Greetings from Gulu!!! The following is a recap on my last few weeks in Rwanda and the first few days here in northern Uganda. It's QUITE long, I'll try to keep posts shorter and more frequent, but power is down quite oftern so I'll try my best. Peace and Love!!
15/09/2010
Where are we, what the hell is going on?
I’m surrounded by so much life here. The hills are breathtakingly beautiful and the earth it so green that it just exudes peace and inspiration, yet I know that this has been a place of unimaginable hell. I can’t understand how a place of so much beauty could have set the stage for so much bloodshed. Yesterday, we visited the Murambi Memorial site, a hill that was intended to host a high school. Before the building was finished, however, it had become the final resting place for the 50,000 people killed there in the span of a couple weeks. The trenches carelessly dug for them were so many bodies deep, that when finally exhumed, many had been well protected from the elements. For this reason, hundreds of bodies have been preserved in limestone. Mainly women and children, their shrunken corpses are laid out on tables in what feels to be endless hallways of would-be classrooms. The smell is inescapable, and the shells of what should have been happy children were heartbreaking. We met one survivor. His name is Emmanuel, and his wife and five children were killed on the hill. He was shot in the head but somehow managed to escape. He’s there everyday. I wonder why he chooses to stay in such a hopeless place, but I can’t say he would have anywhere else to go. When he sat in our circle and told us what had happened to his family, none of us could say anything. Saying “sorry for your loss” just felt so meaningless to try to communicate to someone who had his entire world stolen from him. I started to imagine my own father and how he would do absolutely anything for my siblings and me. I can only begin to imagine how helpless Emmanuel felt. A man should have the right to protect his family. Instead, he stays at Murambi. If he couldn’t save them, I guess he will have to settle for ensuring that they won’t be forgotten.
We visited the Women’s Association, a co-op comprised of surviving widows and the widows of convicted perpetrators, and though none of them spoke a word of English, their eyes reflected so many stories of pain and perseverance. I realized that some of the women I saw today could have very easily been some of the corpses I witnessed yesterday at the Murambi Memorial, and I was overwhelmed by the amount of bravery and strength these women have demonstrated just to get out of bed every morning, much less having to rise from the ashes as a homeless head of household. I wonder if these women can ever truly know peace or if they are continuously haunted by the horrific days of ’94. I feel haunted by the dozens of limestoned victims that I saw yesterday, and I never even heard their cries for mercy. I didn’t smell the thousands and thousands of instances of rotting and forgotten flesh I will never know the fear that they must have felt on the top of that hill when they realized there was no escape.
22/09/2010
Change your Words into Truth and then Change that Truth into Love
The musical universe is very much on my side, I feel. Last night, I saw a video of George Michael and Mary J. Blige covering Stevie Wonder’s “As,” absolutely one of my favorite songs. And then right before my mom called me, the Spice Girl’s “Mama” video came on, and totally rocked my world. But then Michael Bolton’s “Can I Touch You…There?” came on and though it was HILARIOUS, I felt super awkward watching it with Papá, so I went to bed. Random music videos have definitely become one of my favorite parts about Africa.
Getting to more important things, we just returned from a local NGO called Uyisenga N’Mazi (roughly translated into Hope for those in the dark) concerned with orphans of the genocide, young people affected by HIV/AIDS, victims of sexual violence, and I’m completely inspired by what they are accomplishing and their dedication to this imperative cause. Many of the staff members are widows themselves and their drive to help others is so contagious that we all left the office feeling amazing. Though I also feel like my life up to this point has been completely insignificant because I haven’t really done anything to help people on the scale that this small group of committed individuals has accomplished. The woman in charge of planning and advocacy is widowed, but has managed to raise her two daughters along with eight additional orphans, four of whom are currently attending university, not to mention the fact that she was able to get her degree as well. Isaac, their legal counsel, is an orphan himself and has raised three siblings with the help of this organization’s services. Their vision for the future and the progress they’ve been able to make in addressing trauma paints a beautiful picture of the incredible hope this country has shown in the face of so much pain.
23/09/2010
If you like Piña Coladas…
I’m sitting in Shakola right now while the sky is beating down around us—the sweet smells of apple, coffee, and rain are wafting through the air while shadows from the lanterns and a candle light flames dance in between the earth-toned cushions. No one else is really here except for one or two customers. Life is such a blessing right now. I feel like one can only be allotted so many moments like this in a lifetime. There’s a peace here in Kigali that is completely illogical. The resilience and strength that permeate these hills feel like such a beacon of hope. Yes, some days I feel like the tragedies here are very nearly swallowing me whole, but then moments like this just come and kiss you on the forehead and wake up to the new world that is tirelessly being created here.
Last night, I had the best conversation with Papá, first about gay rights and discrimination and then about dating norms. I was pleasantly surprised by his open-mindedness, but then again, I haven’t seen any side of him that would indicate any different. Contrary to many of his Ugandan neighbors in the Northeast, Papá was very adamant that if one expects others to respect our own culture, one must be respectful of other people’s cultures and choices. He told me that the idea to make homosexuality illegal had come up in Rwanda’s Parliament until someone brought up the simple fact that the government does not need to be concerned with what people do in their beds. I was so relieved to hear him say this. I was under the impression the homophobia was just a part of Africa, but I’m happy to know now that that is not entirely the case.
26/09/2010
Got me Workin’, Workin’ Day and Night
Yesterday, I participated in Muganda, the monthly community workday in which all of Rwanda works from 8-11am on local projects. We walked down the hill from our house and helped with the digging of a trench for drainage along side the dirt road. Others cut down a few trees to restore a bridge that was falling apart. Most people were really surprised to see a foreigner working on their neighborhood, but what I initially thought was just friendly support, sort of turned into, “Let’s watch the mzungu attempt manual labor,” and I felt a little more than embarrassed. I guess I had never really used a hoe before, and I think my learning curve was just holding up the entire process. I was able to briefly help shovel out some of the soil though. Papá was worried I would injure myself for lack of experience, so my muganda experience mainly turned into moral support and getting to meet a lot of neighbors. I felt like a jerk for not really doing much, but Papá explained that muganda is just about showing your support for the community and contributing what you can. Everyone takes turns doing the labor, though I still felt less than helpful. Despite my minimal contribution, however, I still ended up with a small blister on my hand and an extremely sore shoulder this morning… It’s safe to say I’m in need of some practice. I think the best part was sitting down and chatting with a group of local women. With Papá translating, they asked me questions about myself and we exchanged some small English/Kinyarwanda lessons. I was astonished at what was accomplished in less than 3 hours with no more than some shovels, hoes, and machetes; they started and finished a trench for the entire length of the road and built a bridge out of three standing trees. The value of this civic duty was unmistakable. It was just another indicator of the incredible spirit in Rwanda. I guess after going to hell and back, people come to understand the value of working together. I know much of it is government tag lines and positive propaganda, but I feel a sense of genuine compassion and brotherhood here. It makes me sad and frustrated for so many of the societal norms in the US. We’re taught that the American Dream is take equal opportunity by the reins and get as much as you can, but we’re missing the collective effort. It feels like as Americans, we are supposed to get as far ahead in life as possible and then part our guard up so that no one can bring us down, but witnessing the transformation from hatred and nothingness to prosperity and harmony in just 16 years shows the hidden potential of human kind. There is still much damage to be repaired here—I don’t want to completely romanticize a post-genocide society, but the future is looking bright.
28/09/2010
Don’t Blame it on the Good Times, Blame it on the Boogie
I found out what I love the most about my homestay—having dance parties with little Garnaud in the kitchen to Michael Jackson. I had been reluctant to bring out my ipod and speakers due to my siblings’ affinity for grabbing and pulling at things, but it became an easy way to connect with my brother Cyuzuzo when conversation is otherwise extremely difficult. At first it was Chris Brown and Beyonce, but when I started playing my favorite MJ tunes, Garnaud’s eyes completely lit up, and he started twitching around with his baddest Michael moves. I could not be happier about this. Clementine, our house girl, even came inside to dance with us, and it was one of the few times I’ve seen her genuinely smile. She is always so terribly quiet and shy that it was amazing to see her coming out of her shell. I should have done this as soon as I got here, though 7 yr. old Cherabin has already dropped my camera once fighting over it with his sister. I just put the speakers on a high shelf and we get down. Now, Michael Jackson is the only thing Garnaud wants to hear whenever I bust them out, and I’m absolutely alright with that. He loudly sings along with random syllables in whatever key he feels fits, and it’s awesome. Hearing him sing “Heal the World” is my new favorite sound, and my obsession with music has just continued to expand since I crossed the Atlantic. I am never surprised but continuously inspired by its ability to connect people and make any occasion better. It’s usually just Garnaud, Cherabin, Kirezi, and me on the dance floor. Clementine joins in sometimes in between cooking as well, and sometimes we’ll get a few glimpses of Cyuzuzo working it out. I’ll be sitting around, just hanging out, and Garnaud pulls on my arm and says “Michael Jackson!” After that, it’s on. Cherabin has some pretty legitimate MJ dance moves, and Kirezi is completely sassy. I love when Cherabin and Garnaud tag team it, and start mirroring each other. They get this attitude that’s far beyond being too cool for school. Life would be much less fun in Rwanda without our random dance parties, so I’m glad to say it has become practically a daily tradition.
I’m honestly scared for when I have to leave my family. I don’t know when I’ll ever get to see them again, though I have a strong feeling that this won’t be my last visit to Rwanda. I wonder if Garnaud will even remember me. Other than Papá, I definitely spend the most time with him and already have so many games and inside jokes. I know I’ll cry having to leave them, and I sincerely hope we will all be able to keep in touch. I’m going to need emails, letters, and photos on a regular basis. I’m so grateful that I actually feel like a part of the family. I’m starting to freak out about having a different family in Gulu. I know I shouldn’t have too many expectations, but my Rwandan family is just so amazing that I can’t just trade them in for a new family in a new country. It’s going to happen; I’m just a bit reluctant for it.
17/10/2010
I Felt the Rains down in Africa
I can’t really believe I’ve been here for 2 months already. Am I seriously almost half way done?? Leaving Rwanda was extremely difficult, but I’ve felt completely enchanted by Gulu since we got here last week. I only wish I didn’t have to leave my Rwandan family. I must have cried 5 times the day that I left. I just wish I knew when, if ever, I’ll be able to see them again. I became so close with Garnaud, and I’m scared he won’t even remember me. I had to spend a brief night in the hospital with a bacterial infection, and Mamá and Papá spent the better part of their afternoon keeping me company. Mamá came back the next morning with Garnaud and hung out with me till they finally let me leave. My blood pressure had gotten dangerously low, and I had a crazy fever but was good to go after an IV and some rest. The next day was my very sad departure, and though I wasn’t expecting it, my family had gotten me a few sweet parting gifts. Papá even wrote me a letter and read it aloud in front of all of us—safe to say that I didn’t exactly keep it together. It’s difficult to articulate the phenomenon that is family. It was less than one month that I spent with them, but I truly love them all and felt genuinely loved in a situation that could have easily been utterly isolating. It definitely helped that Papá spoke such good English, but I couldn’t say how much of my communication with the rest of my family was linguistic. It became all about the shared experiences, shared meals, and universal gestures. Cultural boundaries seemed to just melt away. I absolutely have to make it a point to keep in touch with them, and keep these ties.
I’ve been with my new Gulu family for a few days now, and I feel so lucky to be becoming a part of this family. I have a mom and a dad, 5 year-old and 9 month-old brothers (Jerry and Jesse), a 16 year-old sister who is actually their niece (Docus), and a 23 year-old cousin who stays with them (Joseph) and we live on a small compound with 11 other families. The housing situation is kind of hard to explain, but our rooms are connected by an outdoor hallway so I walk outside to get to the sitting room. I share a small room with Docus, and though I’m spoiled with a bed and a mosquito net, I’m usually woken up by small cockroaches in my bed :-/ I didn’t do any cooking in Rwanda, but today, I helped cut up and cook some very bloody liver, chopped some veggies, and peeled a bucket of potatoes. My family is very patient with me and doesn’t seem to mind explaining how to do things the right way. Power goes out a lot, so I’ve taken two showers by candle light in the rain. I’ve found that a bucket of warm water and a candle is more than enough for a lovely bathing experience. Add in the light from all the lightning, I could have practically read in there. Though this isn’t the coush life of Kigali, but the skies here are absolutely incredible, and I’ve felt nothing but love from my new fam. Everyday is a new adventure, and I’m so grateful I have this opportunity.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Take a Shower and Shine Your Shoes...
Hi Beautiful people!
My internet has been limited to say the least so hear are a few updates from the past 3 weeks... Probably a little scattered, but all is well in the land of a thousand hills!! Sorry in advance for how long this posting is. My feelings won't be hurt if you don't want to read the whole thing.
12/09/2010
When I grow up…I wanna be a gorilla.
It has been just over three weeks since I arrived on this magical continent and there’s something new and different everyday. From Stevie’s hut in Chizela, it was a couple days hitchhiking, two bouncy nights on the train through Tanzania (though I got to see an elephant!) three days and two nights by bus to reach Kigali, and thank God Stevie got over her cold in time for our bad ass jungle trek! It still feels like a dream—hanging out with a bunch of gorillas. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!!! Looking into their eyes, I desperately wondered what they thought of us. Certainly not the first Homo sapiens to trespass in their quiet and peaceful mountains, they seemed pretty indifferent to us and our beaming grins. Standing under a few small trees, staggered on the mountainside, one young playful one jumped on the trees right behind us sending us all forward into the foliage. The trees came down on all of us, sending one woman into a pile of gorilla poop as he just basically climbed over the top of us. I wasn’t sure if I should turn to take a picture, surely putting my in the path of this amazing animal or duck into a fetal position. The whole thing happened in about 4 seconds, but it was SO COOL! And THEN my dream came true and we got to see some little baby gorillas! I have to adopt one now. Not sure how to do it, but it’s pretty much a life goal now. If MJ can have a chimp names Bubbles, I can TOTALLY have a baby gorilla, and if I have to move to the jungle to do so, I’m ok with that.
After an hour of climbing and sliding behind our new gorilla friends, we had to head back down the mountain, but the adventure wasn’t quite over yet. We had a two and a half hour car ride back to Kigali and the Rwandan countryside is absolutely breathtaking—Land of a thousand hills and then some. Everything is so lush here, and the sky hugs the hills in perfect harmony. I don’t think I could ever get tired of views like this, and I know I’ll be sad to leave in October.
The next morning it was back on the 5am bus to Kampala, and Stevie and I had to very sadly part ways. About to miss her bus back to Dar es Salaam, we had an all to fast hug goodbye, and I was on my own in Africa for the first time… a very lonely 10 hour bus ride (See you in December, Simba!). I did ok, until we got to the Uganda border and I couldn’t find my bus. Walking in the completely wrong direction, it took me about ten people yelling, “Mzungu, where are you going?!” to run back the other way. After a fight with my cab driver in Kampala, I finally made it to the SIT group at the Bativa Hotel.
You can feel it all over…
Kampala is completely overwhelming and huge and enormous, but a big group of us managed to explore the city for the few days we were there. One night we ended up at the city center jam, and I was able to get my eager little hands on a microphone (not singing everyday is PROBABLY the weirdest/most difficult thing about being abroad). Anyway, I’ve learned that in Africa it’s unbelievably easy to make fast friends, and the musicians there graciously let me sing “Chain of Fools” and even asked me to do another. Not knowing exactly how much western music they new or even the genres they played, I called out “Superstition,” but the guitar player started playing the horn line for “Sir Duke.” It ended up going surprisingly well (save my non warmed-up and exhausted vocals) and I actually got invited to come sing in this guy’s band. As it works out, however, I’m sure I’ll definitely be too busy with Post-Conflict Transformation studies to establish my African music career—maybe next time I’m in the neighborhood. The next night, a few of us saw some amazing local music and met a professional dancer named Joans.He grabbed our hands to bring us into the circle of African dancing and didn’t even laugh at the fact that none of us new what the hell we were doing. After the set finished, he took us to a dope nightclub, and this boy could MOVE. He had just gotten back from touring with his company in Europe and was about to take off again. Though I was really sad to leave the party early (like 1am), it was a pretty sweet send off, and I was back on another bus to Kigali AGAIN at 6am the next morning. Twelve hour bus rides are MUCH more fun, however, when you’re not crammed in between two large strangers, and I can’t really complain when I get to come back to some place so incredibly beautiful.
It would have been fun to have at least a few more days in Kampala though. The people there are so open and generous. Everyone I met was always helpful and understanding, and I’m sure we could have found some more crazy adventures. After a few days of Kenyarwanda language class, we finally got to meet our host families!
We are the world, We are the children.
Papá Max picked me up and I walked into my new house with the wonderfully epic original video of “We Are the World” playing on my family’s TV—could NOT have asked for a better omen. :-D Lord knows I love me some Michael Jackson. Throw in some Stevie, Brother Ray, and Mr. Quincy Jones, and I’m in heaven… I think one of my favorite things in Rwanda is all the ridiculous and amazing music videos they play every where. I hear “My Heart will go on” at least once a day, followed by a lot of Shania Twain and enough 90’s R&B to fill my heart’s content. Papá then sang along with some Kenny Rogers, and I had this weird “how the hell is this Africa” moment. Though I miss my Americaland family IMMENSLY, my host family is completely sweet, and compared to some of my new classmates’ stories, I think I lucked out. I have 4 siblings: Cyuzuzo (15 and stays at boarding school in Kigali), Kireza (10 and my only sister), Cherbin (7 and feels pretty entitled to go through all my things), and Garneau (5 and a little whiney sometimes but pretty damn cute and showers me with hugs). My host mother’s name is Vestine and she works for an NGO during the day and goes to school for Rural Development in the evenings, so I don’t get to see her very much. She speaks some English, and whenever she talks to me, it’s like her words are always followed by an exclamation point and giggles. It’s pretty adorable. Papá is pretty much fluent in English, and the first night I got here he told me that he was a very happy man because 1) His wife is his best friend (a rare thing for most African marriages) and 2) because they started with nothing and now own this beautiful home. He’s a very kind man, and I’m impressed with how he and Mamá have raised their family. They each lost tons of family in the genocide (or as Papá told me, his brothers and sisters are hiding in Heaven), yet they are always smiling and celebrating unity. Papá doesn’t even like the word “Mzungu” (white person) because he says we are all the same, and that term only creates separation.
17/09/2010
I am not my hair… but let’s be real—I’m pretty attached
Ok, my little brother tried to cut off my hair tonight. All three of my beautifully bald-headed siblings were playing with my hair tonight and out of nowhere comes 5-year old Garneau wielding a pair of scissors! Ooooooh no, he did not. Coming home in the evenings has become the time when the door to my room finally gets unlocked and all of my bags can be more or less ransacked. Last night, they found my football, bubbles, and bouncy balls. Tonight, they found my camera, ipod recorder, face lotion (asked me if it was ice cream!), journal, and tampons… It’s safe to say that the situation is escalating. I think they found my ipod too because later they demanded that I give them music, and I just pretended to have no idea what they were talking about. With both their mom and dad still at work when I get home, I’m not really sure how to fix the pattern.
Tomorrow, I’m going with Mamá to a wedding, which I was initially excited for, though I’ve come to find out that it will most likely be me standing around smiling, and not understanding a word of what’s happening for a good 10 hours. My host father is very sweetly sending me with a small video camera so that I can record anything I don’t understand, and he’ll view the tape and go over everything with me—a completely generous and thoughtful offer, though it may very well mean that I’ll just have to sit through everything twice. Ok, I’m being way too cynical. I love weddings, and I’ve been getting pretty good at the whole silently smiling mzungu thing.
I don’t think I can actually complain though because I’m pretty sure I lucked out with my host family. My parents are both incredibly sweet and hard working people. They are completely understanding of whatever I need, and I’m sure I wouldn’t be having any of these issues with the kids if they were around all of the time. We have a house girl, which is a very strange concept for me. She’s very quiet, and I only really see her outside cooking all of our meals. She has her own small room with a mattress on the floor, and she doesn’t speak a word of English. I wonder how old she is and if she has ever been able to attend school. Papá Max, though, assures me that they think of her as part of the family. She was taking care of one of their young cousins tonight, and upon seeing me, the little toddler burst into tears. This adorable boy was utterly terrified of me, and it was a really strange feeling to be feared for no reason. I could easily be the first are just actually the scariest looking mzungu he’s ever seen, but I guess I just assumed that smiles were universal with kids… Maybe I need to think of this as a scary-clown complex, though it scares me to be comparable to those ironic torture devices.
19/09/2010
Happy as the Morning Sun…
Yesterday, my family invited me to the wedding of their adoptive brother. He was orphaned in the genocide, and Mamá’s mother had taken him and his younger sister into their own family 16 short years ago. The bride was also an orphan of the genocide, but she was fortunate to still have some extended family. Though I can’t imagine the hardships these young adults have had to overcome, I find solace in the fact that these two damaged survivors will be able to start their own family that with hopefully never know such pain.
In perfect Africa time, we arrived at the church well into the ceremony, but a booming gospel choir drew me in immediately. I couldn’t understand what was being said, and I had never been to a Catholic ceremony before. Lucky for me, however, the gospel choir was pretty much continuous, though I couldn’t understand why they chose the cheesiest synth setting for the keyboard accompaniment. I made a mental note to absolutely have a giant mixed choir at my wedding. After the ceremony, we were able to see the next wedding party process into the church. The groom was military, so they had an entire military escort and small symphonic band play with they entered the church. As we stood outside watching pictures being taken of the newlyweds, Papá told me that this church was a place where many took refuge in 1994, and every singe one was trapped and slaughtered there. There was now a memorial site for the victims, and even though I’ve very much learned the atrocious role of Catholic churches in the genocide, I couldn’t believe I was standing in a place of God that had just hosted the happiest example of people coming together, yet it had been the same grounds of the most merciless acts. It has been the dual image of Rwanda that my brain has continuously been trying to grapple with for the past two weeks.
We headed to the ceremony, which was held in a fairly new banquet hall. Mamá was part of the wedding committee, so she had been there helping set up all the decorations. The large rectangle room was arranged with the wedding party at a big table in the middle of the room facing out towards the guests., creating a big open space for the traditional dancers. The groom’s family’s table was situated on the left side and faced the bride’s family’s table on the opposite side. Chairs were then arranged like an audience behind the families’ tables and opposite the bride and groom (I don’t know if that makes sense). The entire reception is basically the groom’s family trying to host the bride’s family in appreciation for their daughter, so there are a few ceremonial offerings like a good beer between the male representatives of each family and lots of speeches. Rather than the dinner-dance tradition in Americaland, the only dancing if performed by a traditional dance troop that performed several dances for the bride and groom throughout the night. No dinner is served, but I counted ELEVEN wedding cakes that were cut and served to all the guests on small napkins. I believe the bride and groom were able to toast a glass on champagne during the cake cutting, but I was surprised to see the two of them drinking Fanta when their families were sharing their ceremonial beer. I guess I just wasn’t used to the image of a bride in a white sparkly dress drinking out of a glass bottle of orange Fanta, and my cultural meter was rocked a bit.
My internet has been limited to say the least so hear are a few updates from the past 3 weeks... Probably a little scattered, but all is well in the land of a thousand hills!! Sorry in advance for how long this posting is. My feelings won't be hurt if you don't want to read the whole thing.
12/09/2010
When I grow up…I wanna be a gorilla.
It has been just over three weeks since I arrived on this magical continent and there’s something new and different everyday. From Stevie’s hut in Chizela, it was a couple days hitchhiking, two bouncy nights on the train through Tanzania (though I got to see an elephant!) three days and two nights by bus to reach Kigali, and thank God Stevie got over her cold in time for our bad ass jungle trek! It still feels like a dream—hanging out with a bunch of gorillas. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!!! Looking into their eyes, I desperately wondered what they thought of us. Certainly not the first Homo sapiens to trespass in their quiet and peaceful mountains, they seemed pretty indifferent to us and our beaming grins. Standing under a few small trees, staggered on the mountainside, one young playful one jumped on the trees right behind us sending us all forward into the foliage. The trees came down on all of us, sending one woman into a pile of gorilla poop as he just basically climbed over the top of us. I wasn’t sure if I should turn to take a picture, surely putting my in the path of this amazing animal or duck into a fetal position. The whole thing happened in about 4 seconds, but it was SO COOL! And THEN my dream came true and we got to see some little baby gorillas! I have to adopt one now. Not sure how to do it, but it’s pretty much a life goal now. If MJ can have a chimp names Bubbles, I can TOTALLY have a baby gorilla, and if I have to move to the jungle to do so, I’m ok with that.
After an hour of climbing and sliding behind our new gorilla friends, we had to head back down the mountain, but the adventure wasn’t quite over yet. We had a two and a half hour car ride back to Kigali and the Rwandan countryside is absolutely breathtaking—Land of a thousand hills and then some. Everything is so lush here, and the sky hugs the hills in perfect harmony. I don’t think I could ever get tired of views like this, and I know I’ll be sad to leave in October.
The next morning it was back on the 5am bus to Kampala, and Stevie and I had to very sadly part ways. About to miss her bus back to Dar es Salaam, we had an all to fast hug goodbye, and I was on my own in Africa for the first time… a very lonely 10 hour bus ride (See you in December, Simba!). I did ok, until we got to the Uganda border and I couldn’t find my bus. Walking in the completely wrong direction, it took me about ten people yelling, “Mzungu, where are you going?!” to run back the other way. After a fight with my cab driver in Kampala, I finally made it to the SIT group at the Bativa Hotel.
You can feel it all over…
Kampala is completely overwhelming and huge and enormous, but a big group of us managed to explore the city for the few days we were there. One night we ended up at the city center jam, and I was able to get my eager little hands on a microphone (not singing everyday is PROBABLY the weirdest/most difficult thing about being abroad). Anyway, I’ve learned that in Africa it’s unbelievably easy to make fast friends, and the musicians there graciously let me sing “Chain of Fools” and even asked me to do another. Not knowing exactly how much western music they new or even the genres they played, I called out “Superstition,” but the guitar player started playing the horn line for “Sir Duke.” It ended up going surprisingly well (save my non warmed-up and exhausted vocals) and I actually got invited to come sing in this guy’s band. As it works out, however, I’m sure I’ll definitely be too busy with Post-Conflict Transformation studies to establish my African music career—maybe next time I’m in the neighborhood. The next night, a few of us saw some amazing local music and met a professional dancer named Joans.He grabbed our hands to bring us into the circle of African dancing and didn’t even laugh at the fact that none of us new what the hell we were doing. After the set finished, he took us to a dope nightclub, and this boy could MOVE. He had just gotten back from touring with his company in Europe and was about to take off again. Though I was really sad to leave the party early (like 1am), it was a pretty sweet send off, and I was back on another bus to Kigali AGAIN at 6am the next morning. Twelve hour bus rides are MUCH more fun, however, when you’re not crammed in between two large strangers, and I can’t really complain when I get to come back to some place so incredibly beautiful.
It would have been fun to have at least a few more days in Kampala though. The people there are so open and generous. Everyone I met was always helpful and understanding, and I’m sure we could have found some more crazy adventures. After a few days of Kenyarwanda language class, we finally got to meet our host families!
We are the world, We are the children.
Papá Max picked me up and I walked into my new house with the wonderfully epic original video of “We Are the World” playing on my family’s TV—could NOT have asked for a better omen. :-D Lord knows I love me some Michael Jackson. Throw in some Stevie, Brother Ray, and Mr. Quincy Jones, and I’m in heaven… I think one of my favorite things in Rwanda is all the ridiculous and amazing music videos they play every where. I hear “My Heart will go on” at least once a day, followed by a lot of Shania Twain and enough 90’s R&B to fill my heart’s content. Papá then sang along with some Kenny Rogers, and I had this weird “how the hell is this Africa” moment. Though I miss my Americaland family IMMENSLY, my host family is completely sweet, and compared to some of my new classmates’ stories, I think I lucked out. I have 4 siblings: Cyuzuzo (15 and stays at boarding school in Kigali), Kireza (10 and my only sister), Cherbin (7 and feels pretty entitled to go through all my things), and Garneau (5 and a little whiney sometimes but pretty damn cute and showers me with hugs). My host mother’s name is Vestine and she works for an NGO during the day and goes to school for Rural Development in the evenings, so I don’t get to see her very much. She speaks some English, and whenever she talks to me, it’s like her words are always followed by an exclamation point and giggles. It’s pretty adorable. Papá is pretty much fluent in English, and the first night I got here he told me that he was a very happy man because 1) His wife is his best friend (a rare thing for most African marriages) and 2) because they started with nothing and now own this beautiful home. He’s a very kind man, and I’m impressed with how he and Mamá have raised their family. They each lost tons of family in the genocide (or as Papá told me, his brothers and sisters are hiding in Heaven), yet they are always smiling and celebrating unity. Papá doesn’t even like the word “Mzungu” (white person) because he says we are all the same, and that term only creates separation.
17/09/2010
I am not my hair… but let’s be real—I’m pretty attached
Ok, my little brother tried to cut off my hair tonight. All three of my beautifully bald-headed siblings were playing with my hair tonight and out of nowhere comes 5-year old Garneau wielding a pair of scissors! Ooooooh no, he did not. Coming home in the evenings has become the time when the door to my room finally gets unlocked and all of my bags can be more or less ransacked. Last night, they found my football, bubbles, and bouncy balls. Tonight, they found my camera, ipod recorder, face lotion (asked me if it was ice cream!), journal, and tampons… It’s safe to say that the situation is escalating. I think they found my ipod too because later they demanded that I give them music, and I just pretended to have no idea what they were talking about. With both their mom and dad still at work when I get home, I’m not really sure how to fix the pattern.
Tomorrow, I’m going with Mamá to a wedding, which I was initially excited for, though I’ve come to find out that it will most likely be me standing around smiling, and not understanding a word of what’s happening for a good 10 hours. My host father is very sweetly sending me with a small video camera so that I can record anything I don’t understand, and he’ll view the tape and go over everything with me—a completely generous and thoughtful offer, though it may very well mean that I’ll just have to sit through everything twice. Ok, I’m being way too cynical. I love weddings, and I’ve been getting pretty good at the whole silently smiling mzungu thing.
I don’t think I can actually complain though because I’m pretty sure I lucked out with my host family. My parents are both incredibly sweet and hard working people. They are completely understanding of whatever I need, and I’m sure I wouldn’t be having any of these issues with the kids if they were around all of the time. We have a house girl, which is a very strange concept for me. She’s very quiet, and I only really see her outside cooking all of our meals. She has her own small room with a mattress on the floor, and she doesn’t speak a word of English. I wonder how old she is and if she has ever been able to attend school. Papá Max, though, assures me that they think of her as part of the family. She was taking care of one of their young cousins tonight, and upon seeing me, the little toddler burst into tears. This adorable boy was utterly terrified of me, and it was a really strange feeling to be feared for no reason. I could easily be the first are just actually the scariest looking mzungu he’s ever seen, but I guess I just assumed that smiles were universal with kids… Maybe I need to think of this as a scary-clown complex, though it scares me to be comparable to those ironic torture devices.
19/09/2010
Happy as the Morning Sun…
Yesterday, my family invited me to the wedding of their adoptive brother. He was orphaned in the genocide, and Mamá’s mother had taken him and his younger sister into their own family 16 short years ago. The bride was also an orphan of the genocide, but she was fortunate to still have some extended family. Though I can’t imagine the hardships these young adults have had to overcome, I find solace in the fact that these two damaged survivors will be able to start their own family that with hopefully never know such pain.
In perfect Africa time, we arrived at the church well into the ceremony, but a booming gospel choir drew me in immediately. I couldn’t understand what was being said, and I had never been to a Catholic ceremony before. Lucky for me, however, the gospel choir was pretty much continuous, though I couldn’t understand why they chose the cheesiest synth setting for the keyboard accompaniment. I made a mental note to absolutely have a giant mixed choir at my wedding. After the ceremony, we were able to see the next wedding party process into the church. The groom was military, so they had an entire military escort and small symphonic band play with they entered the church. As we stood outside watching pictures being taken of the newlyweds, Papá told me that this church was a place where many took refuge in 1994, and every singe one was trapped and slaughtered there. There was now a memorial site for the victims, and even though I’ve very much learned the atrocious role of Catholic churches in the genocide, I couldn’t believe I was standing in a place of God that had just hosted the happiest example of people coming together, yet it had been the same grounds of the most merciless acts. It has been the dual image of Rwanda that my brain has continuously been trying to grapple with for the past two weeks.
We headed to the ceremony, which was held in a fairly new banquet hall. Mamá was part of the wedding committee, so she had been there helping set up all the decorations. The large rectangle room was arranged with the wedding party at a big table in the middle of the room facing out towards the guests., creating a big open space for the traditional dancers. The groom’s family’s table was situated on the left side and faced the bride’s family’s table on the opposite side. Chairs were then arranged like an audience behind the families’ tables and opposite the bride and groom (I don’t know if that makes sense). The entire reception is basically the groom’s family trying to host the bride’s family in appreciation for their daughter, so there are a few ceremonial offerings like a good beer between the male representatives of each family and lots of speeches. Rather than the dinner-dance tradition in Americaland, the only dancing if performed by a traditional dance troop that performed several dances for the bride and groom throughout the night. No dinner is served, but I counted ELEVEN wedding cakes that were cut and served to all the guests on small napkins. I believe the bride and groom were able to toast a glass on champagne during the cake cutting, but I was surprised to see the two of them drinking Fanta when their families were sharing their ceremonial beer. I guess I just wasn’t used to the image of a bride in a white sparkly dress drinking out of a glass bottle of orange Fanta, and my cultural meter was rocked a bit.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
I'm gonna make a change, for once in my life...
Greetings from Zambia!!! Stevie and I have just arrived at the Peace Corps house in Solwezi after being in Chizela (Stevie's village) for FAR too short a time, 3 nights. It was a long journey to get there (30 hours on the plane, and 2 days of hitch hiking in the backs of trucks after a night of dancing in Lusaka) and despite giant spiders and having a whole in the ground for a toilet, I am completely enamored with the life and people Stevie has come to surround herself with. I know I can't convey this magic in a blog, but spending the afternoons playing football and bubbles outside of the hut with beaming children is a pretty sweet life.
I'd like to apologize in advance for my novice blog-writing--completely new to this, and I'm hoping for both our sakes that I'll get more clever as I go on. For now, just expect a gushing-kid-at-the-candy-store approach...I'm still pinching myself to be on the continent. AFRICA. WHAT?!
The last night was by far my favorite as Stevie's host family cooked an amazing dinner and the kids and I exchanged dance moves. We worked up an appetite jumping around and chasing eachother around the hut before sitting down to a feast of Nshima and relish, greens, and chicken. I was pleasantly surprised at how great the food was and have the ever-growing sensation that Zambia agrees with me. We ate with Ba-Moses and his wife Abigail (Stevie's host parents), Ba-Moses' father and wife, and his good friend in Stevie's Kisanza with all the kids scattered around us. Unfortunately it was pretty dark by then, so I couldn't see everything that was going on, but afterward we got a few "snaps" of the entire family. After the delicious meal, the "chaps" continued to run around under the light of a full moon, as Stevie held Rejoice, one of the youngest, in her arms and sang a lullabye.
Everyone was so friendly and warm and were graciously trying to teach me Kicaonde. So far, I can say "Hello, how are you, I'm well, Good Morning, Thank you, It is good, and I don't understand Kicaonde," but I've learned that a smile and a hand shake go a long way here. I brought bubbles and bouncey balls for the kids which were such a blast to play with and left a couple books with Ba-Moses to thank him and his family for their hospitality and taking such good care of my sister, though she's become quite the independent BAMF (Bad Ass Mother F$%*@er). She cooked us some amazing meals out of very few ingredients and doesn't bat an eyelash at the very large and very scary spiders that live on her walls.
Right now in Zambia it's dry season and so there are control burns EVERYWHERE. The country of Zambia is basically on fire, which makes for some unbelievably red sunsets, more than living up to my romantic Lion King fantasy. We'll see how far this fantasy goes tomorrow when we board the train for Dar es Salaam, Tanzania and pass through a giant reserve. Can everyone PLEASE say a prayer for us to see some elephants, giraffs, and LIONS!!! We'll have 2 days on the train, then 2 days on a bus through Kenya to get to Kampala, Uganda. And then another day on the bus to get to Kigali, Rwanda for our day-trek with the GORILLAS!!!!!!! (Watching Tarzan tonight just to get extra pumped) Okay, time to get re-packed and dance around with excitement. Hopefully, I'll report back a changed woman with my new found gorilla spirit wisdom. Peace and Love!!
I'd like to apologize in advance for my novice blog-writing--completely new to this, and I'm hoping for both our sakes that I'll get more clever as I go on. For now, just expect a gushing-kid-at-the-candy-store approach...I'm still pinching myself to be on the continent. AFRICA. WHAT?!
The last night was by far my favorite as Stevie's host family cooked an amazing dinner and the kids and I exchanged dance moves. We worked up an appetite jumping around and chasing eachother around the hut before sitting down to a feast of Nshima and relish, greens, and chicken. I was pleasantly surprised at how great the food was and have the ever-growing sensation that Zambia agrees with me. We ate with Ba-Moses and his wife Abigail (Stevie's host parents), Ba-Moses' father and wife, and his good friend in Stevie's Kisanza with all the kids scattered around us. Unfortunately it was pretty dark by then, so I couldn't see everything that was going on, but afterward we got a few "snaps" of the entire family. After the delicious meal, the "chaps" continued to run around under the light of a full moon, as Stevie held Rejoice, one of the youngest, in her arms and sang a lullabye.
Everyone was so friendly and warm and were graciously trying to teach me Kicaonde. So far, I can say "Hello, how are you, I'm well, Good Morning, Thank you, It is good, and I don't understand Kicaonde," but I've learned that a smile and a hand shake go a long way here. I brought bubbles and bouncey balls for the kids which were such a blast to play with and left a couple books with Ba-Moses to thank him and his family for their hospitality and taking such good care of my sister, though she's become quite the independent BAMF (Bad Ass Mother F$%*@er). She cooked us some amazing meals out of very few ingredients and doesn't bat an eyelash at the very large and very scary spiders that live on her walls.
Right now in Zambia it's dry season and so there are control burns EVERYWHERE. The country of Zambia is basically on fire, which makes for some unbelievably red sunsets, more than living up to my romantic Lion King fantasy. We'll see how far this fantasy goes tomorrow when we board the train for Dar es Salaam, Tanzania and pass through a giant reserve. Can everyone PLEASE say a prayer for us to see some elephants, giraffs, and LIONS!!! We'll have 2 days on the train, then 2 days on a bus through Kenya to get to Kampala, Uganda. And then another day on the bus to get to Kigali, Rwanda for our day-trek with the GORILLAS!!!!!!! (Watching Tarzan tonight just to get extra pumped) Okay, time to get re-packed and dance around with excitement. Hopefully, I'll report back a changed woman with my new found gorilla spirit wisdom. Peace and Love!!
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