Rwanda, post number 5 (March 25th-26th)

March 25, 2010; 15.10 CST

We built more shelves today: we have finished approximately nine sets, with one left to sand and two left to nail backing onto. We had to sand and nail the backing onto the three we did yesterday, but that didn’t take long. We did six today, and after sanding all the boards for two sets we decided to nail it all together and then sand (which is more sensible logistics-wise, if not the best for sanding quality) – the rhythm therefore goes pick boards, build, sand, backing. We’re pretty darn efficient if I do say so myself.

We were working in the sun this morning, and even though I slathered sunscreen onto my shoulders I ended up burning them slightly. Not a bad burn – not terribly painful in any case – and it should be gone in a few days if I keep treating it with moisturizer and sunscreen. Hopefully it will only be tan lines when I get back.

This afternoon was the grand opening of the Centre Cesar, and the whole ceremony took a good four hours … and we were there an hour and a half early. We got to the Centre at 14.30 (as the ceremonies were supposed to start at 14.00), but we didn’t get started until 15.30, and then we went until 19.30. Not the most fun of times, nor the most interesting – lots of people talked, including Maman Nicole, Igor, M. Raval, Léonie (the president of the Centre, a widow herself along with all the women on the board of directors), two local politicians (one very high up in the government) and one representative of a company that has supported the Centre since its inception in 2005. Most of the speeches were very similar, and all of them were translated either out of Kinyarwanda or into Kinyarwanda (for some reason the second language of choice was English – there must have been someone there who only spoke English, but I didn’t mind, as it meant I could zone out a little more and still listen), which meant they took twice as long … and no one spoke quickly or for a short amount of time.

The one person, the ombudsman (fourth in the chain of command, M. Raval said), Tito, had the best speech of them all – engaging, simple, clear, and he often translated for himself as he spoke very good English. He was far more personal in his speech than any of the others, going into open and earnest encouragement for Nicole, Marcelle, the widows, and even us. What really struck me about his speech, the other politician’s, and the businessman’s speeches was that all of them promised help (whether financial or through networking), and from the examples given or the timelines and history stated, it looks like those promises will be carried through. Maman Nicole and Léonie went on and on about the involvement of the government and the one company, mentioning how it was due much to them (and Marcelle) that the Centre was still going and could do as much as it could. It was interesting and a bit mind-bending for me to hear promises made that seemed like they would be kept, and were not just empty words – another thing I would like to bring back to Canada.

After supper (which was late, since the evening went so late), Roxanne and I had a good conversation for at least an hour about all and sundry, and that was good. I am very comfortable now, so I am going to do my devotions and then sleep early (wow). 435 pictures so far and my camera’s still going.

March 26, 2010; 15.21 CST

Today was more shelves. Apparently we are at a total of around sixty so far – that’s forty percent in three mornings’ work. Not bad at all. Each group is churning out 10 to 15 per day. I think we did either 11 or 13 today – and it would have been closer to 20, probably, if we had not had the help of the local kids. They’re wonderful help when it comes to sanding (one less thing we have to do, and they’re pretty good at it), but they very soon want to move to helping to build, and then a lot of our time is eaten up by telling them as nicely as we can not to nail here, or not to nail now … they’re very cute, but it’s difficult to get through to them, and they very much want to help (which is very nice of them), but we would be able to get our job done much better if they weren’t trying to help in that way. It’s hard not to feel sort of guilty when I say that, since it’s great that they want to help and that they’re so hardworking and willing to jump to a task – but as much as it’s great to make connections and show them as much love and patience as we can, we do need to get the work done. It’s a balance. We can’t take time off and just play with them, but we can’t exactly work.

This afternoon, I got to go to the market. Holy crap. It’s one heck of an adventure. I didn’t take my camera, as Janelle had said a few days ago that if you have a camera, the vendors will be all over you times two, since you obviously have money if you have a camera. That means, unfortunately, no pictures – but I will describe it: a huge warehouse-style building, filled half with open stalls for fruit, vegetables, grains, flours and other foods (sort of like the produce counters in a Safeway, but each vendor has a section and the aisles are very narrow), and the other half is filled halfway to the ceiling with wooden stalls with shelves stocked high with goods (shoes, cloth, souvenirs, drums, clothing, jewelry, scarves, you name it). The aisles are incredibly narrow – you can’t walk side by side because you’d knock the vendors over. It’s a clever strategy in a way because it forces you to be alone, in a sense.

Manu came with us to be our negotiator, and Igor was along too for some of it. And a good thing too, because I tried to haggle for a scarf and didn’t do too well – I ended up paying 1500 Rwf for it (which is insanely good, really, approximately $2.50 USD for something that would cost $20 at home), when I imagine Manu or Igor could have had it for 1000 or less. It was an interesting experience, with the woman going back on her offer of 1000 (if I remember correctly – she swore up and down that she never said less than 1500) and us haggling back and forth … I eventually got her to leave it at 1400, but I gave her the 1500 because in reality, it didn’t matter – what was 100 Rwf to me, compared to 100 Rwf for her?

She was a nice woman, if a bit annoying by the end, and her brother … or well, he said he was her brother, he was the vendor next to her, started eventually hitting on me (not creepy-like or anything, just putting his hand on my shoulder the way the Rwandans do, trying to convince me to buy the scarf) – I had to pull my sindi ingaragu card, which means “I’m not single,” after the woman translated for me and said that the guy was saying I was pretty and that he liked me. After saying sindi ingaragu and proclaiming that I was quite taken, she said, “Oh, you are married?” and I said, “no, but I’m very taken” and she said, “oh, you have a … boyfriend?” and I said yes. There isn’t really such thing in Rwandan culture: you don’t go out with a woman until you’re married. You’re single, or you’re married; there is no in-between. After I said that yes, I had a boyfriend, she laughed and said, “well, he [the other vendor] likes you too!” I laughed, paid for the scarf, and left.

In total from the market today, I bought 4 pagnes (not sure of the translation) of fabric (two for my dress that I’m having made, one just because I loved it, and one as a gift), one scarf (a gift), and two boxes of Rwandan tea (glee!!) – all for 12700 Rwf, or roughly $22.20 USD. In Canada, I probably would have paid almost a hundred dollars for all that - $15 for the tea, $20 for the scarf, and a good $50 or more for the fabric. I talked about this a little later with Jacqueline, saying that I felt a bit like I was ripping them off, and she said no, that really isn’t the case – you have to think about the relative price of living, and also about inflation, and so on and so forth. I felt a bit better after that – I’m not paying $2.10 USD for two boxes of tea, I’m paying 1200 Frw, and therein lies the difference. It’s a different mindset, a different need set, and I am not accustomed to either.

Supper was good tonight, although I had eyes bigger than my stomach – pasta with a light tomato and meat sauce, really good soup, a spinach dish similar to the soup, the everpresent (and ever-yummy) potatoes, and chickpeas, followed by a fruit salad for dessert (containing marakuja (passionfruit), bananas (which taste different here), and possibly tree tomatoes).

After supper, the Visionaries came by and we watched a documentary that they had helped produce in minor roles (Rodrigue did a little more, but most of the work was done by another group), talking about the role of the Rwandan youth in the genocide and in the rebuilding. One of the major messages that we took away was that it was Rwandan youth who were mobilized against their own people in large numbers due to the propaganda, and therefore they (the youth) feel that it is their duty to rebuild the country and to spread the message of the genocide, its consequences and Rwanda’s needs and new strength to the world. They have taken this responsibility upon themselves not as a burden but as a duty and as a joy. They take pride in their work and they want their country to succeed. It is inspiring, and a little shaming, to hear of their exploits.

We are leaving at 7 in the morning to go to Gisenyi tomorrow. We cannot leave later because the community work (last Saturday of every month) starts at eight, and if we are on the roads we will have to stop, get out, and help work – and not go to Gisenyi. And I want to go to Gisenyi, so devotions and bed for me.

Rwanda, post number 4 (March 24th)

Missed another day, but this one is long so I won't do two days in one.

March 24, 2010; 16.06 CST

Today we finally started working. This morning we learned how to make the shelves that we are building for the mothers, and we were separated into three groups in which we will build said shelves. They’re like an Ikea-style bookshelf, three shelves and a top. Very simple – six boards, 12 nails, one piece of backing and approximately 24 finishing nails … and an amazing amount of planning.

Because it is so humid here, wood warps very easily and a lot. At least half of the time we spend making the shelves is making sure that the back is flush, that the shelves are straight (and we are working on surfaces that are not level, so a level is useless), that we don’t nail into a knot, etc. We are eight to ten in each group, and the first one we made took all of us an hour and a half and was so crooked that we had to do it again.

After you build the basic shelves, you sand it down (three levels of sanding), attach the backing and then we will stain it. We are building them at a sort of home-base, one of the mother’s houses near the other houses where we will deliver the shelves. When we deliver them is when we will stain them: just outside the house where they will stay.

My group is comprised of Mme Doche, M Rondeau, Myriam, Carol-Anne, Roxanne, Renée, Will and Dan, and when we headed back to the inn after our first hour and a half of work we found out that one of the other groups, the one working closest to the Centre César (and therefore closest to the wood), had finished three in the same time. Mme Doche, being incredibly competitive, was not pleased – so after lunch, we snuck back to do a couple more in the time we had before we were supposed to go help clean the Centre for the grand opening tomorrow. We had 26 minutes and had left under the pretence of going to clean up since we hadn’t had time. We split into two groups of four (I had forgotten Roxanne was in our group and had not told her we were sneaking off, so we were only eight of nine) and managed to complete two sets of shelves in 26 minutes, with a couple mistakes to fix each. That’s only banging them together, though – no sanding and no backing and no stain as those were not available yet.

We presume that it will take approximately 40 minutes for one group of four to finish one set of shelves, and if we have 90 minutes to work in the morning, that means four sets of shelves with ten minutes’ leeway. Not bad at all. We only have 150 to make. (Oh, and apparently at least one of the sets of shelves that the other group had finished was no good so they will have to do it over. :D) If our group does four every hour and a half, and say the other groups do three every hour and a half, then it will only take twenty-two and a half hours of work total. If we all do four sets every 90 minutes, then it will take eighteen hours and forty-five minutes. If we can make it to three people per group (doable), then we get six every 90, meaning twelve and a half hours total. That’s doable.

... Anyway. After that blitz of building, we went back to the Centre and cleaned chairs and tables for the grand opening the next night. After the cleaning, a few of us finished off the first set of shelves that we had started that morning as a demonstration, putting the backing on and sanding it (the piece of backing was not cut that morning). It looks really nice. There were groups working on decorations for the grand opening tomorrow night, and working on something at the Centre’s food bank as well.

Around five, I think (time is nearly nonexistent here), we headed back to the inn for dinner and practice for the evening’s activities. Wherever we walk in Kigali, we are constantly being greeted, mostly by the younger children (maybe 13 and under, definitely 10 and under). They cry out “abazungu!” or “umuzungu!”, meaning “white people!” or “white person!” in a non-derogatory fashion. The littlest ones are absolutely overjoyed when we, such strange ghost-like people who can barely speak their language but who smile lots, give them hugs or hold their hands or say hello in Kinyarwanda (“muaramutse” in the morning, “muiriwe” in the afternoon, “muraho” in the evening), ask them how they are (“amakuru”, the reply being “ni meza”), or ask them their names (“witwa nde”).

Many of them will call out in French or in English to us, and then run up to us and grin. Sometimes they ask for things, but not very often. They are mostly just happy to see us, and feel special that such weird people would come around and be nice. They think we’re novelties, in a way. We’re very much the minority, and the kids seem to be fascinated by us and love it when we pay attention to them. On the way to the Centre this morning, we started playing soccer in the road with the kids, and they were just over the moon.

Some of them have tried to speak to me in Kinyarwanda, since I have a pretty good grasp of the pronunciation and a bit more vocabulary than most of us, so I speak quickly and easily and they seem to get the impression that I speak their language – so then I have to pull out “simbyumva”, meaning “I don’t understand”, and they laugh. The mothers of the children laugh so hard when their kids come up to us and leave bouncing with joy. They’re so incredibly cute, the kids …

At dinner, as at other meals, I noticed the lack of preservatives in the food. We had lamb tonight, and it looked sort of burnt, but when I bit into it, it was not burnt at all but rather encrusted in pepper. Very spicy (but very good as always), and kind of tough as most of the meat here is. I wondered about this, and realized that it might be because there are no preservatives – so they use natural preservatives, i.e. spices. That made a lot of sense, and made me slightly uncomfortable as I was unsure of the quality of the food, but it is all very good and I am not sick (unlike a good dozen of us over the past couple days), so I am not worried.

Before dinner we practiced the songs and dances that we were going to do this evening for the Visionaries at our joint-hosted evening. I sang my song, or rather sang it halfway since I totally blanked on the words (and felt like a total idiot and spent the next half hour making sure I knew it by heart, which I did before); Janique, Janelle and Roxanne sang a Madrigaia song; we all sang a French-Canadian song, L’histoire d’Antan; we did the Boot Scoot ‘N’ Boogie; and a French-Canadian folk line dance. The Visionaries loved it all this evening, and learned the Boot Scoot ’N’ Boogie so well that they danced it once themselves … and then the second part of the evening was Rwandan dancing, just a sort of social dancing where we learned what we could and they just danced and danced and danced. They never seem to run out of energy, the people here! I was tired after the Boot Scoot ’N’ Boogie, but they did it again and then kept going!

Breakfast is at 7.15 and I still need to do my devotions, so off this goes.

Rwanda, post number 3 (March 23rd)

WARNING: This post contains a recap of the Rwandan genocide and I make no attempt, nor do I want to make any attempt, to soften this. It was brutal when it occurred and it is no less brutal in the retelling. It is not the entire post, but only the middle couple paragraphs. If you do not want to read that section, that is fine, but I would encourage you to read it so that you may reflect upon the history of Rwanda as a whole as well as its present accomplishments and future developments.

The genocide happened. You can't gloss over it, though people have tried. It is a part of Rwanda's history, just like the parts of our own history (or your own history, if you are not Canadian) that we (you) are ashamed of. We cannot deny those. And we cannot deny our role as the international community in having failed Rwanda to the extent that we did.

March 23, 2010; 15.24 CST

This morning we went to Gisouzi Memorial Centre, or what you might call the genocide museum.

…

Where to start.

The tour starts in the gardens, where you move through 12 sections each representing a part of the whole experience. The first garden after the fountain is the Children’s Garden, representing not only the children killed in the genocide, but those who are still Rwanda’s future.

The second garden is the Flower of Life garden, modelled on an ancient symbol for life and ringed by protective trees, representing the strength of the women of Rwanda.

The third garden represents the provinces of Rwanda, using a hexagon to enclose all 10 provinces (in 1994) and traditional symbols for each province as well as plants and trees that are only native to Rwanda.

The fourth garden represents the concept of self-protection, made up entirely of different species of cacti, which not only represent the self-protection that the Rwandese had to fall back on, but also the healing properties of these specific cacti.

The fifth garden is the Rose Garden, a three-tiered garden full of many different types of roses which represent the victims of the genocide, each rose beautiful on its own and along with the others.

The sixth garden is the Garden of Unity, with a circular fountain which shows the unity of Rwanda before the genocide.

From the Garden of Unity, the water flows down a waterfall symbolizing brokenness into the seventh garden, where the water flows in a star-shaped pattern and elephants are placed around the sides to symbolize memory.

The second-last garden is the Garden of Reconciliation, where the water returns to a circle with a large stone structure in the centre, each rock representing a different part of Rwandese culture which together form a whole. There is an elephant statue in this garden which is holding a mobile phone, telling the world of what occurred.

From the Garden of Reconciliation, you move into the section of the mass graves which give the genocide victims, many unnamed and unknown, a dignified resting place. There are approximately 250 000 victims there at the moment and more continue to be unearthed and reburied at Gisouzi. There is one wall which is the Wall of Names, where every known victim of the genocide is inscribed on the plaques. The list is by no means complete, and yet you see entire families … two dozen people with the same last name, all killed. Surrounding the centre is the Forest of Memory, trees planted which will grow around the centre and remind those who visit of its meaning.

Once you have finished the tour of the gardens, you move inside the building and down the stairs into a subterranean area. The tour starts with the history of Rwanda before colonization, where the people living in the area were divided into 18 different somewhat-tribal groups, and the socio-economic divisions of Hutu (farmers), Tutsi (livestock farmers) and Twa (hunters) were loosely there and could change depending on a Rwandan’s circumstances.

Continuing on, you move into the colonization period, beginning with the Germans and moving to the Belgians. The Germans and the Belgians reinforced the ideology of Hutu and Tutsi and codified it, making anyone who had more than 10 cows a Tutsi and anyone who had 10 or less a Hutu. This meant that about 85% of the population were Hutu and 15% were Tutsi (with about 1% Twa in there too). They also brought in racial ideology, where the Tutsi were considered superior because they resembled Caucasians more than the Hutu did.

In the beginning, the Tutsi minority was given power over the Hutus through the Belgians so that the Belgians could rule indirectly, and this evidently caused dissent and malcontent through the population. Eventually, the Belgians would reverse this ideology and give the Hutu majority power over the Tutsi minority, claiming to be righting past wrongs. With the Hutu majority, already disliking the Tutsi minority, now in power, it was very easy to spread racial-based propaganda that the Tutsi were inferior to the Hutu. The Tutsi were called inyenzi – cockroaches – and it was considered the duty of the Hutu to not marry a Tutsi, not employ a Tutsi, not be friends with a Tutsi, not do business with a Tutsi, and so on and so forth.

Hutu extremism developed through the 1900s and when the country gained independence in 1962, the laws were officially equal between the two groups, but in reality all the power, all the positions, all of anything went to the Hutu. By 1962, Rwanda had already experienced organized pogroms against the Tutsi, massacres on a relatively small scale that were put up mostly to racial tension. Over the thirty years following independence, Hutu extremism was overt, public and extremely cruel, and it was no secret that eventually something would be done.

The genocide was planned. The death lists were written. The propaganda had turned friends against friends, colleagues against colleagues, families against themselves. In Rwanda, touch is incredibly important. When you meet someone, you hug them, or you hold their hand, and you give them three kisses on the cheek. Physical connection is extraordinarily important because everyone is family. In Rwanda, before the genocide, there were very few orphans in the literal sense of the term, because if a child lost their parents, they had an aunt or an uncle, or a grandparent, or a cousin, or a brother or a sister – and they would be their parents. The genocide broke that link, that ubuntu, that humanity. The genocide killed entire families: out of one family of 60, five were left, for example. People were entirely lost. Bodies were strewn in the street. Churches were burned or bulldozed with people inside trying to seek refuge. Children were killed mercilessly – sometimes made to watch their parents die first, or the other way around. Women were raped, often by men known to be HIV-positive, because if they possibly stayed alive, Tutsi women and children were seen as a threat to the Hutu ‘race’. Death was not seen as something to be dealt quickly: torture was the point, and death was meant to be slow and painful. People were thrown into septic tanks or latrines and pelted with rocks; people were chained together and buried alive; people were shot, left for several days, then shot again to kill them; people were starved … the list of atrocities is endless.

But the important thing to remember in all of this horror is that it did not end there. The Rwandan Patriotic Front liberated the country 100 days later, before any international aid came at all (but very little would have come anyway: only the Red Cross and Doctors Without Borders stayed in the country during the genocide, and Romeo Dallaire’s difficulties with the UN are well-documented), and installed a government. As I have already mentioned, from 1994 until 2001 the country was unstable, still trying to get back on its feet as it lost so much of its infrastructure along with almost two-thirds of its population (nearly a million killed, and about the same number had fled the country). But from 2001 on, the country is booming. Rwanda is growing and Rwanda is advancing. The population, more than half under 21 as I have already stated, is taking the initiative and growing their country.

Tonight, to illustrate that joie de vivre that the youth of Rwanda have, we visited with Rodrigue Pageau’s group, the Visionaries. This is a rather large group of Rwandan youth which take different initiatives to advance their country. We talked with them, debated a bit about Romeo Dallaire, and we showed them a video about life in Winnipeg. These are youths who went through the genocide – most of them are 16 years old or more. They have so much joy and love for life. I am glad to have met them.

In walking the halls of the memorial centre, I wanted so badly to be with John, with my sisters, my brother, my parents … the people I love the most are 12 000 kilometres away and I miss them so terribly. It is impossible to describe the pain you feel when you look at three full 2-square-meter displays of human skulls, many of them cracked or missing pieces. I went to bed last night feeling desperately worried about my loved ones at home, and left the inn here feeling vaguely worried still. The genocide museum hit me so hard and made me want to hold my family close to me. I am so, so very blessed to have them, and I wish I could be with them. I felt so, so very alone, facing all the horror and the pain. And then something my mother said just before I left Winnipeg came back and made me weep all the more:

You are never alone.

Rwanda, post number 2 (March 21st-22nd)

Um, I forgot a day. Sorry. I am definitely not used to a blog being an everyday thing. >>

March 21, 2010; 2.37 CST

Nope. I am sitting in Nairobi airport sipping a cappuccino and waiting to board the plane to Kigali. Sigh. At least I am in the premier lounge, which means I get free food, free drinks and free Wifi. Which is lovely. I enjoy the free Wifi especially.

March 21, 2010; 11.50 CST

I’ve been in Kigali for several hours now, after a long and tortuous plane ride through Bujumbura and to Kigali. Hot and stifling and humid except when we were actually flying (which was less time than we were on the ground, pretty sure) … honestly, I was fainting. Not fun. Also, it was just as hard to say goodbye to John and Mom after we got to talk.

Rwanda is beautiful; Kigali is beautiful. There are so many hills – I am going to get a major workout walking all these hills. It is so green … so much greenery, so lush. But right beside the beautiful greenery, you see dead crops of corn and small wilted vegetables … right beside the newly-built homes are shacks made of mud and wood. The contrast is stark and I’m not sure what to think of it yet.

There are so many people here, all over the roads. No one seems afraid, and many people have waved at our bus as we go by, but I have seen some with bitterness in their eyes. Perhaps I am reading too much, but I see something other than happiness.

I am exhausted. I have been awake more than I have slept since 7.00 on March 19^th … I’ve had about 7 hours of sleep over the past 53-ish. Ouch. I didn’t realize it was that bad, but it is. I am not a happy camper at the moment – I miss my family, I miss John … I am tired and I don’t want to be happy – I’d like to eat and I’d like to wash and I’d like to sleep (but it is too hot and humid for me to be comfortable; I hope I get used to this and can sleep). I am kind of sad. I think I may eat a square of chocolate and go hunting for water, because I am incredibly thirsty. I might write again before I sleep.

March 21, 2010; 14.39 CST

It has cooled off – possibly due in part to my having had a shower (which is interesting in and of itself, since the water temperature changes rapidly and by a large margin). I think I will be able to sleep.

It is hard to be in the midst of a lot of people who A) talk a lot and B) I should be able to understand … the Rwandese are very friendly and they talk a lot, and since they speak French I should be able to understand them. But since it’s hard for me to hear/distinguish single voices in a din (and French is my second language and I am slightly slower to focus in that), it is sometimes hard to understand people who speak to me. This frustrates me, because I feel humiliated and out-of-place – and I can’t just stay quiet, because then it would seem like I was being unkind or disrespectful. Sigh. Don’t know what to do. I am very tired though, after my shower and the wonderful meal which came before it (roast beef, a little tough but first-class pulled; a mix of beans and peas and carrots, potatoes in herbs and a spinach/onion/potato soup).

We also had these mini-bananas which didn’t taste like bananas at all but more like squash. Undecided on that front still, but as I’m exhausted I will do my devotions and crash. Good afternoon, home.

March 22, 2010; 1.37 CST

The tea is the best here. So good. Black tea but it tastes different – Rwandan tea. Also they have raw sugar, so no headaches! I am so happy!

March 22, 2010, 10.05 CST

We took out all the supplies for the widows and orphans and organized them at the Centre César this morning. There was over 1500 pounds of supplies … the piles! So much. It’s a wonderful gift for them; Maman Nicole and Marcelle were over the moon.

After that, we came back to the inn to have lunch. Goat kabobs, coleslaw, cucumbers, potatoes, avocadoes and pineapple. Oh, the fruits and vegetables here are so good – so fresh! The avocadoes were probably picked yesterday or even today; the pineapple isn’t acidic at all, just fresh and sweet. The goat meat tasted different, but very good – and the potatoes, oh the potatoes. They are chewy and crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, taste of healthy oils and you eat them with mayonnaise that is actual mayonnaise, not processed stuff. It actually tastes like eggs and isn’t white, it’s yellow. The food is so good here, so fresh, unlike almost everything at home which is imported or stored.

After lunch, we went to Green Hills Academy, the IB school in Kigali. Their program goes from first to twelfth grade, and they have a far larger choice of courses than we do. Many, many students, all living in Kigali but some coming from other places – one student I talked to, Kenneth, was from Tanzania, and there was a girl (naturalized Rwandese) who was originally from Russia. They were all very friendly and talkative; most of them spoke French, but there were quite a few who only spoke English along with Kinyarwanda, as well. Their seventh-grade girls’ drumming group did a traditional dance for us which was really neat: a dozen girls all drumming in rhythm. Like, at the same time. Without fail. It was really, really cool. They did some singing and dancing too, which was also cool, but more drumming than anything else.

We then went out to the basketball courts where some of us played basketball with the others, and the rest of us talked. Anatol and Quentin were very much the apples of many of the students’ eyes and lots of the girls wanted pictures with them at the end of the afternoon. We only got a couple hours there, but it was worth it.

On the way to Green Hills and back, Igor played tour guide for us in the bus, pointing out certain buildings and talking about the rebuilding of Rwanda. He said that almost all of the rebuilding is individually-oriented, initiatives taken by members of the Rwandese diaspora working in collaboration with the Rwanda Development Group. The development, he said, has really taken off in the past seven or eight years, and there was quite a lot that we saw that had not even been there the last time CL-R came to Rwanda in 2008.

Something I found interesting was that many of the ministries in the government went by nicknames such as Minafet (ministry of foreign affairs) and Minisanté (ministry of health) … something that seemed extraordinarily Orwellian to me, along with the cameras on towers along the road. Perhaps Orwell took the idea from government of his time, but the reference was there in my head and I wasn’t sure I liked it – I have heard tell of the Rwandan government being very strict. Igor said this emphasis on strictness and security sprang from the instability in the country which existed until 2009, and from 2001 on the emphasis has been on development – and not going up the ladder, but jumping. Igor referred to the strategy as leapfrogging: not starting with telephones but direct to Internet, for instance. Rwanda is waiting for their lines to be plugged into a fiber-optic line; they vote electronically; they can buy electricity by phone; medical dossiers are transferred by phone. You see many cell phones around.

I wondered briefly why it didn’t seem like the widows had any of this, when Igor was talking about equalizing salaries and universalizing healthcare. Igor then explained that the Centre Cesar and Ubuntu Edmonton was trying to make it so that the widows could share in the developing wealth of Rwanda (described by Igor as aiming for South African standards, then somewhere else that I don’t remember, and now he says that “Rwanda is the Singapore of Africa”) by making sure that they have salaries that allow them to partake of these services. This is why it is so important that they be able to work, that their things are sold at a good price: they need the money to share in the wealth of their country.

I’ve heard it said that Rwanda is “Africa Lite”, in the sense that you do not see the problems that occur elsewhere in Africa, such as corruption, bribery and general danger. I am reading a book my grandmother gave me, called The Betrayal of Africa (Gerard Caplan) and it suggests (which I already knew) that it is the Westerners to whom Africa owes their underdevelopment and much of the corruption and the simply bad systems. It is not to be undervalued that there are many Africans who gain power who keep it through unethical means – we cannot blame everything on the Westerners, but nor can we blame everything on the Africans. It seems to me that Rwanda may be leading the way to an Africa that is strong and self-sufficient. As an example, Igor said that the Rwanda Development Board does actually refuse money, if the initiative presented does not fit within the plan that has been put forward for the country by the government – one of the biggest questions they ask is “will it finance itself?” The Rwandese have a plan for their country; they recognize that their future is very much in the women and children of their country as they represent a very large portion of the population (51% of the Rwandan population is 21 years old or less) and they work towards empowering those who do not have enough in order to equalize their population and to make the country richer. The government started the rebuilding efforts in helping to finance housing for the diaspora on a 30-70 basis: the individual finances 30%, the government 70%. You build according to your pocket, and the difference in what Igor called “old Rwanda” and the “new Rwanda” is marked. This is not Africa Lite – it is the Africa of the future. This is Africa where the Africans are doing it themselves and making their country what they want it to be because it is their country and they want it to be so, not for personal gain. The police and the army are the least-paid citizens here; Igor said that the idea is that since they cannot be doing it for the money, they are doing it for their country, and therefore they will do a better job. If a Rwandese wants to study abroad, they must do 6 months of military service where they learn the history of Rwanda and the strength of Rwanda, so that they will know, when they are abroad, just what they are representing as ambassadors of Rwanda.

This is a proud country; a country that wants to do things right and that wants to move forward. I like this country. It has energy. If only Canadians had this energy – or maybe we just need to inject some of it into the governmental system. I see energy at home; not like here, not quite as much, but I see it in the people. Most of us love our country. If that love would translate to reality, that would be lovely.

Rwanda, post number 1 (March 20th)

Hello all. Over the next couple of weeks I will be posting my journal of my trip to Rwanda, along with pictures. The entire thing is 34 pages long in MSWord, so instead of posting the whole entire thing at once, I will split it up by day in CST time (since that's how I kept track) and will post one day's worth of journal ... per day. Wow. Amazing.

Without further ado ...

March 20, 2010; 4.57 CST

I will soon land in London. I left North American soil over five hours ago and it was a slightly surreal experience. This is my first transatlantic flight – it’s my first time off-continent in any direction, actually, but the transatlantic thing seems to have something important about it. I am landing in John’s home country, if not home city, and I wonder if I will at all feel like I belong. (Although I’m not sure I want to belong in Heathrow, but you get the point.)

I have a window seat on this flight, and if I look out my window I can see water. I don’t think it’s the Atlantic, but the strait between Ireland and England/Scotland. Alas, it was dark when we crossed the Atlantic, or else too early for me to open my window and not drive everyone else mad: I would have liked to see it – but I think our flight home is a day flight so I will see it then if it is not cloudy. Oh! It is supposed to be cloudy when we land. I am excited if only because the London stereotype is holding true. There is also the fact that I love rain and clouds.

I don’t remember exactly how long we stay in London before boarding to go to Nairobi (ach, another 8-hour flight – although this one was supposed to be seven hours and looks like it will only take six: the wind is in our favour), but I am really excited to be in London at all. I would like to come back just to go to London, whether on my own, or with John, or with my family or with friends, it doesn’t matter. (There will be a side trip to Cardiff, but I think that one may have to be with John. Or Jess.)

Must remember to take my first malaria pill in half an hour (exactly: it’s five o’clock now). That might be interesting, because we might be landing before then … I can’t exactly tell what the pilot is saying over the intercom, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with landing and soon. Which I knew already, but I’d like to know more specifically … I wish my little screen was working properly: I put it on auto-map when I got on the plane and it got stuck on that, and now it’s not updating and says I’m still out in the middle of the Atlantic (about halfway north-south between Porcupine Coast and Porcupine Plain (sub-oceanic features – I wonder who names these. Why porcupine?)), which I’m fairly certain isn’t true because I haven’t moved in quite some time according to the map, and also I know we went over some land and the only land in the path before England was Ireland, so by reason it must be Ireland we passed over. Hooray for logic. Also it feels like we are not over the Atlantic anymore, if that makes any sense (hint: no).

It is interesting to see the horizon made out of clouds instead of land. I think I notice that every time I fly places … the cloudscape looks like a landscape, all hilly and ridged and fluffy. If clouds were really fluffy and would support one’s weight, like in cartoons, I’d love to play around in them. They look fun. Of course I would have to be rather careful not to fall.

There is a thin line of clouds just above the horizon that looks a bit like a jet’s tail. Perhaps it is, but I don’t see a jet. I will take a picture.
There is some frost on my window, but there is no ice nor gremlins nor US presidents on the wings, which I also took a picture of.

This is a very big plane, and I am only in the first little bit of it. Flying to Nairobi I will be on an even bigger plane, and the thought of very big planes is a sort of odd thought for me. I’m not quite sure why yet. I have been in or on very big machines/vehicles before, I believe. And it isn’t like I haven’t flown in planes. But the farthest I’ve been by plane is Vancouver, I think, and the plane was not this big. Not even to Washington was it this big.

The stewardess, for fear of sounding critical, doesn’t seem to be having a very good flight. She has been falsely happy and has seemed faintly judgmental every single time she has passed by. I’d wonder if maybe it were just me, but she seems to be that way with everyone. It’s too bad, really. I wonder if anything is wrong or if she is just having a bad day, or what.

Ah, now there is no line on the horizon. It is all blurred. I suppose I will take a picture of that, too.
It is nice to have my laptop to unload pictures onto, with which I can illustrate this later. My seatmate must think I’m mad, picking up my camera every few minutes and taking a picture out the window. Ooooh, clouds. Heh. I like clouds. Carol-Anne is sitting behind me, but I think she knows me well enough to know that I do strange things and that’s okay with her, which is nice.

The air pressure is changing; my ears are starting to pop. They do that a little bit the whole time during any flight, but once we’re at cruising altitude it isn’t as bad. Takeoff and landing are, predictably and sensibly, not fun. It doesn’t help that I can’t hear brilliantly to begin with. I wonder how that will affect me in Rwanda. I may be constantly yawning or swallowing to equalize the pressure in my middle ear. It is, after all, the Land of a Thousand Hills.

If the air pressure is changing, does that mean we’re landing? Seems like an obvious question. Yes, I think we are descending, because there it goes again and this time it felt like we went down, too. Perhaps I shall down my pill now since I just had breakfast. That should do. I’m supposed to have it with food, and 5.15 is close enough to 5.30, is it not? If we’re landing at 5.30 I don’t exactly want to be eating at the same time … that would be rather awkward. Well, I will do that then, and then my half-sandwich can be lunch later. Hooray!

I wonder if I shall write this much for every day. That would end up being a rather large journal. Also I suppose I’ll translate each of these entries into French. Alright, time for medicine and then I suppose I’ll translate this. I imagine I will alternate rather randomly between writing in English first versus French first, but that’s okay. Perhaps some entries may even have some Kinyarwanda in them.

March 20, 2010; 20.20 CST

It feels like it’s been a lot longer than 15 hours since I last wrote in here. I will land in Kenya sooner than later, and from there take a plane to Kigali via Bujumbura. Since I last wrote … London.

Yeah. London. We didn’t get to leave Heathrow, unfortunately – at noon, the line for Customs would have taken us an hour, then it was an hour on the train to downtown, and we had to be back for three. So, evidently, there was no point. Instead we stayed in the airport and shopped a bit. I bought a not-bad sandwich and a really good smoothie, and a few souvenirs: I promised the girls I’d bring them something from London, and I got something for John as well.

Being in London, even if we weren’t technically in London, was something else. I had forgotten how much of a Brit fangirl I am (why am I? I was before I met John, that wasn’t it). I definitely want to come back just to visit London. And try to contain my fangirling – Roxanne and I squeed over lots of things. ^^;; We couldn’t take any pictures in Heathrow, which was sad because there was a phone box, and I would have loved to have had a picture of myself with the (red) TARDIS in London. I mean come on. How cool is that.

We spent what seemed like an awful lot of the time in Heathrow waiting in lines, since four of our group (including myself, which was why I was in the lines) had errors on our tickets, meaning they needed to get reprinted at every stop, and calls and emails had to be made, and the whole thing is crazy and frustrating. But oh well. At least we’ve been on each and every plane, which is good.

I undertook braiding my hair in very small braids, in order to minimize the amount of washing I would have to do in Rwanda. The first section took me an hour and a half and I had only done one … of six. At that rate I wouldn’t get it done by the time we got to Nairobi even if I braided straight. Luckily, though, the other sections turned out to be smaller (or maybe I did slightly bigger braids) so I did manage to get them all braided on the plane and I now look somewhat like Medusa. My knuckles are, understandably, rather sore. I didn’t do much else on the way to Nairobi apart from try to start A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (upon which I fell asleep because I was exhausted) and watch most of The Blind Side over people’s shoulders. I’m pretty sure I know the plot inside out and backwards. XD I also listened to quite a lot of music: Phantom, Where’s Neil When You Need Him? and Turn it On Again.

Oh, and I slept a bit, on and off. I am going to be very tired come nighttime in Kigali – it is 4.30 in the morning in Kenya right now, I land at six, we leave for Kigali at eight (I won’t be able to sleep in between), land three hours later (maybe I can sleep there), and then we’re on the ground until evening. While it’s nice that I switched more or less easily to Kigali time, it’s frustrating that it switched and I didn’t sleep with it. Sleeping in airplanes is not easy.

Before I run out of power, I ought to eat my breakfast – OH that reminds me. The food on the way to London was good (pasta with meat sauce, bit of corn salad, bun, brownie) but the food on the way here? Oh my goodness was it ever good. I had lamb which was absolutely wonderful, cooked with saffron and cinnamon I believe, tender and juicy – and it was paired with a good amount of rice and a portion of cooked cauliflower with a kick. So good. And a lovely little bun (real butter both times, so yummy), and crackers with a soft cheese, and a salad that included lettuce (what a concept – Air Canada, take tips please!), and a fruit crumble with custard. Excellent service. So now I get to eat my breakfast and I am looking forward to it! I’m sure the next time I add to this will be in Kigali … wow.