Uganda's Sadness and Promise

On the way home from Jinja, Dennis and I took a matatu. Not the only way home, but usually the only quick way to start the journey now. One thing we failed to think of was rush hour in Kampala. Now, to clarify- Kampala is a city of about 4 million people during the day, but only 1 million at night. That means 3 million people begin traveling at about 5 o’clock going one place or another. Taxis (or matatus) often take “short cuts” during rush hour. They go careening through some of the worst dirt roads and the poorest neighborhoods of Kampala to miss a little congestion- through mud, people, goats and even chickens crossing the road (why would they even try?). It is not easy to traverse these roads, and so to have the drivers go bouncing along at relatively decent speeds means that they are again making you bounce as much as the tassels hanging from their rearview mirrors!

just thinking of my women and microfinance group!

After having our stomachs turned so much, Dennis and I finally got to Kampala headed for Java Café (somewhere I knew had internet and that I could find without much memory) in order to do some internet hotel searching. My phone was still being finky (due to not activating the sim card –opps), so we thought we could skype call some hotels to see if rooms were available, because Jeliza Hotel had been booked out! After finding a place in Wandageya, near Makerere University, Dennis and I dropped things off in the room before heading straight to dinner. We were feeling famished after smelling all the delicious, yet overpriced food at Java. We ended-up eating some local food near our hotel (the College Inn) with some very nice service and English news on as well! It had been some time since I had actually seen any news. There are no TVs in either Spark house, so it leaves me entirely off the map when I don’t have internet for more than Blogging and returning emails! The dinner was delicious, with G-nut (ground nut) sauce just like I remember it! So good! They really do make it better in Uganda- even the posho tastes better (when dunked in massive amounts of G-nut sauce…). My eating habits here definitely aren’t good. Lots of chipati and eggs, samosas, and lots of matooke! They are all so tasty, and since I end up only eating one or two meals a day, my head is almost always larger than my stomach. I am to the point that I can get a no left-overs plate of food at buffets, but when I eat out and am given a plate, it is inevitably heaped.

The next day was our day in Kampala. I figured it would be best to spend Sunday in Kampala so that most of my homestay family would be available at one time or another. I made sure to check when my mom would be back from church, and even then ended up with a late start. Dennis and I were finishing up a survey for one of the SPARK projects that two of our colleges would be visiting on Tuesday. It will be interesting to see how those answers come out since we weren’t able to walk through the questions with those facilitators that would be procuring the survey. Either way, after we finished-up, I headed to the taxi park. It was just a bit after ten and the city was crawling with people already, so taxi park was a zoo! I just had my fingers crossed that the taxis to Kansanga had not moved to a different place from three years back. It had not; those things don’t change too much luckily, and I found my taxi quickly heading toward Gaba Road and what had been home for Fall of 2009. I exchanged a few words with the woman next to me on the taxi and received a compliment on my accent in Luganda. That made me very proud, so good job SIT!

When I got off the taxi, my feet knew exactly where to go, and yet something felt different. I was about half way home before realizing they had paved the road! No muddy puddles, rocks to watch out for, and no major potholes to fall in (yet)! It came as a surprise, but soon enough my memory had led me straight to the piles of bricks, the unfinished two story building and the sounds of chatting in the back by the chicken coops. While I knocked and did not at first get a response, the gate to the house was open, and with a little fear of being impolite by barging in, I did. I got within hug range before my homestay brother Daniel turned around. And the hugs were plenteous! 3 years is a long time to be away from one’s family- even if not biologically, they had taken my under their wings instantly with open hearts last time I had visited in what will always make returning to Uganda worthwhile!

After much visiting and looking at wedding pictures, a relatively quick lunch with pineapple dessert (that I had brought with me), I was late to meet Dennis back at College Inn. He is such an easy going travel partner, but I didn’t want to keep him waiting too long. When momma asks you to stay for lunch though, there is no option! So I did, and got back to College Inn about an hour and a half after or designated meeting time! Dennis had spent the morning wandering around Wandageya, Makerere, Mulago and the slums that surround it. He seemed to be in relatively good spirits, and was sitting in the hotel bar with internet! While I checked email, he went to take another video of the slums he had passed through. I was glad that he was able to compare some of Kampala with Kigali, Rwanda, because they are so incredibly different!

Gaddafi Mosque, yes built by the one we've heard so much about....

After we had met up, we headed into the heart of town in order to find our bus for the next day, visit the Gaddafi Mosque (a building I had only seen from across the city before). It is easy to understand how these structures can hold such immense places of connection with one’s self and others. There were people meandering one way or another, but in the end, no one was idle. From boda bodas (motorcycles) zooming by to running into a gentleman who had been on our bus from Musanze, we were reminded just how small the world can be, which was perfectly juxtaposed with the largeness of the city. Apparently, there truly are three taxi parks, I thought in my time in Kampala I had been to the old and new parks, but nope! I had just been to the Old Park and its annex at Cooper Complex. New Taxi Park was actually further down the same road as Old Park, but I had just never needed to go there! After finding our bus for the next morning (and the location of New Taxi Park), we bought some jackfruit for Dennis to try! It is probably one of the most exotic fruits I have ever eaten and comes in such massive quantities that you really only want it previously cut up and packaged in smaller bunches. Jackfruit is almost indescribable in taste, but the things that come to mind are some combination of gummy bears, juicy fruit gum and peach rings. It is certainly delicious and while we were going to wait until after dinner to eat it, our walk to dinner took long enough that we decided to break into it anyways!

We made our way (in a very round about fashion) from Old Taxi Park to Garden City and ate at Watab (?), an Indian food restaurant at the top of the shopping complex. While it was a more expensive dinner, it was again- just as delicious as in my memory! It was super spicy to the point that I could hardly taste the rest of the jack fruit later in the night, but it was so tasty that it was worth every step of the walk there (which had left me a bit sore footed!)! This wrapped-up our evening delightfully and we hurried home to get some sleep before our 4:45 wake-up to make the 6 o’clock bus to Mbarara.

Definitely looks sanitary...

Mbarara was our plan for Monday in order to visit Nakivale Refugee Settlement. The trip out there didn’t go particularly as planned, because we could not find the Somali taxi that traveled in and out of the camp. In the end, one of my past translators had us meet up with someone named GoalKeeper- he plays soccer as such. While a private hire, he told us it would be 5k UGS each way per person. This ended-up truly being our downfall, because even after I said there and back would cost 20,000 shillings, this was a serious miss communication. Not only was this not how much he planned to charge us, but he actually wanted 5 times that! To this moment, I will not understand where he learned his math (because it is awful) even at 10k per person for 5 people (which apparently was what he had meant you still only get 50000 shillings). Either way, it was unexplainable to him and for us we literally did not have the 100K shillings that he was expecting. It was a heart breaking end to the day realizing that we had been operating on such different versions of reality, but in the end he got $40 USD which came close to his ridiculously flawed math just so he would let us go in peace (and in hopes that he wouldn’t bother my friends in the refugee camp). Luckily Dennis kept his cool, because after such an emotionally gut wrenching day, I was definitely in no position to keep mine. (Keep in mind as this is happening there are other hawkers walking to my window wanting to talk and sell me things). 

Definitely the most frustrating moment of the trip thus far, but it happens when language isn’t universal and when education in mathematics is not successful. Even basic mathematics was impossible for this driver to complete. It is sad, and is something that keeps people poor. A lack of mathematical skills causes unnecessary heartache, and develops abrasive attitudes that can be painfully present in situations like this.

Beyond our miscommunication there, the trip was a success. I was able to get news of Anthony who apparently has gone back to Sudan, and a phone number for another of my trusty translators. Peter seemed to be doing alright, and I met with some of the Congolese women I had seen in the past. There requests and updates were hard pills to swallow, but I also don’t know that I agree with what they think is best for their children’s education. They want their children to only be taught in French, when they will be likely never to return to Congo, and even more unlikely to be repatriated into a French speaking country. This was a foreign concept, but it was their wish. The change in leadership at the camp has brought fewer and fewer rations for its 50,000+ population. There are new water purification stations that seem to be more prevalent, but the ground was dry and harsh. Peter seemed pessimistic as ever- merely hoping to get out and find work. Of course many people in the camp want me to take them under my wing, hire them to work for Spark, pay school fees, give them water, food etc. It is just not something I can do! It breaks my heart, but what can I do? (Ironically that is the question they often ask me...like I would know the answer.) You can’t help everyone- no one person can. Even if there were 50,000 people to help these refugees find work and resettle, there are 100s of thousands of others left hungry and idle. It’s heart breaking to see and hear. The overwhelming nature of the problem is something you can’t ignore here. It is not just one village where you can put food on the table, it is a massive city of poverty. I couldn’t even walk its length in a day, and yet everywhere within the settlement people are hungry and losing hope. They want to be the one person you pick to help, and yet even having helped one family to educate its children, you leave so many others in rough shape.

Dennis and I didn’t eat all day either. He enjoyed the visit a lot, but I was not only in bad spirits by the end of the day, but being hungry only was another reason to be annoyed in one’s self. What is my one day of being hungry compared to the hunger of these refugees that get 3.5 kilos of maize flour for a month! Who am I to say that I am hungry- easy to lose one’s appetite in a moment like that!

The day ended well though with Dennis getting me to eat and laugh some more, and knowing that Sasha was waiting for me to get to Kansanga (also reassuring that I knew how to get to the Educate house). I was so grateful not to have to stay in Kampala alone for the night. I ended-up sleeping on my backpack through the entire 4 hour bus ride back to Kampala (with the exception of a few chats with mom- skype disconnected). Emotionally, I needed it, and it got me ready for the day to come which would involve work- but it’s hard to call it that, because it feels so much more like play! 

Borehole repair, but the Jerry can didn't fit so out came the saw!

Monday brought a visit with Edmund. He will be directing the group in Mbale starting in September. Currently, he is working in Mukono (near Ssezibwa Falls) at a small school that has begun doing some microgrants of their own! They began by surveying many communities and found a plethora of problems- no surprise. There was one however that was bite sized enough to make a difference. Most of the communities in the area had begun to see their boreholes deteriorate, and most were in need of real repair or deeper drilling. These are not exactly the most costly fixes, but the government put in the boreholes, so the communities are expecting that they will fix them as well. The never consider to do it themselves, and even when they do, they often do not have the capital needed to do so. This school has begun work on many boreholes in order to connect communities to their water sources, repair experts and help create community water boards that collect a monthly due in order to pay for repairs in the future. It seems pretty fool proof, but who knows. It will be interesting to see its progress. Either way Edmund will be leaving them, (sad for them, great for Spark) and joining/creating the Spark team in Mbale. He already has a wife and child living in Mbale, and the expat who will help run the Uganda offices will be arriving in September. It’s definitely exciting to be part of this expansion process!

Lorries of Matooke pass the Nakivale settlement and yet people starve.

There were also a bundle of expat volunteers at the school working on building gardens, teaching craft classes, practicing English with the students (and learning some Luganda too), and even working on media for the school’s website. It was a great group of girls, and it’s a shame we won’t be closer when I get to Uganda. A few of them will also be back in the States by then.

When we arrived back in Kampala, I went to the visa office, and found the process took a bunch of additional steps. Not only did you need photo copies of all your passport visas, but also you needed extra pictures, a letter explaining why you wish to come stay here, and the form…couldn’t they just have a form? Haha! Nope, so I took all that he said back home and began by getting my picture taken, typing up a letter, then finding a printer, but his photo copier was broken, so then I had to find another place for that, which didn’t happen until this morning. Then, finally I got back to the offices this morning just to have him look things over, send me to the bank (a moto ride away) to pay the $100, and then bring back the receipt which then needed to be photocopied…it felt like endless ping-pong. Then, after getting back to the office where he said he would process the visa…He asked me to come back Friday and with a minute of panic I realized that really messed with plans! Not only could I not go back to Rwanda today- I was going to have to leave my passport at their offices until it could be completed…probably should have just gone to Kigali, but Sasha says they don’t have multi-entry visas there, so maybe this was the only option. I just hope that I can actually get it tomorrow morning. Leaving from Kigali on Friday to get to Bujumbura this weekend looking more and more difficult! Patience is definitely something that has to be critical here, and flexibility is the only way to get things done.

After the running about for the visa, Sasha and I met at Oasis near Garden City at Mokka Terrace- free wireless with your coffee! Can’t complain there, but the coffee is a bit more expensive, so it’s a good thing that I brought my debit card on this 3 day weekend gone 7…should have brought extra clothing though…you can only mix and match so much…then again, perhaps I should buy a shirt, they are really quite inexpensive. Then, the two of us moseyed toward the taxi park to eat at a restaurant that literally only served soda, chicken, and chips (fries)! The catch with the bad food was that the terrace overlooks the entirety of old taxi park. Which around 7 o’clock is a fascinating view! We stayed there for a while meeting up with one of Uganda’s first Spark facilitators. He is working to build a school and has helped the mothers of the village to acquire land, build the structures, and find teachers. They have done so much! They are working to be formally accredited in order to draw better teachers and additional students, but right now they teach pre-k through primary 5 (or the equivalent of 5^th grade in the US). They have run into the problem of students being unable to pay school fees and are looking at ways that mothers can bring foodstuffs to the school as payments. While this will require the school to have a seller, it should be an interesting and maybe a very effective way to help the children stay in school. They will be using the school as a multi-purpose facility though during after hours, which is pretty unique here. It will have courses for mothers on nutrition, business, and budgeting, farming techniques and even may host health clinics for HIV testing, etc. The project seems like it is taking significant time, but patience allows things to move- even if snails seem to move faster.

It really was a jam-packed day, because even then we were not done for the night. We went to a bar called MishMash. The bar has a dual functionality as an art gallery as well and is very modern, classy and relatively pricy. The wine was good though, and the company even better! We met up with Andy, one of Spark’s biggest supporters, and some of his other colleagues here in Uganda. One pair of guests were working on washable feminine products in order to make them affordable to even the poorest of girls. Many girls drop-out of school because of their periods, and those who don’t often miss significant amounts of class that means they face a lot of ridicule upon their return. Another worked on health products and was also an Emory ALUMNI! It was exciting to find another Emory connection, because there are so few of us in East Africa, and the association is not particularly proactive about linking people up in the less obvious cities (they are fabulous in ATL, DC and NYC, but there are alumni everywhere, so run into one is always exciting!). It was a wonderful evening, and so nice to meet such wonderful people who had been here so long! 

Jinja Changed

Bustling, chaotic, musical and a bit like a game of Frogger- that’s how I think Kampala feels even with the attempt Kampala has made to introduce traffic lights and define sidewalks. In the end, it seems everything is fair game, so you have to keep your eyes open and ears listening to get anywhere safely!

Home is where the heart is always feels cheesy, and on the 12 hour bus ride from Musanze to Kampala I began to question my own sanity for taking an over-night bus in Africa, but in the end things always do work out alright! Dennis and I left Friday after some survey data entry and our market wanderings. We found a great $1 a plate lunch by the bus station (a risk we decided was worth the price- even considering the 12 hour bus ride ahead of us). After eating, there was a ‘hurry to the bus station’ and then a classic, yet LONG ‘test your patience’ wait. While a bit frustrating, it was brilliant not to lose one’s foresight- as I thought ‘I hate standing here,’ I thought more and more about how we would no longer get into Kampala at 3am in the morning (something I was somewhat dreading). This made the bus seem even better than before! The prospect of sleeping on the bus, getting into Kampala and heading to Jinja sounded fabulous! Then, along came the bus.

Correction, the bus from you-know-where. The seats were alright, and at first the fact that my window wouldn’t close all the way was fine. It gave some fresh air to the relatively musty bus, and eased by relatively volatile stomach which was incredibly full after the lunch/dinner we had just eaten.* Then the bumps began, the fumes that at first I attributed to the breaks got progressively worse. Then came the border crossing (the first time I have seen the top of any of our volcanoes) and the beginning of the dust. At first, I was surprised not to notice a difference in the Ugandan roads, but then it hit: dust coming through the window that wouldn’t close. It came through so thickly, that I was coated in grime and attempting to breathe through my pjs rather than choke down anymore of the fine powdered dirt. Even drinking water couldn’t clear out the fumes and dirt. There was no way to ignore the scents and tastes of these distracting facets to the trip and just fall asleep. Then, enter the road humps. Again from goodness knows where, these road humps are four humps in a row hit at relatively high speeds in order to slow down rides, but probably was more effective at giving me air- in my seat. Every other set of four, we were jostled around so much that I literally had moments of hang time. Not particularly conducive to a cat nap in preparation for the adventure to Jinja in the morning.

So those are the low points (or high flying) points to the ride, but really there was something much more magical about the trip, and that was the stars. Cities like New York and LA are expected to see very few of the night stars, but even in Musanze and Kigali where electricity and sprawl are far more contained, nothing compares to the stars of Uganda. They are so uncountable that it’s breath-taking, and huge! In Phoenix you have to be seeking a planet to have points of light this exquisite, but in Uganda the whole sky is filled with them. There are so many stars that you utterly lose track of the constellations for all the glimmering. There is no were better to view them, and it is impossible to capture in photographs.  (Having never been to Montana, I won’t judge, but thus far my life leads me to believe the best star gazing is that in southern Uganda.) Even from the bus window, I couldn’t help being distracted from the fumes, the cookies, ground nuts, the humps and the cold air- the stars just hold your eyes and don’t let go. Beyond the magnificent stars, I finally found some sleep may only 5 minutes or so of actual sleep, but in the end there were a few hours of rest that would be combined with my adrenaline to get me through the next day of go go go!

As I mentioned earlier, our bus arrived in Kampala very early, and dropped off in a part of town I had never been to before (perhaps-it was very dark…). It was 4:30 am, and here in Kampala just about everyone was still sleeping and the morning glow would not come to for another hour or so. I had mentioned to Dennis that there was a Sheraton in Kampala and he had the bright notion that we go there until the sun came up. Something I was entirely supportive of. It’s quite a challenge to pick out landmarks in utter darkness. I am still not exactly sure where or how we walked were we did, but we came from somewhere in the southern part of the city and made our way to the intersection where Kampala Road becomes Bombo Road were a kind boda boda (motorcycle/moto) driver pointed us toward the Sheraton (after we explained that we literally had no money of value to him (Rwandan Francs don’t just perk up anyone’s ears.) As we arrived, we were asked if we were part of a group leaving for Jinja this morning- while the answer was - not that group-, it allowed us to hang out for a while in the lobby wash-up, have tea and then find out that the hotel had bad rates for foreign exchange rates. Something we already assumed, but thought might be of value in time savings. We took (aka drank) tea in the café near the lobby and looked at an antique store’s windows. Sadly, the Sheraton’s antique store is not open 24/7! Perhaps another day I will be able to return and look through things a little more thoroughly!

Upon finishing tea, some reading on my Kindle and realizing we were going to need to hunt down an actual forex (foreign currency exchange), Dennis and I headed toward the taxi park. Purchasing a SIM card and installing it was like most things- a mild ordeal. After the 7^th or so person, pointing me back the direction I had come from, I finally was helped by a gentleman who popped to wherever the mysterious SIM card seller was. While it left me with no extra airtime, it was the first step to realizing I was going to have a tough time reaching Sasha (my boss) for our Monday/Tuesday meetings in Kampala. After the purchase and exchanging money, Dennis and I were off to the taxi park- the old one.

Those who have heard about my last experiences in Uganda have heard of the “ghetto super shuttles” with bars sticking out here and there, thread-bare cushion covers and cracked glass windshields. They all stop bumper to bumper in what can only be described as organized chaos, or maybe just chaos. There are truly know other words for the mud, the bumpers meeting, the ability of these vehicles to somehow move in the crowd of others, and for my success at picking dead ends (places that you cannot actually walk through because the taxis are parked to closely together for even the skinniest of people to slip through. You weasel your way through the crowd hang on to your bag for safety’s sake and shoot an “oli otya?” back at some of the gawking individuals to make them crack a smile at the muzngu speaking Luganda. Luckily, about the time I was going to ask where the taxi to Jinja was, it was hollered out at me. And Dennis and I hopped aboard for the 2 hour ride through Uganda toward Lake Victoria and the Source of the Nile (Speke’s version of it anyways).

Our tour of Jinja was going to include visiting a park near the ‘Source of the Nile’ and then a visit to Bujagari Falls, all via moto or other mode of transport if possible. For my part, I had tried to plan it out ahead of time in my mind, but we ended up moderately tossing the thoughts to the wind. Upon our arrival in Jinja we decided to wander around/down to the water. Something apparently easier said than done. After walking away from town into a relatively industrial looking area, I was certain we would hit a dead end, but curious nonetheless to see what was towards the end of the road. It didn’t end. We kept walking past some of the giant horned cows, goats on some of the most peculiar perches and some pink pelicans on trees in the distance.

We continued our wandering down past a bunch of pregnant goats until we reached the Jinja port (which can’t actually be toured- we actually got hissed at for pausing to long to take pictures of an old rail road track that got close to the “ferry” area). After receiving a request to keep walking we did just that, and ended up in a small village with a bread seller on moto bike driving by, and bags upon bags of charcoal ready to be loaded into boats to sell across the lake. Besides a fabulous walk down to the water, seeing birds of all types, and some water hyacinth, we also were met by a fisherman named Emmanuel. I typically wouldn’t take a ride from an utter stranger, but a boat ride on the Nile and Lake Victoria seemed like the most fun way to go see the source of the Nile. It seemed like a far more reasonable use of our money than the park fees to walk to the water and walk back to town.

The fishing village clearly made its living doing just that, but the occasional stragglers like Dennis and myself may have made the day of quite a few individuals! While we decided against eating in a village so close to a bad water source, we did take up Emmanuel’s offer of a boat ride. While I expected a lovely ride, and seeing the “source”, I got so much more than I was expecting, because it really turned into a bird and giant lizard watching adventure! From seeing fishing eagles, both types of king fisher, tons of yellow weavers, herons, marabou storks, and so much more to visiting a little island with crafts, sodas, and beers, it was well worth the 50,000 shillings. Our guide’s (Emmanuel) English was great, and our boatman very courteous. The trip was a definite success, and I would recommend it to any vistor in Jinja. The little fishing community could be found just in front of the NaFIRRI building along Nile Cresent Road.

After hearing so much about fishing the lake, there was no other option for lunch than fish. Pirate café was directly next to the matatu stand, so Dennis and I decided to stop eating our biscuits and banana chips and eat a full meal. It was also a perfect place to wait out the rainstorm that seemed to be imminent. We waited out the rain there, enjoying the delicious food and even got to use-to-be classy bit latrine in the back (walking through the kitchen etc to get there). While it was nice to give complements to the chef directly, it was very interesting to see who and what was outside. Mostly women were working behind the scenes, and there were chickens and rosters all over the areas which made me wonder if they ever had to kill them (specifically)…chicken was on the menu after all.

The way it looks now...

The way the falls used to look!

After the bite to eat, Dennis and I were feeling refreshed and the rain had subsided, so we headed to Bugagali Falls. Little did I know that in the past three years a dam had been constructed leaving the falls no more. What was left was a beautiful lake, but far from the beautiful falls I had remembered and that can be seen in the background of my blogger photo. No white crests what so-ever and beyond the snail shells littering the shoreline, you might not be able to convince me that I was looking at the same place as 3 years earlier. So incredibly different from my memories. It felt almost like a waste for Dennis to see it in this state, but it was truly still beautiful, just a much subtler and quiet beauty. Time certainly flies.

Then, it was back to Kampala for the night!

Home in Musanze

So, through my time here in Musanze, I have begun to visit out Spark communities in the area. The projects range from building bathhouses, promoting increased cultivation and even piggery. The projects have all been incredibly remote, but this week began our process of conducting follow-up surveys on past projects, so we returned to Nyabageni. Nyabageni was my first site visit upon arriving into Musanze and while we heard rumors of rain problems for their potato harvest, it wasn’t until we were sitting down conducting surveys that we realized just how bad it had been. The lush green surroundings and active children seemed to hide the levels of hunger that pervaded the community. Nostalgia tends to make the past look rosier, but it seemed the heavy rains (and lack thereof) had resulted in a poor potato harvest. The community had profited off some of its first harvests, but clearly had run into trouble in this past season. It was really almost confusing to see how complimentary they were of what had been done, but to see the results of this early project seem to be in a tough place. I think like any development project, there are always some tough spots, but if you work through them, there is a lot to be learned.

Opposites attract, but they also help us to remember how to differentiate between extremes and navigate a middle ground. Without imperfections, you wouldn’t know what perfect looks like, without sadness, you would forget that smiles mean joy and even the most prevalent of these opposites, without being hungry you would never feel fullness and be truly satisfied. This community knows both, and while they are far from markets, the days they travel to market they can find themselves full at the end of the day. Now this is not to say these individuals are not hungry- they are. This is more to say that the consciousness of the difference makes the difference all that more acute.

After an exhausting afternoon, with perhaps a little too much sun, the sun began to sink and it was time for us to get back to our motos before it was too dark to drive back ‘safely’. The motos had waited for us in a small town nearby, but of course were antsy to get back to the city where they could gain fairs doing short trips around Kinigi (the closest place a car can get to). After everyone making back to the Kinigi taxi park, we hopped on the next matatu to Musanze. This is where we met a new friend! Another muzngu hopped into the van just outside Kinigi in front of a school for the deaf. It’s always interesting to hear how and why people end up where they do, but that comes later over dinner rather than while squished in the matatu just trying to get out at the right place!

While the rest of the week revolved around data entry, there were a few moments on Friday where Dennis and I just wandered around Musanze. After finding we had missed the first bus to Kampala (at o dark thirty am), we went to our regular coffee shop where we are becoming valued customers I would guess. I am pretty certain we are the only muzngus ever eating there, but it has tasty food and pretty good prices (and a lovely outdoor patio). The one problem with an outdoor area is that you are completely accessible to anyone outside. Beggars of all shapes and sizes (from small kids to elderly women) can put in their two cents on your meal, their hunger, etc. There is nothing like someone begging to make one completely lose their appetite, but then it gets worse. When that happens, you end-up leaving a half-eaten plate of food to either reward the action or rub-in your own lack of hunger, neither of, which feel particularly nice. We have seen a consistent stream (probably every other time we eat there) of individuals, but this week one of the men who works in the store took the child by the wrist (hard enough that the kid cried out) and dragged him back out to the street. I was part honored to be respected as a customer, and part terrified for the child. I want children to learn not to beg, but sometimes you do just need help, and so severe punishment seems entirely uncalled for. While this is clearly an issue the developing world has to consistently grapple with, it is hard. I want to tell people they must work, or have a job to find money from me, and yet rarely would any of those items actually be something I paid for.

`

Feeling a little under the weather with this event, I decided rather than go straight home after purchasing my ticket to Kampala it was time to explore the markets in Musanze- and not just to buy pineapples or mangoes. Markets are a fascinating compilation of people from all across walks of life. From those with successful businesses to those just trying to sell another tart orange to feed their family more nutritious foods it can bring peoples stories to life. The markets are also so full of color. Red tomatoes green and yellow bananas, orange and brown pineapples, purple eggplants, and a plethora of spice packets in varying sizes and colors. This is met with silvery fish, bright plastic baskets and plates, woven ride baskets larger than my duffel bag for the next three months and more. From peas and miniature garlic to entire plantain bunches, the sizes contrast so distinctly you can’t help taking notice! Then, as if there isn’t enough color accounted for in the food, add in the clothing, the fabrics, the kitchen wares, breads, and beauty supplies. The dresses of the sellers and buyers alike looked fabulous. 

Some women carry babies strapped to their backs, while others carry jerrycans and baskets-they show so much strength. Women are taught to be strong and selfless early on. From their requirements within families to the expectations that they complete school work and an extremely large number of chores these girls are built to be tough. They carry around their siblings as soon as a kid in the US would be carrying around a baby doll. I hope that the strength, savvy, and intelligence of these women will be recognized in their homes and transform their lives. So much in Rwanda’s healing process since 1994 has involved community women banding together to move forward. They’re one of the most critical success stories, and seem to be teaching their children as well. Healing takes time, but the more one seeks, the more they find success.

Lake Kivu and the Congo

So a little more about weekends in Rwanda. Dennis and I spent time getting to know Ross and Ernest’s (our facilitator’s) cousin on our first day, but there was also some exploration. Dennis was dead set on trying to see if it was possible to go into Congo, so we trekked the 1.3 km out of town to the border crossing. While it definitely felt pretty impenetrable, you could see just over the high walls that separated the Congo from Rwanda (maybe a wall isn’t such a bad idea on our border…). I am not sure that it works all that much, but on the other hand, except in the most emergency situation you wouldn’t be able to just ‘hop over.’ There were plenty of refugees huddled around a Unicef border station waiting for a UNHCR caravan. Caravans are taking refugees deeper into Rwanda to the refugee camps daily outside Gisyeni ( which we passed driving to and from Musanze).

Lake Kivu at Congolese Border

The border seemed relatively calm beyond these people; there were no trucks of military supplies or food aid, just people walking like always baskets on their heads to market. Money from each country was valid on either side of the border, and Dennis even picked up some Congolese bills from a moto driver. The area was surprisingly serene with a few straight over Lake Kivu. With huge, very fancy houses and hotel-esque places on both sides, if you didn't already know that Congo was in a huge civil war, you would never know it by looking about. It’s interesting how my expectations and stories of Congo leave me with images of devastation (both volcanic and military) that clashed to poignantly with those images I actually saw. I am by no means saying I would step onto the other side of that wall without a personal security guards, but then that begs the question ‘why bother.’ If you will not be able to live like a local and get close to people, (because you are so heavily guarded) then you miss a lot of what is unique about a country and might as well wait until life calms down to go in for a visit to see volcanoes that aren't going anywhere fast. 

I am not saying that we travellers get to know many people by just wandering around Gisyeni, we still cause waves just based on our race and citizenship, but at the same time we are able to observe people if we sit somewhere long enough that our presence wears off. Language is an incredible impediment to true understanding, but at the same time, there is a lot to be learned through participant observation. After visiting the Congolese border, we went to find a hotel with a sand volleyball area where Ross (our host) was planning to meet-up with friends. On the way, we passed by a public beach, crawling with locals swimming fishing and playing football (soccer). After passing through the hotel lobby, patio dining area, and onto the beach (complete with jetskis, sailboats and windsurfing materials), we entered the beach area. I was struck by a sign and rocky outcrop that asked visitors to remain on the private part of the beach- but don't think this was due to a life-guard being on duty. This part of the beach had almost no Africans at all. The few that were at the hotel sat back from the water to spend time eating or drinking in larger groups that were fully dressed in business attire. The make-up on the beach itself was all Caucasian, except for a few Indian individuals clearly vacationing in the area. It really was a stark contrast to the other beach we had passed by, so the next morning it was my goal to go swimming there - to see Lake Kivu from the local point of view. 

Even the sand was darker. From one beach to the next, the sand was progressively less pebbly and more of a black fine grained sand. Dennis and I were up relatively early Sunday, since we wanted to not overstay our welcome. Beach bound, we arrived early morning and it was definitely too chilly (and overcast) to swim, but that was not the case for most locals. Splashing around in the water, fishing, and jumping off the ‘boardwalk, the beach and breakwater barrier were crawling. Even a child who was using crutches managed to clamber down into the water for a swim and before climbing back onto the breakwater barrier that we sat on dangling our feet into the spray of the lake's waves. While Dennis worked on a book he had borrowed from a friend, I read on my kindle (definitely a fabulous purchase for international travel!). It felt a bit ironic to have a piece of brand new technology to read from while a kid next to my was using bamboo and string to fish with, but it worked out, clearly we were both amused in our own way. I am working on reading the book Man Seeks God by Eric Weiner, and it includes some serious food for thought in terms of immersing oneself in the culture of another. It felt particularly ironic when the beach seemed to nearly evacuate around 10. Then, we realized it was Sunday. Everyone had gone home to get dressed for church. It is a bit humbling to realize that while I sat reading about religion, others were working their day around practicing it.

Realizing this exodus, we decided it was probably time to move along ourselves. Dennis and I made our way to a gift shop we had dropped into the day before, and learned the visual differences between elephant ivory and hippo teeth (another version of ivory). It is certainly interesting how even though it is illegal, many artisans still work with elephant ivory in the Congo, and that like Congolese money, ivory passes across the border with relative ease. Another set of items that caught my attention in the gift shop were a variety of Malachite necklaces, boxes and small carved animals. There were many of them in the store, but all of the materials were mined in Congo. After seeing to many stories like those of blood diamonds and coltan feeding war in the Congo, I could not help but be saddened by the stones. I wondered if buying these little trinkets was really something I should just go about doing obliviously. There are clearly people working hard to make these goods, mine them from the ground, carve them, but where are the funds really going? To the artist? Or to feeding the civil war? The proximity brought me pause, and decided I should look into it, and reflect more before just purchasing the trinkets. It’s so hard to think about these touristy gifts having significant impacts, but mines can have that effect. They can be some of the most bloodily fought over areas of the Congo, because extraction can be coerced and export is relatively easy. Prices stay high for goods that are hard to get, and having control over resources in a land of relative chaos means having means for action. So even though the malachite animals were beautiful, I had to step back and leave them for another day. It's impossible to track things as dutifully as one would hope, but perhaps my time in Rwanda will help me find a few more answers to questions like this. 

Gisyeni and Bralirwa

Bralirwa

Friday through Sunday go by too fast in the States, but in here Rwanda- there is never enough time- yet never a hurry. Friday morning, Dennis and I taught one of the Spark facilitators (Anathalie) the theory behind a logic model. It was brilliant because she caught on very quickly and was even able to teach a class full of students that afternoon in Rugarama. Dennis and I sat in listening to the lecture in Kinyarwanda. I picked out some of the conversation and some new words, but it is hard to know exactly what was being said. Either way, it was fun and many of the students recognized Dennis since he had been there the week earlier. That was followed by a quick signing of the ‘guest book/compliment book’ and then a glance at the volcano, Muhabura, before we were cramped into another matatu heading for Musanze.

Meeting some S2 students visiting the springs for their geography class.

Upon arriving home, we met Ross, a friend of Eamon’s from Gisyeni- just where we planned to go for the weekend! He was incredibly generous and offered us some rooms at his home! While Ernest was going to come to Gisyeni with us, it was nice to have someone who lived there come along with us! It saved us a late night search for a hotel (and/or an early morning trek from Musanze). We managed to just miss the 7pm bus, but that gave us time to get bruchettes and Fanta on the rooftop restaurant of Musanze’s Equity Bank. The ride was a safe one, though there was an extremely present irony in the trip beginning with a showing of an airline safety video in Chinese to a bunch of Rwandese bus travelers without seatbelts to buckle (even on this nice Chinese Bus). As you can imagine, very few people actually paid attention and those who watched the silly video, like me did so more out of amusement than learning. I could only chuckle at the end and say, “well, that definitely will help…not!”

The whole town of Gisyeni was surprising. I knew it was on Lake Kivu and would therefore be beautiful, but the amazing number of very large homes was relatively astounding! The home we stayed in was owned by a Muzungu man and his Rwandan wife, and included an outdoor library (with books on every topic you can imagine!). The books ranged on topic from genocide to the history of beads, and even included opposition newspapers and build your own house books (including yurts- just in case that was in your future)! It was well decorated and luckily stocked with many kitchen tools from the US, which allowed Dennis and I to help make a delicious pasta dinner alongside Ross for some of his friends! He was such a fabulous host, and I hope that I am able to pay that back through visiting Uganda next weekend!

View from the Springs

Dennis and I spent most of Saturday wandering around Gisyeni. After breakfast the next morning, we traveled to Bralirwa- the distillery and methane extraction (Lake Kivu is a methane lake (yes, it could explode) and a hot springs nearby.

Bubbling, not quite boiling.

Out first stop was the hot springs, and after the beautiful moto ride to them it was nice to be back on solid ground! The hot springs was much smaller than I was expecting (when you think of Hot Springs National Park in the U.S., your comparison will be impossible. This area was a small swath of beach where the water bubbles out of the sand into little pools of water. 

One of the pools created by the spring.

Supposedly there are healing properties to the waters, but there is also a legend that a spirit lives in the lake sucking people under the water. While a little horrific, because people are actually killed due to this suction, the legend could hold some grains of truth from poisonous gases to lava tubes or geysers. To have the hot water bubble out of the beach sand, the more scientific definition seems to argue that the molten materials deep in the earth give off carbon dioxide and water vapor that comes to the surface in bubbles and hot water. 

Either way, the site was fabulously breath-taking! Enjoy the pictures!

Dennis teaching kids not to punch, but rather to be 'gentler'.

Ross and some kids near the springs.

Ngabo our fabulous guide!

After the hot Springs, we walked into town, passed the brewery and bottling plant for just about all drinks (besides water) in Rwanda, and hopped on a crowded matatu back to Gisyeni where we met up with Ernest's cousin for some pineapple. We are eating more than our share of it here- always fresh and the equivalent of 33 cents! Can't beat it! 

Celebrating life is a little foreign

Yesterday brought a birthday and a site visit into my day. Dennis and I began the day with munching some left over rice and a sauce for breakfast (it had been reheated- and so far not sick, so that is a plus!). Two of the facilitators here on the ground living with us cooked the sauce up to delicious perfection (thanks go to Isugi and Anathalie)! Some extremely hot peppers go into the mix (piripiri), but just enough to add flavor without burning you from the tongue and tummy out! The peppers went into a tomato paste with onions, eggplant and more. It tasted just as good the second time around, though after eating it, I hoped it would semi-double as my lunch…but nope! Everyone was hungry enough that we ended up at a buffet!

After a little more data entry, Dennis, Isugi and Anathalie were up for a Rwandan buffet. These buffets can be purchased with or without meat, and all for about 2 dollars. The buffet had cassava, beans, plantain (matooke), potatoes, rice, pasta, cabbage, and then either goat, chicken, or beef brouchets (like shishkabobs). I took far too much- because of course my stomach is much smaller than my brain thought it was! In the States I wouldn’t have felt badly, and would have ended up with a doggie-bag (a foreign concept to even Dennis haha). Here, however, I had to leave it on the table, feeling guilty for the waste of perfectly delicious food. By this time we were clearly going to be late to the community, but then again, everyone is late to just about everything in Africa (or at least so I have heard/experienced). So when I suggested we go to the buffet after visiting the site, I was jokingly told, ‘that would be a sin, so eat up!’

Afterwards, we hopped on motos and where off to visit a lovely bunch of women who were part of a women’s cooperative working to raise pigs and grow maize. It is interesting to note, that communities here in Rwanda are dictated what they can and cannot grow in terms of vegetables. So while one community can grow bananas, another maize, and another beans, they cannot grow whatever is not in their zone. This is incredibly limiting in some regards, because soil that is better for some types of plants vs others may not be used in the most effective manner. But on the other hand, when a plant sickness destroys crops or a specific food plummets in value, not everyone is affected. So if the price of potatoes drops, not all of the country is impacted (presuming that all of the country would have grown potatoes in the first place). This is a challenge, but also an attempt to maintain a relatively stable economy. For better or worse, that is how these communities are required to focus their efforts in cultivating the land.

In terms of animals, there is far more leniency, but tends to be pockets of people tending to one or another animal. The regions near Musanze have many sheep. Lovely colors (through probably filthy enough you would just through away the rug rather than take it to the cleaners back home. But, having said that, I have yet to see anyone here using the furry wool at all! I guess time will tell on that one! Cows are popular in Isugi’s hometown area and goats tend to be relatively prevalent all over (as far as I have seen). Piggery is clearly catching on, but I find it interesting since so few people actually eat pork in Rwanda. Our visit was very interesting, though sadly much was lost in a lack of translation. The women were very friendly though, and one thing that continuously strikes me is color. If I listed all the colors I saw in their clothing in Cyabingo, it would take an entire post! But I love it, it’s so much braver than the dull subway browns, greys and blacks of our cities where occasionally someone is bold enough to buy a red peacoat or have a yellow raincoat with say….purple boots. J

Here to be in those colors is professional the black slacks and pressed shirts of white and blue, but the color in the African fabrics are just exquisite! I would just walk around wrapped in them if the extra layer wouldn’t have me in a melted puddle by the side of the road. I look forward to doing some fabric shopping here (either in Kigali or here in Musanze) though, so that I can wear them before I return to the States where they are far too bold for everyday wearing!

As for the birthday, Ernest, one of our fabulous facilitators had his 23^rd birthday the 13^th, so we wanted to celebrate it with/for him! Turns out he has only celebrated it 3 times in his life. It merely was dinner a few beers and some biscuit cookies- NICE biscuits. The evening resulted in a dance lesson between Isugi and I (Thanks Eva for taking me out to learn the two step) and some relatively hilarious dancing by Ernest to “Call me maybe.” Ernest did a little speech on how people do not celebrate birthdays here, but I find that on its own ironic. In a place like the US where you are almost guaranteed another birthday we celebrate; where living day to day can be a miracle, people don’t count the years as reason to celebrate their survival.

As for today (the 14^th), I visited two more communities outside of Musanze in the area surrounding Lac Bulera. After a relatively long bus ride toward the volcano named Muhabura, we finally hopped off the bus to jump on motos for our first meeting of the day. We were welcomed with the most beautiful welcome song. I wanted to get up and dance and sing with them, or at least video it, but alas I did not, because I honestly didn’t want to break the reality of the moment. Then, we got into introducing Spark and the more serious matters began. The community had a sad story, many of the workers in the communities had left to go work fields in Uganda, because here in Rwanda there was not enough land, and little (if any) choice on what to plant.

There seemed to be little hope in cultivating much of the rocky landscape though it would be hard to tell by how green everything was in the parts of the villages that I traversed. Even in a spot that I thought the weather must have been killing a bean crop, I was told that actually the plot was designated to provide the seeds for the next bean crop! (Oh but of course, the non-farmer in me realized immediately what a silly thought that was for a place so green! They were being dried on purpose). Mostly maize and beans were growing around me though we drove past some sorghum drying, a few avocado and banana trees on our moto ride to the next site visit.

The road from our first meeting to the second was so bumpy that we had to pay the moto drivers double what would have normally been necessary for such a distance! It was beautiful, (beyond my death grip on the back handle of the moto) with a lovely lake view and more than a few adorable children running to the side of the road shouting out the ever present “muzungu”! There are no other NGOs working in these districts (probably in part because it is so hard to reach), and so this meant that only maybe once a month did anyone see or hear motos, let alone see one with a muzungu on the back with a shiny silver helmet hiding her mouth. It was sad but interesting that so many of the villagers saw us as a blessing long awaited for in their prayers, and yet I know very well that $3000 will not entirely uproot their circumstance. There is so much need and so the work is so hard.

Since the villagers were not yet gathered, I went for a walk with Anathalie, our two moto drivers, and a few villagers that tagged along. We didn’t get very far before I told Anathalie to ask these people if they had any questions for me. And once the flood gates opened there were so many! About farming machinery, techniques for small farms (I talked about the organic ones I had been to) and even about poverty and climate. It is amazing how different our two homes are yet, they are just beginning to realize how wonderful their own land is. I was asked why it is that people come back to Rwanda and if I would choose to live here if I had the choice to stay with the same pay as in the States. It was an interesting question (particularly due to the pay stipulation), but was followed up by this one question: “Is there any one thing about Rwanda that you find unique or wonderful?” 

My answer was of course yes, that there are many wonderful things, but I was completely honest in my response that community cohesion after the genocide, being able to put it in the past is one of the most incredible character feats I have ever witnessed. It is not forgotten, but remembered, and yet, there is person after person choosing every day to wake-up and trust. This spirit is one of the most amazing aspects of Rwanda, and something that I don’t think Rwandans truly can appreciate without seeing places like the Middle East where people never let go of the past and continue to fight one another rather than live in harmony. While education and solid leadership among Rwandans is needed for industries to prosper there is so much potential here. It just needs a person to come around who is not interested in power, but merely the ability to help communities learn to solve their own problems- get electricity through solar or other alternative energies than firewood, buy machines for farming in large groups so that the equipment is economical, and even drills to create latrines- but this has to come from within. If there are not young Rwandans educated enough to understand these concepts, then there will always be needs for us muzungus, and then development has failed. Perhaps we are needed for initial momentum to be built, but in the end, it’s about communities taking ownership and sustaining the progress they want to see.

When we finally came back to the community gathered around a beautiful shady area, we learned about this lake view properties challenges. This area had no electricity, latrines, or even a hospital/clinic within an hour walk. They had a water tap, but it was 200RWF per jerry can filled. Many a fruit were squished into the openings of the cans to keep water from spilling out as lids seemed to have been lost or broken. In the end, there was still a little girl with a water bottle from home that was milky as could be. The babies were full of energy (which is a good sign rather than being lethargic), but I think for the young children with their big tummies the prospect of having a muzungu in their village was shocking enough that their attention did not waiver. There is so much to be done, and yet the rocky landscape seems to provide an impediment in every step one takes. The children there have learned to run without hurting themselves (whereas I am lucky to walk normally)- and like these children learning how to get by, I think there must be ways for their communities to improve upon their circumstances.

The practicality and genuine curiosity seen in the communities we visited was reassuring. I hope that their first NGO interaction will be successful and give them hope rather than leave them dismayed. Again I was reminded that things are not always as they seem, and that there are wonderful people everywhere just struggling to make a difference.