Kampala and Mbale

This past few days in Uganda have seemed to crawl and yet those in Kampala flew by at the same time. I am always excited to come back to Uganda and see my Buganda family where Nakitende becomes my name and no matter how long it has been I am instantly welcomed back to the family. Last time I saw pictures of Grace’s wedding, and this time, I got to visit with Thomas and see his new home. He is no longer living with the parents now that he has his own job. His place was a lovely 1 bedroom with a kitchen and a front room. A perfect place for a bachelor like himself, but even then he was prepared for company, because he had an extra mattress just perfect for me! Besides getting spider bites in some bizarre places that evening, I slept very well once I got there.

Thomas and I got to talk for a while about his work, what was happening in Uganda, my work in Rwanda, and whatever happened to pass on the TV set-up across from the couch. I also told him about the guard at the grocery store where we met-up chatting me up the whole 30 minutes it took him to arrive, and his utter shock when my ‘brother’ turned up and was African. It is too funny to catch them in that moment of ’huh?’ I was glad to have access to a TV for a night, because not only did we watch the Project Fame (a version of American Idol for Africans put on by the beer companies), but I got to watch some news.

Not the best of new, but news nonetheless. It’s been a while since I got any information that wasn’t off BBC World.com! While seemed like things between Congo and Rwanda continue to evolve into a more hostile relationship, Uganda has an outbreak of Ebola…lovely. I will preface this by, no I haven’t gotten it yet (as I am typing this) and also that it is in Kabale not Mbale- opposite end of the country. They have how had a case that made it to Mulago hospital in Kampala only to die, but there have only been 14 fatalities thus far. Hopefully things will be more contained when I pass back through the city, but sadly it also means for safeties sake I probably won’t spend more than a night. The humidity of the rainy season is beginning to set in while the temperatures remain high, so that means people are sweaty, and ebola can be transmitted through something as simple as sweat in a handshake. I sincerely hope it doesn’t claim any more lives, but am not sure that the 14 it has harmed currently will be its last. Additionally, I hope that it does not spread to Congo (where it originated), because with the fighting occurring on the Ugandan border, there would be no way to quarantine the illness from wreaking utter havoc on the poor towns that have already suffered so much in the fighting.

Thomas cooked a delicious pasta, chicken and chipati dinner for me (cooked the pasta and reheated the others). It always surprises me how different foods can be prepared in such different ways. For spaghetti in the US we always follow the directions on the pasta package fill a pot x much and then bring to a boil then add the spaghetti. Here as a method of water conservation I am sure, the pot is filled maybe an inch if not less, and then the spaghetti is broken in half to lay flat at the bottom. Then, if there isn’t enough water, just add more! No timing, just don’t let it burn to the bottom. He also added this Aroma spice to the mix and oh was it delicious! As usual, I couldn’t finish it all, but I did my best and got through all but a 1/3 of my chipati. I had told mama wange (by Buganda mom) that when I got back she had successfully fattened me up last time, and when I got back someone remarked- “how does one gain weight in Africa, aren’t there starving children there?” She had thought that this was just the funniest thing she’d ever heard! I love seeing the family laugh, so after dinner I went to bed thinking- I have got to see the rest of the family in the morning before I catch my bus to Mbale.

Sunday morning I ran into town for a meeting with a ‘real estate agent’ or a close to one as you get from an online expat website and to buy my bus ticket to Mbale that evening. I succeeded at completing both tasks, but was then sweaty dirty and a bit pink in the face as I stepped onto a crowded taxi with my moto helmet in hand to head to mama’s for lunch. By the time I arrived back in my Kansanga family’s neighborhood I had a little more composure to walk through the front gate to the house. The door was open this time around so I just went on in. It was just mama wange home, so we sat and chatted about work, her most recent hobbies (she got an egg incubator, so rather than just raising the hens from day old chicks, she’s now got 42 eggs in an incubator hopefully to hatch in a few more weeks! She also wanted to try (and did) buying some American lotions (Bath and Body Works to be specific) and selling them in Uganda, and apparently its working! She’s sold almost all of the 40 bottles she bought originally! Pretty unbelievable, but people love anything American and she’s just a clever enough lady to pick-up on how to turn it into business. She works at the bank for her ‘real job’ as we would say in the US, but as you can see, she does so much more outside of that job to help support her family. She’s helped but all of her children through school, and some from the village that aren’t even her blood. She told me that part of why Africa stays poor and aid doesn’t work like planned is that Africans are lazy. When she said that, I was shocked (as I clearly didn’t agree), because to me she is the premiere example of how Africans can be so smart, dedicated, creative and hard working- anything, but lazy. The optimist in me will always have to disagree with her on this, but none the less, it hurts to see a lack of faith in the will of her own peoples.

After this discussion, seeing the turkeys, Ugandan (featherless neck and big warbles) chickens, ‘normal’ chickens and her new incubator, I ate the most delicious matooke (mashed plantain) with mushroom g-nut sauce with fresh mango juice. Then it was time to say good-bye to mama, Thomas and Anna. Emma had been at a function and Steven hadn’t actually decided to come home from Dubai. I am sad I have missed him these past few visits home, but perhaps next time he will be home when I visit. So the family walked me not just to the door or the end of the driveway, but all the way to the taxi at the side of the road. They are the most wonderful people and time and time again I am reminded of how lucky I am to have met them half way around the world.

The Elgon Flyer was definitely the right way to get to Mbale, and I was so lucky to have met with Ashley (a GHC fellow I met during my June visit to Uganda) and received her recommendations before heading off to spend the weekend with family. The Elgon Flyer Bus not only had a great website (with all travel schedules, but also had the most kind staff. Partly, I know these things are more about who you meet and when, but the conductor on our bus was just so kind. We chatted off and on during the bus ride (when I wasn’t talking to Scott, snoozing or reading). He was an educated guy, and made the ride far more often that could possibly be enjoyable, but when I told him what I was up to and how I really had no idea where to go to stay or get started he was so helpful. From trying to help me figure out internet in Uganda to suggesting guest houses and restaurants, he was truly very helpful and genuinely very sweet. He wasn’t asking for anything in return for the advice, and it was nice to have no strings for a change of pace. He didn’t propose or ask for my number either, and it was just a relief to be able to talk to someone who was so willing to just talk about something other than me (which tends to be where a lot of the conversations degenerate into- marriage proposals). I also began The No 1 Lady’s Detective Agency. A series of books about a woman born and raised in Botswana that to me is turning out to be a fast read! Very enjoyable, and it is definitely clear that the author gets living in Botswana, and Africa as a whole for that matter. It was a nice ride, and even though I was pretty hungry by the time I got to Mbale, it definitely didn’t feel like a full four hours thanks to my call from Scott, good book and fun conversations.

Dinner after getting into Mbale after dark and overpaying (surely) to take a moto to a guesthouse that was out of my price range (35000 shillings would mean I definitely didn’t have enough to stay until Friday without taking out more money), so I walked next door where the lady said they would likely have cheaper rooms available. The Buteza Guesthouse is down an ally and through an unmarked gate. It’s hard to believe that I didn’t just turn around and leave, but I was tired, and when I was shown a bedroom with a toilette and shower enclosed I was sold this would definitely do for the night. After locking in my bags, I ventured out for food, but didn’t make it far, because as soon as I entered the alley, I was told that there was good food right here at Buteza- there was a bar right there.

My guesthouse was self-enclosed with a toilette and a shower (as cold as it was, it was better than none in Musanze)! The bed was nothing special with a sheet and a blanket, and as I laid down to sleep some rats scurrying and scuffling around above the ceiling boards. As I thought about how awful it would be to have one fall through the hole in the ceiling over the bathroom, I thought- we will just close this door in case. There was electricity, so I was definitely lucky there, but come morning that was something turned off, and the darkness of the room could only be tames by open windows into the little alleyway. Seemed like time to venture out to attempt to find internet.

Now Mbale is similar to Kampala and Kigali in that everyone is awake by 7 oclock, but nothing seems to be open. So as I searched for internet on a mildly wild goose case, I found many a closed store, and the only places open had charging stations, but no way to access wifi. Tough luck! Finally after searching for about an hour (maybe more), I got onto a moto and did what I hate doing. Take me to the ritziest place in town, the Mount Elgon Hotel and Spa. I don’t like to do this, because it’s not what locals do, and I am not a guest or going to be meeting a guest. It seemed like the only option though, so I went, and guess what- it worked. While the lady at the front desk looked a little unsure as to whether or not she should help me, since I wasn’t a guest. She did and I was so grateful. I plopped down with a cup of tea (sadly not spiced), and got some work done much to my relief. I was there so long though that they had to ask me to migrate outside in order to change the linens for lunch. Oops!

I did, and the garden was absolutely fabulous with the small exception of there being tons and tons of ants EVERYWHERE. It is interesting that I haven’t noticed as many in Kigali or in Musanze, because surely they are there, but I just hardly ever see them unless I am sitting near an ant hill during a community visit. It gave me more time though, so I worked on the surveys I needed to entry from those very ant hill inclusive community visits. I stayed until a little after lunchtime, and began walking back toward town now that I knew just where I was going, and how close it had been. Mbale is dusty truly dusty all the time. Even just after a rain, as soon as the sun comes back out, it is dusty again. It makes Mbale feel somewhat like a sandbox if Kampala is ‘dirty’. Few sidewalks would truly ever be swept clean for more than a few minutes, so the trick really is just sweeping for garbage pick-up. The desks, the beds, the chairs are all coated in a fine layer of dust almost as soon as the last is wiped up. Dirt getting under your nails and engrained into your skin is just a fact of life. Painting your nails hides the fact, but definitely doesn’t make it go away!

As I walked home, I passed the National Park Office for Mount Elgon, and stopped in to see what they had to say about getting to Sipi Falls. Since Murchison is clearly not going to be happening this time around, I figure that my day off (either Thursday or Friday) will be a nice hike there. It’s been 3 years since I saw Sipi 1, 2, and 3, and I would like to do it again- even in cowboy boots (since sneakers are in Musanze) I think it will be a worthwhile trip. The office ‘ranger’ gave me lots of advice on getting there, bugs to watch out for (which had been crawling on me in the office) and how long it would take. When I explained why I was here, to find housing, it is amazing how many people have houses for rent… sadly it is harder to breach the subject of our staff don’t want to live alone, and then definitely want to be with other muzngus. There’s nothing quite like a Hotel X in Mbale, because there isn’t the same expat crowd. In Kampala or Gulu maybe that would have been something to find, but in Mbale, there seem to be very few houses with more than 3 rooms let alone ones that would already have muzungus living in them wanting roomies.

I kept on walking back and stopped in a craft shop (who’s salesperson also had a house to rent that she only rents to Muzngus). The more interesting thing about this shop (which was filled with much of the usual worken masks, soapstone bowls, baskets, etc were some extremely fluffy headdresses. Now turns out these headdresses are made of monkey fur, which made me feel much better about not knowing what the heck had fur like that in Africa- phew something I haven’t seen yet. The headdresses are worn during the circumcision ceremonies that they do every even year as a rite of passage for men in this region. Turns out that that even is this year, and this Friday! Apparently the whole town goes, so while I wasn’t sure if that was something I wanted to see, I was definitely intrigued by that bit of cultural knowledge. It will happen all throughout August, but the celebration is Friday, so perhaps we shall see what that entails!

While the walk didn’t take quite as long as it sounds like it was starting to cloud over and rumbles of thunder could be heard as I continued through town. I figured- it’s not too far back to the hotel, I will get back to my room just before the storm hits. Famous last words. As I rounded the corner leading toward my guesthouse, a huge gust of wind began what was to kick-up so much dust I had to nearly walk blindly across the road to get to the side my guest house was on, and as my eyes started to water to the point of tears. I still had at least two blocks to go, and while that wasn’t far, the fact that even my sunglasses weren’t protecting my eyes told me I should duck into somewhere for lunch.

Just as I stepped into the restaurant, the rain hit and more thunder and lightning joined the commotion of people scurrying around town and trying to get their inventory (which had been spread all over the sidewalks for selling) out of the potentially problematic moisture. Depending on you goods- if CDs or bed sheets, the water was probably not a good thing, if mangoes, perhaps they needed a rinse, but either way people and stuff crowded up against the tiny overhangs that seemed to line more of the street than I had recognized. I had stopped into Centre Café, and while I was as usual trying to see what was inexpensive on the menu I really just wanted g-nuts. So I ended up with matooke, rice and g-nut sauce with some delicious goat meat in it. Definitely one of the most delicious meals I have had since my return to Africa. It was pretty crowded inside already, but this only became more obvious by the minute. Sipping on delicious passion fruit and ‘reading’ my kindle, I found myself very interested in the people that surrounded me. Many where just waiting out the storm, but there was a cripple on the floor right next to my chair who was I believe full grown yet was as tiny as a 4 year old. He could not stand and was teasingly played with by the café staff. It was interesting to me to see, because most cripples in Uganda are treated like the untouchables of India. To see someone being played (endearingly or tauntingly) with was just not something I have experienced. Many Ugandans gave this man a coin or two, which I would have two had I not had I been able to pay at my table like the others. I’m sure it was partly my book reading, but I ended needing to chase down my server and didn’t need everyone’s eyes to follow me back to my table after finally getting some change. C’est la vie, maybe next time I will be able to help.

Once back to my room, I read for a while since my computer was long dead. Then I ventured back out for internet. Using the café computers always makes me nervous because they can get so many viruses, but for work they are necessary here. The modem I used in Uganda just doesn’t seem to work here and neither does my sim card allow for internet usage to be deducted- always a busy signal. After checking mail, and coordinating a few more things, I headed for the nearest chapatti stand, because with the past two meals been such interesting conversation I needed to be able to just eat in peace. I talked to the stand owner and his younger relative- a primary student (though I never would have guessed it!) about where I was from, what I was doing and then changed to them. The boys English was quite good, and he is from Kapchorowa on the northern part of Mount Elgon. Then after the rolex (chapatti and fried egg roll) had cooled down enough, I took it and some jack fruit back to my room to eat. Silence was definitely welcomed (even with the mouse sounds), because the evening brought electricity to charge me computer up again. I wanted to be sure to get to sleep early since the 5am prayer from the mosque nearby would come much earlier than I wanted it to! 

Busing is Experiencing

Travel days often feel like days that don’t happen. You sleep, read, watch out your window and have your knees cramp-up. While the days don’t seem to show anything happening, there is really so much you learn through bus travel. With airplanes you just see things from 40,000 feet, but you don’t really get to understand what’s happening way down there. When you take a bus, you see the other passengers and begin to understand why people do what they do. Any of the travelers coming to from Kigali to Kampala are not just going for a day trip; it’s not your commuter traffic in the same way as the trip from Musanze to Kigali can be. It’s people attending weddings, conferences, graduations or in my case today a whole group of nuns filling up the front half of the bus. You see generosity, kindness, desperation, and even people’s very personal struggles for survival as you fly by their tiny roadside town- never to stop there, just to pass through. In my travelling, the morning started off right. While I fretted about not finding a moto at 4:30 am walking the street from Kimihurura toward the road to Nyabagogo (the bus stage), one passed by with a passenger, and must have noticed me walking strangely from my heavy duffle bag, helmet and purse. Luckily, after dropping the other passenger off, the moto driver circled around for me and this morning was definitely one where the 200 Franc overcharge was both unarguable and well worth the 33 cents. It was a driver I had a few déjà vu conversations with on passed rides, but I was just so elated that there was one within the city limits that I couldn’t help but say yes to his ride.

The traveling as I mentioned is usually just whizzing by the city, and at 4:30 the city still smelled the same, but had a very different audio soundtrack: such stillness, an occasional roster and/or goat bleating, but little else that early that it is serene and wonderful. On the bus we don’t tend to stop for more than gas or foodstuffs, and the noises that surround you are honking horns, people yelling muzungu, or merely the gravel knocking into other things. When we do stop the towns are often bustling, hence the need for people to get on and off of the bus. As the bus comes to a stop a swarm of people fly baskets and brochettes held high to your beckon call. Their prices aren’t always the best, but you can tell by their speed going from one bus to the next (hardly checking for oncoming traffic) that this is their livelihood. Without the stops, these people would not have money, none would come into the town, and none would be spent in and around it. When we think about development work, it often involves some miniature version of a stimulus package. Clearly we aren’t taking about the same package that the US needed, but we are talking about microgrants, microloans, Heifer’s give and animal- all of these projects are bringing outside capital to a village to either be traded and sold within or sent outside the community to be sold for hard capital. It’s hard to see how these economies can grow when they are so separated by their own poverty. A lack of money not only means you cannot get your community members to buy whatever you make or grow, but it means you also don’t have the means to get it to the place where people will buy it. Passing these towns, I can’t help but hope that each bus load of people brings enough money into a community that another child can go to school or at least to bed with a full tummy.

I tend not to buy much in transit since the bumps are prone to turning even the most strong of stomachs into queasy messes, but today after only a pair of passion fruits for breakfast, I was very excited when we reached Uganda in hopes of a rolex (egg and chipati rolled together) walking onto the bus for sale. First, we had to pass the border. Katunga is a relatively easy border crossing, and involved a lot less dust than the trek from Musanze directly. Crossing the border, I always get excited going into Uganda. Knowing I will get to see my homestay family and that I can surprise a few people with my Luganda tends to make my day. At the Ugandan immigration stations, there was one agent working very hard to explain the decentralized system of immigration in Uganda. Any Ugandan cannot just show up that the border they want to exit from to get a passport. Each region is assigned a passport giving city and office- this border was clearly not this individuals place or residence, so there wasn’t much the agent could do. He was pretty patient and then as usual apologetic that I had to wait so long. I didn’t mind since I clearly learned something and wasn’t going to be the last one back on the bus yet (a benefit to being at the front of the bus is that you don’t have to worry about being the last one back on since you’re the first one off).  The agent was so chipper and surprised I had a multi-entry visa and knew a little Luganda that he was almost besides himself telling me to keep coming back. Even gave me more than the number days I requested to stay saying anything less than 2 weeks was too short of a stay. Sometimes people know you and your plans better than you do. This was certainly a case of this- now I have until the 10^th of August to leave, and after arriving and sending out emails, it seems I may be here that long anyways! Little did either of us know!

The rest of the journey was uneventful with the exception of it getting progressively warmer as we drove nearer and nearer to the Equator. I woke up at least twice just because I was too warm! Certainly this is a weird feeling to me having been anything except too warm at night in Musanze these past few weeks! Walking off the bus, my knees felt a little wobbly from being in one position for so long- cowboy boots are bit unforgiving in that way, but Aunt Dale’s boots have the dirt of 4 countries on their soles now! Having been from the USA and gone to Rwanda, Burundi and Uganda, they were definitely made for walking. And of course, that’s just what they’ll do. So getting off the bus, these poor boots of mine were hoping to hop a moto and go straight to Red Chilli Hideaway, but I wanted to find a moto drive that would be at least a little safer than most, and my judge of that is a helmet. Some moto (or boda boda) drivers have it on at all times on their bike others, have it bungee chorded to their non-functioning dash protecting a whole lot of nothing. Just preventing their bike from being impounded, rather than their heads.

Today, finding a ‘safer’ driver was near impossible and when I did finally find one, he didn’t know where Red Chilli was. Lovely. So I kept walking, and finally talked to a group large enough that a non-boda driver chimed in knowing where it was. As soon as the explanation was given, half the stage was offering me a ride there, but at 10,000 shillings I was not about to do that! Tops it should have been 5000 with the “muzngu tax.” As I found this out later, I was even gladder to have opted for the matatu at 1000 shillings. It took me into the suburb where Red Chilli was located and then a moto took me the rest of the way for another 1500- not quite bargaining, but in the midst of rush hour, to a place I had never been, I would say I didn’t do half bad. A slight bruise on my neck (from my duffle not an accident) later I was curled up in a chair with free wifi and a bottom bunk.  Much needed after the long day of travel and the chaos that was rush hour traffic- from ambulance sirens blaring to bodas speeding by on the sidewalks, I couldn’t believe how hectic it was for what must have been 4 o’clock or thereabouts.

The rest of the evening involved a drink and some serious emailing, a skype call with mom, Scott and Thomas (one of my Ugandan homestay brothers). It was also the first time I have been surrounded by such a large number of muzngus (the place was swarming with them! While it is a little shame to pay for housing when you have family in town, I was glad to have given him this evening to himself, since he returned from some trip this past week tonight as well. After a yummy pizza (not to expensive either) I took a modified shower (aka out of the wall spout rather than the shower head which had no pressure) and then headed to bed mosquito net down and ready for some decent rest in some clean sheets. Welcome back to Kampala, land of mosquitos, music and crazy driving…oh, and note to self, you’ll always need more airtime!

Warm Fuzzies

Monday was an early morning and promised to be fun:  Akagera Part 2. Tumaini picked us up at 6:15 and then we headed off to the park. I was not sure it was worth seeing again, but O was it! Take two was even more unbelievable than the first! We saw dozens of baboons and vervets, 2 hippos up close out of the water, a 10 foot crocodile, and a few baby giraffes and zebras- all so close this time! I could not believe how close we got to things this trip. Even the warthogs were out playing in the mud and running around at the sight of us (we saw at least ten of them!)It was so fun to meet Natasha’s mom and spend the time with Sophia and Aileen as well. We bounced around a lot, saw some fabulous birds, and other than the elephant, saw just about everything! After reading the whole way there, the way back involved snacking on cheese and bread, a few Ankole cow traffic jams, and a really nice nap!

Yes the Hippo was that close!

 

Monday evening I needed to get back up to Musanze, because I had a Tuesday morning meeting at Nyarwondo for baseline surveys. The trip up felt fast as ever with people hurling quietly in their cloths, and stopping for brochettes and potatoes. Then about 2/3rds of the way to Musanze, our bus pulled over relatively unexpectedly as a police car went flying (and I’m talking-go off a cliff style flying- not literally, but still so fast!). I thought well that’s a the first police car I have seen and people weren’t looking backwards (toward were the car was going), but in instead were talking quickly and looking at where it came from- sure enough around the bend came another 3 or for police suvs, and then a string of suvs and another police car or two. My first thought was, who famous is visiting, and why are they driving so freaking fast?? Then I thought, Kagame would want to move pretty quickly if he was travelling around the country. I wouldn’t have thought going that fast was any safer than risking driving a bit slower, but apparently they know what is best…so after we started moving again I asked Aloys (who happened to be on the same bus with me, Sarah, Emily and Sasha). He said that certainly was “his excellency” zooming back to Kigali after an afternoon in Musanze. As for me, I was glad to be back in Musanze after such an intense weekend in Kigali!

Tuesday’s visits went very well! I began the morning with Aime and Isugi at Nyarwondo. This community has chosen a potato project since they lack the means to buy more land, this grant will help them rent land from others in order to make enough earnings to continually rent and farm as a community. They a very poor community, but there were also a few people within the group that were trying to talk down their own wealth even more than it already was. Aime and I caught one man in a blatant lie, and while I am not sure if a surveyor technically should be correcting, bad information doesn’t do anyone any good. The man said he had a bicycle, but no mattress and no radio. This might seem plausible, but usually the items purchased go in the other order. Rarely does one have the foresight buy a bike prior to owning a mattress. The bicycle can be used to help you earn income, but because of the price differential, often a mattress is more practical in the short-term. When Aime asked why he had answered untruthfully, he said something to the effect of, “you know with NGOs, they are more generous the needier you are.” Now this wouldn’t have been a surprising answer except that the communities we work with aren’t supposed to have had any past experience with NGOs! How did this man from a relatively rural area have it already in his mind how to game the system prior to ever being involved in it?

Bit disheartening, no? Especially because the model that Sasha and Eamon are developing is one they hope will attempt to avoid aid dependency, but if it is already engrained prior to our arrival, then can we truly come in with the expectations that communities will see our actions as such? Additionally, it means that they know how to bias our survey results and are purposefully going to be doing so- with or without us noticing. In that way, I am not sure the surveys that Dennis and I have been working on this summer will actually provide any value to donors or to Spark itself. I hope that I am wrong, but also believe that this probably has played into the way that most of our post-surveys have been answered. For our question of would you change the project you chose, many said yes, not because they didn’t like it, but because they would have asked for more. Many say the funding wasn’t sufficient to complete their project (even though they all got exactly what they asked for in their proposals), and it was successful- no it didn’t end their poverty overall, but it did make change in their lives. They have animals they couldn’t have afforded, protective structures for the animals, latrines they needed for sanitation purposes, and even some of them now can pay for medicines, school clothes, and health insurance that before was an unlikely, distant hope. The most significant change stories that Natasha has been collecting are definitely more useful ways of determining whether or not our work is- working. It is much easier to lie to a survey collector, but much harder to avoid detection when you are collecting stories to be read to the whole community for verification, and also because it is harder to maintain a storyline and details from an imaginary tale. I hope that there will be more success coming out of that part of our intern work.

I recognize the importance of numbers to donors; it gives them a way to narrow down the millions of causes and projects they see, but the problem is it forces NGOs to waste time and money collecting relatively useless information. And the numbers they see are then passed on the very bias of the communities knowing donors see the numbers. If it looks bad they won’t help, if it looks good then it’s a finished project- no more money needed there. The largest of NGOs get to avoid specific project rates and percentages in a way that foundation funded small NGOs have a hard time over coming. The pressure foundations place on numbers is understandable, but again, not necessarily telling of the work actually being done on the ground. Hopefully, time will show a better system for analyzing the successes and failures of aid work, and while I don’t expect it too soon, I also think everyone should be cautious of overly successful projects.

Seeing Nuggets hat I couldn't help but be silly and get a picture!

Clearly, I digress…after the morning site visit, I went back to Musanze for lunch to then turn around and meet Aloys at Gahunga. It was the busiest ‘China bus’ I have been on since I arrived in Kigali. I had begun to worry that no bus would come as I waited by the side of the road, and it sounded like some of the others waiting had been there for a solid 15 minutes (generally that would mean one was about to turn the corner, but it didn’t. I waited… again patience is the most important thing to pack in visiting Africa… and finally one came with a familiar faced conductor (the money 

collector). I told him I was headed to GS 

Rugarama, hoped on and paid the 400 franc fair (inflated because of the lack of buses). As we drove along the bus became more and more crowded until there was literally no way to open the side doors without them hurting someone- which then meant everyone on the bus had to shuffle about when one person from the back needed to get off. This bus was worse than the Bethesda Ride On busses in rush hour, and yet it kept chugging along. We pasted a few schools and turn-offs to other communities before I hopped off- at the wrong spot. I got lucky in that I caught my mistake and ran back to the bus before it took off, and the sympathetic conductor (who now knows me by name – and possibly the muzngu who almost got left behind) chatted with me in French before we actually reached the right spot for me to hop out. Due to all the shuffling and the lateness of the bus I was shocked that I was only 5 minutes behind schedule when I got off and met Aloys! What an adventure almost gone wrong! If I’d have missed that bus, I wouldn’t have been able to get to Aloys (with my bag full of surveys) for at least another 15 minutes (by moto, since busses were MIA), and he is so good about being timely that I hate to be the one on ‘African time’ for meetings.

Pretty gift in hand with ladies of Nyarwondo

Turned out, the community was on Africa time (not too surprising), but Aloys and I made it just fine. The community was excited to see me again, and after we finished our surveys and were walking home, one of the community members said that she wanted to give me a gift. I hate to take what little a community has from it, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer, brought me into her home and gave be a wall hanging flat basket. It is beautiful with the words GRAND MERCI woven into the pattern. I took a picture, and need to get it printed before I return to Musanze so that I can deliver it to her (perhaps with another basket thanking her for her own generosity with no expectation of repayment.

Eamon, Sarah, Aloys and Claude preparing the surprise!

Tuesday was also a special day, because it was Isugi’s birthday! So the evening was set for celebrating. The interns were planning to make dinner for Isugi, but we decided pretty late in the day what we would actually make! Since one intern has a gluten allergy and another is vegetarian, it makes for a challenge being a chef- just about everything I know how to make includes one or the other of those elements. We settled on a veggie curry on rice dish. It smelled so good, when Eamon called and said that there would be a pre-dinner event at the facilitator house. There is apparently a tradition of surprising birthday girls (and boys) by dumping buckets of water on them! Easier said than done when you haven’t had water all week, and the only way to heat some is to boil it in tea kettle- making it too warm to toss on someone! So after splashing back and forth between two buckets for a while to cool it down, the surprise was set, we were all staged in the dark awaiting with the bucket and cameras at the ready. It was such a great success! She had no idea and while I would have smacked anyone attempting to dump a bucket of water on me, she was doing nothing but hugging everyone as soon as she got strength back in her knees! We all went back to our house to eat dinner after we had danced from about an hour, and it was just a really wonderful evening, ending a somewhat stressful morning with a happy ending!

Isugi post splash with Claude and Ernest

After yoga with Sophia and Petra

The next morning after getting tea, my focus became survey data entry, and I actually got through a full community before breaking for some brainstorming on how to teach logic models to our facilitators with Eamon. It’s been cool to be a sounding board for so many things- from curriculum development, monitoring and evaluation and now starting-up in Uganda. The mini meeting lasted until I had to dash out with Aileen to make it to our afternoon yoga session. With free classes and welcoming Rwandans, who could ever justify not attending the classes? Not me! It is also something that Aileen can do for the next 6 months that she is here and become good friends with the seamstresses of the cooperative. The sessions really are lovely, and I was so lucky to be able to go both Wednesday and Thursday of this week. I am definitely excited to see how it goes, and for her after we all leave, and it will be nice to see things grow through her ‘on the ground’ eyes and ears.

The fabulous girls and guys of Ubushobozi!

After the Thursday yoga, I was going to head back to Kampala late afternoon, but since the yoga ended-up going until 4, and I had a Skype call at 4:15, I decided the evening bus was probably my better bet. Was reasonable, but a bit worrisome when I arrived in Kigali at Nyabagogo to find the Kampala Coach ticket offices closed. The buses to Kampala from Kigali leave pretty early in the morning- 5:30 to be exact, so having a ticket the night before is somewhat of a necessity. It worked out alright, because a sweet stranger seeing my hopeless walk toward the entrance to the clearly closed Kampala Coach office took pity and showed me to the Jaguar offices which had remained open! What luck and what a nice man for pointing me in the right direction rather than me getting up at 4 am only to find the bus had been sold out. I bought my ticket feeling a bit more warm and fuzzy about the world (and not because my bag was so heavy that I was sweating, but due to the help he offered when he had no real incentive to get up and walk me to the Jaguar offices. Feeling really relieved, I hoped a moto back to Kimihurura and Hotel X to get a half night’s sleep before venturing back to Kampala on my own. 

Sadness, Fear and Hope for the Future

Just posted on FB by a Rwandan friend and felt fitting!

Not all of Rwanda’s tourist qualities are happy animal safaris, waterfalls and hiking volcanoes. This country is still healing, and the many memorials that dot the country are a testament to this very notion. I won’t go into the details of the genocide itself here, if you want to get a relatively comprehensive view, I recommend the book called We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow You Will be Killed with Your Family. As for our Sunday, Sophia and I planned to go on a relatively depressing adventure out to Murambi Memorial. This memorial is located within what would have been a technical school outside of Butare (Huye) by about 30 km. The school was a place that during the genocide many people had gone after pastors and others told them they would be safer there. The local government had promised protection to those a Murambi, but as most places of protection for Tutsis and Hutus that were Tutsi sympathizers; this was to be a broken promise. The trust of these internally displaced persons in their local leaders was strong, and their fear of the other alternatives was great. In that way, it seemed like a viable option- safety in numbers right?

Sophia and I weren’t sure quite what to expect at the memorial, if it would be open when we arrived or even how to get there. (A lot of things to not know for a one day trip, but since we knew how to get to Butare, we decided that was a good first step. So, a 2 hour bus ride later, we got off at a Kobil station in Butare and began to ask around. Sophia needed a bathroom, so we figured we would find that our first. In doing so, we also told the two helping us that we were trying to get to Murambi and weren’t sure about our next step. The girl we had come to talk to said that a moto would not be the way to go the 30 kms we had left to go, so she helped us to find the proper bus, and we continued on with a driver who knew where to boot us out (the end of this buses route as it turned out- Nyamagabe). The girl had not been to the memorial, but knew exactly where it was. She’d lost everyone, but her sister. When someone opens up like this, I always want to unleash a flood of questions, but I don’t. It is too hard for people to recount what happened; often there are no words for it anyways, so to ask would just to be creating a reliving of the most traumatic part of their lives. It’s been 18 years, but shattered so many lives and so much trust that rebuilding both of those things will take generations. The development that has occurred helps, but it is not everything.

When we got off the bus in Nyamagabe, Sophia and I bought tickets home before leaving the station to avoid being stuck out of Kigali for the night. Then, Sophia and I looked for motos to take us to the site. This turned out to be relatively challenging, but one of the bus park attendants helped us along. For some, they just had to get gas before they could take us, but one driver was visibly upset- even angry. For the first time I thought- I am a tourist, one who’s never experienced pain- how thoughtless could I be to go to the very town that people died in Murambi and expect that a moto driver (about the age to be a child during the genocide) would be willing to drive me to the memorial to see the bodies of their relatives? Or those that their relatives had killed? And how do the locals even feel about the memorial? Clearly those working there want to share the story, are willing to be there day in and day out to make sure people get what happened and hopefully help to avoid it happening again. To reassure people that peace is the sanest thing to keep, no matter the cost. His reaction triggered guilt in me for wanting to visit Murambi, to see the bodies being preserved with lime- 2,000 of them on stark display. How did the families feel about them not being buried? Are there even relatives left for those skeletons on display to speak for them? People did bad things, but how can people move on with the constant reminders of their families past? As I have said time and time again, Rwandans are incredible people- they keep going. On what? I am not sure, but I hope that it is faith that amends can be made and people can trust again. It could just as easily be survival instinct or hope for vengeance, but I think it is not true expect perhaps for a few individuals here and there. Overall, I think people want to trust, they are religious and want to love their neighbors as the Bible tells them to, and mostly they want to feel safe from themselves and from others.

As we arrived, the memorial was technically closing, but the director was there and allowed us to enter nonetheless. He said, ‘to have come so far, there is no way he could turn us away.’ I told him that the website was lacking hours or a number to call, so perhaps they will put one up for the future. The reminders of how fragile live is are all over Africa, but it is on display here. It shows starkly of not just our ability to starve to death during a drought, contract diseases, but to hurt each other. When we talk about war, we talk about causes, effects, and values- we talk about philosophy and what is right. We rarely focus on the humanity of killing, saving, dying, or being left behind. This memorial talked about all of these pieces. It reminds you of the true goodness people are capable of, and the truly vile things that good people can be made to do in fear. There is a saying that it is better to be feared than loved as a leader, and this visit made me question the effectiveness of my own preference for being loved. Fear creates monsters within people, it eats at them and forces a person’s love to be used against them with threats. Many Hutus joined the killing to avoid losing their own families, selfish- yes, love- yes, but fear is to me the defining characteristic that forced the hands of many that would never have imagined picking-up a machete or a grenade. A heartbreaking reality.

Murambi’s evacuees were attacked and more than 27000 were killed, only 20,000 bodies were recovered and 18,000 of those are buried within a mass tomb outside the school buildings, big gashes in the earth still exist where the bodies were initially exhumed. 2000 of the bodies are on display, babies, mothers, fathers, children, people. You can’t tell their ethnicity, they are all covered in white powder that is only contrasted by the occasional pair of panties or tuft of hair remaining. The bodies are in what would have been classrooms in Murambi. Open air rooms with tarps covering the unfinished or grenade open building sides. The bodies decompose even with the lime, and the memorial will be only pictures in the future, but currently those aren’t even formally allowed for fear that they will be shown to Rwandans who do not wish to see what we saw. Room after room of bashed in skulls, broken bones and contorted positions. It’s horrific really and brings out so much sadness in one that wasn’t there that I cannot even begin to imagine the emotions that would hit a Rwandan seeing it for the first time. The director said many only make it through the first few rooms. Sophia and I saw them all. To me these things are horrific, and you want to tear yourself away, but they couldn’t leave? And what they saw was far worse, so out of respect for those lost, how could one leave? To me it is unfathomable not to take in each and every body for who they could have been. Clenching rosaries or cradling a baby, to avoid any of the rooms is to avoid reality, to deny the very extent of the deaths.

I don’t want this experience to come across as a tourist must do. It is only for those who have an understanding of what happened. The story of the genocide portrayed at the memorials often ignores the realities of people who stood up for themselves and others, so to go without foreknowledge is to learn about rather than be able to experience all the detail. It’s overwhelming, but if you know more, then you can truly give live to the statistics, you can emotionally take in what 2,000 people looks like and imagine what that times 14 would be. Numbers turned into realities, into fathomable non-computer generated volumes. It leaves one speechless at first with nothing but the question, “how the hell did this hellish thing happen?” Beyond that, there are many people who have sought to answer it, and in the end I think there is no perfect answer, only an aligning of events, passions, fears and betrayals. It is important that the Rwandans themselves ended the killing, and all I can say now is that I pray they as a people never experience the horrors of war again. I hope Congo’s fighting stays in their own borders and that Rwanda continues to develop and generations begin to trust each other again.

When we arrived back to town, we needed some tea or something to get rid of our goose bumps and passing by a pair of older men playing Igisoro, we couldn’t help but chuckle- oh how the show must go on.  

Hellos and Good-byes

Thursday’s generally revolve around a site visit or survey, but this week Dennis and Aime went to finish up surveys at Shingiro and I got to take some time and go to yoga! Mind you I love yoga in pretty much any shape or form, so when the ladies of Jeanne’s coop invited me to join I was particularly excited! I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, because all I knew was that a volunteer had trained the guys and girls in how to go about practicing yoga. I was prepared for just about anything (figuring it couldn’t be bikram (or hot yoga) since the weather hasn’t been 96 up here anytime recently), though was classily running on Africa time- 10 minutes late.

Luckily for me, so was the rest of the class. I arrived and changed as some of the girls were lighting tea light candles at the front of the room.

There weren’t incents, but at the end of the practice one of the teachers went around doing massages while we laid there in corpse pose with a lovely scented oil. It was such a relief to finally get some exercise in that stretched me out, and boy did I feel it in my arms the next morning! The thing that most amazed me was that I felt so balanced by comparison to my counterparts in tree pose, and that the actions were so easy to follow as a group even across language and accent barriers. Rather than a soothing soundtrack, the sounds of children yelling and playing outside, a bicycle whizzing by, the fwap-fwap of clothes being de-wrinkled before their attachment to a clothesline and the crackle of a fire out behind the house all provided our au natural soundtrack. The deep vocal breathing we were taught in my first yoga class also came into play as I got to take in the sounds and smells of Rwanda from downward dog.

After the class finished, I met with Sasha about prepping for Uganda and finishing-up some more of the M&E for Rwanda. I definitely have bitten off a lot to chew, but am also very excited for the experience. The first week of August, I will be in Kampala and Mbale figuring out all of the steps needed in order to become a registered NGO in Uganda with legitimate staff and ideally, a place for them to live! With that, I came home from yoga and began my research of expats in Uganda, contacting all those I have met along the way and giving a heads up to my fabulous Baganda family that I would be visiting soon. What I thought would be relatively easy to locate via blogs, NGO databases, etc, has actually been far more fuzzy and challenging. It will clearly be important to be in Mbale with tons of business cards next week! Having said that, there were a few expat hubs and currently I am working through those in order to find possible housing. Time will tell if the website is of any use, but this week will include a few busy Skype days for calling Uganda and firming up plans.

View from City View Top

After a computer filled day, it was nice to have the team visit City View (the restaurant at the top of Equity Bank) in Musanze for a brochette and banana dinner. Sophia, Dennis, Eamon, Sarah and Emily all came. While Sophia and I were the only ones to eat, it was nice to have all of their company as the days Dennis would be around were getting pretty short. Since he was leaving Sunday, we tried to fit in a lot of his favorite places before he left. He wasn’t feeling terribly well (like Sarah and Emily) and so dinner was just not on the agenda for the three of them. We weren’t out too late, but with a day of travel ahead of us all, we weren’t too eager to stay up late anyhow. Friday was meant to be a morning travel to Kigali to get to work once we got there, but as happens so often- that wasn’t in the cards.

The intern team arrived at the bus station around noon after having a particularly lazy morning followed by getting a taxi to take most of the Sarah and Emily’s things to the bus with us to go to Kigali. We got to the station and found that the tickets were sold out until 2! While we often have to wait for the next but, 3 buses in between felt like a lot. I wasn’t sure why it was such a busy day at the bus station, but to kill time, the crew and I went to our little tea shop to watch Grey’s Anatomy, blog, eat omelets and drink up some tea. We passed the two hours in no time (especially when you consider arriving to the bus 30 minutes early in order to get half decent seats. We made our bus without a problem, though I think the tea shop owners may have gotten the impression I was leaving town for good with the girls’ large duffle bags, and you can only try to explain so much in multiple tenses is non-native languages. We were there for the better part of an hour and a half, and happened to run into Jackson (our Rwandese intern). He stayed for a bit to chat, but then had a bus to catch so had to run. We finished watching an episode, and then headed out for ours (which was only a half hour after his). Luckily, the bus ride was uneventful beyond trying the potatoes at a stop the bus makes about 45 minutes out of Kigali. I will definitely be getting off the bus more often at that stop!

The clothes are beautiful but so are the machines!

Kigali is always so warm. As soon as you step off the bus in Kigali with the same bags you got on with in Musanze you realize the temperature difference. On Saturday, however, the weather was relatively mild. We went to get groceries in town at the Nakumat and exchange money at the forex bureau (there are none officially in Musanze- only banks). Nakumat is the Africa equivalent of a Target Greatland or Costco, not in bulk. It has everything! From fresh bread and dishes to baby cribs, appliances and clothing, these stores are huge! They have just about everything- just about. Sadly, marshmallows are not one of those things. Our plan for a good by event for Dennis was a s’more making bonfire and good dinner out somewhere. Emily and Sarah were also planning a surprise for their family’s arrival next week and wanted to get supplies. It was a successful trip particularly, because water was so much cheaper there per bottle and I was running low on conditioner (surprising with the lack of showers taken)! We then made our way through some craft stores near the UTC building, because most of the girls had not been there yet. It was certainly fun to go with so many people, and because this was Dennis’ last weekend, he was buying up a storm! The Emily and Sarah were getting their igisoro fix, and I was just enjoying the experience. Shop-keepers love when you come back with even more friends, and that makes them more willing to bargain with you personally. This is true of the market as well, and so when we go to the market and flood the ladies with paper beads orders and dress requests- they love it!

getting in a little work in the morning!

Saturday also brought clothing pick-up at the market. Since you pay after the clothing is made, it is a little nerve wracking until you pick the newly sewn clothing up. I had purchased my fabrics up in Musanze, and brought them with me down south (mostly). When I got there, I found the bead lady that we visit (for her more interesting designs) and fabulously, the clothing was with her!  I was so excited to see what had been made and had my fingers crossed it all fit! I was in luck, because everything was fabulous. The dress looked wonderful, the PJ pants were just the right length and comfort, and the wrap-around skirt turned out fabulously after she added the whole for the tie! I couldn’t have been luckier- no adjustments were needed and I went off with all the new lovely pieces. I couldn’t have been more excited to start wearing them, so you can believe that the PJ pants were put on almost instantly upon reaching Hotel X.

Before going back though, I met up with Meddy. Always such fun to hang-out with, we played igisoro the ‘right way’ for two hours with me losing each and every game (a sad record compared to my record with Dennis’ way of playing). I also got to meet Meddy’s younger brother, which was exciting, but he didn’t speak English to me, so I assume that he doesn’t know it. It’s sad not to be able to communicate with people that are so close to those you know well and include them in your conversations, but again that is just a part of traveling and a challenge to the education systems of Rwanda and the US. Language is an incredibly hard skill to master as you age, and students should be encouraged to learn more sooner. Meddy has been accepted to a school in Toronto for a computer science certificate program, and I hope that he is able to do it and be back near his lovely girlfriend soon!

Mood lighting at the snazzy Zaaffran restaurant

While I have not had any wild Saturday nights, I am pretty glad of that. Dinner was taken at an Indian restaurant near Kimihurura (and therefore Hotel X) called Zaaffran. Ordering at restaurants where the food is unfamiliar and the menu is huge has never been my strongest suit, so I was relieved when Sasha (our resident Indian foodie) stepped up to the describing of different dishes. After receiving some hot towels to clean our hands, we ended-up with naan, palak paneer, a black lentil dish, some chicken and goat, and a belated order recommended by a group of Indians across the room. We had heard a few sizzling plates go out to people, and curiosity got the better of Sasha. The dish was a stuffed paneer dish with peppers, onions and a few other things. All delicious and not too spicy, I loved it! Dennis tried Ugandan Waragi and knocked-back a martini (he must have been feeling those by the end), before settling down with some tonic to finish off the dinner.

Present wrappings find other uses all over the world!

Then it was home to the bonfire, and s’mores (curiosity of Aileen- a longer term intern for Spark that arrived last week). I was a bit sorry to finish off the marshmallows so soon, but perhaps she will get an address here to receive a care package in the future! There were of course the usual disagreements of burning them ‘mallows or golden browning them, but in the end they were all delicious and we each ate one to many without thinking twice! Then we told jokes, stories, and played a modified tri-round charades game. It was fun, and I am glad that we all had such a wonderful last evening with Dennis. I was definitely sad to see my travel buddy go the next morning, but glad that I could help pack and get the last couple of pictures out to him from my camera before he went. 

Had to have one last Igisoro game before departure...

Village Visits

Sunday evening consisted of dinner in and the arrival of Pili (our duck) and Dennis. Since the next ‘to-do’ on Dennis’ list was building our Musanze chicken coop, he headed off to the market to buy materials with our guard. They got back a bit after dark with lots of materials and began construction on the coop with the help of my head lamp (the only thing that I thought would keep the hammers and nails out of fingers). This was a three day endeavor, but before it was finished being constructed, chickens were running around our yard with the duck (who was super excited to have ‘friends’ finally!).

 Monday brought me out for breakfast to our favorite spot, because I needed to go to the printers in town for surveys (taking over for Dennis), but there was a printers right next to our tea place, so I decided to stop in and try it. An hour and a half later I left with my copies, and a bit worried that my USB had a virus. They had been rebooting (and reinstalling everything on the computer attached to the printer, and that meant that I was waiting until finally the gentleman who owned the place went to print next store and then came back to copy in his own shop. It was pretty funny and a test of patience, but in the end all was finished and I made it back to the house in time to meet the crew, but their plans had changed- all were already gone, so I needed to make my way to GS Rugarama on my own. Should have been relatively easy with a knowledgeable moto driver, but in a moment of ‘oh he needs the 75 cents more than I need to sit on a cramped matatu’ I decided a moto ride there would be nice. I should have gotten off instantly, when I realized we weren’t going the normal direction, but I thought maybe there is another way that I just don’t know. Nope, he had no idea- first he took me to a house, I gave him directions again, and he headed back to town (good start until he went past the road to cyanika again). I started getting really annoyed here, because he kept saying “yes- I know” and yet really clearly had no clue where he was going. I made him pull over before he wasted any more time and before I could just get off and walk away I called Aime thinking- this is just a Kinyarwanda-English miscommunication. Aime explained more about where I was going and how to get there. I finally felt reassured, though a little annoyed that it was going to be so much more than the 75 cents which I initially rationalized the ride. We headed off again and things went relatively smoothly, until Gahunga where he slows down and pulled over. At this point, I had been following the angle on the volcano nearby and knew we had at least another mile to go. It was almost 1:30 (my meeting time) and I couldn’t tell him to just keep driving- and without fail soon as I called Aime again the phone was out of airtime! Classic- so after getting off the bike and walking away, I hop scotched between little shops until someone finally had MTN airtime. Finally, we continued on and arrived- after Aime paid him more than he deserved or had said he would charge, we were off to our meeting. The kids of the village gave some comic relief, and so by the end of our visits, I was feeling much better and far less frustrated at my own decision to moto to them.

Our site was successful and the surveys were almost completed, but getting home was definitely a relief. It was a bit short lived though, because as soon as we got home we were running around trying to catch chickens. We’ve come up with names for a few of them Carly Rae Jepsom, Muzungu, Igi(soro), and Gus is the cock. There is only one left to be named, and we’ve had 3 eggs laid! The guard at our house bought them some sorghum to eat and with the water dispenser that Eamon bought, they were all set for a good night in our back kitchen (since the coop wasn’t ready yet). I was glad that the chickens were pretty quiet at night, but in return, we had a pack of howling dogs! C’est la vie et une bonne nuit!

On Wednesday, tea and printing went much more smoothly (since the computer’s printer had been reinstalled). I was in and out in no time and headed home to the latest chicken fiasco. Getting five chickens in a coop when they are convinced you are going to kill them is no easy endeavor. Dennis and I spent about an hour chasing the chickens around the yard devising different strategies for capturing them. These chickens flew and ran faster than either of us had expected! Luckily we had time to chase the chickens around before our afternoon surveying session, but it did take far longer than necessary! Our house girl must have thought Dennis and I were the funniest things kibitzing each other with the squawking of almost caught chickens going on for an hour or so while she did some needle point.

In the afternoon, Dennis and I met Aime and Aloys to head to Kanyendara for another round of baseline surveys. The bus ride went by quickly, and we got off only to hop onto motos. Some moto rides are smooth and enjoyable with their fabulous views, but others are not quite as pleasant. Some result in mostly bumping up and down just clinging to the plastic handle on the back of the moto so as not to fly off. I am certain walking the road was quicker on the way back from the community, but didn’t mind paying to get there when I saw the drivers giving rides to the village kids when they left the village. So generous and sweet that you can’t help but like the driver. The rest of the village’s kids went running off behind the moto, and were hollering so much you’d have thought that there was a free donation!

Kanyendara is one of the communities in the worst shape that I have seen since my arrival. There are snotty noses and dirty clothes in all of the poor villages, but at the same time not all villages look quite as desperate for help. From swollen bellies, patches of hair missing and they were biting off the outside of corn stalks to suck on the insides for as a snack. The children in communities often have different reactions to muzngus coming into their villages, and it’s interesting to me to compare and contrast them. In most of the villages, the children are exuberant upon your arrival, and want to play non-stop. Then when you try to get to work is where things change. Some kids understand that is when they sit at a distance and watch. For others, the kids look on and keep creeping toward you as you conduct surveys. For this community, the latter was the case, and the kids kept creeping closer until one of the adults caught sight of it and came toward them with a stick. None of the kids were hit, but just like with the sheep and goats the kids whacked to keep in line, the kids recoiled instantly. After about an hour of watching me as their only amusement, the kids took to other things. Some of the kids began a dodge ball meets tag game that involved the kids pelting each other with the tennis ball and then diving after it to be the next thrower rather than blow recipient. The kids all seemed to be having so much fun and yet all I could think was- ouch, but then again, that’s how I feel about paintball. Sounds like nothing but a good way to get welts!

Clearly the little ones were having fun, and no one was crying so I just kept watching as they tired of one game and moved onto the next. Over the kids playing was the beautiful volcano, Murhubura, and when they switched to soccer (with a ball made from tarp scraps) I couldn’t help but notices how much the volcanic nature of the region plays into their lives. Rather than goal posts, the kids used two volcanic rocks to mark the goal region. Not only does the rock make for a relatively dangerous goal post, it makes for poor harvests (due to a lack of soil) and an almost impossible task of digging pit latrines. There are almost no landslides (which are common in other parts of the country), but this little bit of security clearly comes with a cost. 

First impressions of communities are often similar, but in this community, the patchwork clothing and baby butts showing said a lot about just how desperate they were. Within 20 minutes, I had begun to register other things like the separation that I had seen among a few other communities of men and women. Not a few here and there in their friend groups, but specifically all men on one side and women on the other. They talked about the community service projects they do as a community (building schools and roads) and about the cooperatives they were part of. I don’t know how well this community works together, but there is a saying that was often repeated in our interviews that “working with others lets you learn from others.” Sentiments like this allow for more collaboration, and therefore more trust if honestly believed in.

As we finished up our interviews, the kid flicking soda pop tops at the wall finished to come say good by along with the many little ones. Then, Aime, Aloys, Dennis and I headed back to the main road on foot in order to hop in a matatu (apparently called a twegerane in Kinyarwanda or a squeeze when translated to English). This was highly humorous as I sat on top of Aime’s lap in order to fit some 20+ people into a van made for 14. Amazing the conditions, but luckily for us we didn’t just get left on the side of the road! Never know when the next car will be by, and if it’s squeezed too many people in already, then fitting another 4 isn’t easy! We got back to Musanze with a bit of time to spare before I met with Jeanne of the Ubushobozi cooperative. I wanted to hear more about her work and the direction she was hoping to take the coop- in addition to just getting to know a few more expats a little better!