Somebody Call the Wambulance

Well friends and family, it’s not all sunshine and butterflies. The inevitable “oh my god, I’m going to be here for a long time” slump has hit. My bouts of homesickness are undoubtedly intensified by the Chi Theta Chi issues that I mentioned in last week’s post, but they seem to be triggered by anything from a Rwandese stranger saying something about me that I can’t understand to the mention of ice cream or donuts or any number of delicious treats that I can’t have. I have decided that my moods here are a lot like the weather. When I woke up this morning, it was clear blue skies, hotter than hell, and literally sunshine and butterflies everywhere. Right now the thunderstorm outside sounds like a civil war battle and a monsoon are tearing the world apart. The cracking and snapping and deep rolling rumbling that you can feel in your bones is beautiful in an epic tragedy kind of way.

My friends, housemates and co-workers who understand exactly what I’m going through are the one thing that really helps. I can’t imagine doing Peace Corps here and being placed in the boonies completely alone. Navigating a foreign country with a massive language and cultural barrier is already enough to stress anyone out, but what I am really having trouble with, and can’t imagine facing without others to talk to about, is how much my perceptions of right and wrong, how the world works, what I want to do with my life and what I am capable of accomplishing in the world are in constant turmoil. Most of these questions I am nowhere near ready to answer and certainly not on a public blog, but I’m sure that I will start to make sense of them in time and will do my best to share those revelations. Through it all I am still aware that this is so good for me and probably exactly what I was looking for in coming here, but my brain is feeling a little overwhelmed.

In the meantime, I have made a small(ish), tangible list of some of the things that I am slowly getting used to. Good and bad. This is the blog where I start to bitch, it had to start somewhere, so here we go…

Things you probably don’t know about Rwanda:

• Rwanda is Expensive – While a lot of the fresh produce I am in love with is much cheaper than at home (3 unbelievable avocadoes for 25 cents) the majority of what we would consider everyday necessities are outrageously priced. Running water, especially hot water, is a luxury, and you pay for it when looking for accommodation here. Same thing with kitchen appliances. Refrigerators, stoves and ovens are not in the majority of Rwandan households, and to buy furniture, get ready to hire a carpenter. Plus, if you want things like olive oil, cheese, or candy, prepare to pay more than double what you would at home. While transportation via bus isn’t bad, paying for motos adds up fast, especially because the hills and lack of street signs make walking much less viable. Fortunately, my friend Alex gave me another moto lesson yesterday and hopefully I will be ready to get my own soon.

Me on Alex’s moto (Roxanne) – yesterday’s lesson was dirt roads, next is hills

• People don’t try to rip you off – On a more positive note, people don’t try to overcharge you here! Most of the time at least, and certainly not to the degree I experienced in Cape Town, where the difference in price was an insult to your intelligence. As I think I have already mentioned, it is also so much safer here. Of course thefts happen, but I can walk around at night here and through crowded areas without worrying that everyone I see will try to rob me.
• Everything here is an ordeal – Getting something done in anything close to what I would consider a normal timeframe is just straight-up impossible. I try to look at this as good for me. We are so wedded to our watches in the States that it holds us back from being in the present. That said, this gets a little ridiculous. Africa time is the main culprit. Many people, are simply an hour or two, or more, late for the meetings you have scheduled with them. Of course, you never know when this is going to happen, so it is impossible to plan around it. Not that their own negligence is always to blame, of course sometimes it is, but the sporadic power-outages and flash-floods don’t make it any easier. Then there is the language gap and the gap in skills. Rwanda is working so hard to be modern and the infrastructure and technological skills of the majority of people are understandably struggling to keep up. There are so many basics regarding computers and credit cards for example that are practically written into my genetics that it takes some serious patience and perspective to remind me that it is unfair to be frustrated with this bank-teller or that public official.
• Nothing here is comfortable – I can sleep anywhere. I am young and reasonably fit. If this shouldn’t be a problem for anyone it is me, but good lord what I would give for a mattress or a sofa cushion that doesn’t leave me in serious physical pain after an hour of sitting in it. I won’t even start on the limits to your personal space found in the always over-full buses.
• People hate dogs – This is one of so many examples of how the genocide is still a very real presence here. This is about to get graphic and I apologize, but this is a small example of the scars left of this society that I have thus far avoided including. You cannot get a real impression of this place unless you are willing to face what happened. When the killing finally stopped in 1994, there were bodies everywhere. The beautiful river that I cross to get to Bugesera from town is difficult to look at for Modeste and many many other Rwandans because it was once overflowing with the bodies of their family and friends. The dogs started to eat the bodies and had to be shot. As a result, people here really don’t like dogs. It is engrained in the culture now and those who are too young to have direct memories to negatively associate dogs with have been taught to fear them by everyone else.
•  The coldness – You can feel the lasting effects of the genocide in other ways here too. For a while it was difficult to put my finger on, because on the surface people are very friendly and curious, but there is an underlying coldness and suspicion here that is more felt than seen and it is unsettling. The entire foundation of trust in this society was obliterated 18 years ago and that takes a hell of a long time to rebuild. I see some of it in the stares. With children it is mostly cute and innocent, and many adults will return a smile if you acknowledge their gaze that way, but not always. There is an intensity to the way people look at you here that I can only imagine comes from some combination of bitterness and past pain. Remember that these are only my perceptions, I haven’t been here very long, and I can’t help but be biased by my own background. As an American there are also a lot of assumptions made about you, the way you live and think, and why you are here. These add to the already massive cultural barrier that I can comfortably say I vastly underestimated.
• You aren’t allowed to eat in public – Ok, this is my last complaint and then I will tell you some funny things. This is by far the most frustrating cultural taboo for me, mostly because I just don’t get it. If it were about others not having food and it being rude to eat in front of them, yeah I could totally get behind that. However, this rule is rooted in cultural norms of Rwanda’s regal past. Apparently, the royal family would never eat in front of people because it was considered uncivilized. From what I gather it is a status thing, but what I don’t get is why, if it is only about your own social status, they have to impose it on me. When I’m hungry and far from home and don’t want to pay to eat at a restaurant, I don’t care if people think I’m uncivilized, I just want to eat my freaking banana. Nevertheless, I am trying to conform because I am tired of people giving me dirty looks, wagging their fingers at me and scolding me in Kinyarwanda.

Wow this is a whiney blog entry. Here is some lighter stuff…

• The 90s are alive and well in Rwanda – Between the music and the second-hand clothes, you would think that you stepped into a time machine. It is no surprise to hear the backstreet boys bumpin on the streets of Nyamata and the mixed CDs in most of the bars take me back to pre-middle school memories. The real treat is the clothes though. I don’t know where to begin. The sweaters and jackets all sport the neon colors and MC Hammer puffiness we all remember so fondly. Meanwhile, these T-shirts are hilarious. Mind you, most people can’t read what their shirts say, so when a very very dark man is wearing a “Kiss me I’m Irish” shirt, or large-chested woman has on a top that says “Size does matter,” the irony is lost to the majority of people they encounter. People are also very fond of lamé. Pink and red seem to be the preferred colors, but regardless these shirts will catch your eye from two blocks away, in the dark.
• Men holding hands – Another very common sight here that might make you double-take the first couple times you see it. I have mixed feelings about this. I do like that men are able to show each other affection here. It is refreshing and healthy and we would do well to take a lesson from it at home. However, what I quickly realized is that the only reason it is so prevalent is because homosexuality is so unacceptable that it is beyond the realm of possibility or consideration.
• Livestock are everywhere – I came very close to being run over by a cow last week. It was dark and I was walking into Nyamata when I saw what I assumed were a man and a child walking toward me. It was only when the cow was barreling down on me that I realized it was not a child and they were both running. Other common roadside animals are goats and chickens. Both are very cute and amusing when they are roaming free and grazing, but they can be seen with equal frequency on the way to market, strapped onto the back or draped over the handlebars of bicycles, bleating and squawking for their lives. Wow, that was dark too somehow, sorry.
• The Children – These little balls of joy are my favorite part of walking around in Bugesera. First of all, they are always enthusiastic to see you, and while every interaction usually starts with the word Muzungu, the other things they say make up for it. In Kigali most children of talking age have learned the phrase “giva me money” (there is no Kinyarwandan word for please so don’t try to explain that), but in Bugesera I’ve never been solicited. Most of the smallest kids only know the basic phrases they have been taught in school. The result? Hoards of school children yelling “Gooda morning!” at you at all times of day and following up with phrases like “What time is it?” and “I am fine, thank you!” often shouted at the top of their voice as you are getting further away by this point. It never fails to make me laugh.

Ok, I hope that was sufficiently entertaining and made up for the long list of complaints. On the whole, I am doing very well and it wouldn’t be a worthwhile experience if I spent the whole time happy and comfortable. Thanks for reading. : )