November 7 – Rwanda is seeking the extradition from Britain of four Rwandans whom they allege masterminded the 1994 genocide. The four are accused of crimes against humanity and of planning the genocide. The suspects allegedly entered Britain, sought asylum and changed their names.
November 10 - A Catholic Rwandan nun was sentenced to 30 years in prison for orchestrating the murders of hundreds of people hiding in a hospital during Rwanda's 1994 genocide. Sister Theophister Mukakibibi was sentenced by a traditional Gacaca court for helping Hutu militiamen kill ethnic Tutsis seeking refuge from the slaughter in the hospital where she worked. Her role was to select Tutsis who hid in the hospital and turn them over to the killing squads.
November 23 - A French judge in Paris has accused Rwandan President Paul Kagame of ordering the April 6, 1994 downing of an airplane carrying former Rwandan President Juvenal Habyarimana. The French investigated the incident because the flight crew on the plane were French citizens whose surviving relatives demanded an official inquiry by their own government.
The judge posits that the elimination of Habyarimana was the only way for Kagame to seize power. Kagame was rebel leader of the RPF (Rwandan Patriotic Front) at the time. If you recall, Kagame’s RPF later toppled the Hutu extremists and seized power. Although the facts surrounding the assasination remain shrouded in mystery, many believe the act sparked the genocide that left hundreds of thousands of people – mostly Tutsi – dead or displaced. French judge, Jean-Louis Bruguiere requested international arrest warrants for nine senior officials close to Kagame including the Armed Forces and Army Chiefs of Staff in connection with the attack on the aircraft. Since French immunity laws prohibit warrants from being issued to sitting heads of state, Kagame cannot be arrested on this charge as long as he is president.
November 22 – An estimated 22,000 people participated in an organized protest in a show of support for President Paul Kagame. Kagame was recently accused by a French judge of ordering the 1994 destruction of an aircraft carrying former Rwandan President Habyarimana.
November 24 – Rwanda has offically severed diplomatic ties with France. The French ambassador leaves Rwanda today (Saturday) followed
by remaining embassy personnel on Monday. Earlier this year, France cancelled RwandaÂ’s debt (US $45 Million) but relations between the two countries remained strained because Rwanda always maintained that France did not do enough to help prevent the genocide.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Sunday, November 19, 2006
An African History Lesson
Things I Didn’t Know about Africa
The longer I stay here the more I realize just how much I did not know about Africa before I came here. For example, I didn’t know there were 52 countries on the continent and nearly as many languages. I confess that I believed African cultures were pretty much the same all over the continent – obviously this is not true. Here’s a list of every country on the continent. Until Ken and I started studying African geography I had never heard of more than half the countries on the list.
• Algeria
• Angola
• Benin
• Botswana
• Burkina Faso
• Burundi
• Cameroon
• Cape Verde
• Central African Republic
• Chad
• Congo
• Democratic Republic of Congo (Zaire)
• Djibouti
• Egypt
• Equatorial Guinea
• Eritrea
• Ethiopia
• Gabon
• Gambia
• Ghana
• Guinea Bissau
• Guinea
• Ivory Coast
• Kenya
• Lesotho
• Liberia
• Libya
• Madagascar
• Malawi
• Mali
• Mauritania
• Mauritius
• Morocco
• Mozambique
• Namibia
• Niger
• Nigeria
• Reunion
• Rwanda
• São Tomé and Principe
• Senegal
• Seychelles
• Sierra Leone
• Somalia
• South Africa
• Sudan
• Swaziland
• Tanzania
• Togo
• Tunisia
• Uganda
• Zambia
• Zanzibar
• Zimbabwe
Many of these countries have histories steeped in poverty, violence and political unrest. It is my intent to research as many of these countries as possible and report my findings here. I hope you’ll find it interesting and maybe even useful. Since I have already written extensively about Rwanda, I’ll start this project with our neighbor to the west, Democratic Republic of Congo or DRC. DRC has been in the news lately because of their recent presidential elections. However, to get a broader picture of DRC let’s start with a history lesson.
Democratic Republic of Congo – Early History
Europeans first explored DRC in 1870 and subsequently administered the country until the 1920s. King Leopold II of Belgium wanted the land that would later become the Congo as a colony. The country was formally acquired by Leopold at the Conference of Berlin in 1885. This area became his personal property and was renamed Congo Free State.
King Leopold headed a brutal regime whose sole intent was to exploit as much profit out of Congo as possible through the sale of rubber from the abundant rubber trees. Leopold made a fortune in rubber sales, erected and named several buildings after himself and was responsible for the deaths of scores of Africans as a result of rubber production. “During the period between 1885 and 1908, between five and fifteen (the commonly accepted figure is about ten) million Congolese died as a consequence of exploitation and diseases. A government commission later concluded that the population of the Congo had been "reduced by half" during this brutal period.To enforce the rubber quotas, the Force Publique (FP) was called in. The FP was an army, but its aim was not to defend the country, but to terrorise the local population. The Force Publique made the practice of cutting off the limbs of the natives as a means of enforcing rubber quotas a matter of policy; this practice was disturbingly widespread..” In 1908 the Belgian Parliament finally bowed to international pressure and took over the Free State from King Leopold, thus making it a Belgian colony colony called The Belgian Congo.
Belgian Administration during the 1960s
During the period of Belgian administration, life for the Congolese people became somewhat better as schools and hospitals emerged and offered the people limited access. Infrastructure included construction of a large railway. In addition to rubber, Congo was rich in uranium. Congo supplied the uranium the USA used to build atom bombs that would destroy Hiroshima and Nagasaki. By this time, Congolese life expectancy was 55; today it is 51.
Congo was emerging as a developing country rich in natural resources with an impressive infrastructure. However, the local people lacked political power since the country was ruled by Europeans in Beligum. As a result, the upper class among Congolese initiated a revolt to end the inequity. The Belgian Congo achieved independence on June 30, 1960 under the name Republic of Congo.
Joseph Mobutu became chief of staff of the new Congo army. Taking advantage of the existing leadership crisis, Mobutu garnered enough support within the army to create sentiment sufficient to inspire mutinous action. With financial support allegedly from the USA and Belgium, Mobutu made payments to his soldiers in order to generate their loyalty. The aversion of Western powers towards communism and leftist ideology in general influenced their decision to finance Mobutu's quest to maintain "order" in the new state by neutralizing existing leadership in a coup by proxy.
On January 17, 1961, Katangan forces, supported by the Belgian government's desire to retain rights to mine for copper and diamonds in Katanga and South Kasai and the US CIA’s desire to remove any leftist sympathizers in the region, assassinated leader Patrice Lumumba. Amidst widespread confusion and chaos, several governments led by technicians, took over in quick succession
Following five years of extreme instability and civil unrest, Joseph Mobutu, now Lieutenant General, overthrew Kasavubu in a 1965. He had the support of the US because of his staunch opposition to Communism, which would presumably make him a roadblock to Communist schemes in Africa. It is also argued that the Western support for Mobutu was also related to his allowing businesses to export the many natural resources of Zaire without worrying about environmental, labor, or other regulations that protect against corruption and abuse. A one-party system was established, and Mobutu declared himself head of state. He would occasionally hold elections in which he was the only candidate.
In an effort to spread African national awareness, Mobutu renamed the nation's cities (the country was now Democratic Republic of The Congo – Kinshasa). This city-renaming campaign was completed in the 1970s. In 1971, he renamed the country the Republic of Zaire, its fourth name change in 11 years and its sixth overall.
Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, U.S. relations with Kinshasa cooled, as Mobutu was no longer deemed a necessary Cold War ally, and his opponents within Zaire stepped up demands for reform. This atmosphere contributed to Mobutu's declaring the Third Republic in 1990, whose constitution was supposed to pave the way for democratic reform. The reforms turned out to be largely cosmetic, and Mobutu's rule continued until conflict forced him to flee Zaire in 1997.
Since 1994, Congo has been overrun with ethnic strife and civil war, due in large part to the huge influx of Rwandan refugees fleeing the genocide. The government of Mobutu was toppled by a rebellion led by Laurent Kabila in May 1997. He changed the country's name back to Democratic Republic of The Congo-Kinshasa. His former allies soon turned against him, however, and his regime was challenged by a Rwandan and Ugandan-backed rebellion in1998.
UN Peacekeepers to the DRC in 2005
A cease-fire was signed in July, 1999 yet fighting continued, financed by revenues from the illegal extraction of minerals including diamonds. Kabila was assassinated in 2001 and his son Joseph Kabila was named head of state. The new president quickly began overtures to end the war and an accord was signed in South Africa in 2002. By late 2003, a fragile peace prevailed as the transitional government was formed. Kabila appointed four vice presidents, two of whom had been fighting to oust him sincel July 2003. Much of the east of the country remains insecure, primarily due to the conflict and and the continued activity of the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda in the Kivue area.
This current period of conflict has been the bloodiest in history since World War II. Almost four million people have died as a result of the fighting. The United Nations is concerned that 1000 people a day are still dying as a result of the conflict and have described 2006 as a "make or break point" for the continuing humanitarian crisis.
Congo had its first multi-party elections since independence on July 30 of this year. Joseph Kabila took 45% of the votes and his main opponent Jean-Pierre Bemba 20%. That was the origin of a two-day fight between the two factions in the streets of the capital, Kinshasa. Sixteen people died before police and the UN, took control of the city.
A second round of elections between Kabila and Bemba, was held on October 29.. Rioters destroyed polling stations in Congo's east and electoral officials organized a re-vote over burned ballots in the north. As of this date (November 2006), local Congolese news agencies have declared Joseph Kabila the unofficial winner as a result of the runoff.
From CNN.com November 16, 2006: KINSHASA, Congo (AP) -- Incumbent President Joseph Kabila was declared the winner of Congo's tense runoff election, defeating his ex-rebel leader rival in the war-ravaged country's first multiparty contest in more than four decades.
I believe the level of violence in DRC will depend largely on how well Bemba’s supporters accept defeat and just as importantly, their willingness to support their democratically elected president.
The longer I stay here the more I realize just how much I did not know about Africa before I came here. For example, I didn’t know there were 52 countries on the continent and nearly as many languages. I confess that I believed African cultures were pretty much the same all over the continent – obviously this is not true. Here’s a list of every country on the continent. Until Ken and I started studying African geography I had never heard of more than half the countries on the list.
• Algeria
• Angola
• Benin
• Botswana
• Burkina Faso
• Burundi
• Cameroon
• Cape Verde
• Central African Republic
• Chad
• Congo
• Democratic Republic of Congo (Zaire)
• Djibouti
• Egypt
• Equatorial Guinea
• Eritrea
• Ethiopia
• Gabon
• Gambia
• Ghana
• Guinea Bissau
• Guinea
• Ivory Coast
• Kenya
• Lesotho
• Liberia
• Libya
• Madagascar
• Malawi
• Mali
• Mauritania
• Mauritius
• Morocco
• Mozambique
• Namibia
• Niger
• Nigeria
• Reunion
• Rwanda
• São Tomé and Principe
• Senegal
• Seychelles
• Sierra Leone
• Somalia
• South Africa
• Sudan
• Swaziland
• Tanzania
• Togo
• Tunisia
• Uganda
• Zambia
• Zanzibar
• Zimbabwe
Many of these countries have histories steeped in poverty, violence and political unrest. It is my intent to research as many of these countries as possible and report my findings here. I hope you’ll find it interesting and maybe even useful. Since I have already written extensively about Rwanda, I’ll start this project with our neighbor to the west, Democratic Republic of Congo or DRC. DRC has been in the news lately because of their recent presidential elections. However, to get a broader picture of DRC let’s start with a history lesson.
Democratic Republic of Congo – Early History
Europeans first explored DRC in 1870 and subsequently administered the country until the 1920s. King Leopold II of Belgium wanted the land that would later become the Congo as a colony. The country was formally acquired by Leopold at the Conference of Berlin in 1885. This area became his personal property and was renamed Congo Free State.
King Leopold headed a brutal regime whose sole intent was to exploit as much profit out of Congo as possible through the sale of rubber from the abundant rubber trees. Leopold made a fortune in rubber sales, erected and named several buildings after himself and was responsible for the deaths of scores of Africans as a result of rubber production. “During the period between 1885 and 1908, between five and fifteen (the commonly accepted figure is about ten) million Congolese died as a consequence of exploitation and diseases. A government commission later concluded that the population of the Congo had been "reduced by half" during this brutal period.To enforce the rubber quotas, the Force Publique (FP) was called in. The FP was an army, but its aim was not to defend the country, but to terrorise the local population. The Force Publique made the practice of cutting off the limbs of the natives as a means of enforcing rubber quotas a matter of policy; this practice was disturbingly widespread..” In 1908 the Belgian Parliament finally bowed to international pressure and took over the Free State from King Leopold, thus making it a Belgian colony colony called The Belgian Congo.
Belgian Administration during the 1960s
During the period of Belgian administration, life for the Congolese people became somewhat better as schools and hospitals emerged and offered the people limited access. Infrastructure included construction of a large railway. In addition to rubber, Congo was rich in uranium. Congo supplied the uranium the USA used to build atom bombs that would destroy Hiroshima and Nagasaki. By this time, Congolese life expectancy was 55; today it is 51.
Congo was emerging as a developing country rich in natural resources with an impressive infrastructure. However, the local people lacked political power since the country was ruled by Europeans in Beligum. As a result, the upper class among Congolese initiated a revolt to end the inequity. The Belgian Congo achieved independence on June 30, 1960 under the name Republic of Congo.
Joseph Mobutu became chief of staff of the new Congo army. Taking advantage of the existing leadership crisis, Mobutu garnered enough support within the army to create sentiment sufficient to inspire mutinous action. With financial support allegedly from the USA and Belgium, Mobutu made payments to his soldiers in order to generate their loyalty. The aversion of Western powers towards communism and leftist ideology in general influenced their decision to finance Mobutu's quest to maintain "order" in the new state by neutralizing existing leadership in a coup by proxy.
On January 17, 1961, Katangan forces, supported by the Belgian government's desire to retain rights to mine for copper and diamonds in Katanga and South Kasai and the US CIA’s desire to remove any leftist sympathizers in the region, assassinated leader Patrice Lumumba. Amidst widespread confusion and chaos, several governments led by technicians, took over in quick succession
Following five years of extreme instability and civil unrest, Joseph Mobutu, now Lieutenant General, overthrew Kasavubu in a 1965. He had the support of the US because of his staunch opposition to Communism, which would presumably make him a roadblock to Communist schemes in Africa. It is also argued that the Western support for Mobutu was also related to his allowing businesses to export the many natural resources of Zaire without worrying about environmental, labor, or other regulations that protect against corruption and abuse. A one-party system was established, and Mobutu declared himself head of state. He would occasionally hold elections in which he was the only candidate.
In an effort to spread African national awareness, Mobutu renamed the nation's cities (the country was now Democratic Republic of The Congo – Kinshasa). This city-renaming campaign was completed in the 1970s. In 1971, he renamed the country the Republic of Zaire, its fourth name change in 11 years and its sixth overall.
Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, U.S. relations with Kinshasa cooled, as Mobutu was no longer deemed a necessary Cold War ally, and his opponents within Zaire stepped up demands for reform. This atmosphere contributed to Mobutu's declaring the Third Republic in 1990, whose constitution was supposed to pave the way for democratic reform. The reforms turned out to be largely cosmetic, and Mobutu's rule continued until conflict forced him to flee Zaire in 1997.
Since 1994, Congo has been overrun with ethnic strife and civil war, due in large part to the huge influx of Rwandan refugees fleeing the genocide. The government of Mobutu was toppled by a rebellion led by Laurent Kabila in May 1997. He changed the country's name back to Democratic Republic of The Congo-Kinshasa. His former allies soon turned against him, however, and his regime was challenged by a Rwandan and Ugandan-backed rebellion in1998.
UN Peacekeepers to the DRC in 2005
A cease-fire was signed in July, 1999 yet fighting continued, financed by revenues from the illegal extraction of minerals including diamonds. Kabila was assassinated in 2001 and his son Joseph Kabila was named head of state. The new president quickly began overtures to end the war and an accord was signed in South Africa in 2002. By late 2003, a fragile peace prevailed as the transitional government was formed. Kabila appointed four vice presidents, two of whom had been fighting to oust him sincel July 2003. Much of the east of the country remains insecure, primarily due to the conflict and and the continued activity of the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda in the Kivue area.
This current period of conflict has been the bloodiest in history since World War II. Almost four million people have died as a result of the fighting. The United Nations is concerned that 1000 people a day are still dying as a result of the conflict and have described 2006 as a "make or break point" for the continuing humanitarian crisis.
Congo had its first multi-party elections since independence on July 30 of this year. Joseph Kabila took 45% of the votes and his main opponent Jean-Pierre Bemba 20%. That was the origin of a two-day fight between the two factions in the streets of the capital, Kinshasa. Sixteen people died before police and the UN, took control of the city.
A second round of elections between Kabila and Bemba, was held on October 29.. Rioters destroyed polling stations in Congo's east and electoral officials organized a re-vote over burned ballots in the north. As of this date (November 2006), local Congolese news agencies have declared Joseph Kabila the unofficial winner as a result of the runoff.
From CNN.com November 16, 2006: KINSHASA, Congo (AP) -- Incumbent President Joseph Kabila was declared the winner of Congo's tense runoff election, defeating his ex-rebel leader rival in the war-ravaged country's first multiparty contest in more than four decades.
I believe the level of violence in DRC will depend largely on how well Bemba’s supporters accept defeat and just as importantly, their willingness to support their democratically elected president.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Yes, I'm Still In Africa
I need to begin by apologizing for going so long without a posting. I started working last month, the Internet cafe I used to write from changed their system and I could no longer access my documents. Good news though, we have an Internet connection at the house now!
November 11, 2006
Puppy Update
The puppies are now nearly four months old, have had immunizations and recovered from a bout with worms. I’m guessing this is normal behavior but they will chew anything they can get their mouths on – plants, cardboard boxes, trash bags, you name it, they chew it. We had a nice looking flower bed along the side of the house. Notice, I said HAD not HAVE. Yes, the dogs got to that and it is now a box of dirt that they seem to delight in spreading all over the terrace. The gardener (yes, the same one) sweeps the dirt into the box one day and the next it’s spread out across the terrace again. One day when they were feeling especially bored I guess, they got a hold of the washing machine cord and chewed a good sized chunk in it. It would be too easy for this to have happened when the machine was sitting idle – nooooo – I was washing. Long story short, Ken fixed the cord and the washer now lives in the kitchen out of harm’s way. They spend most of their time in the yard, so there have been no adventures in house breaking. I have taken them out for a walk a few times and the local kids (the ones who are not petrified) like to yell and lunge at them. This of course, gets the dogs excited so they bark and strain at the leash. I learned to simply change directions when I see a group of children coming.
In the Classroom
I started working at a new Christian school here in Kigali. The name is Kigali International Community School and goes from pre-school thru high school. At this point, I have four students and expect a total of six in January. My students include one Indian, one South African, one Chinese-Filipino and one little boy from Alabama. I expect a local Rwandan boy and a Ugandan boy who was adopted by Americans when we return to class after winter break.
The school was started on a wing and a prayer by a group of expatriate parents who wanted an alternative to the local schools here in town. Public schools run by the government are in dire straits to say the least. I am constantly reading newspaper articles or watching local documentaries about the state of education not just in Rwanda, but all over the continent. Many of the teachers are not qualified to teach and/or don’t really want to teach. Students come and go to class as they please. Probably one of the most disturbing articles I’ve read recently was about adolescent girls who miss anywhere from three days to a full week of school each month because their families cannot afford feminine hygiene products when they have their monthly cycle so they stay at home. The article went on to say that the government feels it does enough for poor students by providing food for them at school and they will not provide these products. An official was quoted as saying that if poor parents would spend money on their daughters instead of “sitting in bars getting drunk” the problem would go away. Sadly, that is typical of the attitude here – blame the victim for the problem.
Rainy Season
This is the first week of November and although it was officially late, the rainy season has started. I’m told that it normally begins the last of September. Of course, it just would not be Rwanda if the rain did not come with some household calamities for us.
Our lovely house has a leaky roof, so when it rains Mother Nature joins us in the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and other little nooks and crannies. As usual, we called the landlord so he could send out the infamous “technician” to fix the problem. First of all, it took a couple of weeks for the guy to show up and when he did, his arsenal of tools was a plastic bottle of what looked like glue. If you recall, this is the guy who speaks no English so we communicate solely with body language, facial expressions and yes, sometimes primal grunts and groans. Anyway, he shows up at the house, I let him in and he points to the ceiling. Well, I know what he’s talking about but DUH, it isn’t raining. I can’t tell him how to fix the problem. I call the owner’s representative and they have a conversation in their language and the guy goes away. A few weeks go by and he returns with a ladder, spends some time walking around on the roof and POOF – he’s gone again. This time he left his ladders in the yard and I assumed he considered himself finished. There was no rain for several weeks after that. Well, the first day of the heavy rain I had a pail in the bathroom (not for mopping) and a Dutch oven in the bedroom (not for cooking).
The landlord came by the house a couple of weeks ago and I told him how useless the workers are he has been sending to fix problems. I don’t know what happened but he has now hired a whole new group of workers. Experience has taught me not to believe these guys will be any better than the last ones. I came in from school one day and there was a guy in the yard digging a hole. While this may seem a normal occurrence to some, it caused me a moment’s hesitation. I asked the guard what this person was doing and was told “He’s fixing the roof problem.” Well silly me OF COURSE he’s fixing the roof by digging a hole at the top of the driveway! Kinda like driving from Chicago to Wisconsin but stopping in Detroit along the way. Anyway, he walked around on the roof for about an hour and despite my burning curiosity I did not go out to see what he was doing. In typical Rwandan fashion, he just disappeared after awhile. I guess that meant he was finished. Maybe I’ll just start sleeping in my raincoat.
We Have a Supermarket!
Living in Rwanda has truly simplified my needs. I’d like to have a hot shower now and then; green vegetables to eat, reliable electricity/water and repair people who do at least half of what I want them to do most of the time. But as you know, that is nowhere near the case. On the subject of having a few of the things I would like, they have opened a real supermarket in town. It is another one of those things where relativity is the key. For Rwanda, it’s a good store. If it were in the U.S., it would be just an okay neighborhood market. The market has been open now for a couple of months and already they are showing their “African-ness” by running out of stock and simply not replacing things. When they first opened they had quite a few imported items but I started to notice from week to week that the import shelves were emptying and not being restocked. It’s a shame but it figures.
Vacation Plans
I think the last time I posted, I wrote that we were planning our winter vacation to Greece. We changed the plan. Instead, we are going to Mossel Bay in South Africa. It's located on the very far south coast of South Africa between Port Elizabeth and Cape Town. We will spend a week there, leaving December 15 and I'm really looking forward to the trip. Of course, I'll tell you all about it and post pictures.
Keep those email messages coming, I love them!
November 11, 2006
Puppy Update
The puppies are now nearly four months old, have had immunizations and recovered from a bout with worms. I’m guessing this is normal behavior but they will chew anything they can get their mouths on – plants, cardboard boxes, trash bags, you name it, they chew it. We had a nice looking flower bed along the side of the house. Notice, I said HAD not HAVE. Yes, the dogs got to that and it is now a box of dirt that they seem to delight in spreading all over the terrace. The gardener (yes, the same one) sweeps the dirt into the box one day and the next it’s spread out across the terrace again. One day when they were feeling especially bored I guess, they got a hold of the washing machine cord and chewed a good sized chunk in it. It would be too easy for this to have happened when the machine was sitting idle – nooooo – I was washing. Long story short, Ken fixed the cord and the washer now lives in the kitchen out of harm’s way. They spend most of their time in the yard, so there have been no adventures in house breaking. I have taken them out for a walk a few times and the local kids (the ones who are not petrified) like to yell and lunge at them. This of course, gets the dogs excited so they bark and strain at the leash. I learned to simply change directions when I see a group of children coming.
In the Classroom
I started working at a new Christian school here in Kigali. The name is Kigali International Community School and goes from pre-school thru high school. At this point, I have four students and expect a total of six in January. My students include one Indian, one South African, one Chinese-Filipino and one little boy from Alabama. I expect a local Rwandan boy and a Ugandan boy who was adopted by Americans when we return to class after winter break.
The school was started on a wing and a prayer by a group of expatriate parents who wanted an alternative to the local schools here in town. Public schools run by the government are in dire straits to say the least. I am constantly reading newspaper articles or watching local documentaries about the state of education not just in Rwanda, but all over the continent. Many of the teachers are not qualified to teach and/or don’t really want to teach. Students come and go to class as they please. Probably one of the most disturbing articles I’ve read recently was about adolescent girls who miss anywhere from three days to a full week of school each month because their families cannot afford feminine hygiene products when they have their monthly cycle so they stay at home. The article went on to say that the government feels it does enough for poor students by providing food for them at school and they will not provide these products. An official was quoted as saying that if poor parents would spend money on their daughters instead of “sitting in bars getting drunk” the problem would go away. Sadly, that is typical of the attitude here – blame the victim for the problem.
Rainy Season
This is the first week of November and although it was officially late, the rainy season has started. I’m told that it normally begins the last of September. Of course, it just would not be Rwanda if the rain did not come with some household calamities for us.
Our lovely house has a leaky roof, so when it rains Mother Nature joins us in the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and other little nooks and crannies. As usual, we called the landlord so he could send out the infamous “technician” to fix the problem. First of all, it took a couple of weeks for the guy to show up and when he did, his arsenal of tools was a plastic bottle of what looked like glue. If you recall, this is the guy who speaks no English so we communicate solely with body language, facial expressions and yes, sometimes primal grunts and groans. Anyway, he shows up at the house, I let him in and he points to the ceiling. Well, I know what he’s talking about but DUH, it isn’t raining. I can’t tell him how to fix the problem. I call the owner’s representative and they have a conversation in their language and the guy goes away. A few weeks go by and he returns with a ladder, spends some time walking around on the roof and POOF – he’s gone again. This time he left his ladders in the yard and I assumed he considered himself finished. There was no rain for several weeks after that. Well, the first day of the heavy rain I had a pail in the bathroom (not for mopping) and a Dutch oven in the bedroom (not for cooking).
The landlord came by the house a couple of weeks ago and I told him how useless the workers are he has been sending to fix problems. I don’t know what happened but he has now hired a whole new group of workers. Experience has taught me not to believe these guys will be any better than the last ones. I came in from school one day and there was a guy in the yard digging a hole. While this may seem a normal occurrence to some, it caused me a moment’s hesitation. I asked the guard what this person was doing and was told “He’s fixing the roof problem.” Well silly me OF COURSE he’s fixing the roof by digging a hole at the top of the driveway! Kinda like driving from Chicago to Wisconsin but stopping in Detroit along the way. Anyway, he walked around on the roof for about an hour and despite my burning curiosity I did not go out to see what he was doing. In typical Rwandan fashion, he just disappeared after awhile. I guess that meant he was finished. Maybe I’ll just start sleeping in my raincoat.
We Have a Supermarket!
Living in Rwanda has truly simplified my needs. I’d like to have a hot shower now and then; green vegetables to eat, reliable electricity/water and repair people who do at least half of what I want them to do most of the time. But as you know, that is nowhere near the case. On the subject of having a few of the things I would like, they have opened a real supermarket in town. It is another one of those things where relativity is the key. For Rwanda, it’s a good store. If it were in the U.S., it would be just an okay neighborhood market. The market has been open now for a couple of months and already they are showing their “African-ness” by running out of stock and simply not replacing things. When they first opened they had quite a few imported items but I started to notice from week to week that the import shelves were emptying and not being restocked. It’s a shame but it figures.
Vacation Plans
I think the last time I posted, I wrote that we were planning our winter vacation to Greece. We changed the plan. Instead, we are going to Mossel Bay in South Africa. It's located on the very far south coast of South Africa between Port Elizabeth and Cape Town. We will spend a week there, leaving December 15 and I'm really looking forward to the trip. Of course, I'll tell you all about it and post pictures.
Keep those email messages coming, I love them!
Saturday, September 02, 2006
I Am Back!
September 2, 2006
Plumbing Rwandan Style
Some time ago, I wrote about the problems we have with plumbing in the house. Like so many things, it is a never-ending saga. The “plumbers” have been out at least four times to fix the same issue with the toilet. The toilet leaks from the tank into the bowl and if it runs long enough the storage tank outside empties and we are left with no water in the house when the city water is off (which is frequently days at a time but at the very least some hours each day). We call the owner. He sends the technicians. They piddle around in the bathroom then proclaim the problem fixed. The toilet runs. Recall the story of the flood in the bathroom. Anyway, they came to the house once again on a mission to piss me off because they have proven that they absolutely cannot do plumbing.
This time the owner has instructed them to install a new toilet and maybe the problem with leaking will go away. Makes sense, right? This is one of those moments where the reader asks himself – okay what went wrong. Here’s what happened. I was sitting in the living room when they arrived. Our living room has large picture windows that cover most of two walls so I can sit on the sofa and see visitors walk or drive down the driveway once they are inside the gate. The supervising plumber walks in first carrying a medium sized cardboard box. He’s followed by the worker plumber who comes walking down the driveway with the toilet seat balanced on his head and held in place only by his fingertips. I would have laughed had I not already been annoyed with these guys.
I know from previous experiences with these guys that the best strategy is to let them work and stay out of the way until they say they are finished; check to see if the thing works and then send them on their way. They come into the house and I walk them down the hall to the back bathroom, they set the toilet on the floor and I return to the front of the house. So, I’m in the front doing whatever I was doing at the time and these guys are in the bathroom banging and clanging like nobody’s business. In the meantime, Ken sends me a text message that our household goods have arrived and he’s on the way home with them. The plumbers are still here when the guys arrive with our shipment so now I’ve got quite a bit of commotion going on. I was walking down the hall to show the guys where to put the boxes and happened to turn and look into the bathroom. I was astounded to see a hole in the floor where the one good toilet used to sit. Yes, that’s right Two Stooges Plumbing strikes again – they’ve removed the wrong toilet. I could feel a meltdown coming on. We had suffered thru food poisoning, I’d learned to live with the horrible curtains; we fired a guard who stole from the house; the gardener and I were finally on the same page but this was surely the last straw. How on earth could they have made such an error when they’d been out to work on the leak so many times? Was I being punished for some crime I’d unknowingly committed in my distant past? That day I really and truly wanted to go home.
I called the owner’s representative and explained that dumb and dumber had struck again, he spoke to them in their language and I don’t know what was said but the guy looked quite distressed. Two more hours of banging, sighing and what I’m sure was cursing and the good toilet was back in place. I was in the dining room when from the corner of my eye, I saw the plumber slipping out the front door. Not a good sign. I caught him outside the door and asked if he had finished and he said he would come back tomorrow. I’ve come to know their work ethic so I had him wait while I went to check what he had done. Sure enough, the toilet was not working. Now we had two broken. I made him understand that he could not leave before at least one of the toilets worked. Another hour of banging and sighing and the original toilet that should never have been removed was working again.
They were to return the next day and begin the job they were supposed to accomplish in the first place. Anyhow, to make a long story short, they did return the next day. They replaced a part in the first toilet, took away the new one that was never installed and now the one that originally worked fine leaks. We just have to decide when it’s worth the aggravation to have them come again. The owner doesn’t get it. These guys clearly don’t know what they are doing when it comes to even the most minor home repair and we can’t exactly go to the yellow pages and call a plumber. We decide as we go along which battles are worth fighting.
Puppy Update
We have new members of our household! Actually, there are two. I mentioned in the last edition that we were looking for pups and our disappointment when the German shepherd we thought we would get went to another family. Incidentally, that family changed their minds about the puppy and it died shortly thereafter. My friend Jessica sent me a few weeks ago that the owners of a local restaurant had a litter of pups they wanted to give away. Of course I was beside myself with excitement and called Ken. Three hours later we were on the way home with two pups – male, brown, Labrador retriever mixed. They were born on June third and their names are Sampson and Mongo. They are the cutest little things and we’re very happy to have them.
It probably will not surprise you that dog food is not sold in Rwanda. Rwandans don’t have dogs and many are very afraid of them. In the absence of commercial dog food, I prepare their food – rice and beef with raw carrots, cucumber, zucchini and beef bones. They seem to be healthy and thriving. Fortunately, there are vets in town and at least we were able to get them the shots they need for the first year. We have a friend in Birmingham who is sending us some pet supplies – thanks Kodi! Hopefully once the shipment arrives Sampson and Mongo will chew on something other than their rug, outdoor plants and our lawn chairs.
Genocide Memorial Museum
I went with some friends to visit the Genocide Memorial Center here in Kigali this past week. The center was opened to mark the tenth anniversary of the 1994 genocide. It is the mass burial site for 250,000 of the victims in Kigali. This is the final resting place and memorial to all who were murdered. Family members and loved ones come to remember while other visitors come to learn. There are three permanent exhibits on display. One documents the 1994 genocide in this the capitol city, the second is a children’s memorial and the third documents incidences of genocidal violence around the world. The grounds are hauntingly and peacefully beautiful. The architecture rivals that of any such building in the States and the exhibits have obviously been prepared and presented by professionals.
The visit started with a guided tour of the outdoor grounds by a young Rwandan man. Our first stop was a wall with the names of individuals and families interred at the center. It looks like a smaller version of the Viet Nam memorial. We walked past a covered garden to an open crypt where we could see a coffin covered with white lace and a simple wooden cross. Our guide told us that one coffin can hold the remains of up to 200 people. One of the first displays inside the building talks about colonial times in Rwanda. The Germans first arrived in Rwanda in 1895 and the country was occupied by Belgian troops during World War I. The League of Nations was granted a 1923 mandate to govern Rwanda that turned into colonial occupation that lasted until the country gained independence in 1962. The Rwandans tried unsuccessfully to resist colonialism by fighting the Germans in 1875 but of course colonial powers were greater.
According to the exhibit, the primary identity of all Rwandans was originally associated with 18 different clans. The categories Hutu, Tutsi and Twa were socio-economic classifications within those clans and could change with the individual circumstances of a person’s life (i.e., a person’s economic status could change from Hutu to Tutsi due to individual effort). Under colonial rule those same distinctions were made racial, particularly with the introduction of the national identity card in 1932 which identified the bearer as Hutu, Tutsi or Twa. Colonialists made it a rule that anyone with at least ten cows was a Tutsi and those with less than ten were Hutu. This distinction applied to that person’s descendants as well. Based upon this incorrect classification by Belgian authorities, Rwandan society was broken down as follows: 15% Tutsi; 84% Hutu and 1% Twa. These imposed identities set the stage for a society that was bound to self-destruct. As was the case in so many examples, Rwandans had lived peacefully for generations before colonialism. If you would like to learn more about the Genocide, I recommend “We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families” by Philip Gourevitch.
Visiting the memorial had a profound emotional impact one me. I can vaguely remember watching news reports about the Genocide when I was in the states 12 years ago. However, I have to admit that any thought I gave it was fleeting at best. When I knew we were coming to Rwanda, I read everything I could find to try to educate myself about the history of this country. Even after the reading and research, the deaths were still numbers instead of individual people to me. I guess what I am saying is that it did not really touch my heart until I walked the halls of this museum. They had video clips of survivors telling their stories, pictures of mutilated bodies, copies of faxes that were sent to President Bill Clinton about what was happening and imploring him for help and vivid testimony to man’s inhumanity to man. I read each panel and watched each film with quiet sobriety and felt a deep sadness. As I returned to the spot where our visit began our guide was there and asked me if I had seen the upstairs exhibits. I said no and proceeded to the second floor. I entered a gallery where the walls were covered with photographs of babies and small children who had been murdered. I was literally frozen in my tracks struggling for breath for what seemed an eternity but in reality could not have been more than a few seconds. On shaky legs I approached the exhibit and realized there were descriptions of how these babies had died. I wanted to look into each of their little faces and I couldn’t. I closed my eyes and imagined their voices laughing and playing as children do. I couldn’t do it; all I could hear was their cries and I had to leave the building for air. I wanted to understand but something inside would not let me. I was afraid that if I understood I would find mitigation on the part of the perpetrators and lose some of my own humanity in the process. I needed it to not make sense. Maybe if it made sense then I would have some type of connection to the people who did this since we’re all human beings and I needed there to be a huge chasm between them and me. I guess there’s a part of me that never wants to understand how a human being can pick up a machete, look into the eyes of a two-year-old and slaughter him like an animal. I don’t get it and I’m okay with that.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
I Can Do This...Really I Can
Puppy Love
(July 27, 2006)
The search for an addition to our household continues as we track down puppy leads. I have a friend who has German Shepherds and the female recently had a litter. Of course, I was pretty excited when she told me. I went to the house to see the dog and took pictures. I even named her on the way home…Sasha. Ken and I talked about it and agreed we would take the pup to the local vet (yes, amazingly they have an American veterinarian here) and if he pronounced the dog healthy we would take it. Well, these folks were selling the pups and long story short, someone else paid cash the morning we decided we would buy the dog. Yesterday another friend called and said she was looking at a rain-soaked flyer outside the grocery store advertising two-month old Belgium Shepherds. We called and the person did not speak English but could communicate well enough to let us know they knew nothing about any dogs. It was another dead end.
Deliveries from Home
Well, hope springs eternal and I know our dog is out there somewhere. Similarly, our household shipment is somewhere between Birmingham and Kigali. It left Birmingham on May 12 and still we wait. The estimated arrival here in Kigali is August 18. I believe the approximate route was Birmingham, AL to a port in South Carolina then it goes on a boat, clears customs in Kampala and then is delivered by ground to Kigali City. I’m sure there are more stops in between but I don’t know what they are. Delivery time via slow boat is just about three months for parcels and probably a couple of weeks for a letter. We receive mail and parcels through the company so we are not using the local postal service (Iposita). I understand from a friend who has a local post office box that letters can take anywhere from six days (unusually fast) to six weeks from the States. Packages can take several months. It costs about $1 US to mail a letter to the States. Still the safest way to get anything to us is through the company office in Birmingham.
A New Normal
I’m finding that the best way for me to cope is to find a new definition of normal here. What does this mean? Unfortunately, it means a lowering of expectations when it comes to day-to-day living. We know that the norm is we will lose electricity every Friday evening beginning around 6:30 and it goes until around 8:00. How do I cope? If we have a dinner date on a Friday after work, I just put the flashlight in my purse before we leave so we don’t have to enter a dark house when we return a couple hours later. The electricity went out last night while we were playing Scrabble; I lit a candle and we kept right on playing.
We do not have Internet access at the house so I still go to the Hotel Novotel to use their computer or I’ll go to Ken’s office. Either option is pretty much a pain. We also don’t have a phone at the house and will not be able to get one because it’s a new house and the city is just not doing new phone installations. If you are not already in a house with phone jacks it is not going to happen so we will not be able to get a dial up connection. DSL is available in some areas for $175 U.S. per month and the people I know who subscribe to the service are all dissatisfied. Okay, call me cheap but after paying $30 per month for DSL in the States I just can’t see paying $175 for a service that frequently doesn’t work and frankly is not worth the money. I don’t have to have it.
We have a stove that has electric and gas burners so when the power goes out I simply switch to gas without missing a beat. We never know when we will have city-supplied water so we’ve learned to check for pressure periodically after Ken gets home and when it’s on we quickly shower and wash the dishes. If we have enough water for me to bathe, I take a candle in the bathroom in case the electricity goes out I’m not in total darkness. The electricity went out last night while we were playing Scrabble; I lit a candle and we kept right on playing. I keep a large pail of clean water next to the sink for doing dishes when the city turns the water off (are you getting the picture that it happens frequently?).
August 1, 2006
More about Rwanda
As I’ve written before, Rwanda is a tiny country located in Central Africa. It is landlocked by Uganda to the north, Tanzania to the east, Burundi to the south and Democratic Republic of Congo (formerly Zaire) to the west. Rwanda is 75 miles south of the equator and the temperature is fairly constant for most of the year – typically no cooler than about 65 and rarely warmer than 80. Early mornings are typically overcast but there is always brilliant sunshine before 10 a.m. that lasts all day. There are two rainy seasons (we have not experienced them yet). Annual rainfall is around 31 inches with heavier showers in the west and northwest mountains. Most of Rwanda is 3,000 feet above sea level, however much of the central plateau exceeds 4,700 feet. The Virunga Mountains located to the northwest of Rwanda stretch along the Congo border and are permanently ice-capped at their highest peak. The Kagera River forms much of Rwanda’s eastern border and flows into Lake Victoria. Volcanoes National park in the Virunga volcanic mountains are famous for the mountain gorillas seen in the film “Gorillas in the Mist”. East Africa is also the location of the great wildebeest migration, an annual journey of hundreds of thousands of animals from the Serengeti to Kenya.
Paul Kigame is the current president of Rwanda and was elected 12 years ago at the end of the genocide. The country also has a Prime Minister who is the head of government, an 80-seat Chamber of Deputies and a 26-member Senate. The legislative branch of government includes the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate. The Judicial branch includes the Supreme Court, Constitutional Court, Council of State and the Court of Appeals. Compulsory education in Rwanda is six years, life expectancy is 40 years and infant mortality is high. The main languages spoken are Kinyarwanda, French and English.
Our neighbors to the west of Rwanda in Democratic Republic of Congo recently had their first free election in 40 years. The slate of presidential candidates was at least 30 and they don’t expect to announce the winner for the next three weeks while they manually count the ballots. Already allegations of mass voting fraud are being leveled by one of the presidential candidates. They have also had scattered violence related to the election. Whether there is large scale violence probably depends on who wins and whether the losers accept defeat peacefully. I don’t know if this issue is being widely reported in the States but it is big news here for obvious reasons. Other than the crisis in the Middle East, the big news stories I hear about the U.S. are the recent heat wave and Mel Gibson’s arrest for drunk driving and anti-Semitic comments. Surely there are more important things happening at home?!
What I Won’t do for Love
August 8, 2006
Ken is trying to figure out how to get his allergy serum to Rwanda from San Antonio. It can’t be mailed because it would take three months and it has to be refrigerated. Being the loving wife that I am, I thought long and hard about a solution and it came to me all at once. Why not show my eternal, long suffering devotion to my mate by flying back to the United States just to get his medicine. I would leave this paradise (for a week or two), go to San Antonio (via Chicago) and get the medicine myself. Believe me when I tell you I was quite serious and he knew it. It didn’t work…I tried, okay.
(July 27, 2006)
The search for an addition to our household continues as we track down puppy leads. I have a friend who has German Shepherds and the female recently had a litter. Of course, I was pretty excited when she told me. I went to the house to see the dog and took pictures. I even named her on the way home…Sasha. Ken and I talked about it and agreed we would take the pup to the local vet (yes, amazingly they have an American veterinarian here) and if he pronounced the dog healthy we would take it. Well, these folks were selling the pups and long story short, someone else paid cash the morning we decided we would buy the dog. Yesterday another friend called and said she was looking at a rain-soaked flyer outside the grocery store advertising two-month old Belgium Shepherds. We called and the person did not speak English but could communicate well enough to let us know they knew nothing about any dogs. It was another dead end.
Deliveries from Home
Well, hope springs eternal and I know our dog is out there somewhere. Similarly, our household shipment is somewhere between Birmingham and Kigali. It left Birmingham on May 12 and still we wait. The estimated arrival here in Kigali is August 18. I believe the approximate route was Birmingham, AL to a port in South Carolina then it goes on a boat, clears customs in Kampala and then is delivered by ground to Kigali City. I’m sure there are more stops in between but I don’t know what they are. Delivery time via slow boat is just about three months for parcels and probably a couple of weeks for a letter. We receive mail and parcels through the company so we are not using the local postal service (Iposita). I understand from a friend who has a local post office box that letters can take anywhere from six days (unusually fast) to six weeks from the States. Packages can take several months. It costs about $1 US to mail a letter to the States. Still the safest way to get anything to us is through the company office in Birmingham.
A New Normal
I’m finding that the best way for me to cope is to find a new definition of normal here. What does this mean? Unfortunately, it means a lowering of expectations when it comes to day-to-day living. We know that the norm is we will lose electricity every Friday evening beginning around 6:30 and it goes until around 8:00. How do I cope? If we have a dinner date on a Friday after work, I just put the flashlight in my purse before we leave so we don’t have to enter a dark house when we return a couple hours later. The electricity went out last night while we were playing Scrabble; I lit a candle and we kept right on playing.
We do not have Internet access at the house so I still go to the Hotel Novotel to use their computer or I’ll go to Ken’s office. Either option is pretty much a pain. We also don’t have a phone at the house and will not be able to get one because it’s a new house and the city is just not doing new phone installations. If you are not already in a house with phone jacks it is not going to happen so we will not be able to get a dial up connection. DSL is available in some areas for $175 U.S. per month and the people I know who subscribe to the service are all dissatisfied. Okay, call me cheap but after paying $30 per month for DSL in the States I just can’t see paying $175 for a service that frequently doesn’t work and frankly is not worth the money. I don’t have to have it.
We have a stove that has electric and gas burners so when the power goes out I simply switch to gas without missing a beat. We never know when we will have city-supplied water so we’ve learned to check for pressure periodically after Ken gets home and when it’s on we quickly shower and wash the dishes. If we have enough water for me to bathe, I take a candle in the bathroom in case the electricity goes out I’m not in total darkness. The electricity went out last night while we were playing Scrabble; I lit a candle and we kept right on playing. I keep a large pail of clean water next to the sink for doing dishes when the city turns the water off (are you getting the picture that it happens frequently?).
August 1, 2006
More about Rwanda
As I’ve written before, Rwanda is a tiny country located in Central Africa. It is landlocked by Uganda to the north, Tanzania to the east, Burundi to the south and Democratic Republic of Congo (formerly Zaire) to the west. Rwanda is 75 miles south of the equator and the temperature is fairly constant for most of the year – typically no cooler than about 65 and rarely warmer than 80. Early mornings are typically overcast but there is always brilliant sunshine before 10 a.m. that lasts all day. There are two rainy seasons (we have not experienced them yet). Annual rainfall is around 31 inches with heavier showers in the west and northwest mountains. Most of Rwanda is 3,000 feet above sea level, however much of the central plateau exceeds 4,700 feet. The Virunga Mountains located to the northwest of Rwanda stretch along the Congo border and are permanently ice-capped at their highest peak. The Kagera River forms much of Rwanda’s eastern border and flows into Lake Victoria. Volcanoes National park in the Virunga volcanic mountains are famous for the mountain gorillas seen in the film “Gorillas in the Mist”. East Africa is also the location of the great wildebeest migration, an annual journey of hundreds of thousands of animals from the Serengeti to Kenya.
Paul Kigame is the current president of Rwanda and was elected 12 years ago at the end of the genocide. The country also has a Prime Minister who is the head of government, an 80-seat Chamber of Deputies and a 26-member Senate. The legislative branch of government includes the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate. The Judicial branch includes the Supreme Court, Constitutional Court, Council of State and the Court of Appeals. Compulsory education in Rwanda is six years, life expectancy is 40 years and infant mortality is high. The main languages spoken are Kinyarwanda, French and English.
Our neighbors to the west of Rwanda in Democratic Republic of Congo recently had their first free election in 40 years. The slate of presidential candidates was at least 30 and they don’t expect to announce the winner for the next three weeks while they manually count the ballots. Already allegations of mass voting fraud are being leveled by one of the presidential candidates. They have also had scattered violence related to the election. Whether there is large scale violence probably depends on who wins and whether the losers accept defeat peacefully. I don’t know if this issue is being widely reported in the States but it is big news here for obvious reasons. Other than the crisis in the Middle East, the big news stories I hear about the U.S. are the recent heat wave and Mel Gibson’s arrest for drunk driving and anti-Semitic comments. Surely there are more important things happening at home?!
What I Won’t do for Love
August 8, 2006
Ken is trying to figure out how to get his allergy serum to Rwanda from San Antonio. It can’t be mailed because it would take three months and it has to be refrigerated. Being the loving wife that I am, I thought long and hard about a solution and it came to me all at once. Why not show my eternal, long suffering devotion to my mate by flying back to the United States just to get his medicine. I would leave this paradise (for a week or two), go to San Antonio (via Chicago) and get the medicine myself. Believe me when I tell you I was quite serious and he knew it. It didn’t work…I tried, okay.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Will It Ever Get Easy?
I Need a Knot…I’m at the End of My Rope!
Navigating the road of everyday life in Kigali remains a great challenge. About a month ago we had plumbing problems in one of the bathrooms. We called the homeowner who promised to send a “technician” to fix the problem. Incidentally, it seems everyone in Kigali is a maid, a guard, a gardener or a technician – all of the terms seem to be assigned pretty loosely even by the most liberal definition. Anyway, the technicians showed up two weeks later with their tools in a wrinkled brown paper bag and determine they need to replace a part. They took what they needed and headed off to parts unknown. Another two weeks pass and they show up early one morning as I was about to go to Bible Study. I asked them how long the job would take since I knew I had to leave in a half hour. Mr. Technician assured me they would be done in 15 minutes. After all this time I should have known better. Twenty five minutes pass, Mo and Larry are still fooling around in the bathroom so I tell them I need to leave the house and they will have to return after lunch. I leave the house for my class and they go wherever technicians go during their downtime. Perhaps 25 women show up for the class and we have a great time in fellowship and prayer. We pick up Ken for lunch on the way home and I’m in very good spirits. Those of you who are regular readers of this blog know this story sounds way too normal to end here. Well we step into the house and just as I begin to smell dampness, Ken yells from the bathroom that we’ve got a problem. Take a guess. That’s right, the bathroom is flooded. Water is shooting from the bathtub faucet onto the floor, rolling down the hall and seeping into the bedrooms. I can feel the afterglow of the fellowship draining from my body and being replaced by that old familiar disappointment I’ve come to know so well.
We get the owner’s representative on the phone and explain the emergency. His response: well your wife sent the technicians home, what would you have me to do? Well DUH?!
How about you send Dumb and Dumber back out here and get this geyser under control? Meanwhile, I get Ken’s lunch prepared and make him sit down to eat as I watch water creep down my hall like the Creature from the Black Lagoon. About an hour later they show up, shake their heads and cluck their tongues at the flood they created.
My friends all know that I am generally slow to anger but just as sure as I am currently living in this time warp, I would have gone off like a rocket had they understood English. My Pastor would have been proud of the way I smiled thru gritted teeth and took on a “hey you didn’t do it on purpose” demeanor. They finally get the job finished while I mop and bail water down the tub. The guy who appears to be the worker finishes and leaves the house. The second guy whom I guess was the brains of the operation has found a paint-splattered pail and decides to help me clean up the mess. You have to imagine a shoeless guy in dress slacks and long sleeve cotton shirt with his pants rolled up to the knees mumbling to himself in some African dialect. He’s bending over, scooping water with his hands into this plastic pail and probably cussing up a storm. Of course, this does nothing to assuage my growing anger and I ask him to kindly leave and let me clean up. He says he doesn’t understand what I’m saying – by the way, some Africans do this selectively. I take the pail from his hands and make shooing motions for him to leave so I can finish mopping. He shrugs his shoulders, turns and walks away on tiptoe with arms outstretched for balance. The next day we had no running water.
Same Sh!t, Different Day
We just came to the end of the first full week with no running water. That’s right folks – no showering, no laundry, cooking with bottled water and my legs look like they should be attached to Queen Kong. Apparently there is a major water shortage here in the capitol city and all I can tell you is that it seems nothings being done about it. I would however, put the smart money on the fact that the president of this country has running water at his house. We do have a water storage tank in the yard, as do most homes here. It holds about 5,000 liters and I suppose if we don’t water the yard, don’t do laundry and share showers it can last about a week. I mention the storage tank because when the city water goes off – which is at some point every day – it’s easy to tell because of the decrease in water pressure. The gardener, who is Rwandan and speaks no English, will use the water in the storage tank to the very last drop taking care of the yard. I always have to watch him from the windows and stop him when he tries to use the water from storage. I tell him, the water is gone, there’s no more. He looks at me with a dazed expression and motions that yes, there is water. He reminds me of a toddler who doesn’t get it when his parents say there’s no money for a new toy and the kid points to a box of checks and says just write a check mom. I talked about this with my friend Jessica who has been here for 18 months now. She said it’s an ongoing struggle to get Rwandans to understand that because we are Americans does not mean that we have bottomless resources. They think somehow that we have some great hookup and never short of resources. This guy simply cannot understand how we can have water in the tank but say there is none for watering the yard. He figures he should just use it until it is gone and then start again until the next day. It is quite likely that he lives in a place without running water or electricity and really does not understand that when the City water is off, we use what’s in the tank for everyday things like dishes, toilets and showering.
The situation with the water has gotten so bad that the guys who rent houses as we do have had to send water trucks to the homes to fill our storage tanks. Ken arranged for a water truck this afternoon just before lunch. It was our hope that the gardener would be gone to lunch when the truck came so he wouldn’t know there was water in the tank. Unfortunately, he crossed paths with the truck and spent the first 15 minutes of his lunch hour watching the tank being filled. I promptly wrote a big note saying DO NOT USE THE WATER and taped it to the spigot he uses for watering. It then dawned on me that if he could not speak English, he likely could not read it either. Truth be told, he could certainly be one of the thousands here who cannot read or write. What to do, what to do? I took an oversized roll of tape and covered the opening of the spigot several times. Care to guess if he gets the message? I intend to leave the sign on until the City water is back on.
July 21, 2006
We finally have water in the house! It’s amazing how good a hot shower feels after going several days without.
I’ve turned into something of a news junkie since we have been here. We get CNN and BBC. I watch Larry King Live just before lunch. We get the international edition of CNN and as you probably would expect, coverage is not so focused on America. There’s a fairly limited selection of shows from the States and the only thing we really watch regularly is National Geographic, Discovery and History Channel. I was channel surfing recently and some of the U.S. programs from the satellite include Oprah, Tyra Banks Show, Jerry Springer, Touched by an Angel, Matlock, X-Files, 24, The Practice, Boston Legal, Seinfeld and Days of Our Lives. Trinity broadcasting network is on 24 hours and you can catch 30-year-old broadcasts of Oral Roberts and other televangelists. They show lots of British programming and several African soap operas. Every now and then I find a decent movie to watch. Fortunately for me, I was not a huge TV fan to begin with so I can’t really say that I miss it. One thing I do miss achingly is reading the New York Times, other American Newspapers and magazines.
The Eyesore Next Door
I’ve written previously about how we live in a virtual fortress with ten foot high walls, a locked iron gate and 24-hour security guards. It is typical of nicer homes here in Kigali City. Another common sight is unfinished construction projects. In the immediate vicinity of our house alone are two abandoned homes in various stages of construction. There is a third one next door that we affectionately refer to as the Eyesore Next Door. It seems someone has actually decided to turn it into a home. When we first moved in, we seldom saw anyone on the property. They have recently stepped up their efforts at construction during the day. The abandoned property immediately to the right of the Eyesore seems to be occupied by squatters. We see people making fires, cooking, bathing and washing clothes all outdoors. It is not an uncommon sight all over town. At this point, only the frame and outside walls are complete so it is barely more than shelter from the rain. You can probably imagine what home construction is like here. There are no ladders, machinery, scaffolding, safety shoes, hard hats, regard for safety of the workers, electricity, etc., etc. The only thing close to a tool I have seen is a saw, a sorry looking drill and a hammer. I have no idea how they got the concrete masonry in place since it was already standing when we moved in. I suppose the recent flurry of activity next door is an attempt to get as much work done before the rainy season sets in.
Sharon Kathleen Barclay
© 2006
Navigating the road of everyday life in Kigali remains a great challenge. About a month ago we had plumbing problems in one of the bathrooms. We called the homeowner who promised to send a “technician” to fix the problem. Incidentally, it seems everyone in Kigali is a maid, a guard, a gardener or a technician – all of the terms seem to be assigned pretty loosely even by the most liberal definition. Anyway, the technicians showed up two weeks later with their tools in a wrinkled brown paper bag and determine they need to replace a part. They took what they needed and headed off to parts unknown. Another two weeks pass and they show up early one morning as I was about to go to Bible Study. I asked them how long the job would take since I knew I had to leave in a half hour. Mr. Technician assured me they would be done in 15 minutes. After all this time I should have known better. Twenty five minutes pass, Mo and Larry are still fooling around in the bathroom so I tell them I need to leave the house and they will have to return after lunch. I leave the house for my class and they go wherever technicians go during their downtime. Perhaps 25 women show up for the class and we have a great time in fellowship and prayer. We pick up Ken for lunch on the way home and I’m in very good spirits. Those of you who are regular readers of this blog know this story sounds way too normal to end here. Well we step into the house and just as I begin to smell dampness, Ken yells from the bathroom that we’ve got a problem. Take a guess. That’s right, the bathroom is flooded. Water is shooting from the bathtub faucet onto the floor, rolling down the hall and seeping into the bedrooms. I can feel the afterglow of the fellowship draining from my body and being replaced by that old familiar disappointment I’ve come to know so well.
We get the owner’s representative on the phone and explain the emergency. His response: well your wife sent the technicians home, what would you have me to do? Well DUH?!
How about you send Dumb and Dumber back out here and get this geyser under control? Meanwhile, I get Ken’s lunch prepared and make him sit down to eat as I watch water creep down my hall like the Creature from the Black Lagoon. About an hour later they show up, shake their heads and cluck their tongues at the flood they created.
My friends all know that I am generally slow to anger but just as sure as I am currently living in this time warp, I would have gone off like a rocket had they understood English. My Pastor would have been proud of the way I smiled thru gritted teeth and took on a “hey you didn’t do it on purpose” demeanor. They finally get the job finished while I mop and bail water down the tub. The guy who appears to be the worker finishes and leaves the house. The second guy whom I guess was the brains of the operation has found a paint-splattered pail and decides to help me clean up the mess. You have to imagine a shoeless guy in dress slacks and long sleeve cotton shirt with his pants rolled up to the knees mumbling to himself in some African dialect. He’s bending over, scooping water with his hands into this plastic pail and probably cussing up a storm. Of course, this does nothing to assuage my growing anger and I ask him to kindly leave and let me clean up. He says he doesn’t understand what I’m saying – by the way, some Africans do this selectively. I take the pail from his hands and make shooing motions for him to leave so I can finish mopping. He shrugs his shoulders, turns and walks away on tiptoe with arms outstretched for balance. The next day we had no running water.
Same Sh!t, Different Day
We just came to the end of the first full week with no running water. That’s right folks – no showering, no laundry, cooking with bottled water and my legs look like they should be attached to Queen Kong. Apparently there is a major water shortage here in the capitol city and all I can tell you is that it seems nothings being done about it. I would however, put the smart money on the fact that the president of this country has running water at his house. We do have a water storage tank in the yard, as do most homes here. It holds about 5,000 liters and I suppose if we don’t water the yard, don’t do laundry and share showers it can last about a week. I mention the storage tank because when the city water goes off – which is at some point every day – it’s easy to tell because of the decrease in water pressure. The gardener, who is Rwandan and speaks no English, will use the water in the storage tank to the very last drop taking care of the yard. I always have to watch him from the windows and stop him when he tries to use the water from storage. I tell him, the water is gone, there’s no more. He looks at me with a dazed expression and motions that yes, there is water. He reminds me of a toddler who doesn’t get it when his parents say there’s no money for a new toy and the kid points to a box of checks and says just write a check mom. I talked about this with my friend Jessica who has been here for 18 months now. She said it’s an ongoing struggle to get Rwandans to understand that because we are Americans does not mean that we have bottomless resources. They think somehow that we have some great hookup and never short of resources. This guy simply cannot understand how we can have water in the tank but say there is none for watering the yard. He figures he should just use it until it is gone and then start again until the next day. It is quite likely that he lives in a place without running water or electricity and really does not understand that when the City water is off, we use what’s in the tank for everyday things like dishes, toilets and showering.
The situation with the water has gotten so bad that the guys who rent houses as we do have had to send water trucks to the homes to fill our storage tanks. Ken arranged for a water truck this afternoon just before lunch. It was our hope that the gardener would be gone to lunch when the truck came so he wouldn’t know there was water in the tank. Unfortunately, he crossed paths with the truck and spent the first 15 minutes of his lunch hour watching the tank being filled. I promptly wrote a big note saying DO NOT USE THE WATER and taped it to the spigot he uses for watering. It then dawned on me that if he could not speak English, he likely could not read it either. Truth be told, he could certainly be one of the thousands here who cannot read or write. What to do, what to do? I took an oversized roll of tape and covered the opening of the spigot several times. Care to guess if he gets the message? I intend to leave the sign on until the City water is back on.
July 21, 2006
We finally have water in the house! It’s amazing how good a hot shower feels after going several days without.
I’ve turned into something of a news junkie since we have been here. We get CNN and BBC. I watch Larry King Live just before lunch. We get the international edition of CNN and as you probably would expect, coverage is not so focused on America. There’s a fairly limited selection of shows from the States and the only thing we really watch regularly is National Geographic, Discovery and History Channel. I was channel surfing recently and some of the U.S. programs from the satellite include Oprah, Tyra Banks Show, Jerry Springer, Touched by an Angel, Matlock, X-Files, 24, The Practice, Boston Legal, Seinfeld and Days of Our Lives. Trinity broadcasting network is on 24 hours and you can catch 30-year-old broadcasts of Oral Roberts and other televangelists. They show lots of British programming and several African soap operas. Every now and then I find a decent movie to watch. Fortunately for me, I was not a huge TV fan to begin with so I can’t really say that I miss it. One thing I do miss achingly is reading the New York Times, other American Newspapers and magazines.
The Eyesore Next Door
I’ve written previously about how we live in a virtual fortress with ten foot high walls, a locked iron gate and 24-hour security guards. It is typical of nicer homes here in Kigali City. Another common sight is unfinished construction projects. In the immediate vicinity of our house alone are two abandoned homes in various stages of construction. There is a third one next door that we affectionately refer to as the Eyesore Next Door. It seems someone has actually decided to turn it into a home. When we first moved in, we seldom saw anyone on the property. They have recently stepped up their efforts at construction during the day. The abandoned property immediately to the right of the Eyesore seems to be occupied by squatters. We see people making fires, cooking, bathing and washing clothes all outdoors. It is not an uncommon sight all over town. At this point, only the frame and outside walls are complete so it is barely more than shelter from the rain. You can probably imagine what home construction is like here. There are no ladders, machinery, scaffolding, safety shoes, hard hats, regard for safety of the workers, electricity, etc., etc. The only thing close to a tool I have seen is a saw, a sorry looking drill and a hammer. I have no idea how they got the concrete masonry in place since it was already standing when we moved in. I suppose the recent flurry of activity next door is an attempt to get as much work done before the rainy season sets in.
Sharon Kathleen Barclay
© 2006
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
Something to be Thankful For
July 10, 2006
Reflections
I received so many Independence Day wishes from our friends and family back in the States and I appreciate them; but one that really touched me was from my friend and former manager, Rick. His reflections on the meanings of freedom and independence just reminded me that it truly is a privilege to live in America – flawed though it may be – it’s my home and will always be. So many Americans consider it an inalienable right to turn on the tap and have clean water, to flip a switch and have electricity and to worship or not worship as their conscious dictates. Now that I have lived in China and Africa I am not ashamed to say I have gotten on my knees and thanked God for those things and for my country. Certainly, there is crime, poverty, injustice and racism in America but I don’t think I will ever be convinced that there is a better place on the planet for me to call home. One of the greatest consequences of this international lifestyle Ken and I have chosen is experiencing other cultures and being constantly reminded and humbled by how fortunate we are. I’m sometimes homesick and often frustrated, I miss the comforts of home but at the end of the day I laugh more often than I cry. I find comfort in prayer, reading, writing, electronic communication with you guys and especially from being married to my best friend; my heart’s twin.
The Littlest Africans
I went to a local orphanage with an American friend who happens to be a Baptist missionary. They are always in need of workers to help out with the children so we went one morning to help with the morning feeding. Out of respect for the institution, I am not going to give their name but will say that it is run by local people. If you look at the place through the eyes of an American, conditions are dismal. When I walked into the room where the babies sleep, the first thing I noticed was the strong smell of urine. I confess that I had to immediately ask God to humble me and take away my notions of how things “ought” to be. These volunteers were children of the same God that I serve and they were surely doing work that was pleasing in His sight.
It has taken me several days to process my experiences and feelings about that day. I wish a loving home for every single child in that orphanage but the reality is that the majority will not be adopted. Without giving the exact number, I will tell you that they house several dozen babies and toddlers. Each infant has his or her own crib but there are never enough workers for every one to get extended periods of physical contact and personal attention. The babies appear to be well nourished, they all looked clean and I was told they get daily baths. Nonetheless, someone is always crying to be held and there are never enough arms. I asked why there were so many young babies and where the moms were. As I understand it, many of the babies are the children of prostitutes or of poor families who just could not afford another mouth to feed. One of the infants was found by neighbors in a plastic bag with the umbilicus still attached. Some of the babies have HIV but no one gets tested until a family expresses interest in adoption. The fortunate few who do get adopted always go to foreign families since the locals simply are not adopting.
Like infants all over the world, these babies calm down when you rub their backs, they sigh with contentment when you rock them and they smile back at you. I fell in love with a two-month-old named Joseph. Joseph has eyes like mine, chubby cheeks and an adorable baby’s bald head. More than one person commented that he looked like he could have been my biological child. I suppose that’s why I was instantly drawn to him. As I walked him up and down the isles I fantasized about taking him home and raising him as mine. If we were ten years younger and about to end this international lifestyle it might have been a possibility. It was really hard to leave him there but my prayer is that he won’t be there when I return. I hope another woman sees the things in him that I saw and gives him a chance at a wonderful life.
On a Lighter Note
We’re looking for a dog. In this country where pets are rare, it is no small task to find one. If you see someone with a dog, they are definitely foreign. A friend of a friend is a missionary and also a veterinarian. So the good doctor is on the lookout for healthy pups on our behalf. We don’t care what breed – it can be a mutt – as long as it’s healthy with a good disposition. Hopefully, we will find one soon.
So many things happen over the course of my normal day that make me just stop and shake my head in disbelief. I’m constantly laughing at myself and the wraparounds I come up with for daily living like using the tea kettle to heat water for washing dishes or keeping a flashlight under my pillow for the inevitable power outage.
I frequently see items in the grocery store and while they look interesting, I hesitate to make the purchase because I simply don’t know what they are. However, I have learned that if I see something I like to buy it right then since it’s not likely to be on the shelf the next time. We like to eat beans and rice so I’m always checking out interesting looking dried beans to experiment with. I found a small red bean that looks sort of like a kidney bean and thought I would try to create some version of red beans and rice. I bought a bag, soaked half and put them on the stove to cook. I fell asleep. I burned the beans. Next day I soak the other half, put them on the stove and go sit on the terrace to read. Yep, I burned the beans again. The next time I go to the grocery store I buy the beans again and the clerk looks at me like this lady must really like beans. Anyway, I get the beans home, add seasonings and chopped onions and determine that I will not burn them this time. I spend the day going back and forth to the kitchen stirring and adding water trying to get them tender and just right for when Ken gets home. After cooking them for about five hours I begin to wonder if there’s something different about the beans here versus the ones back home. Anyway, I’ve got these beans seasoned really nicely but they are still a bit on the crunchy side. It turns out they taste pretty good and Ken likes them. Over dinner we both comment about how different they taste. Yeah, Ken says, they taste kind of nutty but he likes the way they seem to “pop” in your mouth. I count it a success and decide to buy them on my next grocery outing.
Several days later, I went to the market with my friend Jessica who is American but also speaks the local language. We were both buying produce and chatting about what’s good and so forth. I say to her, oh you know what’s really good is those little red beans up there on the top shelf. They take a long time to cook but they have a nice nutty flavor. She looks at the beans, looks at me, looks back at the beans then says something to the clerk in their language. The ladies behind the counter all break into gales of laughter. I giggle nervously because everyone’s laughing but me so I surmise that I must be the reason. Jessica smiles at me and says, Sharon those are peanuts. Nothing I could do but laugh at myself.
Reflections
I received so many Independence Day wishes from our friends and family back in the States and I appreciate them; but one that really touched me was from my friend and former manager, Rick. His reflections on the meanings of freedom and independence just reminded me that it truly is a privilege to live in America – flawed though it may be – it’s my home and will always be. So many Americans consider it an inalienable right to turn on the tap and have clean water, to flip a switch and have electricity and to worship or not worship as their conscious dictates. Now that I have lived in China and Africa I am not ashamed to say I have gotten on my knees and thanked God for those things and for my country. Certainly, there is crime, poverty, injustice and racism in America but I don’t think I will ever be convinced that there is a better place on the planet for me to call home. One of the greatest consequences of this international lifestyle Ken and I have chosen is experiencing other cultures and being constantly reminded and humbled by how fortunate we are. I’m sometimes homesick and often frustrated, I miss the comforts of home but at the end of the day I laugh more often than I cry. I find comfort in prayer, reading, writing, electronic communication with you guys and especially from being married to my best friend; my heart’s twin.
The Littlest Africans
I went to a local orphanage with an American friend who happens to be a Baptist missionary. They are always in need of workers to help out with the children so we went one morning to help with the morning feeding. Out of respect for the institution, I am not going to give their name but will say that it is run by local people. If you look at the place through the eyes of an American, conditions are dismal. When I walked into the room where the babies sleep, the first thing I noticed was the strong smell of urine. I confess that I had to immediately ask God to humble me and take away my notions of how things “ought” to be. These volunteers were children of the same God that I serve and they were surely doing work that was pleasing in His sight.
It has taken me several days to process my experiences and feelings about that day. I wish a loving home for every single child in that orphanage but the reality is that the majority will not be adopted. Without giving the exact number, I will tell you that they house several dozen babies and toddlers. Each infant has his or her own crib but there are never enough workers for every one to get extended periods of physical contact and personal attention. The babies appear to be well nourished, they all looked clean and I was told they get daily baths. Nonetheless, someone is always crying to be held and there are never enough arms. I asked why there were so many young babies and where the moms were. As I understand it, many of the babies are the children of prostitutes or of poor families who just could not afford another mouth to feed. One of the infants was found by neighbors in a plastic bag with the umbilicus still attached. Some of the babies have HIV but no one gets tested until a family expresses interest in adoption. The fortunate few who do get adopted always go to foreign families since the locals simply are not adopting.
Like infants all over the world, these babies calm down when you rub their backs, they sigh with contentment when you rock them and they smile back at you. I fell in love with a two-month-old named Joseph. Joseph has eyes like mine, chubby cheeks and an adorable baby’s bald head. More than one person commented that he looked like he could have been my biological child. I suppose that’s why I was instantly drawn to him. As I walked him up and down the isles I fantasized about taking him home and raising him as mine. If we were ten years younger and about to end this international lifestyle it might have been a possibility. It was really hard to leave him there but my prayer is that he won’t be there when I return. I hope another woman sees the things in him that I saw and gives him a chance at a wonderful life.
On a Lighter Note
We’re looking for a dog. In this country where pets are rare, it is no small task to find one. If you see someone with a dog, they are definitely foreign. A friend of a friend is a missionary and also a veterinarian. So the good doctor is on the lookout for healthy pups on our behalf. We don’t care what breed – it can be a mutt – as long as it’s healthy with a good disposition. Hopefully, we will find one soon.
So many things happen over the course of my normal day that make me just stop and shake my head in disbelief. I’m constantly laughing at myself and the wraparounds I come up with for daily living like using the tea kettle to heat water for washing dishes or keeping a flashlight under my pillow for the inevitable power outage.
I frequently see items in the grocery store and while they look interesting, I hesitate to make the purchase because I simply don’t know what they are. However, I have learned that if I see something I like to buy it right then since it’s not likely to be on the shelf the next time. We like to eat beans and rice so I’m always checking out interesting looking dried beans to experiment with. I found a small red bean that looks sort of like a kidney bean and thought I would try to create some version of red beans and rice. I bought a bag, soaked half and put them on the stove to cook. I fell asleep. I burned the beans. Next day I soak the other half, put them on the stove and go sit on the terrace to read. Yep, I burned the beans again. The next time I go to the grocery store I buy the beans again and the clerk looks at me like this lady must really like beans. Anyway, I get the beans home, add seasonings and chopped onions and determine that I will not burn them this time. I spend the day going back and forth to the kitchen stirring and adding water trying to get them tender and just right for when Ken gets home. After cooking them for about five hours I begin to wonder if there’s something different about the beans here versus the ones back home. Anyway, I’ve got these beans seasoned really nicely but they are still a bit on the crunchy side. It turns out they taste pretty good and Ken likes them. Over dinner we both comment about how different they taste. Yeah, Ken says, they taste kind of nutty but he likes the way they seem to “pop” in your mouth. I count it a success and decide to buy them on my next grocery outing.
Several days later, I went to the market with my friend Jessica who is American but also speaks the local language. We were both buying produce and chatting about what’s good and so forth. I say to her, oh you know what’s really good is those little red beans up there on the top shelf. They take a long time to cook but they have a nice nutty flavor. She looks at the beans, looks at me, looks back at the beans then says something to the clerk in their language. The ladies behind the counter all break into gales of laughter. I giggle nervously because everyone’s laughing but me so I surmise that I must be the reason. Jessica smiles at me and says, Sharon those are peanuts. Nothing I could do but laugh at myself.
Monday, July 03, 2006
This Life We Chose
June 15, 2006
The Crazy House
The house we live in unlike anything I have seen before. A really cute house but, it’s long on form and woefully short on function. Four bedrooms, two baths, living, dining, kitchen, pantry, alcove, two terraces and a big yard make up the place we call home for now. I worked with a very successful architectural firm in San Antonio and of course am married to an engineer so I know just a little bit about how a house should be constructed. Whoever built our house and every other one we’ve visited here is definitely not clear on the concept.
We have windows that rattle because they don’t fit the frames correctly. The front doors that open onto the main terrace are glass and have about a two-inch gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, a virtual welcome mat for lizards, dust and mosquitoes. We have fluorescent lighting on the exterior of the house and in the kitchen. There are times when the lights flicker for twenty minutes before staying on. It kind of gives the feeling of being in a 1970s disco right in the middle of my kitchen. Speaking of the kitchen - - the cabinets are not uniformly sized and some don’t stay closed. I affectionately refer to the stove as my Easy Bake Oven. I’m not a very tall person, but this stove is small even for me. In fact, the stove is precisely 32 inches high (and yes, I measured it). The refrigerator is another petite appliance. It’s a perfect kitchen – for Gary Coleman!
The bathroom fixtures are a constant source of aggravation – leaking, slipping, sticking, you name it. The floors are all white or near white tile and need to be mopped frequently just to stay on top of the red dust that blows in daily. The shingles while awfully cute rattle incessantly at the slightest gust of wind – imagine rain on a tin roof.
The house is surrounded by an iron gate and a cement wall that are about ten feet high. Walking around the single-family neighborhoods, you can only see the roofs. We have no idea who our neighbors are and could live here two years without seeing them. Concern for personal safety is very high as evidenced by the gated and guarded homes. It can be pretty spooky at times. On the one hand, we here in security briefings that Rwanda is probably the safest country on the African continent but on the other hand, they have guards, gates and a strong police presence on the streets. I’m not sure which one drives the other – safety or security.
June 16, 2006
We finally had satellite TV installed – not without some drama, however. Before the process can even begin someone has to go to the cable company and pick up the installer and bring him to the house. The technician arrives with the equipment to be installed but, alas, no tools. The dish was to be installed in the yard atop a pole and the cable would be run from the pole into the house. Just looking at the equipment, I knew he was ill-prepared to perform the installation. For some reason, it took him about an hour to decide he did not have everything he needed to be successful. He finally asked me for money to go buy the concrete and pole, promising to return the next and “finish” the installation. It seemed to me that since he never started, the appropriate verb would have been to “begin” the install – but I digress.
The next day we start all over again – driver goes to pick up the installer and brings him to the house. Now he needs to dig a hole in the ground. Do I have a shovel? Of course not; he improvises and uses a garden hoe. In my writer’s mind, I see a story unfolding so I park myself on the terrace to watch. This skinny little man looks to be no more than 18, and that’s probably generous. I’m watching him swing this garden hoe for all its worth trying to get a deep enough hole to accommodate the pole. Because he was wearing flip flops, I flinched every time the hoe got within striking distance of his feet but I couldn’t make myself turn away. When he looks like he’s at the point where he might begin using the concrete, I go around to the back of the house for a pail and offer it to him. No, he motions, he does not need the pail. Granted, I am no construction aficionado but I do know concrete needs water to perform and the user needs to mix the two in some type of container.
The guy then dumps the concrete under the spigot where we connect the water hose and mixes it right there in the grass. The next step is to scoop the freshly mixed concrete in his hands and run relays until he has enough in the hole with the pole to make it stand. Once the pole is secured in the ground, the next obstacle is how to get the cable from the yard to the house. Of course, the technician has no ladder so Ken has to bring one home from the job site. Once the install is finally finished, I am only too happy to give the guy money for a taxi and get him on his way.
Not the Garden of Eden
By now we’ve hired a guard, gotten all of our furniture moved in, have appliances installed and can watch TV when we have electricity. The next thing we need to do is hire a gardener. In Kigali, everyone “knows someone who is a gardener”. We had a couple of false leads – people who did not show up for interviews and incomplete referrals for the drivers on the project. This went on for a couple of weeks. In the meantime, Mother Nature was quietly turning our yard into a meadow before my eyes. The owner of the house had helped me negotiate a trash collection contract with a local company a couple of weeks ago. It just so happened that I decided to read the contract over a cup of tea one day last week and though it’s written in French, I was able to figure out that the company also does gardening. Silly me, I figured we probably could not go wrong if we hired a business instead of an individual. Nothing is ever as simple as it could be here.
After our experience with the satellite TV installer, we knew some of the basic questions to ask up front like does the gardener come with his own tools and whether we would be expected to provide transportation. One of the administrative people in the office speaks the local language and a respectable level of English, so she often gets used for translation services. Through her, we did a couple iterations of the gardening contract and arrived at what we thought was a mutual understanding of expectations. The gardener showed up on day one at 1:00 instead of 8:00 and put in about a half day’s work. The second day he showed up at shortly before 7:00 and proceeded to clean the exterior of the house – mopped the terraces, washed the pillars, washed the window ledges and glass doors. Needless to say, I was quite perplexed since the contract stated clearly what the gardener’s responsibilities would be. I like a clean home, probably more than many, but we were paying for someone to care for the yard not the house. I determined that left unchecked, we would be paying for part-time gardening and part-time house cleaning. Not acceptable. We made more phone calls to the company and this time I wrote the contract and laid out exactly what I expected. This morning, the president of the company stopped by the house in what I interpreted as an attempt to salvage the account. The gardener and the supervisor are now working in the yard. We shall see what happens.
July 3, 2006
Tomorrow is the 4th of July and not surprisingly, it doesn’t mean anything here. The guys on the project will work their regular 10 hours. There was a barbeque at the Ambassador’s residence this past Saturday but again, it was a regular work day for these guys so no one went. Anyway, happy 4th to all of you. I think the first holiday Ken will get off of work will likely be Thanksgiving or Christmas. By that time we will be weeks away from our six-month vacation. Yea!
On a pleasant note, I met an American woman who along with her husband is a Missionary here in Kigali. They are affiliated with Skokie Valley Baptist Church in Skokie, IL. Fortunately, she lives just a few houses away and we just connected right away. She's taking me to a local orphanage later this week to do some volunteer work. So, I'm happy to report that it looks like I'm finally going to be able to do something that I consider socially meaningful. Will keep you posted.
Keep those cards and letters coming!
The Crazy House
The house we live in unlike anything I have seen before. A really cute house but, it’s long on form and woefully short on function. Four bedrooms, two baths, living, dining, kitchen, pantry, alcove, two terraces and a big yard make up the place we call home for now. I worked with a very successful architectural firm in San Antonio and of course am married to an engineer so I know just a little bit about how a house should be constructed. Whoever built our house and every other one we’ve visited here is definitely not clear on the concept.
We have windows that rattle because they don’t fit the frames correctly. The front doors that open onto the main terrace are glass and have about a two-inch gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, a virtual welcome mat for lizards, dust and mosquitoes. We have fluorescent lighting on the exterior of the house and in the kitchen. There are times when the lights flicker for twenty minutes before staying on. It kind of gives the feeling of being in a 1970s disco right in the middle of my kitchen. Speaking of the kitchen - - the cabinets are not uniformly sized and some don’t stay closed. I affectionately refer to the stove as my Easy Bake Oven. I’m not a very tall person, but this stove is small even for me. In fact, the stove is precisely 32 inches high (and yes, I measured it). The refrigerator is another petite appliance. It’s a perfect kitchen – for Gary Coleman!
The bathroom fixtures are a constant source of aggravation – leaking, slipping, sticking, you name it. The floors are all white or near white tile and need to be mopped frequently just to stay on top of the red dust that blows in daily. The shingles while awfully cute rattle incessantly at the slightest gust of wind – imagine rain on a tin roof.
The house is surrounded by an iron gate and a cement wall that are about ten feet high. Walking around the single-family neighborhoods, you can only see the roofs. We have no idea who our neighbors are and could live here two years without seeing them. Concern for personal safety is very high as evidenced by the gated and guarded homes. It can be pretty spooky at times. On the one hand, we here in security briefings that Rwanda is probably the safest country on the African continent but on the other hand, they have guards, gates and a strong police presence on the streets. I’m not sure which one drives the other – safety or security.
June 16, 2006
We finally had satellite TV installed – not without some drama, however. Before the process can even begin someone has to go to the cable company and pick up the installer and bring him to the house. The technician arrives with the equipment to be installed but, alas, no tools. The dish was to be installed in the yard atop a pole and the cable would be run from the pole into the house. Just looking at the equipment, I knew he was ill-prepared to perform the installation. For some reason, it took him about an hour to decide he did not have everything he needed to be successful. He finally asked me for money to go buy the concrete and pole, promising to return the next and “finish” the installation. It seemed to me that since he never started, the appropriate verb would have been to “begin” the install – but I digress.
The next day we start all over again – driver goes to pick up the installer and brings him to the house. Now he needs to dig a hole in the ground. Do I have a shovel? Of course not; he improvises and uses a garden hoe. In my writer’s mind, I see a story unfolding so I park myself on the terrace to watch. This skinny little man looks to be no more than 18, and that’s probably generous. I’m watching him swing this garden hoe for all its worth trying to get a deep enough hole to accommodate the pole. Because he was wearing flip flops, I flinched every time the hoe got within striking distance of his feet but I couldn’t make myself turn away. When he looks like he’s at the point where he might begin using the concrete, I go around to the back of the house for a pail and offer it to him. No, he motions, he does not need the pail. Granted, I am no construction aficionado but I do know concrete needs water to perform and the user needs to mix the two in some type of container.
The guy then dumps the concrete under the spigot where we connect the water hose and mixes it right there in the grass. The next step is to scoop the freshly mixed concrete in his hands and run relays until he has enough in the hole with the pole to make it stand. Once the pole is secured in the ground, the next obstacle is how to get the cable from the yard to the house. Of course, the technician has no ladder so Ken has to bring one home from the job site. Once the install is finally finished, I am only too happy to give the guy money for a taxi and get him on his way.
Not the Garden of Eden
By now we’ve hired a guard, gotten all of our furniture moved in, have appliances installed and can watch TV when we have electricity. The next thing we need to do is hire a gardener. In Kigali, everyone “knows someone who is a gardener”. We had a couple of false leads – people who did not show up for interviews and incomplete referrals for the drivers on the project. This went on for a couple of weeks. In the meantime, Mother Nature was quietly turning our yard into a meadow before my eyes. The owner of the house had helped me negotiate a trash collection contract with a local company a couple of weeks ago. It just so happened that I decided to read the contract over a cup of tea one day last week and though it’s written in French, I was able to figure out that the company also does gardening. Silly me, I figured we probably could not go wrong if we hired a business instead of an individual. Nothing is ever as simple as it could be here.
After our experience with the satellite TV installer, we knew some of the basic questions to ask up front like does the gardener come with his own tools and whether we would be expected to provide transportation. One of the administrative people in the office speaks the local language and a respectable level of English, so she often gets used for translation services. Through her, we did a couple iterations of the gardening contract and arrived at what we thought was a mutual understanding of expectations. The gardener showed up on day one at 1:00 instead of 8:00 and put in about a half day’s work. The second day he showed up at shortly before 7:00 and proceeded to clean the exterior of the house – mopped the terraces, washed the pillars, washed the window ledges and glass doors. Needless to say, I was quite perplexed since the contract stated clearly what the gardener’s responsibilities would be. I like a clean home, probably more than many, but we were paying for someone to care for the yard not the house. I determined that left unchecked, we would be paying for part-time gardening and part-time house cleaning. Not acceptable. We made more phone calls to the company and this time I wrote the contract and laid out exactly what I expected. This morning, the president of the company stopped by the house in what I interpreted as an attempt to salvage the account. The gardener and the supervisor are now working in the yard. We shall see what happens.
July 3, 2006
Tomorrow is the 4th of July and not surprisingly, it doesn’t mean anything here. The guys on the project will work their regular 10 hours. There was a barbeque at the Ambassador’s residence this past Saturday but again, it was a regular work day for these guys so no one went. Anyway, happy 4th to all of you. I think the first holiday Ken will get off of work will likely be Thanksgiving or Christmas. By that time we will be weeks away from our six-month vacation. Yea!
On a pleasant note, I met an American woman who along with her husband is a Missionary here in Kigali. They are affiliated with Skokie Valley Baptist Church in Skokie, IL. Fortunately, she lives just a few houses away and we just connected right away. She's taking me to a local orphanage later this week to do some volunteer work. So, I'm happy to report that it looks like I'm finally going to be able to do something that I consider socially meaningful. Will keep you posted.
Keep those cards and letters coming!
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Sunday Stroll…and an Incident
June 11, 2006
This past Sunday we got up and enjoyed a big breakfast as has become our custom. We planned to walk downtown and look at some of the shops. Before we left, I asked Ken if he needed to take his cell phone and anticipated he would say no, just leave it. Anyway, his response was “Take the phone because you never know when a colleague might be in distress and I just may be the one to receive the call”. The day before, he had attended a U.S. Embassy presentation about personal security while in Rwanda so perhaps that had something do with it. Well, that’s life in a foreign country so I tossed the phone into my bag and off we went.
The day was sunny and warm with a welcome mist of rain in the air. After an enjoyable uphill and downhill walk for a couple of hours, we decided to stop in at our favorite Indian restaurant, Minar, for lunch. The restaurant is located about a story or so above street level and you can sit in an outdoor area with an extensive view of the city. The food is excellent without fail, so I knew they would not disappoint. They did not; it was superb. We took our time, enjoyed good food and conversation then started the hike back home.
I guess we had walked about an hour from the restaurant and had maybe another half hour to go when we came upon a crew working on the road and decided to cross over to the other side. There were four lanes of traffic moving in two directions with a median in the middle. We crossed the first lanes, the median and then the second lanes to get to the other side. As soon as we got to the other side, a uniformed Rwandan guy stops us and says something in the local language. We later found out this person is part of the civilian defense force that augments the police department but have neither training nor weapons and they don’t get paid. None of us can communicate with the other but it’s clear he’s not happy for some reason.
Ken tells the guy he doesn’t understand what he’s saying and we start walking away. The guy then steps in our path, puts his hand on Ken’s arm and repeats himself. We now can tell this is about to turn into an unpleasant incident so Ken pulls out the cell phone and calls the embassy security person who had given the briefing the day before. At this point, I tell Ken come on let’s just go but Mr. Uniform was not having hit. He once more puts his hand on Ken’s arm to impede him and that’s when I lost it and shouted at him to take his hands off of my husband. Amazingly, he seemed to understand that.
Again, we start to walk away and this guy yells something to a group of guys passing in a truck. We’re cautiously walking along and here footsteps running behind us. We turn around and not only is this guy coming behind us but he has about six of his counterparts with him, two of them have rifles and there’s a police vehicle pulling up. Ken is as cool as a cucumber and I’m about equal parts angry and terrified of going to a Rwandan jail on an obvious humbug. Next, another local guy not in uniform walks thru the crowd and says in English that he’s a police officer, saw what was happening and stopped to see if he could be of assistance. I put in plain words to him that this first guy is detaining us and we don’t know why. Some dialogue flies back and forth in the local dialect and he tells us the first guy says we did not cross the street at the crosswalk in order to avoid walking on the grass. Naturally I wanted to say, “How the hell were we supposed to know it’s a crime?” Instead, I found the grace to say we did not know it was unlawful. After asking us where we were from, he says we’re free to go.
By now, the embassy security guy had figured out where we were (remember, no street addresses here) and picked us up in his truck. Evidently, he had contacted his Rwandan security counterpart who arrived shortly thereafter. We all drove back to the location of the first guy who had stopped us and the Rwandan security guy gave him what to my ear sounded like a good old fashioned ass chewing. The embassy security guy then gave us a ride the rest of the way home and other than my ruffled feathers, everything was alright and no one was harmed. I shudder to think what may have happened if one, we had left the cell phone at home and two, the off duty, English speaking officer had not intervened. So folks, the obvious lesson here is when you travel in a foreign country, it really does make sense to have the number of the American Embassy. Greg, the embassy security guy said if you get into a situation, the first thing you want to say is that you want to call the American Embassy and unless you really have done something major, they will back off.
It absolutely perplexes me to think that this country has such severe rules about defending grass yet they place so little worth on the safety of a child that there’s an elementary school next door to a prison, separated only by a flimsy wire fence. Go figure.
A History of Rwanda
The earliest known inhabitants of Rwanda were pygmoid hunter gatherers, ancestral to the modern Twa people who today comprise only 0.25% of the national population. Some 2,000 years ago, agricultural and pastoralist migrants from the west settled in the area. Oral traditions recall that prior to the 15th century a ruler named Gihanga forged a centralized Rwandan state with similar roots to the Buganda and Bunyoro Empires in neighboring Uganda. Comprised of cattle owning nobility and agriculturalist serfdom majority – the precursors respectively of the modern day Tutsi and Hutu – this powerful state was able to repel all early attempts at European penetration.
Rwanda became a German colony following the 1885 Berlin Conference, although it would be a full decade before a permanent German presence was established. In 1918 Rwanda was mandated to Belgium, which implemented a system of indirect rule that exploited and intensified the existing divisions between Tutsi and Hutu. In 1962, under Prime Minister Gregoire Kayibanda, Rwanda became an independent republic, an attainment marred by frequent clashes between the newly dominant Hutu majority and historically more powerful Tutsi minority, culminating in the slaughter of an estimated 10,000 Tutsi civilians in 1963.
In 1973, Major General Juvenal Habyarimana ousted the repressive Kayibanda regime, and over the next 20 years, the country’s political situation became ever more complicated due to simmering ethnic tensions exacerbated by events in neighboring states, several of which harbored significant numbers of Rwandan refugees. On April 6, 1994, Habyarimana died in a mysterious plane crash, sparking an already planned genocide. Two days later, in an effort to prevent the genocide, the exiled Rwanda Patriotic Front (RPF) invaded the country, capturing Kigali on July 4 and forming a Government of National Unity under President Pasteur Bizimungu. Within three months, the genocide was all but over. An estimated one million Rwandans died over that period, and twice as many had fled into exile.
(source: The Rwanda Office of Tourism and National Parks) www.rwandatourism.com.)
This past Sunday we got up and enjoyed a big breakfast as has become our custom. We planned to walk downtown and look at some of the shops. Before we left, I asked Ken if he needed to take his cell phone and anticipated he would say no, just leave it. Anyway, his response was “Take the phone because you never know when a colleague might be in distress and I just may be the one to receive the call”. The day before, he had attended a U.S. Embassy presentation about personal security while in Rwanda so perhaps that had something do with it. Well, that’s life in a foreign country so I tossed the phone into my bag and off we went.
The day was sunny and warm with a welcome mist of rain in the air. After an enjoyable uphill and downhill walk for a couple of hours, we decided to stop in at our favorite Indian restaurant, Minar, for lunch. The restaurant is located about a story or so above street level and you can sit in an outdoor area with an extensive view of the city. The food is excellent without fail, so I knew they would not disappoint. They did not; it was superb. We took our time, enjoyed good food and conversation then started the hike back home.
I guess we had walked about an hour from the restaurant and had maybe another half hour to go when we came upon a crew working on the road and decided to cross over to the other side. There were four lanes of traffic moving in two directions with a median in the middle. We crossed the first lanes, the median and then the second lanes to get to the other side. As soon as we got to the other side, a uniformed Rwandan guy stops us and says something in the local language. We later found out this person is part of the civilian defense force that augments the police department but have neither training nor weapons and they don’t get paid. None of us can communicate with the other but it’s clear he’s not happy for some reason.
Ken tells the guy he doesn’t understand what he’s saying and we start walking away. The guy then steps in our path, puts his hand on Ken’s arm and repeats himself. We now can tell this is about to turn into an unpleasant incident so Ken pulls out the cell phone and calls the embassy security person who had given the briefing the day before. At this point, I tell Ken come on let’s just go but Mr. Uniform was not having hit. He once more puts his hand on Ken’s arm to impede him and that’s when I lost it and shouted at him to take his hands off of my husband. Amazingly, he seemed to understand that.
Again, we start to walk away and this guy yells something to a group of guys passing in a truck. We’re cautiously walking along and here footsteps running behind us. We turn around and not only is this guy coming behind us but he has about six of his counterparts with him, two of them have rifles and there’s a police vehicle pulling up. Ken is as cool as a cucumber and I’m about equal parts angry and terrified of going to a Rwandan jail on an obvious humbug. Next, another local guy not in uniform walks thru the crowd and says in English that he’s a police officer, saw what was happening and stopped to see if he could be of assistance. I put in plain words to him that this first guy is detaining us and we don’t know why. Some dialogue flies back and forth in the local dialect and he tells us the first guy says we did not cross the street at the crosswalk in order to avoid walking on the grass. Naturally I wanted to say, “How the hell were we supposed to know it’s a crime?” Instead, I found the grace to say we did not know it was unlawful. After asking us where we were from, he says we’re free to go.
By now, the embassy security guy had figured out where we were (remember, no street addresses here) and picked us up in his truck. Evidently, he had contacted his Rwandan security counterpart who arrived shortly thereafter. We all drove back to the location of the first guy who had stopped us and the Rwandan security guy gave him what to my ear sounded like a good old fashioned ass chewing. The embassy security guy then gave us a ride the rest of the way home and other than my ruffled feathers, everything was alright and no one was harmed. I shudder to think what may have happened if one, we had left the cell phone at home and two, the off duty, English speaking officer had not intervened. So folks, the obvious lesson here is when you travel in a foreign country, it really does make sense to have the number of the American Embassy. Greg, the embassy security guy said if you get into a situation, the first thing you want to say is that you want to call the American Embassy and unless you really have done something major, they will back off.
It absolutely perplexes me to think that this country has such severe rules about defending grass yet they place so little worth on the safety of a child that there’s an elementary school next door to a prison, separated only by a flimsy wire fence. Go figure.
A History of Rwanda
The earliest known inhabitants of Rwanda were pygmoid hunter gatherers, ancestral to the modern Twa people who today comprise only 0.25% of the national population. Some 2,000 years ago, agricultural and pastoralist migrants from the west settled in the area. Oral traditions recall that prior to the 15th century a ruler named Gihanga forged a centralized Rwandan state with similar roots to the Buganda and Bunyoro Empires in neighboring Uganda. Comprised of cattle owning nobility and agriculturalist serfdom majority – the precursors respectively of the modern day Tutsi and Hutu – this powerful state was able to repel all early attempts at European penetration.
Rwanda became a German colony following the 1885 Berlin Conference, although it would be a full decade before a permanent German presence was established. In 1918 Rwanda was mandated to Belgium, which implemented a system of indirect rule that exploited and intensified the existing divisions between Tutsi and Hutu. In 1962, under Prime Minister Gregoire Kayibanda, Rwanda became an independent republic, an attainment marred by frequent clashes between the newly dominant Hutu majority and historically more powerful Tutsi minority, culminating in the slaughter of an estimated 10,000 Tutsi civilians in 1963.
In 1973, Major General Juvenal Habyarimana ousted the repressive Kayibanda regime, and over the next 20 years, the country’s political situation became ever more complicated due to simmering ethnic tensions exacerbated by events in neighboring states, several of which harbored significant numbers of Rwandan refugees. On April 6, 1994, Habyarimana died in a mysterious plane crash, sparking an already planned genocide. Two days later, in an effort to prevent the genocide, the exiled Rwanda Patriotic Front (RPF) invaded the country, capturing Kigali on July 4 and forming a Government of National Unity under President Pasteur Bizimungu. Within three months, the genocide was all but over. An estimated one million Rwandans died over that period, and twice as many had fled into exile.
(source: The Rwanda Office of Tourism and National Parks) www.rwandatourism.com.)
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Getting Settled
Genocide
I would like to know more about the genocide that occurred here 12 years ago. I’d like to know what happens to the survivors and how they cope. I look at people here that are half my age, knowing they were young teenagers during the genocide and wonder if they think about it, if they dream about it, how many loved ones they lost. What happens to the human spirit in the face and in the aftermath of such atrocities? I may never know or understand.
As friends and family, you all know that Ken is here working on building the new U.S. embassy. He came home from work one day and told me how the construction people occasionally unearth human bones and that when this happens the work has to stop immediately. Discovery of human bones, by Rwandan law, requires a call to local forensics authorities to come and claim them. Sometimes they find clothing; this is usually a sign that there will be human bones in the area. He seemed to take all of this information very matter-of-factly and as the reality of construction work in this part of the world. That exterior crumbled the day he came upon a single toddler sized girl’s shoe; no bones, no clothing, just a little girl’s shoe. He did not need to state the obvious to me. A little girl who used to run, play, sing and dance had been murdered and left on the spot where he stood. I’m struck with a profound sadness not just for that little light that was extinguished but at man’s inhumanity to man. Yet I feel hopeful when I sit by the pool watching different color kids from different corners of the world playing together, laughing and screeching in that joyful way only little kids can. We can learn a lot from them. All around me I see inter and trans-racial families because of adoption. I have no idea what the numbers are but certainly this country has huge numbers of children who lost their parents during the genocide.
Sunday Morning Stroll
A two-hour walk has become our Sunday morning routine after breakfast. We donned light comfortable clothes, packed water, the camera and headed off with no destination in mind. We walked up the ridge then down into the valley. Without being intrusive, we saw the shanty like homes some of the locals live in. Some of them did not appear to have running water or electricity. They looked more like squatter settlements than established neighborhoods.
Probably the most outstanding natural feature here is the hills. There are parts of Kigali that look like someone scooped out part of the mountainside and built communities. The main roads are away from the business district and you take side roads into the neighborhoods. Most of the streets are in extremely poor condition. There is red dirt everywhere – much like that found in some of the southern United States. Most of the homes we have been inside have white tile floors and no air conditioning. So, when you open the windows for a breeze, you also get a film of red dust.
Adventures in Grocery Shopping
One of the company drivers took me to “the market” today. It is an open air bazaar where you can buy some of everything. Upon arrival in the parking lot, your car is immediately surrounded by young Rwandan men trying to make a franc. They offer to carry your bags, help you shop, watch your car, or they just ask for money. Fortunately for me, I was with a Rwandan driver who got me through the human maze unscathed. After navigating the parking lot, we entered the market. This is where you can buy fresh produce and various non-perishables. They sell dry beans, flour, rice, sugar, spices, soaps, cooking oil, small appliances, bottled water and much more. The prices are not set in stone and of course to get the good price, you need to be with a local person who will barter on your behalf.
We also went to a few small shops and I walked away with a pretty good idea of what to expect from shopping here. They charge you as much as you are willing to pay. For example, I was looking for a plastic pail for cleaning. We went into one supermarket and the guy told me it was $12 US for a plastic pail! I realize things are expensive here but I simply could not do it. Later the same day, we went to a bakery/supermarket where they had the same plastic pail for $2.60 US. I have heard many of the expats here say if you see something you like in the store, buy it right then because it probably will not be there the next time you return.
Setting up House
We finally got moved into our house. This moving in process has taught me some valuable lessons about living in Kigali. It is common to have to pay the first six months to a year in advance on a lease. The next thing you have to do is hire a 24/7 security guard for your home. Electricity is paid for in advance. You buy a pre-paid card with a pin number, take it home and enter that number into your electric box and voila, you have lights. You check the meter periodically and pay for more power as needed. If you let your balance get to zero, you have no electricity – pretty simple. Unlike in the States, you never see an electric bill here. That’s a good thing since there are no street addresses. Yes, there are no addresses and no street names in residential neighborhoods. I know I couldn’t believe it either. If someone is coming to your home, you give the best directions based on landmarks. We have yet to figure out how to get a land line in the house, so for now we use cell phones. Unfortunately, that means no Internet. I expect that at some point we will get a phone and make the leap back into the modern world.
Satellite television is available in the city. Here's process: 1) go to the cable company and pay for the service (but be sure you take someone who speaks the local language); 2) pay for three months in advance, and 3) on the day of installation, someone from the cable company calls to tell you to come and pick up the technician and as far as we know, we are expected to provide tools. They don't give you an installation date, they just say "sometime soon".
I don’t know how, but a water bill shows up monthly. Presumably, someone from the local utility company reads the meter and leaves the bill with your guard. Trash pickup is once a week on Saturdays for 50 francs per month. If you are not from this area, you will not be able to drink the water. Bottled water is readily available in the markets. I saw our guard fill her water bottle from the outdoor sink this morning and I had to stop myself from running out the back door telling her not to drink it. Evidently if you grow up drinking the local water, your body can handle it. I am certain it would put me flat on my back if I tried it.
More Grocery Shopping
The driver took me to a different grocery store (LaGalette) this past Saturday. I was very pleasantly surprised. While it’s definitely small by U.S. grocery store standards, they have the best selection of dry goods I have seen here so far. Additionally, they have a pretty good selection of fresh meat (still no chicken) and frozen fish. I also found a decent selection of dairy and produce. Now that I have been to a number of grocery stores, I realize that the most expensive products are those that are imported from the States. For example, I bought a bottle of white vinegar manufactured in Rwanda for 500 francs; a bottle the same size from America cost 1700 francs. I bought peanut butter with the label written in what looks like an Arabic script for 1500 francs. On closer inspection of the label, I found a small US flag and small print stating manufactured in Seaport New York for American Garden Products (www.globalxport.com). I bring this up because the same size Jiffy brand peanut butter was nearly three times as much. So, the lesson for me in terms of economics is to buy products that are either manufactured outside the US or the ones that are made specifically for export. Don’t be alarmed, we really do have a good income and can easily afford American made products if I want them. My method of shopping just makes good sense to me. Fortunately there are not many Western grocery products that I “just have to have”, and that’s a very good thing since many items are simply not available here. We did ship a fairly large supply of toiletries so I am not concerned about running out of essentials like tooth paste, soap and deodorant. Okay, now that I think about it, my one “can’t live without it” food is Louisiana style hot sauce – and if we use all of the bottles I shipped I’ll be sending out a hot sauce SOS.
Dining Out
Our friend Scott (Ken’s officemate at the Birmingham office)recently arrived in Kigali to work on the project for a few weeks. The three of us thought it would be a good idea to get some dinner this past Sunday night. On the recommendation of an American friend here, we decided to try the Italian restaurant in the neighborhood. Understand that being in the neighborhood does not necessarily mean across the street. This restaurant is down the street, down the hill, down another street and of course has no address. By the time we left for dinner it was 7:00 p.m., already pitch black outside and we were unsure exactly where the place was. After a couple of passes, we found a sign indicating restaurant parking. Following the sign downhill, we entered a typical Kigali side street – no lights, potholes the size of small craters, huge ditches on both sides and of course we were driving a monster sized truck. Local people seemed to materialize literally out of nowhere along this dark, dusty road. We’d be bouncing along and out of no where, a man would suddenly be standing on the side of the road. Ken wondered aloud if the guy was practicing pretending to be a statue. After this went on for several meters, we came face to face with about half a dozen little goats just mozying along in the headlights. We took a quick vote and decided this was no longer a good idea and that we should get ourselves turned around and out of there. Ever the diehard, Scott rolled down his window and asked one of the statue people if where she was standing was the Italian restaurant. She certainly heard him, but whether she understood was another issue since she simply stepped inside the gate and closed it behind her. Italian food was not going to happen that night.
Plan B turned out to be an Ethiopian restaurant we had seen from the street. At least this time when we turned into the restaurant, someone was there to guide us to the parking lot. We sat at outdoor tables hoping this would not be the night we encountered a malaria carrying mosquito; they seem to be most active between dusk and dawn (but I digress). The restaurant had three power outages over the course of our dinner – fortunately they had a working generator. The food itself was not particularly noteworthy except that it did not make anyone sick and that means we will return.
City Services
Keep in mind that Kigali is the capitol city in Rwanda. When I think of the capitol of a country, I have visions of the seat of government, the place where the up and comings work and certainly a place with reliable city utility services. NOT! The city of Kigali regularly “rations” electricity and water (translation: withhold). We moved into the house last Sunday and the city’s water supply was on a total of one day. Fortunately we do have a water storage tank in the yard and I would guess it holds a few hundred gallons. Even so, it’s obviously not an infinite water supply. I made the mistake of watering the yard yesterday – today there’s only the barest trickle of water from the faucets (no bath today). We have no idea when the city will turn water back on. About ten or so years ago, the World Bank listed Rwanda as the poorest country in the world and if that ranking has changed over the last generation it’s probably not by much. With that in mind, consider that many if not most of the locals don’t have access to running water and certainly not an extra water storage tank. I don’t know where they get it but I see women everyday carrying water in big yellow containers.
We had an electric generator installed yesterday. The power has gone out once since we got the house. From what I understand, electricity is very unreliable here as well. The stove in our kitchen has two electric burners, two gas burners and a gas oven. The gas is butane and stored in a tank, so we don't depend on the city for that. Fortunately the temperature is mild enough that home heating is not an issue. Every evening beginning around 4:00 p.m. you start to see a smoky haze rise over the city as locals start burning wood for cooking the evening meal. We were still at the hotel when I first smelled it and I swore someone was smoking a boatload of marijuana every evening around the same time. Of course I felt pretty silly when Ken told me what it was.
Monday, May 29, 2006
We Are in Rwanda
We left the United States on May 15 aboard a Delta flight from Birmingham, Alabama to Atlanta. Next we flew from Brussels Belgium and finally landed in Kigali City, Rwanda. The entire trip was close to 24 hours, including layovers. To say it was grueling would be a gross understatement. We landed in Kigali around 7 o’clock p.m. with a warning from the flight attendant that taking pictures in the airport was strictly forbidden. If any of my fellow passengers had notions to the contrary, they surely had a change of heart when faced with armed African security guards strolling about. I had already read about this and knew that it was related to the airport's being one of the locations where the 1994 genocide took place. Reading about this, I was certain I would feel some level of emotion when I finally walked on the same ground where people had been slaughtered so senselessly. Fortunately perhaps, I was far too tired and disoriented to do anything but thank God for getting us across the world safely and finally.
Going through customs was amazingly quick and easy. We had taken all of the required immunizations, most importantly yellow fever. I assumed they would ask to see shot records and they did not. Nor were we asked for a Visa. The whole process, including claiming luggage and finding our driver was complete in less than half an hour. Driving from the airport to our hotel reminded me of any number of Caribbean cities with tiny shops and lots of people hanging out. We checked into the Hotel Novotel, where we will be living until we find a home.
The hotel restaurant has live musical entertainment during the dinner hour. We were surprised and disappointed that the musicians never perform African music. I can hear just as much country music in this hotel as I did in San Antonio. You can purchase crafts, flowers, clothing and decorative items from local artisans in the hotel's lobby. I recently bought placemats and a table runner from a woman who works with a non profit agency called the Women’s Sewing Project. All of their items are made by African women who are striving to make a better life for themselves and their families. They also have a shop here in Kigali that I plan to visit. I do like the idea of spending money in a way I know will help to empower women with a desire for a better life. Maybe I will become involved with them on a volunteer basis.
They make excellent jams and preserves here locally. Hotel Novotel has a line of jams made exclusively for the hotel and we enjoy them. The hotel bakery also sells fresh breads, pastries and sandwiches daily.
Early Challenges
After being here one week, we both contracted food poisoning. We have been meticulous with our food choices and only eat at the hotel restaurant. I have to wonder about their food handling and storage techniques. The hot items never seem to be more than just warm and cold items are only cool. We do the best we can with what’s available to us. After a couple days of symptoms we decided it was time to see a doctor. The hotel is very close to King Faisal Hospital. I had read about it on the Internet and it was described as the best hospital in the city. We stood in line at the hospital and I was acutely anxious at the thought of being treated there. My initial observation was that it simply looked dirty. The entire first floor is open-air, giving free reign to birds and any other small animals or insects that might be in the vicinity. We hastily decided this was not a good idea and went with our plan B, which was to go to the doctor at the Belgium embassy. We saw the doctor, got prescription medications and hope to be improved in four days.
One thing we had to achieve soon after arrival was to find a permanent place to live. The corporate apartment we were promised was unavailable when we got here. The company recommended a local realtor and assured us that he was the best. I’ve said it before and no doubt will say it again – it’s all relative. If this guy is the best, it says very little about the rest. In addition to the language hurdle – his English is almost as bad as my French – he seems to deliberately ignore our instructions. We told him plainly what we were looking for and he showed us what he wanted us to see. He would make appointments and not show up. He took us to houses at night that did not have electricity. We also went to homes where there was no guard or the owner was not there so the trip was wasted. Then there were the times when he transparently lied to us. He took us to an enormous house and said with pride that it was owned by “the minister”. As if two things – number one that we knew who the minister was and number two that we would be impressed. After much ado, he finally did show us a home we found suitable. But no good deed goes unpunished, right? It just couldn’t be as easy as find the house, seal the deal and move in could it? Oh no.
The owner introduced us to the architect who introduced us to an elderly man who would make the curtains once we bought the fabric. At the Indian-run fabric store, I picked the material I found the least unattractive – a gruesome mishmash of yellow and green. Based on my few experiences with service providers in Rwanda, I promptly set my expectations meter on low regarding the curtains. We went back to the house at the agreed upon time to pay for the curtains and see the final product. Upon arrival, the guard informed us that neither the architect nor the curtain maker was coming. I wasn’t troubled because I looked at the living room windows and could drapes hanging. Armed with my new set of keys, we stepped across the threshold and there, to my mortification, hung the most unsightly set of curtains I have ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes on. They look like a group project designed by students from the Helen Keller School of interior decorating. Trying to make lemons from this latest batch of lemonade, I walked to the next room feebly attempting to convince myself that the curtain maker simply had a bad start and that the other rooms would be better. I was wrong; the other rooms looked just as bad. The fact is that we’d spent close to $400 U.S. and we could either live with it or throw good money after bad. Maybe it will look better once we get the furniture in. I paid for fabric that was not made into curtains and the architect has now denied ever having it. Ken paid made a partial payment and told him he could collect the balance when he returned the unused fabric. It really is our only recourse. I don’t mean to suggest that all Rwandan business people are deceitful, that can’t be the case. Just a word to the wise, I guess.
Groceries
We took our first trip to a grocery store today – not to shop yet, just looking. The store is called the German Butcher Shop and is located in a modern enclosed shopping center called MTN. They had a decent assortment of meats – ground beef and pork, meats for stew, liver, chops, frozen meats and others I could not identify. Regrettably, none of them looked particularly appealing. Clearly absent from the meat case was chicken; presumably because of the bird flu. So it may be years before you can buy chicken here again. My beloved, always the engineer, placed his hand on the meat cooler and promptly determined that the temperature was not low enough. That’s certainly not good news.
Additionally, they had a very small selection of produce – a few potatoes, pears, bananas, onion and garlic. I understand there is a produce market somewhere in the city. Sounds like another adventure. They sell water by the case or gallon container. I saw a dairy case with cheeses and yogurt. Milk comes in boxes and needs no refrigeration until opened – we used the same type in Beijing and never had a problem with it. We saw a large bottle of olive oil for close to $14 U.S., dry cereal is about the same. Canned vegetables cost about $2. Rwanda is landlocked and just about everything has to be imported, driving prices through the roof. As I understand, coffee and tea are practically the only things exported from here. The significant thing to know is that most items in the grocery store are very expensive compared to prices anywhere in the States so just be prepared for serious sticker shock.
In contrast to the hospital, the two pharmacies I saw here in Kigali were remarkably clean, well organized and staffed by professionals. They appear to be very similar to pharmacies in Beijing. We had prescriptions for two different types of medications – one for intestinal cleansing and the other for stomach pain. When you have a prescription filled here you get the original doctor’s written slip back and use it again later.
I thought I would see many of the local women wearing fancy braided hairstyles. Hairstyles are all over the place here – extensions, weaves, wigs, nearly bald, straightened hair, looks like anything goes. African women seem to be dress very modestly without much jewelry. They often wear simple skirts and blouses or dress slacks. I don’t think I have ever seen an African woman in shorts. Once in awhile we see ladies in the traditional African dress and head wrap – really quite beautiful. You almost never see an African woman in revealing clothes.
May 29, 2006
Today is Monday, the start of week number three. We’re still living in the hotel. The person who was supposed to purchase our appliances has higher priorities and, it seems, moving has been put on indefinite hold. So here I am. I’ve made a conscious decision to simply roll with the punches over this. As the serenity prayer advises, it’s better to accept the things I cannot change (my circumstances) and change the things I can (my attitude) and be wise enough to know the difference.
Hotel Novotel serves a big lunch buffet on Sundays. The food is typically a bit better than the normal weekday fare. Ken and I were talking about our bout with food poisoning last week and identified Sunday night dinner at the hotel as the culprit. I remember when we went to dinner that Sunday, we both made the comment that they were serving the same dishes they had served for lunch. As the saying goes, hindsight is always twenty-twenty; we should not have eaten the food. I bring this up because yesterday they had made to order barbeque for lunch. We ate the food and agreed that if they served the same thing for dinner we would not eat at the hotel. Sure enough, we came down for dinner and there were the cooks serving up the same meat from lunch. We simply passed on dinner altogether. I don’t mind leftovers from my own or my mother’s kitchen. However, when a restaurant serves leftovers and they obviously do not store and handle that food properly, they are surely going to poison someone.
Going through customs was amazingly quick and easy. We had taken all of the required immunizations, most importantly yellow fever. I assumed they would ask to see shot records and they did not. Nor were we asked for a Visa. The whole process, including claiming luggage and finding our driver was complete in less than half an hour. Driving from the airport to our hotel reminded me of any number of Caribbean cities with tiny shops and lots of people hanging out. We checked into the Hotel Novotel, where we will be living until we find a home.
The hotel restaurant has live musical entertainment during the dinner hour. We were surprised and disappointed that the musicians never perform African music. I can hear just as much country music in this hotel as I did in San Antonio. You can purchase crafts, flowers, clothing and decorative items from local artisans in the hotel's lobby. I recently bought placemats and a table runner from a woman who works with a non profit agency called the Women’s Sewing Project. All of their items are made by African women who are striving to make a better life for themselves and their families. They also have a shop here in Kigali that I plan to visit. I do like the idea of spending money in a way I know will help to empower women with a desire for a better life. Maybe I will become involved with them on a volunteer basis.
They make excellent jams and preserves here locally. Hotel Novotel has a line of jams made exclusively for the hotel and we enjoy them. The hotel bakery also sells fresh breads, pastries and sandwiches daily.
Early Challenges
After being here one week, we both contracted food poisoning. We have been meticulous with our food choices and only eat at the hotel restaurant. I have to wonder about their food handling and storage techniques. The hot items never seem to be more than just warm and cold items are only cool. We do the best we can with what’s available to us. After a couple days of symptoms we decided it was time to see a doctor. The hotel is very close to King Faisal Hospital. I had read about it on the Internet and it was described as the best hospital in the city. We stood in line at the hospital and I was acutely anxious at the thought of being treated there. My initial observation was that it simply looked dirty. The entire first floor is open-air, giving free reign to birds and any other small animals or insects that might be in the vicinity. We hastily decided this was not a good idea and went with our plan B, which was to go to the doctor at the Belgium embassy. We saw the doctor, got prescription medications and hope to be improved in four days.
One thing we had to achieve soon after arrival was to find a permanent place to live. The corporate apartment we were promised was unavailable when we got here. The company recommended a local realtor and assured us that he was the best. I’ve said it before and no doubt will say it again – it’s all relative. If this guy is the best, it says very little about the rest. In addition to the language hurdle – his English is almost as bad as my French – he seems to deliberately ignore our instructions. We told him plainly what we were looking for and he showed us what he wanted us to see. He would make appointments and not show up. He took us to houses at night that did not have electricity. We also went to homes where there was no guard or the owner was not there so the trip was wasted. Then there were the times when he transparently lied to us. He took us to an enormous house and said with pride that it was owned by “the minister”. As if two things – number one that we knew who the minister was and number two that we would be impressed. After much ado, he finally did show us a home we found suitable. But no good deed goes unpunished, right? It just couldn’t be as easy as find the house, seal the deal and move in could it? Oh no.
The owner introduced us to the architect who introduced us to an elderly man who would make the curtains once we bought the fabric. At the Indian-run fabric store, I picked the material I found the least unattractive – a gruesome mishmash of yellow and green. Based on my few experiences with service providers in Rwanda, I promptly set my expectations meter on low regarding the curtains. We went back to the house at the agreed upon time to pay for the curtains and see the final product. Upon arrival, the guard informed us that neither the architect nor the curtain maker was coming. I wasn’t troubled because I looked at the living room windows and could drapes hanging. Armed with my new set of keys, we stepped across the threshold and there, to my mortification, hung the most unsightly set of curtains I have ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes on. They look like a group project designed by students from the Helen Keller School of interior decorating. Trying to make lemons from this latest batch of lemonade, I walked to the next room feebly attempting to convince myself that the curtain maker simply had a bad start and that the other rooms would be better. I was wrong; the other rooms looked just as bad. The fact is that we’d spent close to $400 U.S. and we could either live with it or throw good money after bad. Maybe it will look better once we get the furniture in. I paid for fabric that was not made into curtains and the architect has now denied ever having it. Ken paid made a partial payment and told him he could collect the balance when he returned the unused fabric. It really is our only recourse. I don’t mean to suggest that all Rwandan business people are deceitful, that can’t be the case. Just a word to the wise, I guess.
Groceries
We took our first trip to a grocery store today – not to shop yet, just looking. The store is called the German Butcher Shop and is located in a modern enclosed shopping center called MTN. They had a decent assortment of meats – ground beef and pork, meats for stew, liver, chops, frozen meats and others I could not identify. Regrettably, none of them looked particularly appealing. Clearly absent from the meat case was chicken; presumably because of the bird flu. So it may be years before you can buy chicken here again. My beloved, always the engineer, placed his hand on the meat cooler and promptly determined that the temperature was not low enough. That’s certainly not good news.
Additionally, they had a very small selection of produce – a few potatoes, pears, bananas, onion and garlic. I understand there is a produce market somewhere in the city. Sounds like another adventure. They sell water by the case or gallon container. I saw a dairy case with cheeses and yogurt. Milk comes in boxes and needs no refrigeration until opened – we used the same type in Beijing and never had a problem with it. We saw a large bottle of olive oil for close to $14 U.S., dry cereal is about the same. Canned vegetables cost about $2. Rwanda is landlocked and just about everything has to be imported, driving prices through the roof. As I understand, coffee and tea are practically the only things exported from here. The significant thing to know is that most items in the grocery store are very expensive compared to prices anywhere in the States so just be prepared for serious sticker shock.
In contrast to the hospital, the two pharmacies I saw here in Kigali were remarkably clean, well organized and staffed by professionals. They appear to be very similar to pharmacies in Beijing. We had prescriptions for two different types of medications – one for intestinal cleansing and the other for stomach pain. When you have a prescription filled here you get the original doctor’s written slip back and use it again later.
I thought I would see many of the local women wearing fancy braided hairstyles. Hairstyles are all over the place here – extensions, weaves, wigs, nearly bald, straightened hair, looks like anything goes. African women seem to be dress very modestly without much jewelry. They often wear simple skirts and blouses or dress slacks. I don’t think I have ever seen an African woman in shorts. Once in awhile we see ladies in the traditional African dress and head wrap – really quite beautiful. You almost never see an African woman in revealing clothes.
May 29, 2006
Today is Monday, the start of week number three. We’re still living in the hotel. The person who was supposed to purchase our appliances has higher priorities and, it seems, moving has been put on indefinite hold. So here I am. I’ve made a conscious decision to simply roll with the punches over this. As the serenity prayer advises, it’s better to accept the things I cannot change (my circumstances) and change the things I can (my attitude) and be wise enough to know the difference.
Hotel Novotel serves a big lunch buffet on Sundays. The food is typically a bit better than the normal weekday fare. Ken and I were talking about our bout with food poisoning last week and identified Sunday night dinner at the hotel as the culprit. I remember when we went to dinner that Sunday, we both made the comment that they were serving the same dishes they had served for lunch. As the saying goes, hindsight is always twenty-twenty; we should not have eaten the food. I bring this up because yesterday they had made to order barbeque for lunch. We ate the food and agreed that if they served the same thing for dinner we would not eat at the hotel. Sure enough, we came down for dinner and there were the cooks serving up the same meat from lunch. We simply passed on dinner altogether. I don’t mind leftovers from my own or my mother’s kitchen. However, when a restaurant serves leftovers and they obviously do not store and handle that food properly, they are surely going to poison someone.
Monday, April 10, 2006
The Next Adventure: The Motherland
Our time in San Antonio is winding down to its last few weeks. Ken's accepted a position with an international firm and we are heading back overseas. This time we will be in Africa - - in Kigali, the capitol city of Rwanda. When he first started the interview process, I examined what I thought I already knew about Rwanda. Like most folks, what I knew of Rwanda was the 1994 genocide between the Tutsis and the Hutus. I've read that the number of Tutsis slaughtered was somewhere between 500,000 and 800,000. Either number is shameful.
In terms of people's reactions when I tell them our next assignment, the reaction really just depends on the person. My college-age stepchildren were immediately enthused and see it as a great opportunity. People I worked with who have travelled abroad (some to Africa) have had positive feedback. People I know who have done missionary work in different parts of Africa consider it a chance to do the Lord's work. And of course, there's friends and family who understand that this expat lifestyle is one we simply plan to live as long as its an option for us.
I understand that there are still a number of "hot spots" throughout the continent of Africa and the socio-political situation can turn very quickly. Rwanda is not a place I would pick as a vacation spot and surely we will have more security precautions than we did in China. Without a doubt, there is a certain amount of risk involved but we believe it is worth taking.
We both look forward to learning about the people and the culture for ourselves. The Internet and the library are wonderful resources to jump start my learning but as the saying goes, nothing takes the place of being there.
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