There is no way that I will ever be able to sum up the beauty of this country, the travel opportunities, the once in a life time experiences that I had here but I will try. Photos are going to come later on, once I get back to my computer. As you are all familiar with the reliability of my internet connection (reliable that I dont really have one), it may take a while.
So I arrived in Johannesburg on December 16. I was supposed to arrive around 11 but after our flight was delayed in Nairobi, we got in around 3. Apparently, when a pilot calls in sick to Kenya Airways, KA does not, like the rest of the world, have a system of back up pilots. Even at Starbucks, we had a system of back up baristas... Anyway, after three hours they were able to locate another pilot and away we go. My first impression of Joburg... did i get on the wrong flight? Am I actually in Atlanta? Freeways, billboards, tall buildings, SKYLINE (something that I havent seen in about five months) and malls malls malls. It really is a city of shopping centers. Every neighborhood has a brand spanking new mall, or so it seemed, filled with food courts and movie theatres and beautiful shop windows. Luckily I arrived on a holiday so all the stores were closed. That could have been a disaster in so many ways. So rather than blow all my money the first day, I just walked around with my mouth open looking at the holiday lights, sticking my nose up against the store windows, and finding my way into the open bookstore and petting book covers for hours, opening them up and smelling their wonderful book scent.
After a couple hours of staring lovingly at books, I tore myself away to go back to the hostel that Katie and I were staying in (Backpackers Ritz, a misnomer if ever there was) to await for Katie. I just watched tv and read Lonely Planet and waited with baited breath for Katie so that when she arrived we could go to dinner at the mall restaurant, I had already scoped out... SUSHI! That wasnt the name of it, it was just the beautiful beautiful food we got to eat (food will be a reoccuring theme throughout this blog. Deal with it... Im deprived)
After we gorged ourselves on sushi, we went back to the hostel to the dorm style room we were staying in to await our first south african sunrise. That was not before accidentally stumbling on an amorous couple in the showers (thank god for shower curtains) and an encounter with perhaps the strangest hostel worker I have ever met (note: "hello. Do you mind if I mount you?" is in fact inappropriate in all languages, dialects, accents, and cultures. Please keep in mind). Although that day no doubt seems pretty normal to most of you, for me it was a pretty big shock. Actually a huge shock. I havent blended into a crowd, seen a bookstore with english language books, been in new car, seen a building over five stories, eaten delicious food, or drank decent wine in five months. So all those things were pretty exciting for me. More to come...
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Happy Holidays
I just wanted to wish everyone a happy holiday season, whichever holiday you might be celebrating! I am in South Africa now with my friend from Emory, Katie Morris. So far we have shopped the malls of Johannesburg (which was a bit of culture shock coming from Kigali), seen the Soweto Township which is where Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu lived, just feet from each other and where the outright struggle against apartheid really started, been an armslength away from a herd of elephants on safari, seen lions, leopards, rhinos, zebras, buffalo and giraffe, climbed Table Mountain, been to the Harbor, and drank wine on the coast as the sun sets. Tomorrow we are going to go on a wine tour, Sunday view the Botanical Gardens and listen to music in the park, and Monday we are off for a two day hike around the Cape of Good Hope. Hopefully after that we will see some penguins on Boulder Bay! All in all it has been a good trip with just enough rest and relaxation, although it doesnt really seem like Christmas. I think that I will be very shocked to get back to the states next year after a year of perpetual summer to learn that time does actually pass! I hope that everyone else is having a great holiday season. I miss you all and love you!!!
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Rwandan convicted of genocide
Thank goodness. The court does work, even if it took 15 years.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/19/world/africa/19rwanda.html?_r=1&hp
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/19/world/africa/19rwanda.html?_r=1&hp
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Links to photos
Gorilla pictures
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2023110&l=ef159&id=48101028
Akagera game drive pictures
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2023065&l=99054&id=48101028
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2023110&l=ef159&id=48101028
Akagera game drive pictures
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2023065&l=99054&id=48101028
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Gorillas
Last weekend my friend Aryn (who I have to say deserves credit for writing most of this. I am a shameless plagarist) and I trekked through the bamboo forests and thick vegetation of the Virunga Mountains to visit one of the few remaining troops of mountain gorillas that reside in Volcanoes National Park. This is Rwanda's major tourist draw, and we decided to take advantage of the special rates we get as residents and make the splurge. Although it cost quite a bit, it was an amazing experience, standing just feet away from wild mountain gorillas in their natural habitat.
We visited the Hirwa troop, which means lucky in Kinyarwanda. This troop has six youngsters that entertained us throughout the hour we were allowed to spend in their presence. The rule is to stay 7 meters away from the gorillas to prevent the possible transmission of disease, but young gorillas do not always abide by these rules and we were incredibly close. When we first encountered the family, we simply walked into a small clearing, perhaps ten feet wide, with the family on one side and us on the other. The silverback and the adult female that we observed simply sat and ate bamboo while the children rolled around playing on the ground, with the endless energy of toddlers. It was amazing to watch the babies child-like behavior and observe the family dynamics. According to the guides, the silverback of the Hirwa troop is the most attentive father, and we watched him groom several of the babies, grabbing them as they ran past, laying them down, and cleaning them of bugs and dirt. During breaks from cleaning, the silverback continued to chow down on bamboo. Full grown males, which can reach over 400 lbs, can eat over 60 pounds of bamboo in a day so its a pretty constant activity. Interestingly, if the gorillas eat too much bamboo in a day, they can get drunk. Although we didnt observe that, I have some great scenarios playing in my mind about what a drunken gorillas family would look like...
Our companions on the excursion included two guides, a porter, and several trackers who spend their days following the troops so that they can inform the guides where to bring the tourists. Many of the local people who are indirectly employed through the gorilla tracking and the trackers themselves are often former poachers. The government works very hard to keep them employed protecting the animals they once hunted and seeing them as a precious resource rather than target. We were also joined by four other travelers: a honeymooning Swiss-American couple, a German man working in the Maldives, and a British guy who does consulting work with NGOs. Perhaps one of the greatest joys of traveling is meeting other people and sharing stories. All of us have seen and done some pretty amazing things and listening to others recount their experiences traveling made me eager to continue exploring and experiencing this amazing planet.
Here is the link to the beginning of my facebook album about the Gorillas. It will expand slowly over time as the pictures are slowly uploaded.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2023110&l=ef159&id=48101028
We visited the Hirwa troop, which means lucky in Kinyarwanda. This troop has six youngsters that entertained us throughout the hour we were allowed to spend in their presence. The rule is to stay 7 meters away from the gorillas to prevent the possible transmission of disease, but young gorillas do not always abide by these rules and we were incredibly close. When we first encountered the family, we simply walked into a small clearing, perhaps ten feet wide, with the family on one side and us on the other. The silverback and the adult female that we observed simply sat and ate bamboo while the children rolled around playing on the ground, with the endless energy of toddlers. It was amazing to watch the babies child-like behavior and observe the family dynamics. According to the guides, the silverback of the Hirwa troop is the most attentive father, and we watched him groom several of the babies, grabbing them as they ran past, laying them down, and cleaning them of bugs and dirt. During breaks from cleaning, the silverback continued to chow down on bamboo. Full grown males, which can reach over 400 lbs, can eat over 60 pounds of bamboo in a day so its a pretty constant activity. Interestingly, if the gorillas eat too much bamboo in a day, they can get drunk. Although we didnt observe that, I have some great scenarios playing in my mind about what a drunken gorillas family would look like...
Our companions on the excursion included two guides, a porter, and several trackers who spend their days following the troops so that they can inform the guides where to bring the tourists. Many of the local people who are indirectly employed through the gorilla tracking and the trackers themselves are often former poachers. The government works very hard to keep them employed protecting the animals they once hunted and seeing them as a precious resource rather than target. We were also joined by four other travelers: a honeymooning Swiss-American couple, a German man working in the Maldives, and a British guy who does consulting work with NGOs. Perhaps one of the greatest joys of traveling is meeting other people and sharing stories. All of us have seen and done some pretty amazing things and listening to others recount their experiences traveling made me eager to continue exploring and experiencing this amazing planet.
Here is the link to the beginning of my facebook album about the Gorillas. It will expand slowly over time as the pictures are slowly uploaded.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2023110&l=ef159&id=48101028
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Akagera National Park
Hi folks,
I know the last few posts have been less about what I have been doing and more about what Rwanda and the world have been doing. Thats for a lot of reasons but partly because I havent been doing all that much. However, last weekend, after the realization that I better start living the adventure, I left town and went first to Akagera National Park for a game drive and Volcanoes National Park to track mountain gorillas (this will be the next post. Its a little too much to write and read all at once).
I went to Akagera with my roommates, Kate and Marta, and two of Kate's relatives who were kind enough to let us tag along on their vacation and pay for our rooms. We left Kigali in the evening and then drove for a little over two hours to get to the park where we stayed at the one hotel in the area, the Akagera Game Lodge. Marta, Kate, and I shared a room so we pushed the two twin beds together and made ourselves a lovely jumbo bed. I got up a little before 6 to take pictures of the sunrise, but the thing about living on the equator is that it gets light like a gunshot and dark like a gunshot. So I have about two sunrise pictures and then it was full on daylight. We left the lodge around 8 for the game drive, which lasted about four hours. Although Akagera doesnt have too many large animals left (most were poached during the genocide as a result of the breakdown of law and order) there are still quite a few giraffes and zebras and one legendarily ill tempered elephant, in addition to the requisite antelope, hippos, and warthogs. At one point, we got out of the car and were within about 100 meters of a herd of giraffes and a herd of zebras. Thats probably about four carlengths. And at some points, it was even closer than that. It was pretty phenomenal. It is a pretty surreal experience to be standing within arms length of animals that were in the storybooks that you used to read as children, animals that seemed so exotic and unknowable and now are right there in front of you.
Akagera is a fairly small park. After the genocide, when thousands of people were returning from refugee camps in Tanzania, Uganda, and Congo about half the park was opened for resettlement. Although it is a sad loss, in a country that is the most densely populated in Africa, so right up there with most densely populated in the world, sacrifices must be made and at least the government committed to keeping as much of the park as it did. The government continues to actively protect the park boundaries and fines any farmers who allow their animals to graze in the park.
Tourism is such a questionable activity. On the one hand it has the potential, and often is, environmentally destructive. Game drives impact soil quality, air quality, and affect the migration patterns of animals. The construction and use of lodges, particularly luxury lodges, can often result in pollution to surrounding areas. However on the other hand, tourism can significantly improve the economic aspects of local communities and have other positive effects. For example, many of the guides in parks are former poachers. As they are now able to benefit more from protecting the animals than from killing them, the most dangerous predator of the animal is removed. And the government of Rwanda attempts to ensure that other local people benefit from tourism. Five percent of profits generated from the tourism industry are directly given back to local communities. Although that might not seem like a lot, it amounts to hundreds of thousands of dollars each year. Additionally, much of the remaining 95% goes towards conservation efforts and park maintenance. By ensuring the continued safety and health of the animals and the preservation of habitats and natural resources, Rwanda is able to ensure future tourism and economic development. Its a symbiotic relationship, but a fragile one.
I am going to attempt to post my pictures at some point in the future, but unfortunately, right now the internet nationwide is terrible and uploading even one picture is pretty much impossible. But rest assured I will get them up eventually!
I know the last few posts have been less about what I have been doing and more about what Rwanda and the world have been doing. Thats for a lot of reasons but partly because I havent been doing all that much. However, last weekend, after the realization that I better start living the adventure, I left town and went first to Akagera National Park for a game drive and Volcanoes National Park to track mountain gorillas (this will be the next post. Its a little too much to write and read all at once).
I went to Akagera with my roommates, Kate and Marta, and two of Kate's relatives who were kind enough to let us tag along on their vacation and pay for our rooms. We left Kigali in the evening and then drove for a little over two hours to get to the park where we stayed at the one hotel in the area, the Akagera Game Lodge. Marta, Kate, and I shared a room so we pushed the two twin beds together and made ourselves a lovely jumbo bed. I got up a little before 6 to take pictures of the sunrise, but the thing about living on the equator is that it gets light like a gunshot and dark like a gunshot. So I have about two sunrise pictures and then it was full on daylight. We left the lodge around 8 for the game drive, which lasted about four hours. Although Akagera doesnt have too many large animals left (most were poached during the genocide as a result of the breakdown of law and order) there are still quite a few giraffes and zebras and one legendarily ill tempered elephant, in addition to the requisite antelope, hippos, and warthogs. At one point, we got out of the car and were within about 100 meters of a herd of giraffes and a herd of zebras. Thats probably about four carlengths. And at some points, it was even closer than that. It was pretty phenomenal. It is a pretty surreal experience to be standing within arms length of animals that were in the storybooks that you used to read as children, animals that seemed so exotic and unknowable and now are right there in front of you.
Akagera is a fairly small park. After the genocide, when thousands of people were returning from refugee camps in Tanzania, Uganda, and Congo about half the park was opened for resettlement. Although it is a sad loss, in a country that is the most densely populated in Africa, so right up there with most densely populated in the world, sacrifices must be made and at least the government committed to keeping as much of the park as it did. The government continues to actively protect the park boundaries and fines any farmers who allow their animals to graze in the park.
Tourism is such a questionable activity. On the one hand it has the potential, and often is, environmentally destructive. Game drives impact soil quality, air quality, and affect the migration patterns of animals. The construction and use of lodges, particularly luxury lodges, can often result in pollution to surrounding areas. However on the other hand, tourism can significantly improve the economic aspects of local communities and have other positive effects. For example, many of the guides in parks are former poachers. As they are now able to benefit more from protecting the animals than from killing them, the most dangerous predator of the animal is removed. And the government of Rwanda attempts to ensure that other local people benefit from tourism. Five percent of profits generated from the tourism industry are directly given back to local communities. Although that might not seem like a lot, it amounts to hundreds of thousands of dollars each year. Additionally, much of the remaining 95% goes towards conservation efforts and park maintenance. By ensuring the continued safety and health of the animals and the preservation of habitats and natural resources, Rwanda is able to ensure future tourism and economic development. Its a symbiotic relationship, but a fragile one.
I am going to attempt to post my pictures at some point in the future, but unfortunately, right now the internet nationwide is terrible and uploading even one picture is pretty much impossible. But rest assured I will get them up eventually!
Thursday, November 27, 2008
In the spirit of Christmas
Dear friends and family,
Below is a letter written by my good friend Lacey Haussamen and another from Father Joe, who I stayed with in Uganda, and one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. Please read the letter and if you are able to give (I know that it is a very hard time for everyone), please consider a small donation. If you are willing to donate, please email me so that I can give you Lacey's mailing address. She will be moving to Uganda in February and will bring the donations. Thank you so much!
Dear all,
I write this in conjunction with two classmates from the Rollins School of Public Health at Emory - Linnea Zimmerman who lived with me in Gulu last year, and Jeremy Kane who had a similar internship in Gulu just a few months ago. All three of us had the pleasure of staying with Fr. Joseph Okumu who was one of our gracious hosts. I believe I speak for all of us when I say that Fr. Joe is one of the most wonderful and respected people I know and Uganda is lucky to have him. He definitely has the best interest of the Ugandan people in mind and he works very hard to improve the lives of people so traumatized by over 20 years of war. We all learned a great deal from him about northern Uganda and its people.
Fr. Joe is from the small village of Poronga in Pader District – an area hit very hard by the war. He has taken a special interest rebuilding a health center in the village. According to him, the area has no adequately functioning health center right now and transport to other areas for treatment is challenging on many levels. This region of Uganda has finally reached a tentative, but welcomed state of peace and relative stability in terms of the war. The real challenges now are rebuilding infrastructure, outside of the camps, that has been totally destroyed or prevented by the war. Working alongside his community, Fr. Joe is trying to renovate a community health center and make it a functional service for the community. They know they cannot wait for the proper government services to reach the area because they are generally slow to come, if ever. They are supporting the education of at least one nurse who will come to work full-time in the center. They plan to train more as resources become available.
Another crucial need right now is the actual renovation and repair of the building itself, along with the stocking of delivery beds, other tools and equipment, and the necessary drugs and supplies to properly treat patients. While the material and supply needs are great, it is also essential to great a quality infrastructure for the center that can be maintained, kept sanitary and offers a quality of care that is welcoming and attractive to the community. The community and Fr. Joe have decided to prioritize the strengthening of the infrastructure while their nurse is completing his education. I have attached a full spreadsheet of building renovation costs that Fr. Joe gives to people who ask how they might help him. The building renovation will take place in three phases:
Phase I: walls, pavement, floor and verandah – 24,381,000
Phase II: roofing, painting and glass fitting – 36,408,600
Phase III: windows, shutters – 6,693,400
Total: UgSh = 67,483,000 = USD 38,126
I know this is a huge sum, but Fr. Joe has expressed that any small amount contributed will help the community make this a reality. They are contributing in kind donations as well (cement, bricks, etc.) though the reality is that the poverty that pervades the northern population is deep and not easily overcome. So the people contribute what they can, but even with that, every little bit can help.
We are asking that in lieu of Christmas gifts, please consider contributing that money to this cause. It does not matter how small the donation. If you feel strongly that your contribution be used for supplies, drugs, delivery beds, or any other specific need, please let us know and I am sure Fr. Joe and the community will honor that. I will be traveling to Uganda in February and can take it then, or depending on how much we collect, we may wire the money together. Please do not feel that you have to donate anything, I am only asking this in lieu of gifts.
The following is a letter from Fr. Joe, so he can tell you about the health center in his own words.
Poronga Health Center
Greetings from me in Gulu. I have been visiting Poranga Catholic Parish location in Pader to work out the cost of renovation of the Health Centre. I now have it as you can see in this attachment. I know it is difficult to come bye such a huge amount of money. We will appreciate whatever little amount you will be able to find. Please know also that I send the same cost to people I guess may help. We have been having torrential rains even in November but in the last three days it stopped. I hope it will remain dry for a long time to allow people dry their crops. There is a huge movement of people back to their own homes following the peace that is. The grass is ready dry and so the Acholi people who build with grass are now busy cutting it to thatch their huts in villages. The priests are having the difficult task to reach the people in their widely spread villages. The Acholi people are very happy now that they can live in their villages in more decent homes. The situation in the Democratic Republic of Congo is instead disastrous. Thousands of children and women who are often defenseless are seen tracking miles and miles on foot to enter western Uganda. It is so painful to see them in that condition. We still need to pray a lot for them.
Greetings to you all.
Regards, Fr. Joe
Below is a letter written by my good friend Lacey Haussamen and another from Father Joe, who I stayed with in Uganda, and one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. Please read the letter and if you are able to give (I know that it is a very hard time for everyone), please consider a small donation. If you are willing to donate, please email me so that I can give you Lacey's mailing address. She will be moving to Uganda in February and will bring the donations. Thank you so much!
Dear all,
I write this in conjunction with two classmates from the Rollins School of Public Health at Emory - Linnea Zimmerman who lived with me in Gulu last year, and Jeremy Kane who had a similar internship in Gulu just a few months ago. All three of us had the pleasure of staying with Fr. Joseph Okumu who was one of our gracious hosts. I believe I speak for all of us when I say that Fr. Joe is one of the most wonderful and respected people I know and Uganda is lucky to have him. He definitely has the best interest of the Ugandan people in mind and he works very hard to improve the lives of people so traumatized by over 20 years of war. We all learned a great deal from him about northern Uganda and its people.
Fr. Joe is from the small village of Poronga in Pader District – an area hit very hard by the war. He has taken a special interest rebuilding a health center in the village. According to him, the area has no adequately functioning health center right now and transport to other areas for treatment is challenging on many levels. This region of Uganda has finally reached a tentative, but welcomed state of peace and relative stability in terms of the war. The real challenges now are rebuilding infrastructure, outside of the camps, that has been totally destroyed or prevented by the war. Working alongside his community, Fr. Joe is trying to renovate a community health center and make it a functional service for the community. They know they cannot wait for the proper government services to reach the area because they are generally slow to come, if ever. They are supporting the education of at least one nurse who will come to work full-time in the center. They plan to train more as resources become available.
Another crucial need right now is the actual renovation and repair of the building itself, along with the stocking of delivery beds, other tools and equipment, and the necessary drugs and supplies to properly treat patients. While the material and supply needs are great, it is also essential to great a quality infrastructure for the center that can be maintained, kept sanitary and offers a quality of care that is welcoming and attractive to the community. The community and Fr. Joe have decided to prioritize the strengthening of the infrastructure while their nurse is completing his education. I have attached a full spreadsheet of building renovation costs that Fr. Joe gives to people who ask how they might help him. The building renovation will take place in three phases:
Phase I: walls, pavement, floor and verandah – 24,381,000
Phase II: roofing, painting and glass fitting – 36,408,600
Phase III: windows, shutters – 6,693,400
Total: UgSh = 67,483,000 = USD 38,126
I know this is a huge sum, but Fr. Joe has expressed that any small amount contributed will help the community make this a reality. They are contributing in kind donations as well (cement, bricks, etc.) though the reality is that the poverty that pervades the northern population is deep and not easily overcome. So the people contribute what they can, but even with that, every little bit can help.
We are asking that in lieu of Christmas gifts, please consider contributing that money to this cause. It does not matter how small the donation. If you feel strongly that your contribution be used for supplies, drugs, delivery beds, or any other specific need, please let us know and I am sure Fr. Joe and the community will honor that. I will be traveling to Uganda in February and can take it then, or depending on how much we collect, we may wire the money together. Please do not feel that you have to donate anything, I am only asking this in lieu of gifts.
The following is a letter from Fr. Joe, so he can tell you about the health center in his own words.
Poronga Health Center
Greetings from me in Gulu. I have been visiting Poranga Catholic Parish location in Pader to work out the cost of renovation of the Health Centre. I now have it as you can see in this attachment. I know it is difficult to come bye such a huge amount of money. We will appreciate whatever little amount you will be able to find. Please know also that I send the same cost to people I guess may help. We have been having torrential rains even in November but in the last three days it stopped. I hope it will remain dry for a long time to allow people dry their crops. There is a huge movement of people back to their own homes following the peace that is. The grass is ready dry and so the Acholi people who build with grass are now busy cutting it to thatch their huts in villages. The priests are having the difficult task to reach the people in their widely spread villages. The Acholi people are very happy now that they can live in their villages in more decent homes. The situation in the Democratic Republic of Congo is instead disastrous. Thousands of children and women who are often defenseless are seen tracking miles and miles on foot to enter western Uganda. It is so painful to see them in that condition. We still need to pray a lot for them.
Greetings to you all.
Regards, Fr. Joe
Friday, November 21, 2008
More developments regarding Rose Kabuye
For the past week or so, there have been somewhat informal demonstrations protesting the arrest of Rose Kabuye. On Wednesday, the government announced a day of "manifest" where all businesses were closed to allow citizens to protest Rose Kabuye's arrest. There were over 140,000 demonstrators in Kigali. I did not go out to see the demonstrations as our embassy warned us not to, but there were no incidences of violence, before, during, or since. In fact, since the demonstrations the French government has agreed to release Rose kabuye on the grounds that she not leave France for two weeks. I do not know if she will then have to stand trial or not, but it seems a good sign that they do not have sufficient evidence to carry forth with the trial.
It is interesting to talk to people here about the protests because many Rwandans, despite firmly believing in Rose Kabuye's innocennce, would not go. Some said it reminded them too much of what happened 14 years ago. Others said that if you go to a demonstration, you dont know who is taking your picture or how your involvement will come back to haunt you. He cited the many anti-RPF demonstrations that took place prior to 1994 and how many people were identified by the government through records of those protests. At first blush, that seemed a bit extreme. But it certainly happens in the states as well. I wonder how many anti-Vietnam protestors have records? The recent election has revealed that our past will always come back to haunt us, or even the past of others. It isnt just people in Rwanda who need to be concerned about being identified. I've been to a protest, even a riot if you count the school-escorted trip to the WTO meeting in 2000. I wonder if I have a record out there?
In other, less contentios news, I am going on a mini-safari this weekend to Akagera state park in the East Province of Rwanda (dont worry family, it is about as far from Congo as you can get). We will be leaving on Friday and returning Saturday so it will be short, but it will be nice to get out of the city, explore a new corner of the world, and post some more photos.
Also, for Christmas, I will in South Africa with a friend of mine from Emory. I cant wait! There should be some great photos from that!!!!!! But I will write again before then...
It is interesting to talk to people here about the protests because many Rwandans, despite firmly believing in Rose Kabuye's innocennce, would not go. Some said it reminded them too much of what happened 14 years ago. Others said that if you go to a demonstration, you dont know who is taking your picture or how your involvement will come back to haunt you. He cited the many anti-RPF demonstrations that took place prior to 1994 and how many people were identified by the government through records of those protests. At first blush, that seemed a bit extreme. But it certainly happens in the states as well. I wonder how many anti-Vietnam protestors have records? The recent election has revealed that our past will always come back to haunt us, or even the past of others. It isnt just people in Rwanda who need to be concerned about being identified. I've been to a protest, even a riot if you count the school-escorted trip to the WTO meeting in 2000. I wonder if I have a record out there?
In other, less contentios news, I am going on a mini-safari this weekend to Akagera state park in the East Province of Rwanda (dont worry family, it is about as far from Congo as you can get). We will be leaving on Friday and returning Saturday so it will be short, but it will be nice to get out of the city, explore a new corner of the world, and post some more photos.
Also, for Christmas, I will in South Africa with a friend of mine from Emory. I cant wait! There should be some great photos from that!!!!!! But I will write again before then...
Monday, November 17, 2008
Gisozi Memorial
This weekend I went with my friend Frank to the Gisozi genocide memorial. Even though we have both been here three months, neither of us have gone. Frank is leaving soon though and we have been saying for months that we would go. So on Sunday we hailed a couple of motos and made our way.
The memorial is located in a house, which before I went, meant to me that it would be small and not very powerful. Coming from the US, it is fairly indoctrinated in me to think of bigger as better, bigger as more powerful, bigger as the only way to be truly impressive. Well, in the case of a genocide museum, bigger would be overwhelming and unnecessary. The museum is located on two stories in a house that is probably about the size of an average American house, say about 2000 feet. The lower story is devoted to the Rwandan genocide.
We began by walking through a tunnel that begins with the history of Rwanda before colonization, which explained that Hutu and Tutsi are not true ethnic groups, nor was the designation particularly important before colonization. Rather, the German colonizers, as so many other colonizers have done, found it expedient to divide and conquer, designating all people with ten cows or more to be Tutsi and all people with less than ten cows to be Hutu and giving preferential treatment to Tutsis, using this new "ethnicity" to govern in abstentia. When the Germans lost WWI and the Belgians received Rwanda as a colony (because of course countries are like commodities and can be traded around), they modeled their governance after the Germans, keeping Tutsis in power. In the early 1960s, the Belgians began to give power to the majority Hutus as they prepared to leave the country and grant independence. With this transition, wide-spread violence against Tutsis began. After 70 years of rule by one minority ethnic group, the repressed majority sought retribution and the first wave of genocide began leading to millions of people fleeing the country to Congo, Burundi, Uganda, and for the wealthy, Europe and the United States. Despite peaceful attempts to come back, refugees were denied repatriation to Rwanda and many were forced to live in refugee camps. While refugee camps fostered the formation of rebel groups, willing to take military action to go back to their homes, the government of Rwanda, led by Hutu extremists and militarily supported by the French, armed and trained Interhamwe, youth militia. The sole purpose of the Interhamwe was to fight the enemy. And the sole enemy was the Tutsi.
All of this is detailed through pictures and writing. Nothing is particularly shocking about it or new information, other than seeing pictures of the youth militia. The boys, for they really are just boys, were trained to be killers and filled with hatred at such a young age, they are just as ruined as their victimes. No one survived the genocide without scars. As you continue down the tunnel, it details the years immediately leading up to the genocide. Radio ads spouting the doctrine of ethnic cleansing, ten commandments of how Hutus should treat Tutsis, and the increasing attacks on the government by the RPF, composed of refugees determined to institute democratic government and force the return of thousands of refugees.
Continuing down the tunnel, the pictures and video become more graphic and the reaction more visceral. There is a video that is not for the faint of heart or stomach, which shows the murder of a man by another with a machete, children with festering wounds in their heads, and dozens of photos and videos of the hundreds of dead bodies simply left to rot in the street. It is unbelievable to look at the video and know that in the peaceful and clean streets I walk on everyday, human beings were left like garbage. Along with that video, which is silent, there are others which interview survivors of the genocide and one which captures a perpetrator recounting the murders he took part in. What was somehow the most shocking to me was the pictures of the planners of the genocide. I had somehow assumed that the men (and women) exuded evil, that looking at them, I would know that they are somehow devoid of humanity. But it isnt the case at all. In the photos, the architects of the genocide are jovial, even beneficient-looking people, which somehow made it even worse. If these men and women, who are clearly human, are capable of planning such inhuman acts, what are any of us capable of?
Along the tunnel there are machetes, ancient guns, chains, all implements of death, preserved in glass cases so the viewer can see that it was not sophisticated technology in the hands of highly trained soldiers that led to this destruction, but simple and outdated tools put in the hands of regular people and transformed into weapons through a campaign of hatred and fear. Finally, we exited the tunnel into a small atrium which on one side had mounted news stories of the reaction of the west (which is to say none) and the evacuation of people in danger (which is to say only white people and sickeningly, government officials who orchstrated everything). Particularly disheartening is the observation that the number of soldiers used in evacuations would have been sufficient to prevent the genocide from happening. On the other wall, in perhaps the only heartening display, are the stories of those who protected others. Sheltering and feeding people, putting themselves in extreme danger (anyone who was suspected of sympathizing with the Tutsis was considered just as bad, if not worse than Tutsis themselves, and put to death), simply because it was the right thing to do. Once out of the atrium, there is a series of small rooms which house different exhibits. One is a room that is full of bones, skulls, arm bones, leg bones. The skulls are perhaps the hardest to view, because there are many that are almost shattered or have perfectly round holes, the work of a single bullet. Yet somehow this room is the easiest to view. The next room is a display of clothing, the clothing that people were wearing when they were killed and abandoned. Perhaps the most surreal to me was the running shorts and Cornell sweatshirt that one man wore. Within this room, there is another video interviewing survivors about the burden of survival, the guilt, the anger, and the enormous effort to forgive. Finally, the last room is filled with photos. Walls lined with photos of men, women, and children. For me, this was the hardest. To be completely surrounded by photos and to know that it is but the smallest fraction of those who were killed... it is staggering. And again, another video.
On the second floor there are smaller displays describing other genocides; Namibia, the Armenian genocide, the Holocaust, Cambodia, the Balkans. It becomes too much. At some point, numbness just overtakes you and it is impossible to react to the worst that humanity is capable of. Or so you think...
And then the childrens room. The childrens room is simple, small, stark, and without doubt, the most evocative part of the museum. It is a series of four small rooms, and within each room is three to four life size photographs of children. Babies, children, teenagers. And under each photo is some small description of their personality, their likes, their dislikes, their age, their dreams, their last words, and how they were killed. It was here that I cried. It is sickening to see a photo of a beautiful two year old girl in a baptism dress, read that her favority activity was playing with her father, and then read about her brutal murder. Even here, I dont want to write about it. It is too difficult to actually detail inhumanity and madness. Writing it makes it real.
So anyway, that was how I spent my Sunday. Although the whole museum took only two hours to walk through, it was exhausting. Leaving the memorial, both Frank and I were dragging our feet, barely able to walk up the stairs, and certainly not in the mood to hail motos and haggle for price. A larger, bigger, brasher memorial would have been too much. Already it was too much to take in, anything more would have been lost.
Im not sure that this blog is really satisfactory to me. There is so much to say about the memorial but at the same time describing it is nothing like experiencing it. What is truly important to me, what I got out of it and what I want to emphasize, is that although this happended in Rwanda, it is not a tragedy only of Rwandans. The West was responsible for not reacting, for sheltering and continuing to shelter those who planned the genocide. Certainly it was Rwandans who planned the genocide and Rwandans who were killed, but the country distinction is a false one. It was humans who planned the genocide and humans who were killed, and that is what we need to remember. By thinking that it was only "them" that could do that to "those", we leave ourselves open to the artifical distinctions that make it possible in the first place. We are all responsible for each other.
The memorial is located in a house, which before I went, meant to me that it would be small and not very powerful. Coming from the US, it is fairly indoctrinated in me to think of bigger as better, bigger as more powerful, bigger as the only way to be truly impressive. Well, in the case of a genocide museum, bigger would be overwhelming and unnecessary. The museum is located on two stories in a house that is probably about the size of an average American house, say about 2000 feet. The lower story is devoted to the Rwandan genocide.
We began by walking through a tunnel that begins with the history of Rwanda before colonization, which explained that Hutu and Tutsi are not true ethnic groups, nor was the designation particularly important before colonization. Rather, the German colonizers, as so many other colonizers have done, found it expedient to divide and conquer, designating all people with ten cows or more to be Tutsi and all people with less than ten cows to be Hutu and giving preferential treatment to Tutsis, using this new "ethnicity" to govern in abstentia. When the Germans lost WWI and the Belgians received Rwanda as a colony (because of course countries are like commodities and can be traded around), they modeled their governance after the Germans, keeping Tutsis in power. In the early 1960s, the Belgians began to give power to the majority Hutus as they prepared to leave the country and grant independence. With this transition, wide-spread violence against Tutsis began. After 70 years of rule by one minority ethnic group, the repressed majority sought retribution and the first wave of genocide began leading to millions of people fleeing the country to Congo, Burundi, Uganda, and for the wealthy, Europe and the United States. Despite peaceful attempts to come back, refugees were denied repatriation to Rwanda and many were forced to live in refugee camps. While refugee camps fostered the formation of rebel groups, willing to take military action to go back to their homes, the government of Rwanda, led by Hutu extremists and militarily supported by the French, armed and trained Interhamwe, youth militia. The sole purpose of the Interhamwe was to fight the enemy. And the sole enemy was the Tutsi.
All of this is detailed through pictures and writing. Nothing is particularly shocking about it or new information, other than seeing pictures of the youth militia. The boys, for they really are just boys, were trained to be killers and filled with hatred at such a young age, they are just as ruined as their victimes. No one survived the genocide without scars. As you continue down the tunnel, it details the years immediately leading up to the genocide. Radio ads spouting the doctrine of ethnic cleansing, ten commandments of how Hutus should treat Tutsis, and the increasing attacks on the government by the RPF, composed of refugees determined to institute democratic government and force the return of thousands of refugees.
Continuing down the tunnel, the pictures and video become more graphic and the reaction more visceral. There is a video that is not for the faint of heart or stomach, which shows the murder of a man by another with a machete, children with festering wounds in their heads, and dozens of photos and videos of the hundreds of dead bodies simply left to rot in the street. It is unbelievable to look at the video and know that in the peaceful and clean streets I walk on everyday, human beings were left like garbage. Along with that video, which is silent, there are others which interview survivors of the genocide and one which captures a perpetrator recounting the murders he took part in. What was somehow the most shocking to me was the pictures of the planners of the genocide. I had somehow assumed that the men (and women) exuded evil, that looking at them, I would know that they are somehow devoid of humanity. But it isnt the case at all. In the photos, the architects of the genocide are jovial, even beneficient-looking people, which somehow made it even worse. If these men and women, who are clearly human, are capable of planning such inhuman acts, what are any of us capable of?
Along the tunnel there are machetes, ancient guns, chains, all implements of death, preserved in glass cases so the viewer can see that it was not sophisticated technology in the hands of highly trained soldiers that led to this destruction, but simple and outdated tools put in the hands of regular people and transformed into weapons through a campaign of hatred and fear. Finally, we exited the tunnel into a small atrium which on one side had mounted news stories of the reaction of the west (which is to say none) and the evacuation of people in danger (which is to say only white people and sickeningly, government officials who orchstrated everything). Particularly disheartening is the observation that the number of soldiers used in evacuations would have been sufficient to prevent the genocide from happening. On the other wall, in perhaps the only heartening display, are the stories of those who protected others. Sheltering and feeding people, putting themselves in extreme danger (anyone who was suspected of sympathizing with the Tutsis was considered just as bad, if not worse than Tutsis themselves, and put to death), simply because it was the right thing to do. Once out of the atrium, there is a series of small rooms which house different exhibits. One is a room that is full of bones, skulls, arm bones, leg bones. The skulls are perhaps the hardest to view, because there are many that are almost shattered or have perfectly round holes, the work of a single bullet. Yet somehow this room is the easiest to view. The next room is a display of clothing, the clothing that people were wearing when they were killed and abandoned. Perhaps the most surreal to me was the running shorts and Cornell sweatshirt that one man wore. Within this room, there is another video interviewing survivors about the burden of survival, the guilt, the anger, and the enormous effort to forgive. Finally, the last room is filled with photos. Walls lined with photos of men, women, and children. For me, this was the hardest. To be completely surrounded by photos and to know that it is but the smallest fraction of those who were killed... it is staggering. And again, another video.
On the second floor there are smaller displays describing other genocides; Namibia, the Armenian genocide, the Holocaust, Cambodia, the Balkans. It becomes too much. At some point, numbness just overtakes you and it is impossible to react to the worst that humanity is capable of. Or so you think...
And then the childrens room. The childrens room is simple, small, stark, and without doubt, the most evocative part of the museum. It is a series of four small rooms, and within each room is three to four life size photographs of children. Babies, children, teenagers. And under each photo is some small description of their personality, their likes, their dislikes, their age, their dreams, their last words, and how they were killed. It was here that I cried. It is sickening to see a photo of a beautiful two year old girl in a baptism dress, read that her favority activity was playing with her father, and then read about her brutal murder. Even here, I dont want to write about it. It is too difficult to actually detail inhumanity and madness. Writing it makes it real.
So anyway, that was how I spent my Sunday. Although the whole museum took only two hours to walk through, it was exhausting. Leaving the memorial, both Frank and I were dragging our feet, barely able to walk up the stairs, and certainly not in the mood to hail motos and haggle for price. A larger, bigger, brasher memorial would have been too much. Already it was too much to take in, anything more would have been lost.
Im not sure that this blog is really satisfactory to me. There is so much to say about the memorial but at the same time describing it is nothing like experiencing it. What is truly important to me, what I got out of it and what I want to emphasize, is that although this happended in Rwanda, it is not a tragedy only of Rwandans. The West was responsible for not reacting, for sheltering and continuing to shelter those who planned the genocide. Certainly it was Rwandans who planned the genocide and Rwandans who were killed, but the country distinction is a false one. It was humans who planned the genocide and humans who were killed, and that is what we need to remember. By thinking that it was only "them" that could do that to "those", we leave ourselves open to the artifical distinctions that make it possible in the first place. We are all responsible for each other.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Sorry for the silence
I suppose it wasn't in the best taste to post an article about war in the area and then neither post nor respond to comments for a couple weeks. In my defense, the internet, nationally, has been terrible of late. There is only one internet company in Rwanda, Rwandatel, so when its slow or changes its servers or its http address or whatever, it affects everyone. Its not unlike my nemesis of cable television, Comcast. Hard to say which one infuriates me more. Actually, no its not. Comcast, definitely comcast. Anyway I am fine. In fact, the only news I hear about the conflict in the Congo is if I look on international news sources. The government here isnt exactly open about anything having to do with the genocide, existing genocidairres, or any possible involvement they may have with conflict in neighboring regions. But everything in this region is tied up together, so I would be very very surprised if Rwanda wasnt involved somehow.
In other news, one of President Paul Kagame's top aides was arrested upon her arrival in Germany yesterday upon her arrival to prepare the President's visit. Apparently, the French issued an order for her arrest in 2006 for her suspected role in the assassination of former president Habyiramana, whose death facilitated the genocide in 1994. No one has ever been able to uncover evidence about who actually shot down the Habyiramna's plane and in fact there is just as much speculation that then-government officials did it as there is that rebels did. Kabuye's arrest comes a few weeks after a report issued by the Rwandan government that heavily implicates the French in the genocide and a few weeks after Kagame declared that the only official language of Rwanda will be English beginning in 2010, no longer French and English. It is an interesting coincidence that this arrest comes so soon after these announcements. I cant help but feel like France is being the bully of the schoolyard. It got shamed and now its taking it out in a petty and vindictive way. Only these actions have the potential to seriously undermine both Rwanda's stability and the French government's credibility. I guess bullies dont think too much about that...
Here are two links to the story if you want to read an actual journalists reporting...
http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/europe/11/10/germany.rwanda/?iref=mpstoryview
http://www.voanews.com/english/Africa/2008-11-10-voa2.cfm
Despite this news, please dont worry about my safety. Kigali remains peaceful and orderly, as it has for the past decade. In fact, another reason I have not posted recently is I have not really had anything to talk about. My days are as routine and quiet as they are at home, probably more so. Other than Obama's election there has not been anything particularly exciting happening. That was amazing though. For the first time in eight years, and maybe for some time before that, I am proud to identify myself as American. Of course, there are still problems with the US and there is a good chance that Obama will not be able to deliver on his promises but he represents at least the possibility of change, the possibility of hope. Even here, his election has energized people. After CNN predicted his win, everyone in the restaurant that I was at all night started hugging and crying. Perfect strangers were clinging to each other. He delivered his speech just as the sun came up and all of us were were quiet, listening to him accept the nomination. As we left, all of the Rwandans that we met on the street were enthusiastic about his win. People were shouting and giving the thumbs up sign as we drove home
In other news, one of President Paul Kagame's top aides was arrested upon her arrival in Germany yesterday upon her arrival to prepare the President's visit. Apparently, the French issued an order for her arrest in 2006 for her suspected role in the assassination of former president Habyiramana, whose death facilitated the genocide in 1994. No one has ever been able to uncover evidence about who actually shot down the Habyiramna's plane and in fact there is just as much speculation that then-government officials did it as there is that rebels did. Kabuye's arrest comes a few weeks after a report issued by the Rwandan government that heavily implicates the French in the genocide and a few weeks after Kagame declared that the only official language of Rwanda will be English beginning in 2010, no longer French and English. It is an interesting coincidence that this arrest comes so soon after these announcements. I cant help but feel like France is being the bully of the schoolyard. It got shamed and now its taking it out in a petty and vindictive way. Only these actions have the potential to seriously undermine both Rwanda's stability and the French government's credibility. I guess bullies dont think too much about that...
Here are two links to the story if you want to read an actual journalists reporting...
http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/europe/11/10/germany.rwanda/?iref=mpstoryview
http://www.voanews.com/english/Africa/2008-11-10-voa2.cfm
Despite this news, please dont worry about my safety. Kigali remains peaceful and orderly, as it has for the past decade. In fact, another reason I have not posted recently is I have not really had anything to talk about. My days are as routine and quiet as they are at home, probably more so. Other than Obama's election there has not been anything particularly exciting happening. That was amazing though. For the first time in eight years, and maybe for some time before that, I am proud to identify myself as American. Of course, there are still problems with the US and there is a good chance that Obama will not be able to deliver on his promises but he represents at least the possibility of change, the possibility of hope. Even here, his election has energized people. After CNN predicted his win, everyone in the restaurant that I was at all night started hugging and crying. Perfect strangers were clinging to each other. He delivered his speech just as the sun came up and all of us were were quiet, listening to him accept the nomination. As we left, all of the Rwandans that we met on the street were enthusiastic about his win. People were shouting and giving the thumbs up sign as we drove home
Thursday, October 30, 2008
New York Times article
Congo City Is Calmer After Night of Violence
GOMA, Congo — At dawn on Thursday, the United Nations trucks began to move. A convoy of desperately needed supplies was finally entering this besieged town.
The rattle of gunfire was remarkably absent for the first time in days. United Nations peacekeepers were patrolling the streets.
The crisis seemed to be easing.
The rebels who have encircled this strategic town in eastern Congo, casting this region into a vortex of violence and uncertainty once again, seemed to be respecting the unilateral truce they declared on Wednesday night.
“Today there has been no fighting,” said Lt. Col. Samba Tall, a commander for the United Nations peacekeepers in Congo. “All belligerents are abiding by the cease-fire.”
Government soldiers who had fled the advancing rebels on Wednesday night, trudged back into town, with guns slung over their shoulders and sleeping rolls balanced on their heads. They looked exhausted. But they talked tough.
“We’re in control now,” said one of the Congolese soldiers, Col. Jonas Padiri.
Perhaps. But few people here trust them. On Wednesday night, in the security vacuum that opened up with the rebels marching toward town and the Congolese army fleeing in droves, rogue government soldiers turned on the people of Goma. The blood-soaked results were literally on display Thursday morning.
The body of a 17-year-old boy named Merci lay on a mattress, his hands folded carefully in front of him, his nostrils plugged with cotton.
His relatives said that a gang of uniformed government soldiers burst into Merci’s house at 10 p.m. on Wednesday and ordered Merci at gunpoint to load all the things in the house — rice, clothes, pots, pans, blankets — into the soldiers’ truck. After he complied, the soldiers shot him in the back.
Next door, two dead women, also victimized by rogue soldiers, according to residents, lay in a room packed with people. The whole neighborhood was pressed around the bodies. Nobody had any answers.
“They didn’t resist,” said Alan Bulondo, a relative. “They gave up their money. There was no point.”
Congolese soldiers are infamous for training their guns on civilians and fleeing at the first sign of a real threat. The looting, pillaging, raping and killing seems to happen every time a city switches hands.
United Nations officials said they were negotiating intensely on Thursday with government commanders and the rebels’ leader, Laurent Nkunda, to solidify the cease-fire. On Wednesday, Mr. Nkunda had declared the cease-fire, saying he did not want to spread more fear in Goma.
Mr. Nkunda, a renegade Congolese general, has said he is waging war to protect the Tutsi people. Congolese officials accuse him of being a front man for neighboring Rwanda, which is led by Tutsi, and say that Mr. Nkunda is trying to carve out a buffer zone between Congo and Rwanda. Rwandan officials deny this and on Thursday there were high level talks between the two countries.
One of the biggest concerns now is the hundreds of thousands of people who have been displaced by all the fighting. Many of them are sleeping in the rain, with no food and gravely ill children. So far, aid workers have been unable to reach them.
But on Thursday, for the first time in more than a week, the fighting in the hills around here stopped and aid officials were hopeful they could resume operations soon.
“Things are still volatile,” said Ivo Brandau, a United Nations spokesman in Kinshasa, Congo’s capital, in the west of the country. “But it’s calmer today than it has been. The situation is improving.”
Goma is an important staging ground for United Nations aid efforts in the region that are keeping millions alive. The United Nations also has its largest peacekeeping mission in Congo, with 17,000 troops with tanks and helicopter gunships. But United Nations officials have said it is not necessarily their job to repel the rebels.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Media and the expat
In the US, I rarely, if ever pick up the newspaper. For the last two years, that would have been the Atlanta Journal Constitution, a mix of conservative ranting and furniture ads, so I forgive myself for that. But because I am a reading junkie, something picked up from my Dad, I did find myself reading other "legitimate" news sources; US Weekly, People, and occasionally People Style. This was my attempt to stay current on the news that somehow seemed relevant to my life, a testament to both the quality of US journalism in general and my own narrow view of what I think of as relevant. So I find it interesting, that now, living in a country almost half a world away from the US, I read not just one, but several newspapers everyday. The New York Times online is my morning read, then the New Yorker, and inevitably I click my way to a range of other news sources and blogs, finding myself just yesterday in the National Review, which was for me, a new foray into conservative journalism. I'm not sure why I think this is strange. I guess because the reason I left the US was to get away from it and now I find myself tracking developments religiously. Perhaps I do this because now I get to pick and choose what parts of American culture I want to surround myself with. I dont have to hear about the President's latest fiasco or Brangelina's newest family member unless I want to. I can read about why Obama is better equipped to be the President than John McCain or pick and choose articles highlighting Palin's many, many weaknesses. I dont need to hear about the girl that was abducted or the latest doping scandal. The parts of the news that are so often highlighted in evening news or mainstream media, the parts of the news that are basically why I stopped watching the news or reading the newspapers, are blessedly missing from my life. I am not bombarded with newspapers, magazines, black and white pictures and fantastic headlines. I have to look for what I want to read and even though its more work, I definitely find it more rewarding. Its as though by leaving the US and choosing to keep up-to-date with only specific things, I get to recreate my own country, free of sensationalism and abounding with intelligent commentary. I suppose its dangerous since I have to come back some day, but for now, I enjoy the superpower I have created.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Weekends
I think that one of the best things about travel is that really everything is pretty much the same, its just a little different and the little differences are what makes everything so entertaining. For example, in the US, the night traditionally ends around 2. The bars close, there arent generally too many after hours clubs, you go home and get sleep. Here, the clubs dont start going until 2. On Friday night, Kate, one of my roommates, and I stayed out dancing until, well Im not sure exactly but I think probably 3 or 4. And then on Saturday night, we were understandably quite tired. So we told our friend Sylvia that we were going to go to bed early, we wanted to be home by 1:30. She was shocked that anyone would go home at such an early hour. If you make a commitment to going out here, then you are in it for the long haul.
So with all intentions to go home early, we went to dinner, then to a house party where some guys had brewed some home made banana wine (it was possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever had but then I was also drinking Waragi, which is a Ugandan liquor that basically burns your taste buds off so maybe it tasted better (or worse) than I thought), and then to a club. And when Marta, my other roommate, and I got home to my extreme shock, the sun was coming up. Really, i could not believe it. Again, at home, I would not be able to stay up all night. I think the last time I did that was when I caught my flight here so that I would be sufficiently sleep deprived to sleep on the plane. But here, its standard practice. And I mean standard. And in the morning, instead of sleeping in, our friend woke us up to go to church. We didnt go of course, but he did. Along with everyone that had been out until 5 in the morning. Its just a little different...
But here are a couple of pictures...
Marta and Sylvia before the trouble started...
Roomies!
ahhh look how cute we are
Omundi (who woke us to go to church) and Teta, who i think may be the most beautiful woman in the world
Yep... that happened
So with all intentions to go home early, we went to dinner, then to a house party where some guys had brewed some home made banana wine (it was possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever had but then I was also drinking Waragi, which is a Ugandan liquor that basically burns your taste buds off so maybe it tasted better (or worse) than I thought), and then to a club. And when Marta, my other roommate, and I got home to my extreme shock, the sun was coming up. Really, i could not believe it. Again, at home, I would not be able to stay up all night. I think the last time I did that was when I caught my flight here so that I would be sufficiently sleep deprived to sleep on the plane. But here, its standard practice. And I mean standard. And in the morning, instead of sleeping in, our friend woke us up to go to church. We didnt go of course, but he did. Along with everyone that had been out until 5 in the morning. Its just a little different...
But here are a couple of pictures...
Marta and Sylvia before the trouble started...
Roomies!
ahhh look how cute we are
Omundi (who woke us to go to church) and Teta, who i think may be the most beautiful woman in the world
Yep... that happened
Monday, October 13, 2008
Mount Kabuye
I went hiking last weekend with some friends and a lot of children at a place called Mount Kabuye. Now although I stand by my earlier statements that the hills in Rwanda are hills and not mountains, that doesnt mean that the hills arent really big and really steep.
The summit of Mount Kabuye is actually behind the mountains. Which at the time was very intimidating. However, no matter how high we climbed, there were always children with us, usually barefoot and running ahead and running back while we struggled up the hill with backpacks, hiking books, and books telling us where to go. Felt a little foolish.
But it was absolutely gorgeous. Even from the bottom the scenery was blue and green rolling hills, and though the sky was threatening to rain the whole time, it made a perfect backdrop.
The higher we climbed, the more hills we could see and the view just reiterated why Rwanda is known a land of a thousand hills. On a clear day, from the top, apparently its possible to see the volcanoes, but as mentioned, we were hiking on a cloudy and overcast day, the hills just seemed to fade into mist.
Although it was a tiring day and a mix of fun, frustration, and general foolishness, it once again reminded me that Rwanda is a beautiful place, blessed with amazing scenery and kind, proud people. The rest of my photos are posted at
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2022083&l=9caa6&id=48101028
The summit of Mount Kabuye is actually behind the mountains. Which at the time was very intimidating. However, no matter how high we climbed, there were always children with us, usually barefoot and running ahead and running back while we struggled up the hill with backpacks, hiking books, and books telling us where to go. Felt a little foolish.
But it was absolutely gorgeous. Even from the bottom the scenery was blue and green rolling hills, and though the sky was threatening to rain the whole time, it made a perfect backdrop.
The higher we climbed, the more hills we could see and the view just reiterated why Rwanda is known a land of a thousand hills. On a clear day, from the top, apparently its possible to see the volcanoes, but as mentioned, we were hiking on a cloudy and overcast day, the hills just seemed to fade into mist.
Although it was a tiring day and a mix of fun, frustration, and general foolishness, it once again reminded me that Rwanda is a beautiful place, blessed with amazing scenery and kind, proud people. The rest of my photos are posted at
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2022083&l=9caa6&id=48101028
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Adventures in the post-office... food, food, SNACK
Today was one of those days where I alternate between loving being here and hating it. I guess start with the bad. Someone has been stealing from us and although we arent sure who it is, its very disconcerting. My roommates have had over 500 dollars and a phone stolen and we have all decided that we are not comfortable with someone else having a key to our house, so we are letting our domestique go (isnt that a nice term. So much nicer than fire). There have been multiple times when the gate and the house have been unlocked and unfortunately, we are targets for theft. It is very easy to avoid being robbed here, just lock the house and the gate. But unfortunately this has not been happening. It is a difficult position to be in. On the one hand, we are expats here and we are comparatively wealthy; however, by US standards we are poor, the money we make qualifies all of us for poverty level, and in order to pay loans, we all have to save. No matter what, we are white and no matter what we say, that will always mean that people expect us to be rich. And despite the beneficence we feel in being here and the comfort that we give ourselves in "helping people" and "saving the world", that doesn't fly without generating some resentment.
But why I love this place... So after going to the embassy to cast our emergency ballots (Go Obama!) a month early because the US government somehow forgot to mail the absentee ballots to people overseas, I had to go to the post office to pick up two packages from my wonderful mother. Since there are no street names or building or home addresses in Rwanda, when packages are delivered, they are brought to the post office, which then generates slips saying that packages have arrived. Twice a week, someone from the office goes to the post office at approximately 3 in the afternoon and checks to see if any packages have been delivered. But of course the worker cant actually pick up the package because they are in our name and we have to have ID. They can only get the slip, return to the office, and give us the slips. This is always done at 3 when the post office closes at 330 so it is impossible to get your package the day you learn of it. Rather you have to wait eighteen hours to wonder about what possible treats are sitting in a locked room. Now although the post office is in a very official looking building with marble floors and high ceilings, that is not actually where you go to pick up a package. Nope. You go to "eight". What is "eight"? "Eight", which is for no discernible reason called eight since there are only two rooms in the post office, is the room where the packages are stored. It is located in the back and the basement of the post office, with the entrance in a gravel parking lot catering to taxis and buses and getting there necessitates exiting the post office, walking a block past craft stores, post card sellers, and a barrage of "foreign exchange bureaus", which are from what i can tell men sitting outside of shops yelling "sister, you need change?". Now "eight" is broken up into four rooms. The first room comfortably fits about three people and is where you go if you are a customer waiting to pick up or ship a package. The first room leads directly into the main storage area where a man sits at a desk full of papers and surrounded by pictures of Jesus and a rasta singer named "Cool Dube". When I arrived today, I put down my things on a small table in the entrance area to look for my claim slips and of course proceeded to drop all of my change that I have accumulated in the past two months all over the floor. Now even though there were three men sitting in a directly adjoining room watching every move I made and a man at the "Cool Dube" desk, no one made a move to help me. So, after scrambling on the floor to pick up my change I stand back up and immediately a gust of wind blows my two claim slips into the storage area. Keeping in mind that there are very few "official" areas in Rwanda, I just ran after the slips into the middle of the storage area. Three men and a cool dube continue to stare. Finally, I stuff my change and the slips back into my bag and retreat to the correct side of the window. Not a word has been uttered. While I have been running around "eight" a Japanese couple has entered the small room and has started to try to mail a package. Only English isnt their first language nor is it the first language of the man attempting to examine their packages so their communication is basically limited to hand gestures and broken french/ japanese/ english. Until the woman starts repeating, at first very quietly and then escalating with each word "food... food... SNACK! food... food... SNACK... food... food... SNACK" and her husband just clings desperately to the box to keep the postal man from cutting open the package. Finally, the couple relinquishes the package, the postal worker open it and the woman repeats "food... food... SNACK" and the man retapes the package. After the package has been taped, the couple walks away saying in perfect, unaccented english "Thank you. Have a nice day." I swear to you this happened. Moving on, I give the cool dube my slips and my drivers license which he takes stares at and then says "Linnea? Your name is Linnea?" as though perhaps I made up that particular name, printed a drivers license, and was conducting an elaborate ruse to get someone elses package. So I reply "Yes, my name is Linnea." Disgusted sigh and incoherent hand gesture. Umm ok. And then out of nowhere a general worker appears. The general worker dissapears into the fourth room and comes back out with a huge box and another balanced very precariously on top, puts them on a table, and then takes the two thousand francs I was holding out of my hand and walks away without a word. Suddenly, one of the men in the other room who up until now has stayed securely on his chair, comes out dressed in a full-pressed uniform and in a very official voice says "Hello, Im the customs official. What is in these boxes?". Please keep in mind that the boxes are securely taped and sealed and the man has been watching every single second of this scenario. Obviously I have no idea, so I say, "Obviously, I have no idea, They are from my mother." To which the original postal worker from the other room wisely says "ahhh mother" and nods his head. Im still not sure if he was saying "ahh yes mothers send very nice care packages" or "ahh yes I understand the word mother". So I just nod and say "ahh mother" back to him. During this exchange, the customs official has taken the customs form off of only the small box and apparently that satisfied him because he turned around, went back to the other room, and sat back in the chair to stare some more. By this point, another man has entered the waiting area and is talking to the general worker who has miraculously reappeared, still holding the 2000 francs, and the postal worker. The general worker takes a log book from the postal worker, walks around his desk, and comes over to my side of the wall, puts the book on the table and says "name, date, sign". So I find my name, print, date, and sign. He then finds another entry "name, date, sign". Puts the original claim slips down and says "name, date, sign". Meanwhile the other man waiting to be served is simply staring at me. Right when I have finished signing the various forms and the general worker has collected his books and returned to the other side of the wall, the man asks me "Are you German?" Uh... no. "Where are you from?" US. "Are your parents German or perhaps someone farther back in your family?" Sure, my grandfather. "Ahh yes. You look German. I am very good at identifying Germans. Have a nice day." And with a nod, he turns and goes. During everthing I have just related to you, other than when chasing my claim slips, I did not move an inch. It was an entire universe of bizarre brought directly to swirl around me. And that is why I love this place. Because there is no predicting when something absolutely wonderful and weird is going to happen.
Oh and just in case anyone is wondering what was in that giant box...
Food... food.. SNACK. I love my mother.
But why I love this place... So after going to the embassy to cast our emergency ballots (Go Obama!) a month early because the US government somehow forgot to mail the absentee ballots to people overseas, I had to go to the post office to pick up two packages from my wonderful mother. Since there are no street names or building or home addresses in Rwanda, when packages are delivered, they are brought to the post office, which then generates slips saying that packages have arrived. Twice a week, someone from the office goes to the post office at approximately 3 in the afternoon and checks to see if any packages have been delivered. But of course the worker cant actually pick up the package because they are in our name and we have to have ID. They can only get the slip, return to the office, and give us the slips. This is always done at 3 when the post office closes at 330 so it is impossible to get your package the day you learn of it. Rather you have to wait eighteen hours to wonder about what possible treats are sitting in a locked room. Now although the post office is in a very official looking building with marble floors and high ceilings, that is not actually where you go to pick up a package. Nope. You go to "eight". What is "eight"? "Eight", which is for no discernible reason called eight since there are only two rooms in the post office, is the room where the packages are stored. It is located in the back and the basement of the post office, with the entrance in a gravel parking lot catering to taxis and buses and getting there necessitates exiting the post office, walking a block past craft stores, post card sellers, and a barrage of "foreign exchange bureaus", which are from what i can tell men sitting outside of shops yelling "sister, you need change?". Now "eight" is broken up into four rooms. The first room comfortably fits about three people and is where you go if you are a customer waiting to pick up or ship a package. The first room leads directly into the main storage area where a man sits at a desk full of papers and surrounded by pictures of Jesus and a rasta singer named "Cool Dube". When I arrived today, I put down my things on a small table in the entrance area to look for my claim slips and of course proceeded to drop all of my change that I have accumulated in the past two months all over the floor. Now even though there were three men sitting in a directly adjoining room watching every move I made and a man at the "Cool Dube" desk, no one made a move to help me. So, after scrambling on the floor to pick up my change I stand back up and immediately a gust of wind blows my two claim slips into the storage area. Keeping in mind that there are very few "official" areas in Rwanda, I just ran after the slips into the middle of the storage area. Three men and a cool dube continue to stare. Finally, I stuff my change and the slips back into my bag and retreat to the correct side of the window. Not a word has been uttered. While I have been running around "eight" a Japanese couple has entered the small room and has started to try to mail a package. Only English isnt their first language nor is it the first language of the man attempting to examine their packages so their communication is basically limited to hand gestures and broken french/ japanese/ english. Until the woman starts repeating, at first very quietly and then escalating with each word "food... food... SNACK! food... food... SNACK... food... food... SNACK" and her husband just clings desperately to the box to keep the postal man from cutting open the package. Finally, the couple relinquishes the package, the postal worker open it and the woman repeats "food... food... SNACK" and the man retapes the package. After the package has been taped, the couple walks away saying in perfect, unaccented english "Thank you. Have a nice day." I swear to you this happened. Moving on, I give the cool dube my slips and my drivers license which he takes stares at and then says "Linnea? Your name is Linnea?" as though perhaps I made up that particular name, printed a drivers license, and was conducting an elaborate ruse to get someone elses package. So I reply "Yes, my name is Linnea." Disgusted sigh and incoherent hand gesture. Umm ok. And then out of nowhere a general worker appears. The general worker dissapears into the fourth room and comes back out with a huge box and another balanced very precariously on top, puts them on a table, and then takes the two thousand francs I was holding out of my hand and walks away without a word. Suddenly, one of the men in the other room who up until now has stayed securely on his chair, comes out dressed in a full-pressed uniform and in a very official voice says "Hello, Im the customs official. What is in these boxes?". Please keep in mind that the boxes are securely taped and sealed and the man has been watching every single second of this scenario. Obviously I have no idea, so I say, "Obviously, I have no idea, They are from my mother." To which the original postal worker from the other room wisely says "ahhh mother" and nods his head. Im still not sure if he was saying "ahh yes mothers send very nice care packages" or "ahh yes I understand the word mother". So I just nod and say "ahh mother" back to him. During this exchange, the customs official has taken the customs form off of only the small box and apparently that satisfied him because he turned around, went back to the other room, and sat back in the chair to stare some more. By this point, another man has entered the waiting area and is talking to the general worker who has miraculously reappeared, still holding the 2000 francs, and the postal worker. The general worker takes a log book from the postal worker, walks around his desk, and comes over to my side of the wall, puts the book on the table and says "name, date, sign". So I find my name, print, date, and sign. He then finds another entry "name, date, sign". Puts the original claim slips down and says "name, date, sign". Meanwhile the other man waiting to be served is simply staring at me. Right when I have finished signing the various forms and the general worker has collected his books and returned to the other side of the wall, the man asks me "Are you German?" Uh... no. "Where are you from?" US. "Are your parents German or perhaps someone farther back in your family?" Sure, my grandfather. "Ahh yes. You look German. I am very good at identifying Germans. Have a nice day." And with a nod, he turns and goes. During everthing I have just related to you, other than when chasing my claim slips, I did not move an inch. It was an entire universe of bizarre brought directly to swirl around me. And that is why I love this place. Because there is no predicting when something absolutely wonderful and weird is going to happen.
Oh and just in case anyone is wondering what was in that giant box...
Food... food.. SNACK. I love my mother.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
How times have changed
As no doubt many of you learned from the classic Sandra Bullock film, 28 days, it takes 28 days to form a habit. With this in mind, I developed the brilliant plant to write in my journal every day for 28 days to get into the habit. So far, its pretty hit and miss. Today I decided that if I wrote an extensive entry then perhaps it would make up for my relative lack of commitment over the past week and a half. However, as it always happens when I try to overload myself on recording life, I got distracted. This time I started rereading my journal, which I started keeping upon my arrival in India (that was almost three years ago, an indication how little I write). I was amazed by some of the things that I wrote. Fresh off the plane I was shocked and full of pity for people who I imagined were so poor. Dont doubt it, the people who I pitied and mourned over were poor. But I realize now that pity is a useless and even harmful feeling. What does pity do but make the person I pity resentful and fill me with misplaced pride in my own emotions? Better empathy, better respect, better friendliness. Not pity. And I was shocked by the poverty, truly floored that people could live in such terrible conditions. But people had roofs, they had stoves, food, television. I am not trying to say that the villagers in India were living perfectly comfortable lives. I am sure that many were lacking comforts and that many would have loved more money and more comfort. I realize now however, that people were still happy, they were still content with what they had. It doesnt mean they cant want more or that they dont deserve a more equitable distribution of wealth, but it was fairly naive to assume that because people lived in cow dung huts (which is actually a very sanitary, sustainable, and insulating material) that they were unhappy and miserable.
Finally, it occurred to me what I dont feel necessary to put in my journal anymore. So much of what used to be shocking is now commonplace. So much of what used to elicit pity, elicits nothing. I dont mean to sound callous or worldly. It was simply interesting to me to reflect on how adaptable people are. Within only a few years and a few experiences, what was once so foreign to me is now no longer worth mentioning. In this time of transition and uncertainty, it is reassuring to remember that humans are incredibly adaptable creatures. We are able to change, accept, and learn in almost any situation. Its nice to think that maybe we can weather the crises that we are facing after all.
Also, I didnt feel it was necessary to write about the mouse in my house (although I have mentioned it here) the crazy thunderstorms, the constant stares, the banana cooked a thousand different ways, or the banana wine. All these things you kind of get used to too.
Finally, it occurred to me what I dont feel necessary to put in my journal anymore. So much of what used to be shocking is now commonplace. So much of what used to elicit pity, elicits nothing. I dont mean to sound callous or worldly. It was simply interesting to me to reflect on how adaptable people are. Within only a few years and a few experiences, what was once so foreign to me is now no longer worth mentioning. In this time of transition and uncertainty, it is reassuring to remember that humans are incredibly adaptable creatures. We are able to change, accept, and learn in almost any situation. Its nice to think that maybe we can weather the crises that we are facing after all.
Also, I didnt feel it was necessary to write about the mouse in my house (although I have mentioned it here) the crazy thunderstorms, the constant stares, the banana cooked a thousand different ways, or the banana wine. All these things you kind of get used to too.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Links to photos
These are the links to three photo albums that I have posted on Facebook. For those of you who dont have facebook, you should be able to click on these links and see the photos. I will try to remember to post the links to any new photos I take.
Rwanda
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?
aid=2021368&l=1a6f0&id=48101028
Chicken Wranglin
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?
aid=2021637&l=9b29f&id=48101028
Gisenyi Hash
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?
aid=2021472&l=9e952&id=48101028
Because I restructured the blog, the links get cut off. So I put a line space in each one between "php?" and "aid". To view the albums, copy the full link, without the line space, into the browser. (oooh dont I sound technical?)
Rwanda
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?
aid=2021368&l=1a6f0&id=48101028
Chicken Wranglin
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?
aid=2021637&l=9b29f&id=48101028
Gisenyi Hash
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?
aid=2021472&l=9e952&id=48101028
Because I restructured the blog, the links get cut off. So I put a line space in each one between "php?" and "aid". To view the albums, copy the full link, without the line space, into the browser. (oooh dont I sound technical?)
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Dont Sweat the Small Stuff
The following are just some of the things I have learned not to care too much about in the past couple weeks...
1. Whether or not I will have running water (although its always important to check before using the toilet)
2. Whether or not I will have electricity
3. Where I am in a thunderstorm (if Im not already inside, its too late)
4. If the food I am eating is actually vegetarian or Rwanda "vegetarian" (as long as I cant see beef, goat, or chicken chunks, its veg)
5. Whether or not my clothes are clean or just "clean" (they dont smell, they are clean)
6. Whether I just said hello, goodbye, thank you, Im good, its cold, old man, or how are you in Kinyarwanda. Its all the same really
7. Whether the email I just sent actually sent or is sitting somewhere in the ether of the internet to rise again after the whole issue is resolved anyway
8. Whether I share my house with two people or two people, a mouse, and a chicken. More the merrier
9. Whether or not the kids yelling Muzungu are trying to be cute, funny, obnoxious, ask for money, or ask for marriage. They're kids after all. And easy to chase since they are scared of white people
10. Whether the magazine that I am reading was published within the last week. Obama won the democratic nomination? Britney lost custody of her kids? Michael Phelps is expected to win eight gold medals? I expect to find out who wins the presidential election sometime in April.
11. Whether that bean and cheese burrito is two days old or two weeks old. Seriously? Its a bean and cheese burrito. Im eating it!
Things I do still care about...
1. That I can find a place with bean and cheese burritos
2. That the mouse that I share my house with does not eat my avocados. There are rules
3. That there is a kiosk within a five minute walk that sells Mutzig
4. That the hills here are killer on a run. Im going to bulldoze the top of a hill
5. That Rwanda is beautiful and I am finally getting used to quiet nights, cooking food instead of microwaving it, doing laundry instead of just buying new clothes, watching the same movies again and again, eating avocados straight from the tree, talking to my parents by yelling at my computer, surprise holidays and lethargic weekends, dinner parties, dancing clubs, and early mornings.
1. Whether or not I will have running water (although its always important to check before using the toilet)
2. Whether or not I will have electricity
3. Where I am in a thunderstorm (if Im not already inside, its too late)
4. If the food I am eating is actually vegetarian or Rwanda "vegetarian" (as long as I cant see beef, goat, or chicken chunks, its veg)
5. Whether or not my clothes are clean or just "clean" (they dont smell, they are clean)
6. Whether I just said hello, goodbye, thank you, Im good, its cold, old man, or how are you in Kinyarwanda. Its all the same really
7. Whether the email I just sent actually sent or is sitting somewhere in the ether of the internet to rise again after the whole issue is resolved anyway
8. Whether I share my house with two people or two people, a mouse, and a chicken. More the merrier
9. Whether or not the kids yelling Muzungu are trying to be cute, funny, obnoxious, ask for money, or ask for marriage. They're kids after all. And easy to chase since they are scared of white people
10. Whether the magazine that I am reading was published within the last week. Obama won the democratic nomination? Britney lost custody of her kids? Michael Phelps is expected to win eight gold medals? I expect to find out who wins the presidential election sometime in April.
11. Whether that bean and cheese burrito is two days old or two weeks old. Seriously? Its a bean and cheese burrito. Im eating it!
Things I do still care about...
1. That I can find a place with bean and cheese burritos
2. That the mouse that I share my house with does not eat my avocados. There are rules
3. That there is a kiosk within a five minute walk that sells Mutzig
4. That the hills here are killer on a run. Im going to bulldoze the top of a hill
5. That Rwanda is beautiful and I am finally getting used to quiet nights, cooking food instead of microwaving it, doing laundry instead of just buying new clothes, watching the same movies again and again, eating avocados straight from the tree, talking to my parents by yelling at my computer, surprise holidays and lethargic weekends, dinner parties, dancing clubs, and early mornings.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Pictures from Gisenyi
Well after my brief diversion in the last post, I wanted to post some pictures of Gisenyi. The first round here is pictures of the way to Gisenyi from Kigali. It really was impossible to do the landscape justice, particularly while taking pictures out of the window of a packed out minibus rocketing down the side of a mountain. But I did try to at least get some...
The hash was all up and down and around Gisenyi and we had some really nice views of the lake and the DRC. I would say that the definite lowest point of the hash, both geographically and figuratively, was when we hiked through the "bathroom" of the local fisherman. Apparently, the field was clean when they set the path at 5 am but was definitely NOT at 4 pm. Oh well. All in a days adventure. And since the bathroom ended on the beach and we then immediately got smashed by waves from the lake (I did say it was a huge lake right? It had waves), I dont think too many of us really gave the bathroom much of a second thought. Besides we were pretty clean, or at least really wet, about two seconds after stepping onto the beach. After those two surprises though, we rebelled against the leader of the hash and decided to follow a slightly more reasonable path that took us on a road. Much nicer. And of course since we were a soaking wet group of muzungus and Ugandans, we collected a nice parade of followers. You can sort of see them stretching back down the road there.
But after the beach bathroom bit, we got to the business at hand of scaling an essentially vertical hill without a path. And a lot of children as observers. It really puts you in your place to be sweating and red-faced struggling up a hill, when a bunch of little kids run up and down the hill around. Shoeless and herding goats. Very inspiring. There were however some great views of Gisenyi and of the DRC in the distance.
The lake is surrounded by terraced hills. Apparently on a clear day you can see all the way across the lake to the volcanoes ringing the other side. We were not there on a clear day, so it just seemed to go on forever.
The peninsula of this picture is actually the DRC. That is how close we were. At one point, when we were trying to find the club at about 11pm after eating dinner and drinking on the beach, we ended up at the border. Not surprisingly, they did not let us through.
This is Gisenyi in the foreground and Goma in the DRC in the background. They are very close, but separated by culture, war, and a well protected fence. However, dont think that everyone in DRC is poor. These houses are just across the border in the DRC. It seems like they are probably doing pretty well...
Well, I wanted to put up some of the photos of the hash and the beach. And I put up some of the hash. Unfortunately the beach pictures involve my white white skin in a bathing suit. So, sorry, but no one is seeing those. I can assure you though, the beach is gorgeous. Here, I guess I can give you a little something to keep you going...
Until next time xoxo Little Linnea
The hash was all up and down and around Gisenyi and we had some really nice views of the lake and the DRC. I would say that the definite lowest point of the hash, both geographically and figuratively, was when we hiked through the "bathroom" of the local fisherman. Apparently, the field was clean when they set the path at 5 am but was definitely NOT at 4 pm. Oh well. All in a days adventure. And since the bathroom ended on the beach and we then immediately got smashed by waves from the lake (I did say it was a huge lake right? It had waves), I dont think too many of us really gave the bathroom much of a second thought. Besides we were pretty clean, or at least really wet, about two seconds after stepping onto the beach. After those two surprises though, we rebelled against the leader of the hash and decided to follow a slightly more reasonable path that took us on a road. Much nicer. And of course since we were a soaking wet group of muzungus and Ugandans, we collected a nice parade of followers. You can sort of see them stretching back down the road there.
But after the beach bathroom bit, we got to the business at hand of scaling an essentially vertical hill without a path. And a lot of children as observers. It really puts you in your place to be sweating and red-faced struggling up a hill, when a bunch of little kids run up and down the hill around. Shoeless and herding goats. Very inspiring. There were however some great views of Gisenyi and of the DRC in the distance.
The lake is surrounded by terraced hills. Apparently on a clear day you can see all the way across the lake to the volcanoes ringing the other side. We were not there on a clear day, so it just seemed to go on forever.
The peninsula of this picture is actually the DRC. That is how close we were. At one point, when we were trying to find the club at about 11pm after eating dinner and drinking on the beach, we ended up at the border. Not surprisingly, they did not let us through.
This is Gisenyi in the foreground and Goma in the DRC in the background. They are very close, but separated by culture, war, and a well protected fence. However, dont think that everyone in DRC is poor. These houses are just across the border in the DRC. It seems like they are probably doing pretty well...
Well, I wanted to put up some of the photos of the hash and the beach. And I put up some of the hash. Unfortunately the beach pictures involve my white white skin in a bathing suit. So, sorry, but no one is seeing those. I can assure you though, the beach is gorgeous. Here, I guess I can give you a little something to keep you going...
Until next time xoxo Little Linnea
Monday, September 29, 2008
Unfinished post
I know I left the last post unfinished and I do apologize. I will try to finish it but it will most likely be in stages. And unfortunately probably not tonight. I am just so frustrated about the partisan politics and failed economic policies that are destroying our country right now. I dont care what party you belong to right now. What matters is that consensus has to be reached. Inaction during a time of crisis is far worse than at least choosing something and moving forward. Perhaps in time, your choice will not turn out to be the best one, but how, HOW can inaction, which will surely end in a worse outcome be an option? And I know that there are those out there who truly believe that an economic bailout which will at least partially stabilize the economy is one step away from communism. But I have a question. What exactly is so terrible about socialism? Sweden, Norway, Finland. These countries faced a very similar situation only a little more than a decade ago. And they are now three of the wealthiest countries in the world, per capita. And yes, it is expensive to live there. But they have some of the best health care in the world, free higher education, some of the longest life expectancies in the world, and the smallest income gaps. So what exactly is so terrible about socialism. Im not saying go into blind. There needs to be a vast revamping of our political system. But how you can argue that improved equality, health, and opportunity as an outcome of socialism is not worth it? How?
Well i am sure that many of you have argued and debated and thought about this yourselves lately. So for adding more stress, i do apologize. However, even this far away, the economy matters. Tremendously. Political will and the willingness to collaborate, to compromise is essential. Without commitment to move forward and fix this problem, no matter what labels are put on the solution, everyone suffers.
Well i am sure that many of you have argued and debated and thought about this yourselves lately. So for adding more stress, i do apologize. However, even this far away, the economy matters. Tremendously. Political will and the willingness to collaborate, to compromise is essential. Without commitment to move forward and fix this problem, no matter what labels are put on the solution, everyone suffers.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Wait... this is my life?
I had one of those moments this weekend... the moment when I look around and am in awe that where I am and the moment I am in is my life. I think that one of the reasons that I like to travel so much is that I have those moments in much greater frequency than when I am home. Not that home doesnt have its own attractions of course, but I love the feeling of wonder when I realize that I am lucky enough to be living a pretty amazing life.
I was in one of those moments this weekend when I was on Lake Kivu in eastern Rwanda. Lake Kivu is the 6th largest lake in Africa. Although not on par with the great lakes, it is still huge, much too large to see across, much less swim across. It is a lake that was formed by volcanic eruptions and is surrounded by a volcanic range that separates Rwanda from the DRC and Uganda. So basically I was sitting on the white sand beaches surrounded by terraced hillsides, a volcanic range, and within walking distance of the border of the DRC, one of the most complicated and dangerous countries in the world. Within a mile of where I was sitting, there were refugee camps with people displaced from Rwanda and from within DRC, there was a tea plantation, and a five star resort. The juxtaposition of wealth and poverty, of indulgence and deprivation, within such a close environment, creates a sense of surrealism and a great appreciation of even the smallest luxuries.
Anyway, these moments are difficult to translate into words. So for the moment, I am going to abandon the attempt and instead just write about how I ended up there and the random events that took place throughout the weekend...
This past Monday, September 15, was an election day in Rwanda for parliament. Since the genocide, there have been only a few elections and with a very recent history of violence, a location in a somewhat unstable region, and the tendency towards political corruption inherent in ANY political system, elections were taken very seriously by the general populace. So on the election day, basically the entire country shut down and for those of us not able to vote, became a holiday. This weekend also happened to be the annual Gisenyi hash, wherein hashers from Kigali host an international hash event with Ugandans and Kenyans in Gisenyi at Lake Kivu. With such an auspicious event and a three day weekend, how could I not go? Thus, Saturday morning saw Little Linnea rising at 7 am to catch a crowded minibus full of Ugandan hashers to Gisenyi. Well it wasnt quite that easy of course. First, we had to pick up several other hashers at a gas station but then the mini bus which sat probably 26 or 27 people comfortably had at least 40 people and their baggage booked. Which meant that the organizers who had apparently not anticipated this even though they had a list of participants, had to go find a second minibus and arrange to have them drive us for the weekend. Which ended up taking about two hours. Two hours which we spent in the same gas station parking lot buying premade waffles and fried dough.
Finally after two hours and the addition of a mutatu with red velvet seats and an electric blue and pink strobe overhead light, we set off for the lakeside. But it took us a little longer than expected. The thing about hashing is that drinking beer is a pretty integral part of the whole experience. Now, in Kigali we usually save the drinking until after the hash. You know, so we can make it through the hills, precarious bridges, cliffs, banana jungles, what have you. But apparently in Uganda, they operate under an entirely different philosophy because that minibus was full of beer bottles and semi drunk party people about ten minutes past that gas station (actually there was a pretty healthy pile of beer bottles left in the parking lot of said station. Dont worry thats not quite as bad as it sounds. See we left the beer bottles with some kids. Again not as bad as it sounds because they sell the bottles back to the vendors and keep a couple coins in change). Point is, we were on a four hour bus ride with a bunch of people drinking a diuretic. We usually made it a half an hour between pee stops. Very slow going. However, the scenery between Kigali and Gisenyi is breathtaking and the frequent stops allowed for some great views. There is a reason why Rwanda is known as "the Land of a Thousand Hills". And that is because there are probably a thousand hills. Science. I have included some of the pictures I took below. Unfortunately most of the pictures were taken while inside the moving mini-bus and the day was pretty hazy. But the hills go on well past the ability of the camera to capture them. And the greens and blues are more vibrant than you could imagine. Climbing the hills in the mini-bus and looking down into the valleys was both terrifying and exhilerating.
In order to get to Gisenyi, we had to pass by the entrance to Volcanos National Park and the jumping off point for the Gorilla tours. Rwanda is home to the largest population of wild mountain gorillas left in the world. I forget if the entire population is 72 or the population of Rwanda is 72 but in either case, the numbers are staggeringly low. But it is possible to trek through the jungle and watch the gorillas in their habitat for a few hours. My friend Jeri did it and said that it was well worth the 500 dollars. So something else to add to the list...
Anyway, we passed Volcanos and finally, after about six hours for a three hour drive, we arrived in Gisenyi. The hash was scheduled to begin at 4 and we arrived at 3 so we quickly took lunch and dispersed to our various hotels, hostels, and guest houses. After a quick change, we reconvened on Bikini Tam Tam beach and started the hash. A little late but overall not too bad. Hashing is split into runners, the crazy ones who sprint up the hills and then fall/ slide/ run down, and walkers, who take pictures, enjoy the views, and maybe complain a little more about the weird obstable course that we are being taken on. In Gisenyi, par example,
I was in one of those moments this weekend when I was on Lake Kivu in eastern Rwanda. Lake Kivu is the 6th largest lake in Africa. Although not on par with the great lakes, it is still huge, much too large to see across, much less swim across. It is a lake that was formed by volcanic eruptions and is surrounded by a volcanic range that separates Rwanda from the DRC and Uganda. So basically I was sitting on the white sand beaches surrounded by terraced hillsides, a volcanic range, and within walking distance of the border of the DRC, one of the most complicated and dangerous countries in the world. Within a mile of where I was sitting, there were refugee camps with people displaced from Rwanda and from within DRC, there was a tea plantation, and a five star resort. The juxtaposition of wealth and poverty, of indulgence and deprivation, within such a close environment, creates a sense of surrealism and a great appreciation of even the smallest luxuries.
Anyway, these moments are difficult to translate into words. So for the moment, I am going to abandon the attempt and instead just write about how I ended up there and the random events that took place throughout the weekend...
This past Monday, September 15, was an election day in Rwanda for parliament. Since the genocide, there have been only a few elections and with a very recent history of violence, a location in a somewhat unstable region, and the tendency towards political corruption inherent in ANY political system, elections were taken very seriously by the general populace. So on the election day, basically the entire country shut down and for those of us not able to vote, became a holiday. This weekend also happened to be the annual Gisenyi hash, wherein hashers from Kigali host an international hash event with Ugandans and Kenyans in Gisenyi at Lake Kivu. With such an auspicious event and a three day weekend, how could I not go? Thus, Saturday morning saw Little Linnea rising at 7 am to catch a crowded minibus full of Ugandan hashers to Gisenyi. Well it wasnt quite that easy of course. First, we had to pick up several other hashers at a gas station but then the mini bus which sat probably 26 or 27 people comfortably had at least 40 people and their baggage booked. Which meant that the organizers who had apparently not anticipated this even though they had a list of participants, had to go find a second minibus and arrange to have them drive us for the weekend. Which ended up taking about two hours. Two hours which we spent in the same gas station parking lot buying premade waffles and fried dough.
Finally after two hours and the addition of a mutatu with red velvet seats and an electric blue and pink strobe overhead light, we set off for the lakeside. But it took us a little longer than expected. The thing about hashing is that drinking beer is a pretty integral part of the whole experience. Now, in Kigali we usually save the drinking until after the hash. You know, so we can make it through the hills, precarious bridges, cliffs, banana jungles, what have you. But apparently in Uganda, they operate under an entirely different philosophy because that minibus was full of beer bottles and semi drunk party people about ten minutes past that gas station (actually there was a pretty healthy pile of beer bottles left in the parking lot of said station. Dont worry thats not quite as bad as it sounds. See we left the beer bottles with some kids. Again not as bad as it sounds because they sell the bottles back to the vendors and keep a couple coins in change). Point is, we were on a four hour bus ride with a bunch of people drinking a diuretic. We usually made it a half an hour between pee stops. Very slow going. However, the scenery between Kigali and Gisenyi is breathtaking and the frequent stops allowed for some great views. There is a reason why Rwanda is known as "the Land of a Thousand Hills". And that is because there are probably a thousand hills. Science. I have included some of the pictures I took below. Unfortunately most of the pictures were taken while inside the moving mini-bus and the day was pretty hazy. But the hills go on well past the ability of the camera to capture them. And the greens and blues are more vibrant than you could imagine. Climbing the hills in the mini-bus and looking down into the valleys was both terrifying and exhilerating.
In order to get to Gisenyi, we had to pass by the entrance to Volcanos National Park and the jumping off point for the Gorilla tours. Rwanda is home to the largest population of wild mountain gorillas left in the world. I forget if the entire population is 72 or the population of Rwanda is 72 but in either case, the numbers are staggeringly low. But it is possible to trek through the jungle and watch the gorillas in their habitat for a few hours. My friend Jeri did it and said that it was well worth the 500 dollars. So something else to add to the list...
Anyway, we passed Volcanos and finally, after about six hours for a three hour drive, we arrived in Gisenyi. The hash was scheduled to begin at 4 and we arrived at 3 so we quickly took lunch and dispersed to our various hotels, hostels, and guest houses. After a quick change, we reconvened on Bikini Tam Tam beach and started the hash. A little late but overall not too bad. Hashing is split into runners, the crazy ones who sprint up the hills and then fall/ slide/ run down, and walkers, who take pictures, enjoy the views, and maybe complain a little more about the weird obstable course that we are being taken on. In Gisenyi, par example,
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Hiking around and my addiction to Nakumat
Last weekend I went hiking with Marta, who is one of my roommates and another Projet San Francisco intern, Jeri, who is doing a rotation for her PA degree through PSF, and Hector, one of our friends from here in Kigali. Hector wanted to show Mt. Kigali, one of the larger hills in Kigali, to Jeri soMarta and I invited ourselves along. We were in town for almost the whole hike, until the summit. Even near the summit of the hill, when we were stuggling up dirt paths and inhaling dust, there were still houses and corner stores and women carrying baskets of fruit or jugs of water on their heads. People here seem to have an amazing sense of balance and the ability to scale large hills without breaking a sweat. Neither Marta, Jeri, or I possess either of those skills as evidenced by our scratched hands and disgusting clothes. But all the dust and sweat was worth it because the view from the top of the hill is beautiful. As we ascended, almost all of Kigali was visible and seemed much larger than it does when I am in the middle of the city.
When we reached the top of the hill, it was a completely different view. Green hills, bright green river valleys, and other than the terracing on the hills, almost no evidence of people.
After resting for a few minutes and relishing being done, Hector informed us that in fact we were not done and that in fact we had not reached the summit. So even though we couldnt really see anywhere higher than where we were, we followed Hecotr down another dirt path and in a few minutes more of climbing (somehow this hill kept going up), we spilled into a pine forest that was at the top of the hill (I think it really was the top because everywhere else we went down).
It was surreal to be only a few minutes out of the city and surrounded by pines. And as soon as we left the pine forest, we wandered into a grove of eucalyptus trees and yellow flowering plants. Hector took the lead again after a few minutes of us taking pictures of every flowering plant and insect that we could get into our viewfinders and we started down a different path until we started going back up again. I think by this time we were on the other side of the hill and a little bit lost. No offense Hector!
Finally we came to meeting point of several trails and decided to go on the one that Hector thought led back to Kigali. Although we could have gone on the other one which he wasnt sure where it went, but was happy to lead us down.
On our way back, we ran into a couple relaxing in the shade, a man carrying a chair on his head, and a mother and a daughter hefting a giant basket of tubers.
Finally, we caught sight of Kigali again and started back down the hill.
After another fifteen or twenty minutes of walking, Hector suggested that we get something to eat and drink, which seemed like a wonderful idea so we ended up at the dubiously named "Piano Bar". Although they did serve alcohol, there was no evidence of any piano in the near vicinity. Originally, the waitress said that they had meat, fish, and chicken. Meat, fish, and chicken what wasnt really detailed so I passed. However, Marta and Hector asked for fish. After about ten minutes the waitress came back to say that there wasnt any fish or chicken, only meat. So ok, meat it is. Oh its meat on a stick. That took about thirty minutes to cook. In the meantime, a man brought in a couple of live chickens so I think that they took care of that particular shortage pretty quickly. After our fantas, meat kebabs, and a giant pile of fries and mayo (I had the fanta) we came back home. And ate. And slept. Pretty much for the rest of the day. All in all, despite being hot, dehydrated, and really dirty, it was a great day. The views were beautiful, the company was great, and the fanta was amazing.
Now about Nakumat. Nakumat is a store that opened the second week that I got here, so its been open about two weeks. And I have probably been there about six or seven times. That adds up to just about every other day. You see nakumat is a supermarket, a real honest to goodness supermarket. And even though their stock is different every time I am there and there is no guarantee that what I came for will be there, there is a guarantee that something wonderful will be there. Like whole wheat flour... or cheese... or BARBEQUE SAUCE. And although there are definitely aisles to avoid because the temptations and the prices are too great (the one housing barbeque sauce also has olive oil and olives and tomato sauce. All amazing foods that cost about 15 dollars each) there are other aisles that are full of wonderful products that are no temptation at all because the prices are ridiculous. So these aisles, full of blenders and toasters and microwaves are fun to just walk up and down. And when I get bored with them, there are cameras and shoes and toys to look at. Even a book stand! The book stand is pretty much exsclusively full of Harry Potter and guide books and each book costs about 30 dollars minimum, but its still amazing. I even found a vegetarian cookbook that I pawed through for recipe ideas before putting back down and stepping slowly away. Oh nakumat. Its a wonderful place. Full of magic and wonder. But I have made a solemn oath... I am cutting myself back to two times a week. Otherwise I am going to spend my whole paycheck on chocolate and three dollar heinekins!
When we reached the top of the hill, it was a completely different view. Green hills, bright green river valleys, and other than the terracing on the hills, almost no evidence of people.
After resting for a few minutes and relishing being done, Hector informed us that in fact we were not done and that in fact we had not reached the summit. So even though we couldnt really see anywhere higher than where we were, we followed Hecotr down another dirt path and in a few minutes more of climbing (somehow this hill kept going up), we spilled into a pine forest that was at the top of the hill (I think it really was the top because everywhere else we went down).
It was surreal to be only a few minutes out of the city and surrounded by pines. And as soon as we left the pine forest, we wandered into a grove of eucalyptus trees and yellow flowering plants. Hector took the lead again after a few minutes of us taking pictures of every flowering plant and insect that we could get into our viewfinders and we started down a different path until we started going back up again. I think by this time we were on the other side of the hill and a little bit lost. No offense Hector!
Finally we came to meeting point of several trails and decided to go on the one that Hector thought led back to Kigali. Although we could have gone on the other one which he wasnt sure where it went, but was happy to lead us down.
On our way back, we ran into a couple relaxing in the shade, a man carrying a chair on his head, and a mother and a daughter hefting a giant basket of tubers.
Finally, we caught sight of Kigali again and started back down the hill.
After another fifteen or twenty minutes of walking, Hector suggested that we get something to eat and drink, which seemed like a wonderful idea so we ended up at the dubiously named "Piano Bar". Although they did serve alcohol, there was no evidence of any piano in the near vicinity. Originally, the waitress said that they had meat, fish, and chicken. Meat, fish, and chicken what wasnt really detailed so I passed. However, Marta and Hector asked for fish. After about ten minutes the waitress came back to say that there wasnt any fish or chicken, only meat. So ok, meat it is. Oh its meat on a stick. That took about thirty minutes to cook. In the meantime, a man brought in a couple of live chickens so I think that they took care of that particular shortage pretty quickly. After our fantas, meat kebabs, and a giant pile of fries and mayo (I had the fanta) we came back home. And ate. And slept. Pretty much for the rest of the day. All in all, despite being hot, dehydrated, and really dirty, it was a great day. The views were beautiful, the company was great, and the fanta was amazing.
Now about Nakumat. Nakumat is a store that opened the second week that I got here, so its been open about two weeks. And I have probably been there about six or seven times. That adds up to just about every other day. You see nakumat is a supermarket, a real honest to goodness supermarket. And even though their stock is different every time I am there and there is no guarantee that what I came for will be there, there is a guarantee that something wonderful will be there. Like whole wheat flour... or cheese... or BARBEQUE SAUCE. And although there are definitely aisles to avoid because the temptations and the prices are too great (the one housing barbeque sauce also has olive oil and olives and tomato sauce. All amazing foods that cost about 15 dollars each) there are other aisles that are full of wonderful products that are no temptation at all because the prices are ridiculous. So these aisles, full of blenders and toasters and microwaves are fun to just walk up and down. And when I get bored with them, there are cameras and shoes and toys to look at. Even a book stand! The book stand is pretty much exsclusively full of Harry Potter and guide books and each book costs about 30 dollars minimum, but its still amazing. I even found a vegetarian cookbook that I pawed through for recipe ideas before putting back down and stepping slowly away. Oh nakumat. Its a wonderful place. Full of magic and wonder. But I have made a solemn oath... I am cutting myself back to two times a week. Otherwise I am going to spend my whole paycheck on chocolate and three dollar heinekins!
Friday, September 5, 2008
New house
On Monday, I moved houses. Not far, just a four or five minute walk. But I moved right next door to the project. I can see that maybe in a couple of months, that might be too close for comfort, but right now it is pretty great to roll out of bed, walk down the driveway, and walk up the next one. Kind of like college. Well ok, very little like college since Im in a house, with three other people, not a dorm with a couple hundred, I actually HAVE to get to work by 8 while biology was always a little bit optional, and well, Im in Rwanda, not Walla Walla. Details.
This morning I had a little extra time so I took some pictures of the CVCT building (thats couples voluntary counseling and testing), my new house, my yard and the driveways. OK I was a little bored, but I also wanted to demonstrate how awesomely close I am to work. Its the best commute ever!
The CVCT building is the yellow building that you cant really see. But the view is pretty nice. This is right across the dirt road from my house. I have pretty much this same view.
My new house. I like the porch a lot. In fact, I am sitting on it right now when I write this. Im a big porch fan.
My driveway is behind the whitesh gate. The driveway I take to my office is the one with the red gate.
Where we are going to have our garden in my yard.
Im not sure that we have an avocado tree like we did at the other house, but we got a lot of something.
I know the pictures arent the most artistic but at least there are a couple of snapshots of my life right now.
Today, as part of my rotations through each department and the project as a whole, I went on health visits with a community health worker. We had our transport paid by the project but it really isnt that much so we took mutatus, which are vans, about the size of minivans but they "fit" about 16 people. I love them. Sometimes the body odor is a little overwhelming but overall I just think that they are a lot of fun, at least for short distances. When you get in, you always have to go to the very back or at least the farthest empty seat, so that it fills up easily, never mind empties easily. And then once a row of seats is full, there is a small seat attached to the bench in front that folds down. So instead of having a row where people can exit, the row is blocked by folded chairs. Of course, when someone wants to get out, they can. Its just that everyone sitting in the aisle has to exit the mutatu and the person has to fold and lift the chairs to exit. And everyone else just sort of shifts around redistributing weight and getting really close until someone else comes in, takes the just emptied seat and then everyone sort of flows together like a liquid, taking up a constant amount of space. i love it because it just reminds me how people can make the most difficult things simple and the simplest things difficult. Buses in the US are much nicer, much less crowded, but somehow no one takes them, they are difficult to figure out, and inevitably take too long. Buses here are crowded, smashed, and simple. They pick you up wherever you are, no matter how crowded (to a point), and just take you where you need to go. So ok, no fancy buses here. So what. People just make it work. So there isnt always electricity or water. So what. Just make it work. Even though there is a lot less to work with, it just seems like there is still plenty. You just take what you have and you make it work. Thats what I love about it here.
This morning I had a little extra time so I took some pictures of the CVCT building (thats couples voluntary counseling and testing), my new house, my yard and the driveways. OK I was a little bored, but I also wanted to demonstrate how awesomely close I am to work. Its the best commute ever!
The CVCT building is the yellow building that you cant really see. But the view is pretty nice. This is right across the dirt road from my house. I have pretty much this same view.
My new house. I like the porch a lot. In fact, I am sitting on it right now when I write this. Im a big porch fan.
My driveway is behind the whitesh gate. The driveway I take to my office is the one with the red gate.
Where we are going to have our garden in my yard.
Im not sure that we have an avocado tree like we did at the other house, but we got a lot of something.I know the pictures arent the most artistic but at least there are a couple of snapshots of my life right now.
Today, as part of my rotations through each department and the project as a whole, I went on health visits with a community health worker. We had our transport paid by the project but it really isnt that much so we took mutatus, which are vans, about the size of minivans but they "fit" about 16 people. I love them. Sometimes the body odor is a little overwhelming but overall I just think that they are a lot of fun, at least for short distances. When you get in, you always have to go to the very back or at least the farthest empty seat, so that it fills up easily, never mind empties easily. And then once a row of seats is full, there is a small seat attached to the bench in front that folds down. So instead of having a row where people can exit, the row is blocked by folded chairs. Of course, when someone wants to get out, they can. Its just that everyone sitting in the aisle has to exit the mutatu and the person has to fold and lift the chairs to exit. And everyone else just sort of shifts around redistributing weight and getting really close until someone else comes in, takes the just emptied seat and then everyone sort of flows together like a liquid, taking up a constant amount of space. i love it because it just reminds me how people can make the most difficult things simple and the simplest things difficult. Buses in the US are much nicer, much less crowded, but somehow no one takes them, they are difficult to figure out, and inevitably take too long. Buses here are crowded, smashed, and simple. They pick you up wherever you are, no matter how crowded (to a point), and just take you where you need to go. So ok, no fancy buses here. So what. People just make it work. So there isnt always electricity or water. So what. Just make it work. Even though there is a lot less to work with, it just seems like there is still plenty. You just take what you have and you make it work. Thats what I love about it here.
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