This sentimental side of Patrick was unexpected. After bathing and breakfast (bread dipped in egg and fried, kinda like French toast but, sadly, without the cinnamon and syrup) Jean Marie dropped in and continued his efforts from the night before, much to my embarrassment. I did my best to be polite and clearly uninterested. Apparently at least Grandma got the picture as she made a joke in Kinyarwanda at Jean Marie’s expense.
Thankfully it wasn’t long before all of us headed to the pub – Patrick, his mother and Grandmother, Jean Marie and myself – and almost immediately after it started to storm. Loving the heavy rain and wicked winds I took a couple videos on my camera while Patrick laughed at me. Just before the storms had ended we were joined by Patrick’s sister Angelique (I still am not sure if she is his biological sister or just a very close family friend as they tend to use the words sister and brother very liberally here and don’t understand the distinction they convey in Canada), a fascinating and kind male friend of hers who I dubbed “Awesome Guy” in my head since I can’t remember his name for the life of me, and by Patrick’s fiancée, Alida. Once again I was surprised by Patrick, I’d had absolutely no idea he had a fiancée.
Angelique quickly became the life of the party – being a vocal and lively participant in all conversations, telling jokes and drinking Mutzig. We then at lunch and had some drinks in the leisurely African style I am still getting used to. Even though she spoke in Kinyarwanda I could tell Patrick’s mom didn’t think I’d taken enough food and was trying to feed me more though I managed to fend her off more successfully than I have done to everyone else who has tried to overfeed me so far. I was however harassed into having a beer with lunch – Patrick argued that my taking water was clearly a step back in preparation for a leap forward (into beer).
After lunch Angelique, Alida and I piled into the back of Awesome Guy’s car, while he and Patrick took the front seats and we all headed to Kibuye and Lake Kivu. The drive was beautiful, filled with huge green hills and winding roads, as are most drives in this country. The drive ended with a brief tour of Kibuye town, including special note for a church where more than 10 000 people were killed during the genocide, and stops at several of the resorts in the area which cater mostly to European tourists. By this time I learned that Alida was indeed quite quiet, that Awesome Guy spoke English. Also, broken conversations in French with Angelique were increasing, especially as she took me by the hand and we headed down to the lakeshore to dip our toes in the water.
Lake Kivu is so beautiful it stuns you into silence. The water is an extremely tranquil blue-grey with massive hills rising out of it on all sides and in the middle with majestic grace. There are resorts on the lake but not the kind you find in North America. They are nestled into the sides of the hills and make no attempt to impose or dominate the dramatic landscape. The closed comparison I can some up with to anything in Canada is Lake Louise - the water of Lake Kivu has the same peace to it. That’s where the similarities end though. There is no colossus of an overpriced hotel and the small parking lot is hidden on the far side of the resort buildings from the lake rather than next to it. Most distinctly lacking are the throngs of tourists snapping photos and disturbing the hushed silence. Instead you are left with the near illusion of being at your own lake front cottage with a private beach. I never wanted to leave, I could lose myself staring out at that water forever.
My fantasies of simple quiet isolated living were destroyed by a fisherman in a wooden boat who paddled by singing loudly and off key at the top of his lungs. Angelique looked at me with big excited eyes and said “Tu veux?” When I nodded she ran off to the lakeshore, yelling after the fisherman in Kinyarwanda. I followed, ignoring Patrick’s protests that “it’s not safe,” and after Angelique finished speaking with the fisherman the two of us put on life jackets and climbed into the boat for a short ride. The boat ride was quite fun – the fisherman continued to sing his song which Angelique translated to be something like “the lake is good, the boat is good, brochette is good, and beer too!” I told Angelique about Sam, Mark and I attempting to canoe in Kenora and she told me about the car accident that killed her parents and sister three months ago. I couldn’t come up with the appropriate French words to say “I’m sorry.”
When we returned to the rest of the group there were some tasty small friend fish waiting for us and a little more conversation before getting back in the car and heading to Kibuye town. In town we stopped at a restaurant owned by Angelique’s aunt where we had another drink while she visited family and Patrick caught up with some of his acquaintances. During this time I got to have wonderful conversation with Awesome Guy about Rwandan culture and weddings, about him seeking to buy some property in Quebec and about his vacation time in Rwanda while he is between contracts with the UN! I also reached the conclusion that this guy is fascinating and I hope I will meet him again.
We left Kibuye for Rubengera just as it was getting dark and shortly after we got on the highway it started to rain again. This was particularly treacherous as night here is incredibly black (the moon and stars are usually obscured by clouds and mist; by comparison nights at home are really more of a midnight blue but certainly not black) and the rain was very strong and coming in the broken drivers window. Angelique held a piece of clothing to cover much of the window to keep the rain out and we drove slowly and with great caution for the duration of the journey to Patick’s mom’s pub.
We found Jean Marie at the pub, and he joined us at a table for the standard drinks and conversation. During this time I tried to tell the story of Aminou’s foreigner moment and the difference between being a regular and being regular however when I got to the end of the story I realized I didn’t know the French word for “poo” and could only say “number 2.” Awesome guy was the only one who understood me and thought this was pretty funny. Since no one else got it I tried again only to come to the same roadblock in my vocabulary and this time “number 2” was so funny that Awesome Guy actually got up and left the table he was laughing so hard. By the time I explained what I meant, through laughter and embarrassment, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any funny left for the rest of the group.
Shortly thereafter we parted, the two women and Awesome Guy to return to Kigali and Patrick and I to head back to the house for dinner. It wasn’t long before the Kigali party was at the house though, there was to be no more driving tonight, they’d return in the morning. I tried my very best to stay up until everyone else was ready for bead but I was totally beat and it was pretty obvious. I felt like the exhausted child at Christmas dinner who is determined to fight sleep with every bit of strength he can muster for fear of missing the interesting things that will surely happen after he is asleep.
The next morning after breakfast Patrick took me for a walk around his hometown. He showed me the hospital where he was treated for malaria, his primary school and that of a few others, the tree behind which many women have their babies when they can’t make the whole walk to the hospital before giving birth and a women’s cooperative produce market. We then returned to the pub for one last drink and this time I was able to bargain for a small beer instead of a big one. Unfortunately, over the course of the weekend the bartender somehow got in one the joke and brought me a bit Mutzig anyway!
Daily Smiles
- Patrick’s grandma taking off her headscarf and running her hands through her hair before busting out a model pose for Patrick’s camera.
- Still being very unused to the idea of eating dinner after returning home from the pub rather than before you go out.
- Attempting to wait politely for Patrick to start eating breakfast only to be forced to admit that I was also waiting to see how to eat the egg-toast.
- Shoes in the house – if it’s your house you trade your outdoor shoes for flip flops that you wear around the house. If it’s not your house you wear your shoes right in (most of the floors are concrete or tile). When you reach the edge of a carpet you remove your shoes, and if you’re wearing them you also remove your socks. Seeing Jean Marie do this made me think of KO doing the same thing at my front door and me thinking he was mildly crazy before shrugging it off.
- At lunch, Angelique saying she’s going to have to work to remember all her French from school so she can speak to this umuzungu. Patrick’s mom saying she’s going to have to go back to school for the same reason.
- Watching Patrick’s mom add extra food to the plates of the other women without their permission.
- Explaining to Patrick and awesome guy why I wasn’t eating right away. That for me it’s impolite to start eating before everyone has their food. And why I wasn’t eating much. Because in my house you were always allowed to go for seconds but you must finish everything on your plate so it’s better to start small.
- Angelique going everywhere barefoot and her extra emphatic speech noises (there are a lot of noises that are a regular part of speech here, and they have specific meanings. Does that make them words?).
- Angelique always asking “Ça va?” and whispering “Je t’aime” in my ear as we hugged goodbye.
- The continuous challenge between Patrick and I regarding what constitutes flat. People in this country have no idea.
- The random little girl in the street who cowered and cried in fear when she saw me. That's a new reaction for a child seeing a white girl. I tried not to laugh too loudly.
- Actually managing to nap a little on one of the little seats on such a jaunty bus ride back to Gitarama.
Association of Teachers of English in Rwanda (September 19)
Students in Rwanda face a particular challenge; historically their education has been delivered almost entirely in French while at home they speak exclusively the local language, Kinyarwanda. This would make them no different than the typical Canadian immersion student except the government recently decreed that the language of education is to be changed, and all classes at all levels are to be delivered in English as of the beginning of the new school year, in January 2010. Effectively, this means that all of the students currently enrolled in school must switch the language in which they learn to one in which both they and their teachers are less fluent. While this challenge doesn’t seem to be having a significant impact on the attitude of the students (select grades have already made the switch), many teachers are concerned about how implementing this plan will affect the learning ability of students, especially since the change was legislated without a corresponding implementation plan or effort to upgrade the language of many lecturers. Many the teachers are not comfortable with English, particularly in small and rural centres, making it likely that many courses will continue to be taught in French though students will have to complete examinations in English regardless.
Enter the Association of Teachers of English in Rwanda (ATER).
Brand new, this alliance of current and well-trained English teachers in Rwanda aims to expand the use and influence of the English language in Rwanda. Immediately, they wish to support the transition of the language of education from French to English. This meeting was meant to be the first official gathering of potential members of a yet unofficial organization. While working out the logistics of legalizing themselves, the members of ATER were also setting about creating a proposal for the US Peace Corps that would see them partner in efforts to increase the English language proficiency of teachers throughout the country.
For me, while I commend the efforts of these individuals to better the quality of education in their country and to start finding solutions to a problem before it bites Rwanda in its proverbial ass, the proceedings of the meeting were perhaps more interesting to me than the content itself. It was really cool to be in the groundbreaking meeting of an organization of people who are passionate about something and wish to work to make a change for the greater good rather than for individual gains. It was also interesting to observe the interactions within the meeting – another example of culture not seen by the typical tourist The meeting started about an hour late (yay African Time) with Patrick, the chairman, explaining the agenda he created. After that, another meeting member who understood the Peace Corps initiative quite well essentially took over the meeting. When it came time to share ideas for the proposal each person in the room was specifically given the opportunity to speak, though what I considered to be the most modern and business-like idea took several tries to by heard and understood. After deciding on some guiding principles and the general content of the proposal, it was divided into sections and each was delegated and a timeline set (I later learned that this timeline was not very strictly adhered to as it would have been at home).
The other cool thing for me was to be taken very seriously during the meeting. My opinion was actively sought several times (thankfully my work in AIESEC gave me a few useful organizational tips) and was closely listened to. The list of ideas I gave to Patrick at the end of the meeting, I was told, was worked into the final draft. I suppose I am still very used to being dismissed as “young” by “adults.” Being treated as such an authority (or at least feeling as though I was) was both exhilarating and nerve racking.
After the meeting, naturally, was time to celebrate. Celebrating such a job well done involves everyone who participated (or at least the main players) heading to a local pub for food and drinks over a period of several hours. Thankfully, I packed before I left the room in the morning as Patrick and I only had a few minutes to spare between the celebration and catching our bus to Kibuye for the rest of the weekend.
Daily Smiles
- Shaking hands with every one of the students in the primary school outreach programs as they passed where I was sitting chatting with one of the UCK students.
- Getting the same set of questions about age and marriage once again from the aforementioned kids.
- Reading Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten while waiting for the meeting to start – this book is both hilarious and remarkably insightful.
- African time
- Speaking to Bona on the phone and realizing after I hung up that “I will pass” may not have meant I’ll pass on this opportunity but I’ll pass by to see you and wishing I’d clarified what he’d meant.
- Patrick checking to make sure I’d ordered food at lunch (most of the conversation etc. was in Kinyarwanda, most especially the ordering) and Rukundo answering “Yes, she ordered….in French!”
Enter the Association of Teachers of English in Rwanda (ATER).
Brand new, this alliance of current and well-trained English teachers in Rwanda aims to expand the use and influence of the English language in Rwanda. Immediately, they wish to support the transition of the language of education from French to English. This meeting was meant to be the first official gathering of potential members of a yet unofficial organization. While working out the logistics of legalizing themselves, the members of ATER were also setting about creating a proposal for the US Peace Corps that would see them partner in efforts to increase the English language proficiency of teachers throughout the country.
For me, while I commend the efforts of these individuals to better the quality of education in their country and to start finding solutions to a problem before it bites Rwanda in its proverbial ass, the proceedings of the meeting were perhaps more interesting to me than the content itself. It was really cool to be in the groundbreaking meeting of an organization of people who are passionate about something and wish to work to make a change for the greater good rather than for individual gains. It was also interesting to observe the interactions within the meeting – another example of culture not seen by the typical tourist The meeting started about an hour late (yay African Time) with Patrick, the chairman, explaining the agenda he created. After that, another meeting member who understood the Peace Corps initiative quite well essentially took over the meeting. When it came time to share ideas for the proposal each person in the room was specifically given the opportunity to speak, though what I considered to be the most modern and business-like idea took several tries to by heard and understood. After deciding on some guiding principles and the general content of the proposal, it was divided into sections and each was delegated and a timeline set (I later learned that this timeline was not very strictly adhered to as it would have been at home).
The other cool thing for me was to be taken very seriously during the meeting. My opinion was actively sought several times (thankfully my work in AIESEC gave me a few useful organizational tips) and was closely listened to. The list of ideas I gave to Patrick at the end of the meeting, I was told, was worked into the final draft. I suppose I am still very used to being dismissed as “young” by “adults.” Being treated as such an authority (or at least feeling as though I was) was both exhilarating and nerve racking.
After the meeting, naturally, was time to celebrate. Celebrating such a job well done involves everyone who participated (or at least the main players) heading to a local pub for food and drinks over a period of several hours. Thankfully, I packed before I left the room in the morning as Patrick and I only had a few minutes to spare between the celebration and catching our bus to Kibuye for the rest of the weekend.
Daily Smiles
- Shaking hands with every one of the students in the primary school outreach programs as they passed where I was sitting chatting with one of the UCK students.
- Getting the same set of questions about age and marriage once again from the aforementioned kids.
- Reading Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten while waiting for the meeting to start – this book is both hilarious and remarkably insightful.
- African time
- Speaking to Bona on the phone and realizing after I hung up that “I will pass” may not have meant I’ll pass on this opportunity but I’ll pass by to see you and wishing I’d clarified what he’d meant.
- Patrick checking to make sure I’d ordered food at lunch (most of the conversation etc. was in Kinyarwanda, most especially the ordering) and Rukundo answering “Yes, she ordered….in French!”
Friday, October 23, 2009
School
Classes here in Rwanda are very, very different from classes at home. Aside from the expected lack of technology, the style of teaching and of learning is very different, as are the associated attitudes.
The typical classroom is quite large; I would guess roughly 50 students though I am terrible at making such estimates. Students are required to wear uniforms, mid-calf skirts for girls and long shorts or pants for boys, usually with a button-up shirt. By North American standards most of the classrooms are very poorly equipped – containing hand-made wooden desks with attached bench seats (students often pack three of themselves onto these benches in a manner that would, I think, be uncomfortably close for any Canadian), a larger equally wooden bureau for the teacher (who continues to move from class to class through the end of secondary school) and large blackboards at the front. Classrooms are generally unadorned, with no pictures, tables or other learning materials on the walls.
The style of teaching is almost uniformly that of a lecture, with the teacher speaking on the subject at the front of the room and writing corresponding notes on the blackboard. Most teachers, especially those who teach sciences, wear lab coats to class for their lectures. There is little consideration of different learning styles and only a few exercises given at the end of each class. Classes are both less and more interactive than those in Canada. There are fewer “toys” or other objects for the students to learn with, fewer demonstrations and models, but many simple questions are asked of the students as the lecture proceeds. To be a kinesthetic learner or to be dyslexic in one of these classes would be incredibly difficult due to the lack of consideration and versatility in teaching styles.
The students are responsible for cleaning the board for the teacher and one student who serves as classroom manager is responsible for having a supply of chalk for the teacher and also of attempting to maintain order in the class – mostly by banging on the desk or hissing to quiet students down. Generally, there are far fewer discipline issues in these classes than in Canadian ones, students don’t act out aggressively or even actively challenge authority. What the teacher says is taken as fact. While the students still seem to learn quite a lot this makes for two huge disparities relative to students in Canada, at least so far as I am able to perceive. Firstly, students are not well equipped to think critically, about just about anything. To be fair I’m not sure how much critical thinking I learned in public school or if most of it came from university, but it is clear that nothing the teacher says in questioned and students are not encouraged to criticize information and ask why as much as students in Canada. Second, students almost completely and totally lack creativity. When I asked the students in the girls school to write something using the pictures of Canada as inspiration I got almost exclusively descriptions of what they saw in the pictures and perhaps a few very reasonable inferences. My encouragements to write a story, to “make something up about the man who lives in the lighthouse” were pretty much completely ignored. Even explaining that so long as they used English they could not possibly be wrong didn’t help. Students are concerned with having the correct answer and little else, and the nature of the schools encourages this pattern of thought.
As negative as this sounds, students tend to approach learning with an eagerness and tenacity distinctly lacking in nearly all their Canadian counterparts. Students generally pay close attention in class and take incredibly neat and complete notes. When a question is asked of the class students are eager to answer, nearly all of them raising their hands, calling quietly “me, teacher!” and making snapping noises with their fingers in hopes of being chosen to answer the question. The opportunity to write the answer on the board rather than simply reply orally only increases the collective excitement to demonstrate knowledge. Equally impressive is the tendency of students to be able answer questions on material taught only a day or two before, implying that studies are taken quite seriously by most and that students consider themselves as primarily responsible for their own learning.
Part of me suspects the eagerness to learn stems at least partly in the fact that education is not a given in Rwanda. Recently the government has said that each child has a right to seven years of primary education and, if I recall correctly, has made the first four of these years free (and I have been told that 90 to 95% of children now enroll in/complete these four years), but the fact remains that basic education in Rwanda has a cost which many families are unable to bear. Thus education is a privilege. I cannot say for certain that all students understand or are lead to believe this but it seems that they must realize at some point during their education that being able to attend classes rather than being required stay at home or to try and earn money makes them the fortunate ones.
The obvious question at the end of all this might be “how do we improve the quality of education in Rwanda (and Africa) and ensure that it reaches more children?” And that is indeed a valid and important question, one for which many individuals, governments and NGOs (millennium development goals, anyone?) are working to find a solution. Nonetheless, the question that keeps nagging and saddening me is “how do we get children and youth in North America to understand, appreciate and not squander the incredible gift they are given in universal public education?”
The typical classroom is quite large; I would guess roughly 50 students though I am terrible at making such estimates. Students are required to wear uniforms, mid-calf skirts for girls and long shorts or pants for boys, usually with a button-up shirt. By North American standards most of the classrooms are very poorly equipped – containing hand-made wooden desks with attached bench seats (students often pack three of themselves onto these benches in a manner that would, I think, be uncomfortably close for any Canadian), a larger equally wooden bureau for the teacher (who continues to move from class to class through the end of secondary school) and large blackboards at the front. Classrooms are generally unadorned, with no pictures, tables or other learning materials on the walls.
The style of teaching is almost uniformly that of a lecture, with the teacher speaking on the subject at the front of the room and writing corresponding notes on the blackboard. Most teachers, especially those who teach sciences, wear lab coats to class for their lectures. There is little consideration of different learning styles and only a few exercises given at the end of each class. Classes are both less and more interactive than those in Canada. There are fewer “toys” or other objects for the students to learn with, fewer demonstrations and models, but many simple questions are asked of the students as the lecture proceeds. To be a kinesthetic learner or to be dyslexic in one of these classes would be incredibly difficult due to the lack of consideration and versatility in teaching styles.
The students are responsible for cleaning the board for the teacher and one student who serves as classroom manager is responsible for having a supply of chalk for the teacher and also of attempting to maintain order in the class – mostly by banging on the desk or hissing to quiet students down. Generally, there are far fewer discipline issues in these classes than in Canadian ones, students don’t act out aggressively or even actively challenge authority. What the teacher says is taken as fact. While the students still seem to learn quite a lot this makes for two huge disparities relative to students in Canada, at least so far as I am able to perceive. Firstly, students are not well equipped to think critically, about just about anything. To be fair I’m not sure how much critical thinking I learned in public school or if most of it came from university, but it is clear that nothing the teacher says in questioned and students are not encouraged to criticize information and ask why as much as students in Canada. Second, students almost completely and totally lack creativity. When I asked the students in the girls school to write something using the pictures of Canada as inspiration I got almost exclusively descriptions of what they saw in the pictures and perhaps a few very reasonable inferences. My encouragements to write a story, to “make something up about the man who lives in the lighthouse” were pretty much completely ignored. Even explaining that so long as they used English they could not possibly be wrong didn’t help. Students are concerned with having the correct answer and little else, and the nature of the schools encourages this pattern of thought.
As negative as this sounds, students tend to approach learning with an eagerness and tenacity distinctly lacking in nearly all their Canadian counterparts. Students generally pay close attention in class and take incredibly neat and complete notes. When a question is asked of the class students are eager to answer, nearly all of them raising their hands, calling quietly “me, teacher!” and making snapping noises with their fingers in hopes of being chosen to answer the question. The opportunity to write the answer on the board rather than simply reply orally only increases the collective excitement to demonstrate knowledge. Equally impressive is the tendency of students to be able answer questions on material taught only a day or two before, implying that studies are taken quite seriously by most and that students consider themselves as primarily responsible for their own learning.
Part of me suspects the eagerness to learn stems at least partly in the fact that education is not a given in Rwanda. Recently the government has said that each child has a right to seven years of primary education and, if I recall correctly, has made the first four of these years free (and I have been told that 90 to 95% of children now enroll in/complete these four years), but the fact remains that basic education in Rwanda has a cost which many families are unable to bear. Thus education is a privilege. I cannot say for certain that all students understand or are lead to believe this but it seems that they must realize at some point during their education that being able to attend classes rather than being required stay at home or to try and earn money makes them the fortunate ones.
The obvious question at the end of all this might be “how do we improve the quality of education in Rwanda (and Africa) and ensure that it reaches more children?” And that is indeed a valid and important question, one for which many individuals, governments and NGOs (millennium development goals, anyone?) are working to find a solution. Nonetheless, the question that keeps nagging and saddening me is “how do we get children and youth in North America to understand, appreciate and not squander the incredible gift they are given in universal public education?”
Friday September 18
Since Patrick was feeling ill today I took headed to the girls’ school to cover his English classes for him. With much help from the school’s headmistress I was able to determine Patrick’s schedule for the day and the girls were able to direct me from room to room leaving me to stumble my way through three English classes with no lesson and little plan.
On the walk back to UCK for lunch and a short nap before afternoon classes I was stopped by an old man who as sitting on his “porch” with several other men. With his few words of English, my few of Kinyarwanda and a larger mutual base in French we chatted for several minutes while the other men only looked on curiously. The man was very friendly and curious to learn more about where I was from and what brought me to Rwanda and even gave me a free Kinyarwanda lesson – teaching me that amakuru is “how are you?”
Armed with my Canadian calendar and an idea I was much more prepared for the afternoon classes I was to manage. I split the girls in each class into groups and asked them to write and then present something using the pictures as inspiration. I failed to account for how much explanation this would require from me – the girls had never seen (pictures of) lighthouses or grain elevators or even a very large bridge before.
The evening was passed in the English Centre with Patrick (feeling a little better) and Vivens and later at Landoo’s place over beer and brochette. We shared stories and discussed the cultural difference surrounding marriage between Rwanda and Canada. Of the biggest differences age was certainly one – girls often marry between 18 and 20 though the government made it illegal to marry before 21 in an effort to delay marriage and thus decrease the number of children each family has. In addition the difference in age between man and wife in Rwanda is often much greater than the one or two years that constitutes normal at home. The last major difference is prevalence of unmarried couples in Canada contrasted to their near non-existence here. This is partly because having children out of wedlock is still largely socially unacceptable but mostly because there is no “common law” legislation in Rwanda and should an unmarried couple separate the woman is typically left with nothing. It is only recently that legislation was passed to protect the children of such unions who were previously also left destitute.
Daily Smiles
- The girls with the picture of Saskatchewan asking “but where are the mountains?” and their visible confusion at my response that there are none.
- Patrick deciding beer was a much better cure for his cold than tea.
- “Sharing” a beer with Vivens which really meant that I drank ¾ of a big bottle of Mutzig.
- Waiting to meet Patrick on the bench outside Bona’s office. He was one hour late. Everyone crowding around me and saying “sorry, sorry” when they saw that I was bleeding a little as I had scratched my own forehead. Bona being upset that I sat outside his office and didn’t come in to say hi.
- The random man in the street, after teaching me amakuru and parting ways, yelling after me that I was very pretty as I walked away.
On the walk back to UCK for lunch and a short nap before afternoon classes I was stopped by an old man who as sitting on his “porch” with several other men. With his few words of English, my few of Kinyarwanda and a larger mutual base in French we chatted for several minutes while the other men only looked on curiously. The man was very friendly and curious to learn more about where I was from and what brought me to Rwanda and even gave me a free Kinyarwanda lesson – teaching me that amakuru is “how are you?”
Armed with my Canadian calendar and an idea I was much more prepared for the afternoon classes I was to manage. I split the girls in each class into groups and asked them to write and then present something using the pictures as inspiration. I failed to account for how much explanation this would require from me – the girls had never seen (pictures of) lighthouses or grain elevators or even a very large bridge before.
The evening was passed in the English Centre with Patrick (feeling a little better) and Vivens and later at Landoo’s place over beer and brochette. We shared stories and discussed the cultural difference surrounding marriage between Rwanda and Canada. Of the biggest differences age was certainly one – girls often marry between 18 and 20 though the government made it illegal to marry before 21 in an effort to delay marriage and thus decrease the number of children each family has. In addition the difference in age between man and wife in Rwanda is often much greater than the one or two years that constitutes normal at home. The last major difference is prevalence of unmarried couples in Canada contrasted to their near non-existence here. This is partly because having children out of wedlock is still largely socially unacceptable but mostly because there is no “common law” legislation in Rwanda and should an unmarried couple separate the woman is typically left with nothing. It is only recently that legislation was passed to protect the children of such unions who were previously also left destitute.
Daily Smiles
- The girls with the picture of Saskatchewan asking “but where are the mountains?” and their visible confusion at my response that there are none.
- Patrick deciding beer was a much better cure for his cold than tea.
- “Sharing” a beer with Vivens which really meant that I drank ¾ of a big bottle of Mutzig.
- Waiting to meet Patrick on the bench outside Bona’s office. He was one hour late. Everyone crowding around me and saying “sorry, sorry” when they saw that I was bleeding a little as I had scratched my own forehead. Bona being upset that I sat outside his office and didn’t come in to say hi.
- The random man in the street, after teaching me amakuru and parting ways, yelling after me that I was very pretty as I walked away.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Cultural Assimilation (September 16)
Today I had the morning off so after sleeping in I went for a long walk nearly all the way around town. I spent the afternoon at the girls’ school with Patrick as the centre of attention for a few English classes and observing a cation identification lab (which made me think so much of Shaun and Mr. Baetsen). Then after a short rest I went with Patrick, Vivens and his wife Clarisse to a very very nice pub for a drink and some BBQ (aka brochette) before blundering my way through another meal of French conversation with the visiting teachers, this time a little buzzed. I also realized that this place tires me out. I don’t mean I’m tired at the end of the day, I mean I’m tired all the time and feel as though I could pass out juts about any time anywhere. Maybe it’s the heat?
Cultural Differences
- Picking your nose is generally accepted behavior.
- If you want to catch someone’s attention, such as a waiter or someone across the street, hiss. It sounds like a cat about to scratch your eyes out but it’s very effective.
- Other noises are common parts of speech here, such as Ahhhh, eeeeeh and the raspberry sound. I’m not sure exactly what they all mean just yet, and I’m pretty sure it’s at least a little context dependent.
Daily Smiles
- Meeting the house maid’s mother at breakfast and attempting to navigate the awkward looking Rwandan half hug that’s really more of a mutual shoulder grab.
- Sponge bath number 2 – I’m getting better ?
- Two randome children who ran up to me and hugged the “muzungoo” as I was walking with Patrick to the girls’ school
- The girls completing many mini performances for me and their classes each of which was surrounded by full rounds of applause
- The girls insist that I make such mini performances as well resulting in me teaching them to sing “Head and shoulders, knees and toes” and reciting In Flanders’ Fields
- The girls in one class demanding that I try Rwandan traditional dance – EPIC FAIL!
Cultural Differences
- Picking your nose is generally accepted behavior.
- If you want to catch someone’s attention, such as a waiter or someone across the street, hiss. It sounds like a cat about to scratch your eyes out but it’s very effective.
- Other noises are common parts of speech here, such as Ahhhh, eeeeeh and the raspberry sound. I’m not sure exactly what they all mean just yet, and I’m pretty sure it’s at least a little context dependent.
Daily Smiles
- Meeting the house maid’s mother at breakfast and attempting to navigate the awkward looking Rwandan half hug that’s really more of a mutual shoulder grab.
- Sponge bath number 2 – I’m getting better ?
- Two randome children who ran up to me and hugged the “muzungoo” as I was walking with Patrick to the girls’ school
- The girls completing many mini performances for me and their classes each of which was surrounded by full rounds of applause
- The girls insist that I make such mini performances as well resulting in me teaching them to sing “Head and shoulders, knees and toes” and reciting In Flanders’ Fields
- The girls in one class demanding that I try Rwandan traditional dance – EPIC FAIL!
Embassy, Accident, Adventure? (September 15)
Today a group of us left UCK at about 8:30 am for Kigali. The group was composed of Patrick and myself, Leonard from ICT, one of the men from the finance department whose name I can’t recall all travelling in the UCK van with its driver. The purpose of the trip was to make a visit to the US Embassy who had granted $5000 USD to the English centre and then spend the money in Kigali on books and computers and other equipment for the centre.
After the ordeal of actually entering the embassy – think airport security complete with metal detectors and passport checks, except that you’re not allowed to bring anything electronic in with you, it must be left at the gate – we made our way to the embassy library. The library wasn’t very large but probably contained one of the largest collections of English books in the country and reminded me very much of the children’s section of the Pembina Trails Library from when I was little. Somehow it managed to communicate the same sense of childish wonder to me. It was in the library that we were met by Eddie, the American embassy worker that is the main contact with the UCK English Centre, and two of her staff members. Eddie was a nice jolly sort of lady who reminded me a lot of Bonnie from the post office at Shoppers. After shaking hands handing in a report making a little small talk and covering some of the terms of the grant Eddie and her staff walked us out and I was able to ask her a few questions. I learned that while she is originally from St. Louis she had not been home in quite some time as her to previous posts were in Honduras and Bolivia. The life of a foreign servant sounds incredibly cool to me and I wish I could have talked to her a little more. I suppose it would be more relevant for me to try and get in touch with someone at the Canadian Embassy who I might be able to have a chat with.
After that we went to RDB (Rwanda Development Board) and Patrick and I had tea in the office with Apollo. It was nice, though I must admit I felt a little awkward sitting on the couch in the middle of the office drinking tea with Patrick and Apollo while everyone else in the office remained working at their desks around the room (the office is based on an open concept with everyone’s desk facing the middle of one big room, yay for no cubicle city!).
After that we set about spending the money the US Embassy had given us (we had picked it up at the bank that morning before heading to Kigali). Mostly I just followed the men around the city at this point. We made stops in a computer store, an electronic store, Nakumatt and Simba supermarkets and at a few primary schools targeted at the children of ex-pats. I found the supermarkets very interesting. They reminded me of Walmart but in a smaller space with just as much stuff, if not more, stuffed inside. The supermarkets carry everything from liquor to groceries to electronics and furniture. They are not nearly as well branded, though you can see the beginnings of it, and there are about 10x the staff. Oh, and, the cashiers sit at their tills!!!
By far the most interesting thing that happened today was the car accident. Worry not, no one was hurt. While angle parked in downtown Kigali (it appears a little bit of Stoon followed me here) the back corner of the UCK van was clipped by a passing car, the force of which caused the van to rock in place. While everyone was dumbfounded Patrick asked, “What was that?” to which I said we’d just been hit and pointed to a small grey benz that as continuing to drive up the street.
Immediately after the accident at least 10 people were surrounding the injured corner of the van and offering to be itnesses, some even reciting the plate number of the car. Also, a moto driver that saw what happened took off after the driver of the benz. I’m not sure if the moto driver or Leonard (he’d gone running after the car) got to the benz first but either way he came back within a few minutes with Leonard in the passenger seat. The next step was to call the cops, who came and visited the site of a fender bender! Also, a man from a nearby garage was brought to assess the damages. Then the driver of the other car, who I soon learned was named Clement, got into the van and proceeded to spend half the afternoon running errands with us until the van could get into the shop. He even talked and joked with us and we gave one of his buddies a lift before the whole ordeal was over with and we dropped him back at his car.
Daily Smiles
- African time in terms of leaving Gitarama
- The entire car accident experience – I cannot imagine such a situation resulting in smiles and friends all around in Canada, only pissed people
- Complete randoms starting up conversations with me all day
- Eating a slightly off tasting burger in Simba Café just as I was really starting to miss food from home
- Not being allowed to help unload the van at the end of the day as there were clearly men present to do the lifting
- Rocking out to a CMT compilation of Dolly Parton music videos in the store where we purchased the stereo while they rain gave ‘er outside. The store owner was loving the old school country just as much as if not more than me!
After the ordeal of actually entering the embassy – think airport security complete with metal detectors and passport checks, except that you’re not allowed to bring anything electronic in with you, it must be left at the gate – we made our way to the embassy library. The library wasn’t very large but probably contained one of the largest collections of English books in the country and reminded me very much of the children’s section of the Pembina Trails Library from when I was little. Somehow it managed to communicate the same sense of childish wonder to me. It was in the library that we were met by Eddie, the American embassy worker that is the main contact with the UCK English Centre, and two of her staff members. Eddie was a nice jolly sort of lady who reminded me a lot of Bonnie from the post office at Shoppers. After shaking hands handing in a report making a little small talk and covering some of the terms of the grant Eddie and her staff walked us out and I was able to ask her a few questions. I learned that while she is originally from St. Louis she had not been home in quite some time as her to previous posts were in Honduras and Bolivia. The life of a foreign servant sounds incredibly cool to me and I wish I could have talked to her a little more. I suppose it would be more relevant for me to try and get in touch with someone at the Canadian Embassy who I might be able to have a chat with.
After that we went to RDB (Rwanda Development Board) and Patrick and I had tea in the office with Apollo. It was nice, though I must admit I felt a little awkward sitting on the couch in the middle of the office drinking tea with Patrick and Apollo while everyone else in the office remained working at their desks around the room (the office is based on an open concept with everyone’s desk facing the middle of one big room, yay for no cubicle city!).
After that we set about spending the money the US Embassy had given us (we had picked it up at the bank that morning before heading to Kigali). Mostly I just followed the men around the city at this point. We made stops in a computer store, an electronic store, Nakumatt and Simba supermarkets and at a few primary schools targeted at the children of ex-pats. I found the supermarkets very interesting. They reminded me of Walmart but in a smaller space with just as much stuff, if not more, stuffed inside. The supermarkets carry everything from liquor to groceries to electronics and furniture. They are not nearly as well branded, though you can see the beginnings of it, and there are about 10x the staff. Oh, and, the cashiers sit at their tills!!!
By far the most interesting thing that happened today was the car accident. Worry not, no one was hurt. While angle parked in downtown Kigali (it appears a little bit of Stoon followed me here) the back corner of the UCK van was clipped by a passing car, the force of which caused the van to rock in place. While everyone was dumbfounded Patrick asked, “What was that?” to which I said we’d just been hit and pointed to a small grey benz that as continuing to drive up the street.
Immediately after the accident at least 10 people were surrounding the injured corner of the van and offering to be itnesses, some even reciting the plate number of the car. Also, a moto driver that saw what happened took off after the driver of the benz. I’m not sure if the moto driver or Leonard (he’d gone running after the car) got to the benz first but either way he came back within a few minutes with Leonard in the passenger seat. The next step was to call the cops, who came and visited the site of a fender bender! Also, a man from a nearby garage was brought to assess the damages. Then the driver of the other car, who I soon learned was named Clement, got into the van and proceeded to spend half the afternoon running errands with us until the van could get into the shop. He even talked and joked with us and we gave one of his buddies a lift before the whole ordeal was over with and we dropped him back at his car.
Daily Smiles
- African time in terms of leaving Gitarama
- The entire car accident experience – I cannot imagine such a situation resulting in smiles and friends all around in Canada, only pissed people
- Complete randoms starting up conversations with me all day
- Eating a slightly off tasting burger in Simba Café just as I was really starting to miss food from home
- Not being allowed to help unload the van at the end of the day as there were clearly men present to do the lifting
- Rocking out to a CMT compilation of Dolly Parton music videos in the store where we purchased the stereo while they rain gave ‘er outside. The store owner was loving the old school country just as much as if not more than me!
The First Day of the Rest of My Life…Or At Least the Rest of the Month (September 14)
On the first day of “work” here at UCK I started by meeting with the Rector and Patrick and a few other staff members to discuss the objectives of my stay. I passed the remainer of my morning watching a video on TEFL, with one notable exception. A group of journalism and communication students at UCK who I had spotted eyeing me through the open door of the English Centre asked me to present my opinion on whether it is necessary to be a virgin before marriage. In French! On Camera! Since they were nice enough to ask me and since I wanted a break I decided to oblige them but wrote out what I wanted to say first and not trusting the French I hadn’t really practiced in about three years (Ben, I refuse to count your harassment) I asked one of the students to proofread it to make sure it at least made sense. Now I’m certain I blushed and mumbled and replaced every le with les and naturally they had to do a second take (which I’m pretty sure was worse, not better) as the first didn’t work but all the students clapped for me anyways.
After lunch with Patrick we went to the girls’ school where conversation club had been the day before. First we met with the school’s administration, the Director, Dean of Accounting and the Dean of Finance and Accounting, to finalize the way in which I would be of assistance to the staff at the school. Since the Rwandan government, in its effort to change the second official language of the country from French to English and garner itself a greater stake in the East African community, has mandated that at the start of the next school year in January all classes that would normally be taught in French must now be taught in English, it was to be my duty to observe the classes that are already taught in English (Senior 1 and Senior 4 classes) and do my best to come up with a few things I can share as a native English speaker that will ease the transition for the school. Thus I was sent to observe an English physics class where I became worried that I wouldn’t have much to contribute as the teacher’s English was already quite admirable.
After physics was a break between classes during which three girls from Senior 6 came up and introduced themselves and asked if I wanted to see their classroom. Before I knew it I was surrounded by girls asking questions, invading my bubble, touching my skin and hair and forcing me to test my memory of French. As their next class was English taught by Patrick I was placed at their mercy and became the centre of attention for yet another lecture.
When I returned to my room at UCK I met the housekeeper, though I didn’t realize it right away. That confusion was quickly resolved as she took me by the hand and excitedly introduced me to Jean Baptiste, the house boy, showed me the kitchen and all the produce she had just purchased and told me a bit about her 5 children. After clearing up the misunderstanding that I was the oldest of three children rather than a mother of three she sent me on my way with a plate of fruit, some toilet paper, a fresh bar of soap and a rechargeable lamp in case the power goes out. Little did she know when the power went out the day before I took that as a sign and went to bed!
That night, at a lovely late 9:45 pm, I shared my first meal with the visiting teachers who are staying in some of the other rooms here. For the most part I quite enjoyed myself and spent the meal practicing my French (all the teachers are fluent in French and much less comfortable with English though it turns out nearly all of them know at least a little). Unfortunately, most of the jokes were told in Kinyarwanda. All of the travelling staff members are very nice and friendly and seem to be making a conscious effort to make me feel welcome and a part of the group. I still miss the ease of hanging out with people who have a better grasp of English (it takes a lot of effort for me to focus on understanding a speaking French) and who are a little closer to my age. But nothing beats a crowded dinner table, regardless of whether or not I understand the conversation.
Daily Smiles
- All the people who look at me at say “good morning” but don’t say or possibly know any other English
- The students asking me to sing them a song in English. And then another one!
- All of the questions I get aked that in Canada ould be considered totally inappropriate, at least upon first meeting:
- How old are you?
- Are you married or single?
- At which church do you pray?
- The looks on the faces of the girls when I explained to them that in Canada girls generally don’t marry until 25 or even later
- The look on the face of the Director of the girls school as he tried to comprehend -40C and how all three school administrators were thoroughly convinced that going outside in such cold meant instant death
- Lamely attempting to explain winter sports to the night students. It’s kinda hard when snow and ice have no meaning.
- The excitement of the housekeeper to show me her workplace.
After lunch with Patrick we went to the girls’ school where conversation club had been the day before. First we met with the school’s administration, the Director, Dean of Accounting and the Dean of Finance and Accounting, to finalize the way in which I would be of assistance to the staff at the school. Since the Rwandan government, in its effort to change the second official language of the country from French to English and garner itself a greater stake in the East African community, has mandated that at the start of the next school year in January all classes that would normally be taught in French must now be taught in English, it was to be my duty to observe the classes that are already taught in English (Senior 1 and Senior 4 classes) and do my best to come up with a few things I can share as a native English speaker that will ease the transition for the school. Thus I was sent to observe an English physics class where I became worried that I wouldn’t have much to contribute as the teacher’s English was already quite admirable.
After physics was a break between classes during which three girls from Senior 6 came up and introduced themselves and asked if I wanted to see their classroom. Before I knew it I was surrounded by girls asking questions, invading my bubble, touching my skin and hair and forcing me to test my memory of French. As their next class was English taught by Patrick I was placed at their mercy and became the centre of attention for yet another lecture.
When I returned to my room at UCK I met the housekeeper, though I didn’t realize it right away. That confusion was quickly resolved as she took me by the hand and excitedly introduced me to Jean Baptiste, the house boy, showed me the kitchen and all the produce she had just purchased and told me a bit about her 5 children. After clearing up the misunderstanding that I was the oldest of three children rather than a mother of three she sent me on my way with a plate of fruit, some toilet paper, a fresh bar of soap and a rechargeable lamp in case the power goes out. Little did she know when the power went out the day before I took that as a sign and went to bed!
That night, at a lovely late 9:45 pm, I shared my first meal with the visiting teachers who are staying in some of the other rooms here. For the most part I quite enjoyed myself and spent the meal practicing my French (all the teachers are fluent in French and much less comfortable with English though it turns out nearly all of them know at least a little). Unfortunately, most of the jokes were told in Kinyarwanda. All of the travelling staff members are very nice and friendly and seem to be making a conscious effort to make me feel welcome and a part of the group. I still miss the ease of hanging out with people who have a better grasp of English (it takes a lot of effort for me to focus on understanding a speaking French) and who are a little closer to my age. But nothing beats a crowded dinner table, regardless of whether or not I understand the conversation.
Daily Smiles
- All the people who look at me at say “good morning” but don’t say or possibly know any other English
- The students asking me to sing them a song in English. And then another one!
- All of the questions I get aked that in Canada ould be considered totally inappropriate, at least upon first meeting:
- How old are you?
- Are you married or single?
- At which church do you pray?
- The looks on the faces of the girls when I explained to them that in Canada girls generally don’t marry until 25 or even later
- The look on the face of the Director of the girls school as he tried to comprehend -40C and how all three school administrators were thoroughly convinced that going outside in such cold meant instant death
- Lamely attempting to explain winter sports to the night students. It’s kinda hard when snow and ice have no meaning.
- The excitement of the housekeeper to show me her workplace.
Dinner at the Diocese (September 13)
On my first Sunday in Rwanda and in Gitarama I was invited, with Patrick escorting me, to attend dinner with the Rector of UCK. The Rector met Patrick and I at the university where we passed about a half hour in his office getting acquainted before we piled into his SUV and drove to the rectory. Now I’m not sure what I was expecting the residence of the rector of a university to be like but somehow it didn’t quite occur to me that he would be living in a large stone building next to the cathedral with many other priests. Surely that is ignorance. Nonetheless I thought dinner with one priest in his home was intimidating until I was introduced one by one to the several others who also live in the rectory.
Being that I was terrified I was going to display insufficient table manners for dinner in such a setting I think I managed to survive relatively blunder free (Thanks, Mom). I did feel foolish when I sat in the chair I was directed to only to realize that grace is said while still standing behind your chair, thus I quickly rose and bowed my head. Just after we sat down and dished out the food one last person entered the room for dinner – none other than the Bishop of Kabgayi. Selecting the free chair directly across from me he said his prayer and sat down to enjoy his meal. As many meals here are served with beer the Bishop proceeded to offer me one and open it. In some cruel comedy of errors the beer foamed rather viciously when the cap was removed creating a minor spectacle as we both awkwardly tried to keep it from making a huge mess. To make things better, as soon as I thought the crisis as averted it started again! And then just to prove that my reality is especially warped the Bishop busts out his cell phone and starts making a couple calls in the middle of dinner!
There are moments in my life where my circumstances suddenly strike me as ridiculous or odd or extremely unlikely and one thought quickly overtakes my mind: how on Earth did I get here? At which point I usually take a virtual tour of the path of my life, noting the forks at which my choice of turn lead me to the current moment and I relish in the beauty of its improbability. In these moments, more often than not, I feel incredibly fortunate.
Eating dinner across from the Bishop of Kabgayi was definitely one of those moments.
Culture Shock
Everyone here answers their cell phones everywhere! At dinner, in class. Even the teachers and the Bishop. That this is perfectly acceptable behavior will take some getting used to. And I’m not sure I’ll like it.
Being that I was terrified I was going to display insufficient table manners for dinner in such a setting I think I managed to survive relatively blunder free (Thanks, Mom). I did feel foolish when I sat in the chair I was directed to only to realize that grace is said while still standing behind your chair, thus I quickly rose and bowed my head. Just after we sat down and dished out the food one last person entered the room for dinner – none other than the Bishop of Kabgayi. Selecting the free chair directly across from me he said his prayer and sat down to enjoy his meal. As many meals here are served with beer the Bishop proceeded to offer me one and open it. In some cruel comedy of errors the beer foamed rather viciously when the cap was removed creating a minor spectacle as we both awkwardly tried to keep it from making a huge mess. To make things better, as soon as I thought the crisis as averted it started again! And then just to prove that my reality is especially warped the Bishop busts out his cell phone and starts making a couple calls in the middle of dinner!
There are moments in my life where my circumstances suddenly strike me as ridiculous or odd or extremely unlikely and one thought quickly overtakes my mind: how on Earth did I get here? At which point I usually take a virtual tour of the path of my life, noting the forks at which my choice of turn lead me to the current moment and I relish in the beauty of its improbability. In these moments, more often than not, I feel incredibly fortunate.
Eating dinner across from the Bishop of Kabgayi was definitely one of those moments.
Culture Shock
Everyone here answers their cell phones everywhere! At dinner, in class. Even the teachers and the Bishop. That this is perfectly acceptable behavior will take some getting used to. And I’m not sure I’ll like it.
Monday, October 5, 2009
English Club
On my first morning in Gitarama, the Sunday after I arrived in Rwanda, I met Patrick and a few of the UCK students in the English Centre to head to an all girls secondary school for English conversation club. We walked from the uni to the secondary school, a distance that in Canada surely would have been driven, though it was far from impossible. The biggest difference is that people here walk very slowly - I think because it is so hot and because no one's ever really in a hurry.
The English club consists of about 40 students as well as one of the school's support staff. Three UCK students come along to help Patrick and to get some extra practice in. The girls are all very sweet and were very excited to see a new and exciting face. A few of them came up and introduced themselves to me before class started.
The class/club started with my introducing myself and then the students being given free range to ask me questions. They asked about why I came to Rwanda and how long I was planning to stay, about my schooling and my family and they asked two questions that I have learned are very popular here though they are largely socially unacceptable at home: how old are you? and are you single/married/engaged? After finding out I was single and receiving an unsatisfactory answer as to why it was so one of the girls asked if she could find me a Rwandan husband. While this caused the entire room to errupt into laughter (and I'm fairly certain me to turn bright red). Unfortunately, a good laugh was not enough for this girl to let me off the hook and I was forced to stumble through an explanation of how Canadians like to choose their own husbands and that I consider 23 young to get married (contrast to the unofficial weddings that often occur her for girls at the age of 18 or 19). Little did I know it but this would be the beginning of a pattern of the questions asked by people when I first meet them.
After grilling me class moved on to practice of the things they had learned in previous weeks and concluded a few minutes early, which prompted some of the students to give mini performances in front of the class. Each performance was met by not only applause but also woops and hollers. One of the girls sang what was apparently a very popular song is it sparked a whole class sing-a-long which I was too slow to catch with my camera.
After meeting some of the administrators of the girls' school Patrick and I went for lunch and I was given some time to rest etc before dinner with the rector of the university. I used my break time to visit an internet cafe and to give myself a sponge bath, which I haven't done in years but will have to get used to as it's fairly common for the water here to stop running.
On feelings and observations:
Writing home today was tough. It's kind of terrible to think that I didn't really miss home until I'd been gone almost a week but I'll blame it on being very nervous while travelling and then being so overwhelmed with meeting new people and taking in such new and different surroundings. Realizing just how much I miss my family while attempting to write an email had me working pretty hard to blink away tears. I suppose that's what they call homesickness. Listening to music from home on my computer helps but I'm very much looking forward to that first skype/phone call!
I get stared at a lot. More so in Gitarama than in Kigali. It gets old. When kids shout "muzungoo" it's kinda cute and funny but when I hear adults refer to me that way I get kinda annoyed - your grown, shouldn't you be able to see beyond the colour of my skin?
Also, I think I understand a little better now how interns feel upon first arriving in a new country (or in Saskatoon). I was completely dependent on Hannah/Tina/Bogee in Kigali as I never had any idea where I was and knew essentially none of the language. Now in Gitarama, I am all but completely dependent on Patrick. I am getting better, I've learned where a few things are in the city and understand some of the customs but I'm still fairly useless. It's being caught between a rock and a hard place - you'd rather not admit your dependence, not even to yourself, and you certainly don't want to repel or annoy or inconvenience the person helping you but you are uncertain of how to do just about everthing so you have to, but if you annoy them off and they ditch then you're totally screwed. (You hear that Stoon? - for the first couple weeks the intern probably needs you for everything but are scared to ask so just do it without asking and with a huge smile, k? Oh, and talk to them every day!)
Daily Smiles
- "Can I find you a Rwandan husband?"
- "Why aren't you engaged? But why?"
- Seeing goats tethered to the ground and grazing outside someone's house and thinking "only in Africa." Then remembering all the fuss about having a few chickens in your back yard in Toronto. Shortly thereafter seeing oxen tethered in a similar fashion.
The English club consists of about 40 students as well as one of the school's support staff. Three UCK students come along to help Patrick and to get some extra practice in. The girls are all very sweet and were very excited to see a new and exciting face. A few of them came up and introduced themselves to me before class started.
The class/club started with my introducing myself and then the students being given free range to ask me questions. They asked about why I came to Rwanda and how long I was planning to stay, about my schooling and my family and they asked two questions that I have learned are very popular here though they are largely socially unacceptable at home: how old are you? and are you single/married/engaged? After finding out I was single and receiving an unsatisfactory answer as to why it was so one of the girls asked if she could find me a Rwandan husband. While this caused the entire room to errupt into laughter (and I'm fairly certain me to turn bright red). Unfortunately, a good laugh was not enough for this girl to let me off the hook and I was forced to stumble through an explanation of how Canadians like to choose their own husbands and that I consider 23 young to get married (contrast to the unofficial weddings that often occur her for girls at the age of 18 or 19). Little did I know it but this would be the beginning of a pattern of the questions asked by people when I first meet them.
After grilling me class moved on to practice of the things they had learned in previous weeks and concluded a few minutes early, which prompted some of the students to give mini performances in front of the class. Each performance was met by not only applause but also woops and hollers. One of the girls sang what was apparently a very popular song is it sparked a whole class sing-a-long which I was too slow to catch with my camera.
After meeting some of the administrators of the girls' school Patrick and I went for lunch and I was given some time to rest etc before dinner with the rector of the university. I used my break time to visit an internet cafe and to give myself a sponge bath, which I haven't done in years but will have to get used to as it's fairly common for the water here to stop running.
On feelings and observations:
Writing home today was tough. It's kind of terrible to think that I didn't really miss home until I'd been gone almost a week but I'll blame it on being very nervous while travelling and then being so overwhelmed with meeting new people and taking in such new and different surroundings. Realizing just how much I miss my family while attempting to write an email had me working pretty hard to blink away tears. I suppose that's what they call homesickness. Listening to music from home on my computer helps but I'm very much looking forward to that first skype/phone call!
I get stared at a lot. More so in Gitarama than in Kigali. It gets old. When kids shout "muzungoo" it's kinda cute and funny but when I hear adults refer to me that way I get kinda annoyed - your grown, shouldn't you be able to see beyond the colour of my skin?
Also, I think I understand a little better now how interns feel upon first arriving in a new country (or in Saskatoon). I was completely dependent on Hannah/Tina/Bogee in Kigali as I never had any idea where I was and knew essentially none of the language. Now in Gitarama, I am all but completely dependent on Patrick. I am getting better, I've learned where a few things are in the city and understand some of the customs but I'm still fairly useless. It's being caught between a rock and a hard place - you'd rather not admit your dependence, not even to yourself, and you certainly don't want to repel or annoy or inconvenience the person helping you but you are uncertain of how to do just about everthing so you have to, but if you annoy them off and they ditch then you're totally screwed. (You hear that Stoon? - for the first couple weeks the intern probably needs you for everything but are scared to ask so just do it without asking and with a huge smile, k? Oh, and talk to them every day!)
Daily Smiles
- "Can I find you a Rwandan husband?"
- "Why aren't you engaged? But why?"
- Seeing goats tethered to the ground and grazing outside someone's house and thinking "only in Africa." Then remembering all the fuss about having a few chickens in your back yard in Toronto. Shortly thereafter seeing oxen tethered in a similar fashion.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
To Gitarama
On arriving in Kigali I was informed that the plan for my internship had changed slightly. Rather than spending my entire time in Kigali working at the Rwandan Development Board, I would spend the first month of my internship teaching at the small Université Catholique du Kabgayi in the city of Gitarama, about 50 km or 1 hour west of the capital.
Thus Saturday morning was spent purchasing a local cell phone, returning to Tina's house and packing/freshening up to head to my new home. Early in the afternoon the UCK van came to the bottom of Tina's street to pick me up. After picking up a few other staff members we were off to Gitarama. The drive was uneventful, I spoke a little with Patrick and Vivens, the men I would be working with, and enjoyed the scenery which is even more green and dramatic outside of Kigali.
After showing me to my room I was left to rest for a while before Patrick came to pick me up. We were going to dinner at the house of a family where Patrick had dined once before, but first he showed me around the universtiy campus. The campus is very nice, though very different from any Canadian campus I've seen. The classes are all in different long buildings with full walls of windows on both sides and completely wooden furniture inside. And only chalkboards for teaching. I have a hard time imagining many of the lectures at the U of S occurring without the sacred powepoint presentation.
On the walk to dinner I had no idea where I was going of where I was as night here is VERY dark and streets are informal and unlabelled. We were met at the gate (houses here are almost all walled in with gates that can lock) but some of the family and brought into the small back yard (concrete though, not grass) where we sat and chatted and had tea. To be fair at this point I mostly listened as the conversation was largely in Kinyarwanda. I met Grace, the lady of the house, Cassie, another woman, Grace's brother and sister-in-law (Kanyana) and Olivia, who is in charge of Public Relations at UCK. As it started to rain we quickly moved inside for drinks and conversation before dinner. I also met most of the children who live in the house, the girls were especially cute and did their best to talk to me and explain to me what was happening on the tv before they were sent to their rooms.
The conversation was somehow hilarious though it consisted of bits of French and English and a lot of translated Kinyarwanda. Kanyana was absolutely hilarious and completely determined to use what English she knew and made Patrick translate for her all the words she didn't know. Since I was drinking Rwanda tea but without milk or sugar (here tea is more like slightly flavoured powdered milk with about three heaping teaspoons of sugar) Kanyana and her husband were convinced that I was sick. Even when I explained to them that drinking tea black is what I am used to they didn't buy it. In fact, they thought the real reason I wasn't taking sugar must have been because I was diabetic.
Patrick and I left around 11 when someone came and picked us up and drove us home. All in all it was a wonderful night filled with a lot of laughter.
Daily Smiles
- playing with sunglasses with Dan before I left Tina's house (see photos)
- one of the young girls hugging me the moment I arrived at the gate of Grace's house
- one fo the girls (may or may not be the same one) taking my hand and leading me into the yard and then into the house
- the look on the two older men's faces when they entered the living room and saw me sitting there - eyes bugging out of their heads. I'm guessing they weren't expecting to find a muzungoo sitting in their living room
- the youngest boy seeming to be terrified of me
- Grace's brother asking me if I thought it was cold here and the look of complete bewilderment on his face when I explained to him that winter back home means -40C
Thus Saturday morning was spent purchasing a local cell phone, returning to Tina's house and packing/freshening up to head to my new home. Early in the afternoon the UCK van came to the bottom of Tina's street to pick me up. After picking up a few other staff members we were off to Gitarama. The drive was uneventful, I spoke a little with Patrick and Vivens, the men I would be working with, and enjoyed the scenery which is even more green and dramatic outside of Kigali.
After showing me to my room I was left to rest for a while before Patrick came to pick me up. We were going to dinner at the house of a family where Patrick had dined once before, but first he showed me around the universtiy campus. The campus is very nice, though very different from any Canadian campus I've seen. The classes are all in different long buildings with full walls of windows on both sides and completely wooden furniture inside. And only chalkboards for teaching. I have a hard time imagining many of the lectures at the U of S occurring without the sacred powepoint presentation.
On the walk to dinner I had no idea where I was going of where I was as night here is VERY dark and streets are informal and unlabelled. We were met at the gate (houses here are almost all walled in with gates that can lock) but some of the family and brought into the small back yard (concrete though, not grass) where we sat and chatted and had tea. To be fair at this point I mostly listened as the conversation was largely in Kinyarwanda. I met Grace, the lady of the house, Cassie, another woman, Grace's brother and sister-in-law (Kanyana) and Olivia, who is in charge of Public Relations at UCK. As it started to rain we quickly moved inside for drinks and conversation before dinner. I also met most of the children who live in the house, the girls were especially cute and did their best to talk to me and explain to me what was happening on the tv before they were sent to their rooms.
The conversation was somehow hilarious though it consisted of bits of French and English and a lot of translated Kinyarwanda. Kanyana was absolutely hilarious and completely determined to use what English she knew and made Patrick translate for her all the words she didn't know. Since I was drinking Rwanda tea but without milk or sugar (here tea is more like slightly flavoured powdered milk with about three heaping teaspoons of sugar) Kanyana and her husband were convinced that I was sick. Even when I explained to them that drinking tea black is what I am used to they didn't buy it. In fact, they thought the real reason I wasn't taking sugar must have been because I was diabetic.
Patrick and I left around 11 when someone came and picked us up and drove us home. All in all it was a wonderful night filled with a lot of laughter.
Daily Smiles
- playing with sunglasses with Dan before I left Tina's house (see photos)
- one of the young girls hugging me the moment I arrived at the gate of Grace's house
- one fo the girls (may or may not be the same one) taking my hand and leading me into the yard and then into the house
- the look on the two older men's faces when they entered the living room and saw me sitting there - eyes bugging out of their heads. I'm guessing they weren't expecting to find a muzungoo sitting in their living room
- the youngest boy seeming to be terrified of me
- Grace's brother asking me if I thought it was cold here and the look of complete bewilderment on his face when I explained to him that winter back home means -40C
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Kigali
For my second day in Kigali Tina and Silvie took me to "town" so I could see what the city was like and so I could exchange some money at the foreaux. We took a bus from Tina's neighbourhood to downtown (referred to as town) for 150 Rwf. The bus if really more of a full size van but of European make with 5 or 6 rows of seats and special fold up seats in the aisles. The busses are manned by two people, the driver and a younger guy who works the door, letting people in and out, collecting fares and hollering out the window which bus it is.
On arrival in town my previous impression of there not being that much traffic was quickly countered. The traffic is simply concentrated in the centre of town with thongs of people on foot, masses of motos and many many cars and buses all in a state of semi-chaos out of which some sort of order manages to form, though I'm not sure how. Sivlie needed minutes for her phone which can eaily be purchases from any one of the many boys in the street wearing yellow smocks with the MTN (local phone comany) logo on the front and I was able to exchange some of the American money I brought with me at this little office where you sit in a cubicle and the trade what you have for what you want. 50 USD got my just over 28000 Rwf. Next we caught another bus to the Rwanda Development Board office where we were to meet Hannah and here coworkers (who will eventually be my coworkers) for a farewell lunch as it's Hannah's last day.
A driver from the RDB as well was Apollo (who works at the RDB) drove us to an incredibly fancy restaurant where we ordered our fill of food and drinks and chatted leisurely in English and Kinyarwanda over a meal that lasted several hours. The food was very good, though the waiter got my order wrong and once again everyone was incredibly friendly and did their best to engage my quiet self in conversation.
Upon returning to Tina's house we went in search of an internet cafe so I could let the world back home know that I was alive and well at my destination. Upon arrival at the cafe we learned that it was closed but no worries as we encountered a friend of Tina's who had a teeny portable computer and was more than willing to go with us to SFB and attempt to access the free wi-fi there. Tina's friend was quite happy to meet me and was the first person I met who knew of Saskatoon (as opposed to just Montreal) and was excited to go there and visit his friends, hopefully sooner rather thjan later. And no, of course, he would also have to visit me. And I would be happy to have him.
After our internet adventure - the wi-fi at SFB didn't work but a friend of a friend of a friend had a hard wire connection that I was able to use for a few minutes - Tina and I returned to rest at her place for a while before getting ready to go to Apollo's for Hannah's farewell party. Once again we caught the bus but Tina was one the phone getting the last of her directions from Apollo so we got off a stop late. It wasn't a far walk though before Christophe (I think that's his name) saw us and got our attention so he could act as our guide and help us stumble through the dark to Apollo's house.
At the party were a few people I have already met at lunch - Apollo, Angelique, Chritsophe - and some new people, namely Emma from the RDB IT department. Shortly thereafter two of Hannah's other friends arrived - Rachel, and American med student in Rwanda doing reasearch and Lindsay, a Bristol grad student also gathering research in Rwanda. After much chatting and eating and drinking (it seems I never eat or drink enough to satisfy the quota the Rwandans I am with have set for me) for a few hours the four "muzungoo" girls set out to meet the rest of Hannah's ex-pat friends at a sports bar on motos which Apollo negotiated for us. My first ride on a moto was exhilirating, especially since it was night and therefore quite cool.
Shortly after arriving at the sports bar many many more people showed up, including all the US marines who work security at the American embassy, a few other Americans, some Dutchmen, Belgians and Germans, many of whose names I can't remember. The sitting in combination with the beers previously consumed made many of us pretty tired pretty quickly and after an hour or two (I have no concept of time) Angelo called the marines' driver and we were off to the dance club Planet/KBZ. This was probably one of my bigger culture shocks. The club seems sooo unbelievably sketchy to me, containing the most scantily clad women I had seen since arriveing in Rwanda (outside this bar skrits any shorter than knee lenght pretty much don't exist and cleavage is generally not shown) and a whole lot of gangsta looking guys. It made my think of the club in Save the Last Dance, but much less posh and more run down and for a long while I felt very out of place and rather uncomfortable. After a period of adjustment though it wasn't so bad. A few of the guys at the club even realized that we weren't up for crazy close dancing (us girls looked after each other pretty well and Angelo wasn't afraid to look all body builer and scary though not everyone got the hint) and we met some other Europeans who were out celebrating a birthday. All in all it was a fun night that ended with the Marines' driver taking me back to Hannah and Rachel's place for the night.
Daily Smiles
I started noting the things each day that bring a little smile to my face. Many are small cultural differences that I notice or they may be things that make me think of someone from home or that represent one of the challenges I am sure to face here. Most of my entries will finish with such lists.
- when the guy on the bus was collecting fares from everyone and leaned against my seat and also partly against me to reach the people in the back of the bus and me realizing that this is one of the moments when my personal bubble gets to be smaller than I am used to but no larger than is normal here.
- the fold up seats in the aisles of the buses that would likely never fly in Canada
- Emma asking to touch my hair and me agreeing thinking of all the times I've done it to Kevin and Eric cuz it "feels funny"
- meeting a guy named Didier on the walk back to Tina's from SFB and smiling as he is not the first Didier I've met though I can't say I would have ever expected to meet even one
- everyone constantly telling me to eat and dink more. It reminds me of Vika.
On arrival in town my previous impression of there not being that much traffic was quickly countered. The traffic is simply concentrated in the centre of town with thongs of people on foot, masses of motos and many many cars and buses all in a state of semi-chaos out of which some sort of order manages to form, though I'm not sure how. Sivlie needed minutes for her phone which can eaily be purchases from any one of the many boys in the street wearing yellow smocks with the MTN (local phone comany) logo on the front and I was able to exchange some of the American money I brought with me at this little office where you sit in a cubicle and the trade what you have for what you want. 50 USD got my just over 28000 Rwf. Next we caught another bus to the Rwanda Development Board office where we were to meet Hannah and here coworkers (who will eventually be my coworkers) for a farewell lunch as it's Hannah's last day.
A driver from the RDB as well was Apollo (who works at the RDB) drove us to an incredibly fancy restaurant where we ordered our fill of food and drinks and chatted leisurely in English and Kinyarwanda over a meal that lasted several hours. The food was very good, though the waiter got my order wrong and once again everyone was incredibly friendly and did their best to engage my quiet self in conversation.
Upon returning to Tina's house we went in search of an internet cafe so I could let the world back home know that I was alive and well at my destination. Upon arrival at the cafe we learned that it was closed but no worries as we encountered a friend of Tina's who had a teeny portable computer and was more than willing to go with us to SFB and attempt to access the free wi-fi there. Tina's friend was quite happy to meet me and was the first person I met who knew of Saskatoon (as opposed to just Montreal) and was excited to go there and visit his friends, hopefully sooner rather thjan later. And no, of course, he would also have to visit me. And I would be happy to have him.
After our internet adventure - the wi-fi at SFB didn't work but a friend of a friend of a friend had a hard wire connection that I was able to use for a few minutes - Tina and I returned to rest at her place for a while before getting ready to go to Apollo's for Hannah's farewell party. Once again we caught the bus but Tina was one the phone getting the last of her directions from Apollo so we got off a stop late. It wasn't a far walk though before Christophe (I think that's his name) saw us and got our attention so he could act as our guide and help us stumble through the dark to Apollo's house.
At the party were a few people I have already met at lunch - Apollo, Angelique, Chritsophe - and some new people, namely Emma from the RDB IT department. Shortly thereafter two of Hannah's other friends arrived - Rachel, and American med student in Rwanda doing reasearch and Lindsay, a Bristol grad student also gathering research in Rwanda. After much chatting and eating and drinking (it seems I never eat or drink enough to satisfy the quota the Rwandans I am with have set for me) for a few hours the four "muzungoo" girls set out to meet the rest of Hannah's ex-pat friends at a sports bar on motos which Apollo negotiated for us. My first ride on a moto was exhilirating, especially since it was night and therefore quite cool.
Shortly after arriving at the sports bar many many more people showed up, including all the US marines who work security at the American embassy, a few other Americans, some Dutchmen, Belgians and Germans, many of whose names I can't remember. The sitting in combination with the beers previously consumed made many of us pretty tired pretty quickly and after an hour or two (I have no concept of time) Angelo called the marines' driver and we were off to the dance club Planet/KBZ. This was probably one of my bigger culture shocks. The club seems sooo unbelievably sketchy to me, containing the most scantily clad women I had seen since arriveing in Rwanda (outside this bar skrits any shorter than knee lenght pretty much don't exist and cleavage is generally not shown) and a whole lot of gangsta looking guys. It made my think of the club in Save the Last Dance, but much less posh and more run down and for a long while I felt very out of place and rather uncomfortable. After a period of adjustment though it wasn't so bad. A few of the guys at the club even realized that we weren't up for crazy close dancing (us girls looked after each other pretty well and Angelo wasn't afraid to look all body builer and scary though not everyone got the hint) and we met some other Europeans who were out celebrating a birthday. All in all it was a fun night that ended with the Marines' driver taking me back to Hannah and Rachel's place for the night.
Daily Smiles
I started noting the things each day that bring a little smile to my face. Many are small cultural differences that I notice or they may be things that make me think of someone from home or that represent one of the challenges I am sure to face here. Most of my entries will finish with such lists.
- when the guy on the bus was collecting fares from everyone and leaned against my seat and also partly against me to reach the people in the back of the bus and me realizing that this is one of the moments when my personal bubble gets to be smaller than I am used to but no larger than is normal here.
- the fold up seats in the aisles of the buses that would likely never fly in Canada
- Emma asking to touch my hair and me agreeing thinking of all the times I've done it to Kevin and Eric cuz it "feels funny"
- meeting a guy named Didier on the walk back to Tina's from SFB and smiling as he is not the first Didier I've met though I can't say I would have ever expected to meet even one
- everyone constantly telling me to eat and dink more. It reminds me of Vika.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Land of 1000 Hills
Flying into Kigali I quickly realized that I was entering a place that very much deserved its name, the rolling hills were clearly evident from the sky. For those of you familiar with the "hills" of SK or even the foothills of Alberta please note that I used the term hill very loosely - they are really more like mini mountains, not so large as to have snow at the top but nearly tall enough to have a tree line. Sine arriving I have made several attempts at capturing the scenery in a photo however every one I manage to take fails miserably to capture the epic-ness of my surroundigs.
The distinct lack of flat was emphasized when the taxi dropped us off at the base of Tina's "street." And by street I mean a very steep and uneven red dirt road which is met by a slightly less steep but more uneven walking path just before it randomly ends without even a proper place for the taxi to turn around. Thankfully Tina enlisted one of the neighbourhood boys to carry my bags the 100 feet or so up the path to her house where I would be staying for the next two days, but not before I had what should likely be considered my first foreigner moment. The taxi let us out at the top of the road and then pulled away to turn around without first getting my luggage out of the trunk. Not knowing that the road was a dead end and unsure why non of the other girls were concerned about my escaping luggage I let out an "uhhhh...my bags?" which elicited a small chuckle from each of Tina, Hannah and Alice just before they let me know that he was about to turn around, especially since he didn't have any other option.
The afternoon was passed chatting leisurely and receiving a visit from another AIESECer who dropped in on his way home from school as well as time for my to shower and rest a little before heading to the weekly AIESEC meeing at the School of Finance and Business (SFB). The AIESEC meeting was entertaining and very different from a meeting at home. Firstly, it started about an hour late with member and very large number of alumni (like 50% of people there) sitting in a circle on the grass outside the school buildings. Barbara (TM responsible) went around the circle and everyone was required to give an update on their AIESEC activites for the last week. After each person spoke there was an opportunity for anyone else to ask questions or give suggestions regarding what could be done better. Nearly all of the people who spoke mentioned some sort of marketing call or interaction with externals, which is quite different from the very few people in @SK that actually do markting activity. Also, there were at least two occassions where individuals who were not performing were straight up called out in the meeting and asked to explain in no uncertain terms their lack of activity. Needless to say that would never happen in a meeting in Canada.
After the meeting everyone went to a club for Salsa night. One of the girls had arranged it such that by mentioning AIESEC we were not required to pay cover. The salsa part of the bar was organized such that there were plastic patio chairs arranged in rows, with tables in front of them, all facing the middle dance floor. The chairs were under and awning but the dance floor was open to the sky (which contains surprisingly few stars). Since Hannah and I had not eaten dinner we each ordered a Primus (local beer served in bottle that are roughly the size of two beer at home) and an order of fries to share for a total cost of about 3000 Rwf or 6 dollars. Service here is different from at home. The beers are brought to you, warm or cold based on your preference, and opened in front of you and then poured into a glass for you. Almost no on drinks out of a bottle, ever.
Though we were early we quickly realized that salsa night is for people who really know salsa (a few of the dancers actually teach sasla classes) meaning that I adamantly refused to get up and dance despite Joseph's (an alumnus) efforts. There was also a club part in the basement where a DJ was playing mostly American hip hop and Ugandan music which was were most of the AIESECers could be found dancing in true African fashion. At the end of the night all of us who were upstairs went down there leading a few of us (Hannah from the UK, Angelo, a US Marine and myself) feeling very white. Not so much because we were the only white people there but becaue we danced as such, making small movements in our little boxes as opposed to the Rwandans who danced big, fully using all their limbs and unafraid to make the most of all the space available to them. After the dancing was over for us Jospeh and Rom (a member of the African GN board who was just finishing his country visit) walked me back to Tina's place and helped me guess which of the gates on the hiking trail was Tina's. All in all it was a very fun night. I very much look forward to spending time with these many fun people again!
First Impressions:
- I am fro sure going to need to learn some Kinyarwanda
- It really is hilly everywhere - red dirt and green vegetated hills with hardly a flat space to be found. Even the rooms often have a slight slant to the floors!
- All the hills mean there will be lots of climbing and lots of stairs in my future.
- The people here are very nice and are unused to the quiet observant silence I usually display when encountering new circumstances and/or people. They keep asking if I'm ok.
- Everything really is made of concrete. EVERYTHING.! It's mostly kinda reddish in colour, like the dirt. Kevin and Eric weren't lying at all. Nothing is made from wood.
- "You are welcome" seems to mean come in/make yourself at home and "what's up" seems to mean how are you.
- Everyone has someone else to do most f the cookng and cleaning. Well at least everyone who is fairly well off, which is most of the people I'll be spending time with as the university and professional crown generally constitues fairly well off.
- It's not as crowded as I thought it would be. Mind you I've yet to see city centre.
- I'm going to have to get used to sitting close to strange men on moto taxis as it's a very common way of getting around here.
The distinct lack of flat was emphasized when the taxi dropped us off at the base of Tina's "street." And by street I mean a very steep and uneven red dirt road which is met by a slightly less steep but more uneven walking path just before it randomly ends without even a proper place for the taxi to turn around. Thankfully Tina enlisted one of the neighbourhood boys to carry my bags the 100 feet or so up the path to her house where I would be staying for the next two days, but not before I had what should likely be considered my first foreigner moment. The taxi let us out at the top of the road and then pulled away to turn around without first getting my luggage out of the trunk. Not knowing that the road was a dead end and unsure why non of the other girls were concerned about my escaping luggage I let out an "uhhhh...my bags?" which elicited a small chuckle from each of Tina, Hannah and Alice just before they let me know that he was about to turn around, especially since he didn't have any other option.
The afternoon was passed chatting leisurely and receiving a visit from another AIESECer who dropped in on his way home from school as well as time for my to shower and rest a little before heading to the weekly AIESEC meeing at the School of Finance and Business (SFB). The AIESEC meeting was entertaining and very different from a meeting at home. Firstly, it started about an hour late with member and very large number of alumni (like 50% of people there) sitting in a circle on the grass outside the school buildings. Barbara (TM responsible) went around the circle and everyone was required to give an update on their AIESEC activites for the last week. After each person spoke there was an opportunity for anyone else to ask questions or give suggestions regarding what could be done better. Nearly all of the people who spoke mentioned some sort of marketing call or interaction with externals, which is quite different from the very few people in @SK that actually do markting activity. Also, there were at least two occassions where individuals who were not performing were straight up called out in the meeting and asked to explain in no uncertain terms their lack of activity. Needless to say that would never happen in a meeting in Canada.
After the meeting everyone went to a club for Salsa night. One of the girls had arranged it such that by mentioning AIESEC we were not required to pay cover. The salsa part of the bar was organized such that there were plastic patio chairs arranged in rows, with tables in front of them, all facing the middle dance floor. The chairs were under and awning but the dance floor was open to the sky (which contains surprisingly few stars). Since Hannah and I had not eaten dinner we each ordered a Primus (local beer served in bottle that are roughly the size of two beer at home) and an order of fries to share for a total cost of about 3000 Rwf or 6 dollars. Service here is different from at home. The beers are brought to you, warm or cold based on your preference, and opened in front of you and then poured into a glass for you. Almost no on drinks out of a bottle, ever.
Though we were early we quickly realized that salsa night is for people who really know salsa (a few of the dancers actually teach sasla classes) meaning that I adamantly refused to get up and dance despite Joseph's (an alumnus) efforts. There was also a club part in the basement where a DJ was playing mostly American hip hop and Ugandan music which was were most of the AIESECers could be found dancing in true African fashion. At the end of the night all of us who were upstairs went down there leading a few of us (Hannah from the UK, Angelo, a US Marine and myself) feeling very white. Not so much because we were the only white people there but becaue we danced as such, making small movements in our little boxes as opposed to the Rwandans who danced big, fully using all their limbs and unafraid to make the most of all the space available to them. After the dancing was over for us Jospeh and Rom (a member of the African GN board who was just finishing his country visit) walked me back to Tina's place and helped me guess which of the gates on the hiking trail was Tina's. All in all it was a very fun night. I very much look forward to spending time with these many fun people again!
First Impressions:
- I am fro sure going to need to learn some Kinyarwanda
- It really is hilly everywhere - red dirt and green vegetated hills with hardly a flat space to be found. Even the rooms often have a slight slant to the floors!
- All the hills mean there will be lots of climbing and lots of stairs in my future.
- The people here are very nice and are unused to the quiet observant silence I usually display when encountering new circumstances and/or people. They keep asking if I'm ok.
- Everything really is made of concrete. EVERYTHING.! It's mostly kinda reddish in colour, like the dirt. Kevin and Eric weren't lying at all. Nothing is made from wood.
- "You are welcome" seems to mean come in/make yourself at home and "what's up" seems to mean how are you.
- Everyone has someone else to do most f the cookng and cleaning. Well at least everyone who is fairly well off, which is most of the people I'll be spending time with as the university and professional crown generally constitues fairly well off.
- It's not as crowded as I thought it would be. Mind you I've yet to see city centre.
- I'm going to have to get used to sitting close to strange men on moto taxis as it's a very common way of getting around here.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Travels
From the comfort of a plastic patio chair in an internet cafe in Gitarama, Rwanda I compose the first entry of my online travel journal.
Flights...
Flying to Calgary was as uneventful as any other one of such flights. Waiting for my international flight I realized I was going to be accompanied by many many people from all over Europe, a very large number of whom were returning home after competing in the World Skills competition in Calgary. On the plane I was seated next to a nice young man from Sweden who was flying home after spending time on behalf of his company at the skills competition. We swapped a couple stories before tuning into some in flight movies (J - I watched the proposal it was everything I expected it to be).
Layover in London could have been better. The airport is very nice but the terminal I was in for the better part of 8 hours was empty for most of that time and I swear everyone kept looking at me as I camped out with my laptop. I was also excited to note that Clinique products are sold in the World Duty Free. There is a very good chance I'll be picking up some of those on my way home :) Heathrow was far less complicated to navigate then I had expected though were my transit from one terminal to another not well signed and assisted by a bus I'm sure it would have been a disaster.
The Kenya Airways flight to Nairobi found me seated next to a man returning home to Zanzibar. When the plane was loading someone said something and whoever it was sounded sooooo much like Eric that I had to do a major double take. Realizing that clearly Eric would not be on this flight made it click that, hello, I was heading to Africa, and on a Kenyan airways flight so clearly there should be a lot of people on the plane with Kenyan accents!! I watched a biographical show on Fidel Castro and a West African movie that I didn't get to see the end of :( I was soooo sleepy when I got on the plane (I didn't let myself sleep in London as I wanted to do everything in my power to beat jet lag before it started) that I passed out almost immediately and missed the first snack - I hate it when I do that!!!
Layover in Jomo Kenyatta was stressful. I had my booking confirmation with Rwandair for my flight to Kigali but didn't have the actual ticket. After talking with some very helpful customer service agents at the Kenya airways transfer desk they went about setting things straight for me. After a couple hours of doing little more that chewing off what few nails I had left (sorry J) everything was worked out. But not before the guy who was helping me said "You have bags?" with an accent, intonation and facial expression so like that of K.O. (except a little quiteter) that I had to suppress a little chuckle. Pretty sure I sent that guy home with a good "stupid customer"story to entertain his family with.
The last flight, from Nairobi to Kigali, was very pleasant. The plane was nearly empty and the flight attendants were very friendly, having small conversations with nearly everyone. One of them asked me, among other things, "Are all Canadians as tall as you?" to which I just laughed and said no. It occurred to me later that perhaps I should have explained to him that Canadians come in all shapes, sizes and colours. (Aunty Leigh - at no point on any of these flights was I the only white girl. Perhaps times have changed? hahaha)
I arrived at Kigali International a few minutes early and without incident at immigration so I had to wait a few moments before Hannah (intern from UK) and Tina and Alice (AIESECers in Rwanda) were at the airport to meet me. All in all the journey was successful.
Until next time, keep fit and have fun!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The Nature of Friendship
“We keep passing unseen through little moments of other people’s lives.”
Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Over the years I’ve made some good friends, some passing friends and some great friends. In retrospect, never have I been able to accurately predict which people would fall into each category and it seems I’m even worse at hypothesizing which of those friendships, once formed, would survive a challenge such as separation. Reflection also reveals that when thrust into new situations and social circles, those with whom I become fast friends are rarely lasting friends.
I’ve read many articles that indicate that the strongest relationships are built on a foundation of shared values. And since your personal value system is generally determined by the time you begin, or at the very least complete, high school, it follows that you are most likely to share a value system with someone who also shares your background. I agree with this idea to a point. Some of my very best friends I’ve known since high school or even earlier. Arguably, these are the friends who understand me best. One, I think, can even read my thoughts through MSN. It’s almost creepy really.
That said, many of my friends were born and raised in countries very different from my beautiful, expansive and safe Canada. Now I wouldn’t say the value systems of these friends are fundamentally different from my own. In some cases there may appear to be great disparities, though certainly there are also many commonalities. A fundamental difference between myself and these people though, is background. Sometimes it seems we share little more than post secondary education. It is these differences in background, and, what is more important, in the perspective derived from these differences, that makes these friendships so rich and so dear to me. Perhaps I’m secretly a bit of a sadist to find joy in the friction that comes from working to try to bridge the gap in understanding between two people from such different cultures when I could simply avoid the trouble and spend my time with people who share my general background and should therefore have some degree of innate understanding of myself. But then I suppose I don’t consider working to understand someone better work at all.
There are two aspects of friendship that I think boggle me the most. First, the speed and ease with which I am able to befriend some people, knowing that I can trust them with every detail of my life and thoughts almost instantly upon meeting them, contrasted to the intense guardedness I display when meeting other people, with months of acquaintance building only small amounts of trust. While I only met one person who fell into the first category before graduating high school I have since been fortunate enough to meet several others. Sadly these individuals are by far the minority, as it seems I am generally a very untrusting person. As best I can figure, there is no outward characteristic that distinguishes these special friends from everyone else around me - not race, sex, nationality or even age. The only conclusion I am able to draw from my experience is that while I cannot predict when it will happen I somehow instinctually know when I meet these people.
The second aspect that has repeatedly confounded me is the survival rate of friendships. When I moved cities several years ago I thought I had a pretty good idea of which friendships were strong enough to survive the change and which would fall by the wayside. As it turns out I was damn near 100% wrong. Friendships that had only just begun to bud before my relocation deepened into strong bonds which I hold very dear whereas those ties I considered binding seemed to break quite easily under the strain. Even more confusing are those favourite friendships of mine, the ones that seem to require zero maintenance. I consider myself fortunate in the extreme to have friends who I may not see or speak to for months or even years only to find that when fate brings us together again it’s as if we had a heart-to-heart just the day before.
Each one of us passes through the lives of an infinite number of people and an innumerable number of individuals form the extras in our own stories. So what determines which of those passersby becomes a regular, even permanent, fixture in your life? Having had the pleasure and privilege of meeting hundreds, possibly even thousands, of people in the last few years I have found people who fits each of the descriptions outlined above and a many, many more who don’t fall so neatly into a category. I have also met many, many people and thought to myself, “We could be good friends, great friends even, if only circumstance would allow us.” Now I’m not one for washing my hands of responsibility and leaving the formation of friendships (or anything else for that matter) entirely up to fate, but there are gaps that are difficult to bridge if not given the right opportunity. In my experience the most common of these gaps is distance. Most friendships require that two people spend a significant amount of time together to form a bond and living hundreds or thousands of kilometres apart tends to prevent this. Nonetheless, it breaks my heart a little each time I happen to meet one of the “extras” and silently wish that they would take on a bigger role in my life. I suppose all I can do is count myself fortunate for meeting these individuals and hope that someday circumstance will allow the could have been to become reality.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
The Road Not Taken
| Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, | |
| And sorry I could not travel both | |
| And be one traveler, long I stood | |
| And looked down one as far as I could | |
To where it bent in the undergrowth; | 5 |
| Then took the other, as just as fair, | |
| And having perhaps the better claim, | |
| Because it was grassy and wanted wear; | |
| Though as for that the passing there | |
| Had worn them really about the same, | 10 |
And both that morning equally lay | |
| In leaves no step had trodden black. | |
| Oh, I kept the first for another day! | |
| Yet knowing how way leads on to way, | |
| I doubted if I should ever come back. | 15 |
I shall be telling this with a sigh | |
| Somewhere ages and ages hence: | |
| Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— | |
| I took the one less traveled by, | |
| And that has made all the difference. By Robert Frost I know it's cheesy but this poem had kind of become my mantra lately. Embarking on a new chapter in life is scary and reminding myself that taking the road less travelled by is best decision for me, at least right now, has proven very soothing. |
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