I have said before that the word “Mzungu” means “White person.” I have heard this many times while I have been here. People point at me and say “Mzungu! Mzungu!” as if I didn’t know I was white. I have gotten very use to it and usually reply back, “Rwandese! Rwandese!” It is a lot of fun seeing the response from children.
Baby’s cry when they see white people. Usually when they are about 5 years old or older, they like seeing the white man, and they ask for candy and things like that. When they are under 5 years of age, seeing a white man usually makes them cry. I was told that an old Rwandan folktale says that the White man catches and eats little Rwandan children. Kids tell their little brothers and sisters that even today. I can understand why the kids are scared; that is a horrible story!
Usually when I go out into the rural areas, I scare the children the most. They are out of touch with civilization and still use the old methods of agriculture and medicine. They have very limited technology, and folktales run ramped. They have never seen a camera before. When I, or one of the other students, take their pictures, they never smile. When you show them the picture they laugh and scream like it is some sort of Mzungu Magic. I guess to them, it is! Children love it the most. They always want their picture taken.
I was using a video camera for an American couple that wanted video footage of themselves working with the kids. When I showed the kids the video footage, they asked if I was going to put them in an American movie. Some of the children walked around like movie stars and put on the Americans’ sunglasses. I know that those kids will remember that moment for the rest of their lives. The day the Mzungus came and video taped them. It was a big deal for a small town Rwandan child.
The funniest thing that has ever happened with children was on a ride home from one of the Rwanda rural areas. Usually as we ride home, children shout “Mzungu” at us from the roadside. We have gotten use to this, so we usually don’t pay much attention to it. We just wave at them.
Yesterday, the children were yelling something different. Our driver, Martin- an English speaking Rwandan, started laughing at what these rural children were yelling.
I said, “Martin, what on Earth are these children screaming! It isn’t ‘mzungu.’”
Martin was laughing so hard he could barely answer.
“They are yelling ‘The Chinese are coming! The Chinese are coming!’”
Martin said that they had never seen white people before and that they thought we were Chinese.
So I can now quote the words of the famous Gus Chiggins in truth when saying:
“Well I’ve been called crazy, goofy, smelly, spooky, shifty, and Chinese, but never dumb!”
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
D.W. I Don't Know!
If I die in Rwanda it won’t be because of lions, tigers, bears, oh my! I am as safe from the beasts of the Jungle as I will ever be. Even though I have been in areas that had high amounts of Cobras, I am sure that I will be safe from them. Even as I walk home alone on many nights, I feel as safe as a seven year old on a McDonalds Playground. If I am hurt or killed here, I am positive the only cause will be a hit and run by a car.
The drivers here are ridiculous. Rush hour traffic in Houston, Texas is like a herd of kittens compared to the morning traffic of Butare, Rwanda. There aren’t very many cars on the road, very few actually, but the cars drive like mad! They weave in and out of each other at fast speeds dodging bicycles, goats, motorbikes, other cars, and me. I always think that I am going to get hit but never do.
Crosswalks are just suggestions in Rwanda. They mean nothing. I advise against them. A crosswalk gives a person a false sense of security like:
“Oh, this is a crosswalk. I bet it’s safe to walk here. Oh, look at that nice little building across the (WHAAAM)!” then hit by a fast moving European block of steel on cheap rubber wheels.
If I had to choose, I would take my chances in the jungle. Things are much safer their. Most animals don’t move at 90KPH. Animals rarely attack, and if they do, people will usually help you. If you are hit by a car, I don’t think they will help.
Rwandan logic says that if a person is hit by a car, it is the person’s fault. Why? Because people have eyes...cars don’t. That is what I was told.
My reply: Cars are made of thousands of pounds of metal and fiberglass....people aren’t. Their answer: “You’re right. Cars don’t have feelings, so you better get out of their way!
And that is what I try to do every day. I have been lucky so far.
Another funny fact is that there are speeding laws in Rwanda. This is not funny, but the method for enforcing the law is quite funny. What happens is that there is a man in a police officer uniform just over a hill or around a curve. These men are Highway Patrol, and they hide like Highway Patrol in the States. The only difference is that these men don’t have cars or radar guns. Their method of speed detection is sound. The instrument used to detect the speed: The Human Ear. The police officer’s ear detects the speed.
Many Rwandans have been pulled over and told, “It sounded like you were going too fast!”
Can you believe it... “Sounded Like!” That is a little odd. If I were to buy a car in Rwanda, I would just buy silent tires. Sound is the only source of speed detection.
Also, because the officers don’t have cars, I wondered how they could stop someone who was speeding.
The answer: They shoot at them!
It’s hard enough to explain to an officer in Texas that you are on your way to an important event and can’t be late. Try explaining it to a bullet! I think that I would just slow down while in Rwanda.
Big military trucks drive at night down curvy, mountainous roads with no headlights. People pass on these curves and only honk their horn. (Which is as good as breaking in Rwanda!) Bicyclers are run off the road, people dive out of the way, and many goats never make it out alive.
We did hit a goat while riding in a Taxi a few days ago. He made good Rwandan Brochette for a local family...
I know that we have some drinking and driving problems in America, but it’s nothing like this. These people are down right dangerous...sober! Everyone Pray that I make it back safe. It is too bad that there are no seatbelts for the pedestrians!
The drivers here are ridiculous. Rush hour traffic in Houston, Texas is like a herd of kittens compared to the morning traffic of Butare, Rwanda. There aren’t very many cars on the road, very few actually, but the cars drive like mad! They weave in and out of each other at fast speeds dodging bicycles, goats, motorbikes, other cars, and me. I always think that I am going to get hit but never do.
Crosswalks are just suggestions in Rwanda. They mean nothing. I advise against them. A crosswalk gives a person a false sense of security like:
“Oh, this is a crosswalk. I bet it’s safe to walk here. Oh, look at that nice little building across the (WHAAAM)!” then hit by a fast moving European block of steel on cheap rubber wheels.
If I had to choose, I would take my chances in the jungle. Things are much safer their. Most animals don’t move at 90KPH. Animals rarely attack, and if they do, people will usually help you. If you are hit by a car, I don’t think they will help.
Rwandan logic says that if a person is hit by a car, it is the person’s fault. Why? Because people have eyes...cars don’t. That is what I was told.
My reply: Cars are made of thousands of pounds of metal and fiberglass....people aren’t. Their answer: “You’re right. Cars don’t have feelings, so you better get out of their way!
And that is what I try to do every day. I have been lucky so far.
Another funny fact is that there are speeding laws in Rwanda. This is not funny, but the method for enforcing the law is quite funny. What happens is that there is a man in a police officer uniform just over a hill or around a curve. These men are Highway Patrol, and they hide like Highway Patrol in the States. The only difference is that these men don’t have cars or radar guns. Their method of speed detection is sound. The instrument used to detect the speed: The Human Ear. The police officer’s ear detects the speed.
Many Rwandans have been pulled over and told, “It sounded like you were going too fast!”
Can you believe it... “Sounded Like!” That is a little odd. If I were to buy a car in Rwanda, I would just buy silent tires. Sound is the only source of speed detection.
Also, because the officers don’t have cars, I wondered how they could stop someone who was speeding.
The answer: They shoot at them!
It’s hard enough to explain to an officer in Texas that you are on your way to an important event and can’t be late. Try explaining it to a bullet! I think that I would just slow down while in Rwanda.
Big military trucks drive at night down curvy, mountainous roads with no headlights. People pass on these curves and only honk their horn. (Which is as good as breaking in Rwanda!) Bicyclers are run off the road, people dive out of the way, and many goats never make it out alive.
We did hit a goat while riding in a Taxi a few days ago. He made good Rwandan Brochette for a local family...
I know that we have some drinking and driving problems in America, but it’s nothing like this. These people are down right dangerous...sober! Everyone Pray that I make it back safe. It is too bad that there are no seatbelts for the pedestrians!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Naked Night Guard
I have to be honest and tell all those who read this Blog that I am truly pampered in Rwanda. People have told me that America is a service oriented economy; those people have not been to Rwanda. If I order a drink at a restaurant like a Fanta or Coca Cola, they bring it in a bottle, open the bottle, and poor the drink into the glass. I am not allowed to poor my own drink because the waiters are expected to do it.
All my food is prepared by a cook who comes to our house at 6am and leaves at 6pm. She cooks, washes our clothes, cleans our house, and buys the needed food and supplies. I feel like a three year old child with a nanny...and I love it.
One of the most interesting services provided here in Rwanda is a night watchman. There is a young man named Mark who stays in this little brick building next to a gate that leads to our house. His job is to guard the house against any unwanted guests. Mark opens the door for me, closes the door for me, and makes sure that nobody comes into the house during the night. He doesn’t have a badge, gun, or even a nightstick. He reminds me of hotel security. Hotel watchmen guard the door, but if anything happens, they are helpless. Mark couldn’t defend us if his life depended upon it, but he brings comfort to us in knowing that he will be the first to be injured if something goes wrong. I live in the Motel de Blaze and he is my guard. If someone breaks in, Mark will....he will.....well, probably just get in their way for a few moments.
The funny thing about Mark is that twice I have got him with his pants down...in the most literal sense. Once, Bart and I were going to meet up with some new friends for an evening out on the town. They were to pick us up at 9pm outside of our gate, and they arrived just on time.
When they honked the horn of their car, Bart and I walked outside to our gate. Mark was standing there attentively waiting for us, and then he opened the gate to let us out. We jump into out friend’s car and headed out into the night.
I leaned over and asked Bart as we were leaving, “Did you notice something odd about Mark the guard? ...I don’t think that he is wearing any pants!”
Bart stated, “No way, you have got to be kidding!” Bart then looked out the window of our car.
In the distance our night guard was standing just outside the gate waving good bye to us. He was smiling and wearing a nice button up shirt. Below the shirt there were no pants. The important parts were covered, but his legs were not.
Last night we decided to go to the store for some cookies. Cookies are quite the luxury here, so we were excited to go and pick them up. After buying the cookies we headed back to our house. When we arrived at the gate, we knocked on the door. Sure enough, Mark unlocked and opened the door so that we could enter.
Katherine was practicing her French and asked Mark if he would like a cookie using her best French. Mark answered in French and seemed to really enjoy the cookie. While I was walking to the front door of the house, I noticed that Katherine was standing next to a night guard with no pants. She didn’t notice until it was too late, and she was but a few feet from his side. He didn’t seem embarrassed, but Katherine was. My worry is that he will now become pants less often for a cookie as that appeared to be his repayment from Katherine.
I hope that nobody ever tries to break into our house, and I doubt anyone ever will. This place is too safe for the need of a night guard, but we try to employ as many Rwandans as possible.
If a person ever does try to break in, I am sure that the first thing that the intruder will hear being screamed is:
“Mark, put your pants on! I think I hear someone is outside!”
All my food is prepared by a cook who comes to our house at 6am and leaves at 6pm. She cooks, washes our clothes, cleans our house, and buys the needed food and supplies. I feel like a three year old child with a nanny...and I love it.
One of the most interesting services provided here in Rwanda is a night watchman. There is a young man named Mark who stays in this little brick building next to a gate that leads to our house. His job is to guard the house against any unwanted guests. Mark opens the door for me, closes the door for me, and makes sure that nobody comes into the house during the night. He doesn’t have a badge, gun, or even a nightstick. He reminds me of hotel security. Hotel watchmen guard the door, but if anything happens, they are helpless. Mark couldn’t defend us if his life depended upon it, but he brings comfort to us in knowing that he will be the first to be injured if something goes wrong. I live in the Motel de Blaze and he is my guard. If someone breaks in, Mark will....he will.....well, probably just get in their way for a few moments.
The funny thing about Mark is that twice I have got him with his pants down...in the most literal sense. Once, Bart and I were going to meet up with some new friends for an evening out on the town. They were to pick us up at 9pm outside of our gate, and they arrived just on time.
When they honked the horn of their car, Bart and I walked outside to our gate. Mark was standing there attentively waiting for us, and then he opened the gate to let us out. We jump into out friend’s car and headed out into the night.
I leaned over and asked Bart as we were leaving, “Did you notice something odd about Mark the guard? ...I don’t think that he is wearing any pants!”
Bart stated, “No way, you have got to be kidding!” Bart then looked out the window of our car.
In the distance our night guard was standing just outside the gate waving good bye to us. He was smiling and wearing a nice button up shirt. Below the shirt there were no pants. The important parts were covered, but his legs were not.
Last night we decided to go to the store for some cookies. Cookies are quite the luxury here, so we were excited to go and pick them up. After buying the cookies we headed back to our house. When we arrived at the gate, we knocked on the door. Sure enough, Mark unlocked and opened the door so that we could enter.
Katherine was practicing her French and asked Mark if he would like a cookie using her best French. Mark answered in French and seemed to really enjoy the cookie. While I was walking to the front door of the house, I noticed that Katherine was standing next to a night guard with no pants. She didn’t notice until it was too late, and she was but a few feet from his side. He didn’t seem embarrassed, but Katherine was. My worry is that he will now become pants less often for a cookie as that appeared to be his repayment from Katherine.
I hope that nobody ever tries to break into our house, and I doubt anyone ever will. This place is too safe for the need of a night guard, but we try to employ as many Rwandans as possible.
If a person ever does try to break in, I am sure that the first thing that the intruder will hear being screamed is:
“Mark, put your pants on! I think I hear someone is outside!”
Monday, June 18, 2007
Bike Limos and Rappers
One part of the project that I am helping involves the Coffee Bike. The coffee bike was created and designed by Mr. Ritchey, a man who was involved in the design of the mountain bike, and is highly sought after here in Rwanda. The purpose of this coffee bike program was to create a bike that could handle the mountainous and rugged terrain of Rwandan while still being able to support hundreds of pounds of coffee. The coffee farmers would use these coffee bikes to carry their coffee down the mountains to coffee washing station where they would sell their coffee. The idea is that if the coffee gets to the stations as quickly as possible from the time it is picked, the quality of the coffee is increased.
It is an interesting project, but what is more interesting is the locals’ response to the coffee bikes. They are highly sought after and are almost a symbol of status. These coffee bikes are like a Mercedes Benz to coffee farmers in Rwanda. They ride around on the coffee bikes as proudly as Americans would ride through town in an $80,000 convertible. They use the bikes to give rides to their friends, carry produce, and of course, to carry coffee beans. It is interesting to see how proud they are of the $200 bikes. The bikes are pretty long and are the limousines of Rwanda. Receiving a bike (they get them through a micro credit loan) is like winning a brand new car for them.
The link to a website about it is http://www.projectrwanda.org/
They also like Americans. People are always waving and giving Americans the thumbs up. I don’t know what Americans taught them this, but when you say American, the give you the thumbs up and say, “Cool!”
Sometimes they ask if you know various rappers like 50cent or JayZ. They know all the rappers.
When they find out that you are from Texas, they always say, “George Bush’s home!”
We went to another movie at the same little theater. This one was Harry Potter and it was in French. I have never been through so much touchier in my life. Harry Potter was bad enough; having to watch it in French was almost unbearable. This was my first Harry Potter movie to watch, and I pray that it was my last to ever see.
We are allowed to ride the coffee bikes around town because we have no other mode of transportation. It has been very nice. All the Rwandans watch in amazement as we ride by on our coffee bikes. I feel like a king on a bike chariot riding through town. All of the townspeople chant, “Mzungu! Mzungu!” This translates to “White man! White man!”
They like to state the obvious here in Rwanda, but even the obvious is amazing to them. The small children rub my skin to see if the white paint will come off. They are also amazed by the size of Americans. Most of the Rwandan’s are shorter than me, which is very short. Most of all, they are amazed with my red cheeks. This is the same in America, Europe, and Africa. People just don’t know what to make of my red cheeks.
One Rwandan asked me, “Who kicked you in the face?”
I didn’t want to bother with explaining my dermatological symptoms, so I simply answered, “A stupid Mzungu on a coffee bike in Texas named George Bush did this to me. And no, he is not a rapper. He just makes up words like one!”
It is an interesting project, but what is more interesting is the locals’ response to the coffee bikes. They are highly sought after and are almost a symbol of status. These coffee bikes are like a Mercedes Benz to coffee farmers in Rwanda. They ride around on the coffee bikes as proudly as Americans would ride through town in an $80,000 convertible. They use the bikes to give rides to their friends, carry produce, and of course, to carry coffee beans. It is interesting to see how proud they are of the $200 bikes. The bikes are pretty long and are the limousines of Rwanda. Receiving a bike (they get them through a micro credit loan) is like winning a brand new car for them.
The link to a website about it is http://www.projectrwanda.org/
They also like Americans. People are always waving and giving Americans the thumbs up. I don’t know what Americans taught them this, but when you say American, the give you the thumbs up and say, “Cool!”
Sometimes they ask if you know various rappers like 50cent or JayZ. They know all the rappers.
When they find out that you are from Texas, they always say, “George Bush’s home!”
We went to another movie at the same little theater. This one was Harry Potter and it was in French. I have never been through so much touchier in my life. Harry Potter was bad enough; having to watch it in French was almost unbearable. This was my first Harry Potter movie to watch, and I pray that it was my last to ever see.
We are allowed to ride the coffee bikes around town because we have no other mode of transportation. It has been very nice. All the Rwandans watch in amazement as we ride by on our coffee bikes. I feel like a king on a bike chariot riding through town. All of the townspeople chant, “Mzungu! Mzungu!” This translates to “White man! White man!”
They like to state the obvious here in Rwanda, but even the obvious is amazing to them. The small children rub my skin to see if the white paint will come off. They are also amazed by the size of Americans. Most of the Rwandan’s are shorter than me, which is very short. Most of all, they are amazed with my red cheeks. This is the same in America, Europe, and Africa. People just don’t know what to make of my red cheeks.
One Rwandan asked me, “Who kicked you in the face?”
I didn’t want to bother with explaining my dermatological symptoms, so I simply answered, “A stupid Mzungu on a coffee bike in Texas named George Bush did this to me. And no, he is not a rapper. He just makes up words like one!”
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
new pics
I have posted some new pictures. I want to note that I didn't take these pictures. The other two Aggies with me took them. They are better at photography than me, so I borrow from them.
Enjoy:
http://picasaweb.google.com/blazecurrie
Enjoy:
http://picasaweb.google.com/blazecurrie
Monday, June 11, 2007
Welcome to the Jungle
It finally happened. I did get sick. Don’t jump to conclusions because it was not malaria, yellow fever, polio, Hepatitis of any letter, or typhoid. I received shots and medications for those; I simply had food poisoning of some sort. I’ll save you the gory details and simply say that if you are ever in Rwanda, and you visit the city of Butare; please refrain from having the Tomato soup from the Ibis restaurant. As Forest Gump once said, “That’s all I’ve got to say about that.”
I did go out into the jungle for the first time yesterday. It was a lot of fun! We toured a huge rain forest that lies within Rwanda. We did see many plants, but few animals. We did encounter some Mountain Monkeys from time to time. They didn’t really mind us all that much.
I did find some interesting things about Rwandan culture from our tour guide while in the Rain Forest. For example:
If a tree is hit by lightning and dies, you are not allowed to use the lumber as firewood because that wood belongs to the sky.
If a woman is hit by lighting, you are not allowed to marry her. She also belongs to the sky who claimed her.
There are some plants that men use as love potions on women. It is said that if a man puts one of these plants in glass of milk and gives it to a female, she will be his forever.
“I’m bringing back a garden full of these plants!”
There are some dried leaves that woman can use to seduce men. All they have to do is eat these leaves, and men will fall in love with them. “I also want to note that these same species of leaves are used as toilet paper when the Sherman ultra soft paper runs out. These leaves are very soft.”
And last but not least:
According to Rwandan culture, if you visit a public forest in which a public highway passes, and you are a white man, then you must pay $20.
If you are Rwandan, it is free.
If you want to stop and take pictures, look, or walk around the forest, and you are a white person, it is another $30.
If you are Rwandan, it is free.
Moral to the story:
If you are a white person and want to see the jungle in Rwanda:
Car ride to the jungle: $20
Entrance fee: $20
Guided tour: $30
Finding an African love potion…..$Priceless
I did go out into the jungle for the first time yesterday. It was a lot of fun! We toured a huge rain forest that lies within Rwanda. We did see many plants, but few animals. We did encounter some Mountain Monkeys from time to time. They didn’t really mind us all that much.
I did find some interesting things about Rwandan culture from our tour guide while in the Rain Forest. For example:
If a tree is hit by lightning and dies, you are not allowed to use the lumber as firewood because that wood belongs to the sky.
If a woman is hit by lighting, you are not allowed to marry her. She also belongs to the sky who claimed her.
There are some plants that men use as love potions on women. It is said that if a man puts one of these plants in glass of milk and gives it to a female, she will be his forever.
“I’m bringing back a garden full of these plants!”
There are some dried leaves that woman can use to seduce men. All they have to do is eat these leaves, and men will fall in love with them. “I also want to note that these same species of leaves are used as toilet paper when the Sherman ultra soft paper runs out. These leaves are very soft.”
And last but not least:
According to Rwandan culture, if you visit a public forest in which a public highway passes, and you are a white man, then you must pay $20.
If you are Rwandan, it is free.
If you want to stop and take pictures, look, or walk around the forest, and you are a white person, it is another $30.
If you are Rwandan, it is free.
Moral to the story:
If you are a white person and want to see the jungle in Rwanda:
Car ride to the jungle: $20
Entrance fee: $20
Guided tour: $30
Finding an African love potion…..$Priceless
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Babel
They have a small movie theater here in Butare. I went and saw the movie “Tower of Babel,” with Brad Pitt, there yesterday. It seated about 30 to 50 people in the Theater. It was not shown via film strip but rather by a computer projector. As a matter of fact, periodically the movie would stop and the word “Buffering” would come on the screen. A few seconds later the movie would start. The movie was in English, so Bart, Katherine, and I were probably the only 3 out of the entire theater that could understand the entire movie.
This is very ironic because the movie is about lack of communication. I don’t want to ruin the movie, but it does parallel the biblical “Tower of Babel.” The biblical Tower of Babel is about God’s people trying to build a tower to the heavens. God smashed it down and with it common language. After the Tower fell, different races and languages started. (This is a very short and possibly incorrect version, but look it up if your curious.)
What was so ironic was that I was watching a movie that is somewhat based on the Tower of Babel, a movie about miscommunication, while the theater was filled with people who couldn’t understand it. They either spoke Rwandan or French while the movie was in English. After the movie was over, they chattered away in Rwandan about the movie (trying to figure it out I assume) while I couldn’t understand what they were saying.
As a matter of fact, if there is anything that I am not enjoying about this stay here; it is that I cannot communicate with the local people. I can watch a movie in English with them sitting beside me. I can enjoy the movie (except for those few minutes that it is “Buffering”), and I can tell YOU what the movie is about; however, I cannot discuss this movie with those in the theater. We cannot communicate, and this time I am the outsider.
The worst part is that it is my fault. Most of the people in Rwanda speak at least 2 languages fluently. Some can speak 3 or 4 very well. I can only speak one language. (Refusing to learn more than English is as American as Apple Pie!)
I have promised myself to never say these words again, “Foreign people living America should learn to speak English!”Instead I shall say, “People who only speak English should live in America. It is the only place where you can get away with it.”
This is very ironic because the movie is about lack of communication. I don’t want to ruin the movie, but it does parallel the biblical “Tower of Babel.” The biblical Tower of Babel is about God’s people trying to build a tower to the heavens. God smashed it down and with it common language. After the Tower fell, different races and languages started. (This is a very short and possibly incorrect version, but look it up if your curious.)
What was so ironic was that I was watching a movie that is somewhat based on the Tower of Babel, a movie about miscommunication, while the theater was filled with people who couldn’t understand it. They either spoke Rwandan or French while the movie was in English. After the movie was over, they chattered away in Rwandan about the movie (trying to figure it out I assume) while I couldn’t understand what they were saying.
As a matter of fact, if there is anything that I am not enjoying about this stay here; it is that I cannot communicate with the local people. I can watch a movie in English with them sitting beside me. I can enjoy the movie (except for those few minutes that it is “Buffering”), and I can tell YOU what the movie is about; however, I cannot discuss this movie with those in the theater. We cannot communicate, and this time I am the outsider.
The worst part is that it is my fault. Most of the people in Rwanda speak at least 2 languages fluently. Some can speak 3 or 4 very well. I can only speak one language. (Refusing to learn more than English is as American as Apple Pie!)
I have promised myself to never say these words again, “Foreign people living America should learn to speak English!”Instead I shall say, “People who only speak English should live in America. It is the only place where you can get away with it.”
Monday, June 4, 2007
Motel Rwanda
We (the two other interns and I) went to Kigali for the weekend. Kigali is the capitol city of Rwanda. We had a great plan for the weekend. Bart and I were going to get our own hotel room, but unlike Katherine, we were going to stay in a “Cheap Place.”
I want to note that a “Cheap Place” in Rwanda is really cheap, like $8 a night. We talked to some people and got a reservation in such a place. We got bus tickets, $3 for a two hour trip, to Kigali. We left here at 5:30pm and arrived at about 8pm or so.
Bart and I immediately got a taxi to our motel so that we could check in. We were excited about our first adventure in Kigali. When we arrived, the motel had lost our reservations, and the rooms were full. Our taxi was gone, we were stuck in a place where nobody spoke English, we didn’t have a place to stay, and it was in a rough neighborhood. I was worried.
We finally found someone who spoke English, and he was a very nice man. He had a scary voice as he sounded like Gollum in the Lord of the Rings (almost looked like him), but he was nice to us. He was always looking for a “Precious Room” for us. He helped us get a taxi. At one point he took us into a potential motel surrounded by bars. After we walked in, we were surrounded by about 8 Rwandans. I was scared. There was Bart, myself, Gollum, and 8 Rwandans looking at us like we were trespassing. They then showed us a room, but the lights didn’t work, so we left. We finally found a place three motels later.
By place, I don’t mean a nice two bed room with a good bathroom; I mean a small twin bed for both me and Bart, tiny bathroom (the water didn’t work), in a neighborhood with some problems. It was called the Vedette or something similar.
The fluorescent light flickered like a strobe light while we checked in. If you’re trying to picture this room, just remember the last scary movie you have seen involving a place where the lights flickered on and off constantly. This was our room.
We left this room to meet with some friends and have dinner. It was a good dinner followed by a nice party at a friend of a friend’s house. The party was nice and I stayed too late, but only because I dreaded the place we would stay after. The inevitable happened, and we did go back there for the night. If there ever was an opportunity to jump two Americans in Africa, it was there on that night in our motel room.
Needless to say, we were not jumped and felt fine the next morning. For those of you concerned about our thoughtless actions, let me just say that Rwanda is one of the safest places I have ever been. Walking in the middle of the night is not dangerous here like in downtown Houston. Police are everywhere here, and their policy is: Shoot first, ask questions later.
We were safe and happy. As for the rest of our time in Kigali, it was wonderful. I would not mind living there in the least. I advise anyone who wants to visit Africa, to make a long stop in Kigali. It is a beautiful city with nice people. Even if you stay in the Verdette!
I want to note that a “Cheap Place” in Rwanda is really cheap, like $8 a night. We talked to some people and got a reservation in such a place. We got bus tickets, $3 for a two hour trip, to Kigali. We left here at 5:30pm and arrived at about 8pm or so.
Bart and I immediately got a taxi to our motel so that we could check in. We were excited about our first adventure in Kigali. When we arrived, the motel had lost our reservations, and the rooms were full. Our taxi was gone, we were stuck in a place where nobody spoke English, we didn’t have a place to stay, and it was in a rough neighborhood. I was worried.
We finally found someone who spoke English, and he was a very nice man. He had a scary voice as he sounded like Gollum in the Lord of the Rings (almost looked like him), but he was nice to us. He was always looking for a “Precious Room” for us. He helped us get a taxi. At one point he took us into a potential motel surrounded by bars. After we walked in, we were surrounded by about 8 Rwandans. I was scared. There was Bart, myself, Gollum, and 8 Rwandans looking at us like we were trespassing. They then showed us a room, but the lights didn’t work, so we left. We finally found a place three motels later.
By place, I don’t mean a nice two bed room with a good bathroom; I mean a small twin bed for both me and Bart, tiny bathroom (the water didn’t work), in a neighborhood with some problems. It was called the Vedette or something similar.
The fluorescent light flickered like a strobe light while we checked in. If you’re trying to picture this room, just remember the last scary movie you have seen involving a place where the lights flickered on and off constantly. This was our room.
We left this room to meet with some friends and have dinner. It was a good dinner followed by a nice party at a friend of a friend’s house. The party was nice and I stayed too late, but only because I dreaded the place we would stay after. The inevitable happened, and we did go back there for the night. If there ever was an opportunity to jump two Americans in Africa, it was there on that night in our motel room.
Needless to say, we were not jumped and felt fine the next morning. For those of you concerned about our thoughtless actions, let me just say that Rwanda is one of the safest places I have ever been. Walking in the middle of the night is not dangerous here like in downtown Houston. Police are everywhere here, and their policy is: Shoot first, ask questions later.
We were safe and happy. As for the rest of our time in Kigali, it was wonderful. I would not mind living there in the least. I advise anyone who wants to visit Africa, to make a long stop in Kigali. It is a beautiful city with nice people. Even if you stay in the Verdette!
Friday, June 1, 2007
Memorial
I would like to keep these posts reasonably upbeat, but I visited one of the Genocide memorials yesterday. I visited one that was close to Butare, and it is the most raw and realistic of the memorials. This memorial still has the bodies of the victims on display…not in a glass case, but openly sitting on tables in rooms of a former secondary school.
What I saw today was not for the faint of heart. The tour guide was a man who survived the Genocide and was left for dead on that very spot. His wife and children were all killed. He was shot in the head but survived.
For those of you who do not know the history of the Genocide, I would not do it historic justice by trying to explain it. I can tell you what little I know, what I feel, and what I think.
I know that somewhere around 1 million Rwandans were killed during the 1994 Genocide. The spot that we visited yesterday was the spot where about 50 – 60 thousand were killed. The smell of death can still be sensed as you enter the memorial.
Of the 50 to 60 thousand that were brought there to be killed, four survived. One of those being our tour guide who hid in the mountains after being left for dead. He told us that he could not leave the site because that is where his family, wife and children, lay dead. This poor man sees some of the killers on a daily bases.
This man sees them, knows what they have done, but can do nothing about it. He has no comfort. He has no family or friends left to explain this terrible tragedy, and everyone around him hates him because he knows the truth. He knows that men, women, and children were murdered on that very spot. He knows because he was there. It is his curse. He spends everyday of his life retailing the story of how he was shot and his family killed along with thousands of others.
Yesterday was a sad day for me. I still find it hard to fathom that this much evil can exist in our world.
Our tour guide said that he would forgive those who did this, but his torture is that they would never ask. He is one of many Rwandans trying to forget the past, but still facing it everyday.
What I saw today was not for the faint of heart. The tour guide was a man who survived the Genocide and was left for dead on that very spot. His wife and children were all killed. He was shot in the head but survived.
For those of you who do not know the history of the Genocide, I would not do it historic justice by trying to explain it. I can tell you what little I know, what I feel, and what I think.
I know that somewhere around 1 million Rwandans were killed during the 1994 Genocide. The spot that we visited yesterday was the spot where about 50 – 60 thousand were killed. The smell of death can still be sensed as you enter the memorial.
Of the 50 to 60 thousand that were brought there to be killed, four survived. One of those being our tour guide who hid in the mountains after being left for dead. He told us that he could not leave the site because that is where his family, wife and children, lay dead. This poor man sees some of the killers on a daily bases.
This man sees them, knows what they have done, but can do nothing about it. He has no comfort. He has no family or friends left to explain this terrible tragedy, and everyone around him hates him because he knows the truth. He knows that men, women, and children were murdered on that very spot. He knows because he was there. It is his curse. He spends everyday of his life retailing the story of how he was shot and his family killed along with thousands of others.
Yesterday was a sad day for me. I still find it hard to fathom that this much evil can exist in our world.
Our tour guide said that he would forgive those who did this, but his torture is that they would never ask. He is one of many Rwandans trying to forget the past, but still facing it everyday.
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