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.
