Inspiration isn't striking

I'm feeling enormous pressure to bust out something pithy. Indeed, there are developments abound (ha) here in Kigali, but many are a little tricky right now to discuss. And so I'm searching for something worthwhile to say that doesn't get me into a whole lot of trouble, and inspiration is failing me.

I hold the deep suspicion that the gang I kick it with doesn't want to hear about my meanders to Lake Muwahi, and though while the bit about our truck getting stuck in mud for two hours while 16 local men pushed it around as though it was on an ice rink while dogs vomitted in the back is mildly amusing, surely it's not going to buy me a blog.

I thought about talking about the tale of my first endeavour to cook beef brochette on the barby and how after cooking all day the Rwandan guests professed a love of goat. I'm pretty sure there was a message there. But the story ends a little lamely, as in that's pretty much the whole story.

Ooh, and there is the bit about my friend's security guard. His name is Theo. Theo has made it a relatively regular habit to come to work beyond blazed drunk. As in he passes out regularly and no amount of shouting or shining lights directly into his eyes seems to help. The hilarious bit is that my friend is actually concerned about security, as demonstrated by the installation of panic buttons throughout his house. And yet, despite a frequent attempts to either get Theo to try on sobriety whilst at work to firing Theo, my friend instead decided to buy theo a cap and jacket from the states that read "Security". He likes Theo.
Theo was proudly sporting said jacket and cap the other night at a party we threw, where he demonstrated his machete skills with a piece of wood and then proceeded to pass out. We grabbed a light and shouted "Qu'est ce-que vous faites!" very loudly, and finally after fifteen minutes he popped open an eye, grinned, and promptly passed out again.

Then I considered regailing you with the latest disarmament tales from one of my new favorite podmates, but we're back to the politically sensitive bit again.

I've just begun been reading "What is the What", a story of a man who, as a boy, was seperated from his family in Sudan's brutal civil war; who trekked across Africa's punishing wilderness with thousands of other children; who survived aerial bombardment and attacks by militials and wild animals; who ate whatever he could find or nothing at all; who considered ending his life to end the suffering; and who eventually made it to America, where a new and equally challenging tale began. (Direct quote from back of book). Frankly, in this shadow it's tough to fathom that I have a fighting chance of busting out anything worthwhile to say.

And so, I will say this. I have been learning an enormous amount during my time here. I'm very grateful that I get to have these wild adventures around the world. The winds seem to be changing at the moment. And we got a dog. His name is Sassou. And he has marched off with my Security tags and I'm either going to have to beat him or bring him onto my cause in solidarity and in an attempt to find them. Because I changed offices to the Tower, and I keep getting locked into the Tower without it. Its a bummer. That's the update.

Don't let the flame burn out

Fifteen years ago this week, former Rwandan President Habyarimana's plane was shot down by Hutu extremists as he flew into Kigali. Two hours later, Hutu extremists systematically began massacring Hutu moderates, and the next day began a genocidal campaign against the Tutsi population in Rwanda.

For those of us who remain relatively informed about international politics, you know how this story plays out. In the course of six weeks, 800,000 people were slaughtered in such a way that one cannot begin to fathom where humanity played into anything.

To remember the genocide, Rwanda commenced its week of mourning this Tuesday. In the morning, we went to the commemoration at Nyanza, the site where a UNAMIR ( the UN Peackeeping Force in Rwanada ) contingent was stationed, and where consequently some Tutsi had taken refuge in the days leading to the genocide, hoping to be protected. Instead, on April 11, three days into the genocide, with the refugees surrounded by Interhamewe Militia and the EX-FAR, UNAMIR withdrew and thousands were massacred along the road leading the way to Nyanza. The morning memorial was more a diplomatic event, attended by Cheri Blair (Tony Blair's wife) among other notables, with speeches from various ministers, songs sung by different groups from Rwanda and the broader East African community, and finally, a word from the President of Rwanda. It is clear that though moving forward is the proclaimed ultimate objective, anger and resentment remain crippling. I suppose as one would expect.

In the evening, we attended the memorial event at the Stadium,a ten minute walk from my house. The event started two hours late, but it was one of those moments where you realize you are involved with a moment in history. Technicians created an enourmous flame and the word "hope" spelled out in Kinyarwanda, French and English out of candles, which were lit by the President, other diplomatic representatives, and survivors of the genocide.

It is impossible to fully capture the feeling in the stadium that night. When a young girl who had been born in that stadium during the genocide and who's family had been slaughtered began to tell her tale, human wailing echoed throughout the stadium as red cross workers pulled people suffering flashbacks and repeated trauma out of the crowds. Messages from leaders including Desmund Tutu and Ban Ki Moon came in as candles lit up the arena. One young girl who had been sitting by herself in the row below me slowly made her way up to my side and burst into tears. She had lit a candle, and as I put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her, she crawled into my lap, shoved the candle into my hand, and began to sob. Red Cross workers came to speak with her to see if she needed to be removed, but she said she wanted to stay with me, so she stayed. And all I could focus on was keeping that candle lit in the wind-a small but symbolic gesture that allowed me to keep my calm and focus on being present for the survivors.

The next day, all UN workers in Rwanda met at our compound, the compound where Romeo Dallaire ran his crippled operations, to commemorate our fallen commerades.

There is too much to share in one post. The politically sensative nature of the week makes some of my observations difficult to post. I'm emotionally exhausted and having a coffee with my roomate, trying to focus on the weeks ahead.

Serious People. Doing Serious Work. In Goma.

That's right. You guessed it. Last week, I had the pleasure of meeting serious people. Doing serious work. In Goma. You may have been tipped off by the title of this blog. As I was strolling home from my evening french class, I had the honour of hearing "Muzungo!" (white man) screamed at me in a suspiciously white-man voice. Friend or foe? Turned out to be the serious people. And by this, I mean some pompous young Americans. (Don't worry, I get the distinction, not all Americans are pompous. These ones just happened to be. And some Canadians are pompous. I just don't know any. Ahem). So back to the pompous Americans. The interaction goes a little something like this:
Pompous Americans (PAs): Yo Muzungo, are you our new Australian neighbour?
Me: No.
PAs: What are you doing here?
Me: Working for the UN. (Ok, I admit, I took the bait...)What are you doing here?
PA1: Live here, dad is missionary.
PA2: Volunteering for World Vision
PA3 (and this is where it gets particularly interesting, hold your breath): In transit.
Side note: In my wee mind, this answer piques my interests, as Kigali is an interesting place to find yourself "in transit". And so, I dared to ask the question: In transit from where?
PA3: From Kenya. On way to Goma.
Me: Are you working for the UN?
PA3: No.
Me: What organization are you going with?
PA3: None.
Me: Oh. So you're just going to kick it in Goma for a bit?
Another side note: these days, Goma is not exactly the vacation destination of choice. Something about a brutal conflict. And grenades. And rape.
PA3: No, my friends and I are going to bust out a relief mission.
Me: Splendid. Have you thought this through?
PA3: Every day (in a very grave and serious tone, as one would expect from a serious person).
Me: Ok. Exit.

This, my friends, is the variety of help that is better left at the door. I can imagine nothing more useful than to be in a conflict zone and have a team of incompetent yet arrogant kids swoop through the borders to save the poor Africans that can't save themselves. It is precisely this sort of interaction that makes me want to come home and get over my African aspirations, for fear that I too sucumb to the White Man's Burden. No mirrors or need for further comment, thanks. And though I commend Ms. Jolie for bringing important issues into mainstream media (read: People magazine), I also suspect she's to thank for the influx of rich youth with not a whole lot more to do then try to be captured in an air-blown shot saving the minions. Again. No mirrors please. I don't like feeling uncomfortable with my own hypocricy. It makes me feel...uncomfortable.

As an afterthought, and to be fair, it's the nature of development work. International Institutions want development tourists, bushy-tailed youngsters to get out there, leave their evian at the door, and demonstrate that they can hack it in a mud hut without hot showers and starbucks for a couple of weeks. Only then can you get the next internship or volunteer experience, which will then, theoretically, lead to further work, if you can still hack it. The trouble is that some believe that development=something=better-than-nothing. Um. I'm not convinced. Somebody draft me a memo for further examination. But marching in with a lot of money, dropping millions on a colonial palace in the plains/rainforests/hills/desert sands of enter-any-African-country-here amongst the poor-people-but-hey-we-can't-help-everyone-and-also-please-don't-mind-us-but-your-land-is-part-of-our-plan-so-shift-your-hut-a-touch-if-you-would-be-so-kind.
Good intentions count, don't they?
Clearly, I'm having a disillusioned day. I can sense my penchant for pithy monologue is about to crank up a notch. There may be more to come...

He dared to ask the question: "Is there a balance between Kreotene and Atkins?"

The answer: apparently not. In the life of any expat, a golden light shines forth when someone from the West comes to bring you that which you long for. In my roomate Oren's case, he was longing for some power bars. He's a big, muscle-sporting guy. He says he's been hungry ever since he got to Rwanda-rice and beans apparently don't cut it. To emphasize this fact, he consumed a 1.5 ltr. tub of cookies and cream ice cream with oatmeal cookies crushed into it with Kyle an Benna. And so, when he heard that someone was coming to Rwanda from Dubai, he asked them to pick up some power bars. He needs protein. Instead, he got three crazy bars packed with kreotene, along with a box of Atkins bars and a box of slim fast bars. All for the low low price of $50 US. When my roomates and I were lounging on the couches in the living room on saturday afternoon as he lamented his tale, we were all gutting ourselves laughing. Good intentions notwithstanding, we were trying to figure out the leap from power bars to slim fast bars, and it was hilarious.

I've had another great weekend. Friday, my friend Sarah came back from Uganda, and she has made friends with Kigali's contemporary artist, who had an artshow at one of the local bars. So Andrew, Sarah and I headed for dinner to this Chinese restaurant called Flamingos, which actually offered some pretty amazing grub, and then we headed out to the artshow, which was great. Saturday morning, Sarah and I trudged our laptops to the airport so we could use the free wireless and drink a coffee. The coffee was ridiculously overpriced, but I got a bunch of work done.

Then we came home, scoffed some avacado and tomat, and headed to the market. By the time we got back, Benna, Oren, Kyle and Assaf had arrived, so we settled in for some lounge time (where the Atkins-Kreotene exchange took place), and then we all darted off to for dinner at Sole Luna, this great Italian restaurant with gorgeous terraces covered in virginia creeper overlooking Kigali (the great thing about Kigali is that its all on hills, so restaurants can get ideal locations nestled into the hills overlooking all the other hills. Its genius). We had some amazing food and a lovely night, went out to a lounge for a few drinks, and were back to the house by midnight, where we had yet another magic moment, and I realized, after two months in Kigali, I've found my Rwandan family. I felt super warm about this until Benna and Assaf woke me up at 4am.

The next morning, despite torturing Assaf that I was going to wake him up at 6 as retribution, I slept until 9-huzzah, I haven't slept in once since I got here-and worked until the rest of the crew rolled out of bed. We again made our way to the market, which was awesome-I found some great fabric, a green sweatshirt jacket I bought but am not entirely sure about (byer's remorse? Hope not), and a basket for my trinkets on my bedside table. Kyle found a sweet Kokanee Sasquatch shirt-a nod to the BC roots, along with some even sweeter orange running shorts, and all in all, we had another great day. Everyone took off at 3 and I worked the rest of the day.

Was in the field yesterday, this time visiting a mushroom and passion fruit cooperative in pretty much the middle of no where Rwanda. It was amazing. Jovin and I drove three hours to the field office, then another hour and a half down crazy dirt roads, and ended up in paradise. It was staggeringly beautiful. And Jovin's offroad moves beat the boys on bombi summit hands down. Am now back in the office, working away as always, and can't believe I've been here as long as I have. I was having a dream the other night that I was back in Canada, and when I woke up, I didn't know where I was. The first thing that flashed through my mind was-whoops, I'm not ready to be back in Canada . Thankfully, I don't have to be yet. So its Wendesday afternoon, I'm eating a passion fruit, a kind gift from one of my cooperatives, and I'm about to head off to french tutorial, because night school just wasn't enough for me, and I thought, hey, with no spare time, lets figure out a way to increase stress. Voila.

Running on Low

I think, when you are busy, you're able to get more done. When I wasn't working as much, anything seemed like a task, and it was good to spread it out a bit. Now, things are so crazy that I'm amazed at how much I can get done.

Yesterday, Jovin and I set off in the wee hours of the morning for Nyagatare District-my field office, which is about a 2.5-3hr drive. It is amazing how comfortable we have become with eachother-we have our routine now, and settle in to comfortable silence or Jovin telling me stories from the genocide or history of the region we travel through. We have our water spots, the same homeless man who finds me whenever I drive through town- it's good. So up we went, where we had a very quick meeting for an hour and a half, managed to get a lot of stuff done, then piled back into the car and whipped back to Kigali. We got back around 2pm, I got some emails done, and then I went to the opening of the "Institute of Research and Dialogue for Peace', a new peafce consolidation centre that is being sponsored in conjunction with the Japanese government. That was great, whipped back to the office, edited some terms of reference, and then was off to french class for the evening. Sometime in there I ended up at an Iranian trade fair (don't ask me how), and that was hilarious-a combo of the Richmond night market and...well, a market in Iran? It reminded me a lot of the trade shows I used to go with Saidou to in Cameroon. Kind of like home. With a lot of dodgy plastic flowers.

Indeed, things are moving, but I don't know how much longer I can keep this pace up. I've been asked to draft a chapter in a book, so I do that on weekends, and in my spare time (of which I have none), I am applying for a fellowship back in Canada, a process which takes forever. With french three nights a week on top of all that, along with two ridiculously busy projects with the UN, I'm starting to get burnt out. I was considering the other night what was going to have to go, and at first I was thinking the french, but after my tutoring session today I can see I'm really getting it, so I don't want to bail now. A tricky predicament indeed. Im supposed to be there again in an hour-I'm seriously considering bailing for the night. I got another 5am text-seriously, love you guys, stop sending me stuff in the middle of the night it wakes me up and I can't sleep and one of these days I'm going to lose it on one of you. Consider yourselves forewarned!

Also got some bad news this morning-the grandpa of a family to whom I am very close with is not doing well. Grandpa and I have a particularly unique connection, and before I left he promised me he'd live to 101, so he has a few years to go. Let me tell you how unimpressed I'm going to be if he bails on our deal. He was in the hospital just before I left with a minor problem and I marched in to give him a what for and he got out. Here's hoping the same thing happens this time. But it's not sounding good. So I'm feeling pretty down about that, and after shedding a tear or two, had to get it together for a meeting at the National Police HQ here in Kigali. It's been another ridiculously busy day. If anyone a) wants to be my secretary or b) has an idea of how to increase the hours in a day or the days in a week, do tell.
Back to the slog...

Weekend Bliss

After my harrowing moto ride on Saturday morning, I did make it in to the office and I was very successful in getting work done. At four pm I closed down my computer and marched home, and much to my delight, found several people who sometimes stay at the house on weekends. Sonia, my lovely Burundian friend was there getting her hair braided in typical African fashion-a trend that unfortunately takes hours and hours but is so gorgeous it is worth it in the end. I myself am considering it again-have done it several times when I lived in West Africa.

Once the hair extravaganza was complete, Sonia and I were joined by Assef, an Israeli who also works at the village, and we went off to find a restaurant. My intial intent to take them to Cactus, a great restaraunt that boasts garden seating and a gorgeous view of Kigali was short lived as the taxi driver didn't know where it was and was not the least bit interested in trying to figure it out. We ended up on the patio at Republica munching on brochette and having a few drinks. From there, we set off for KBC, one of the local nightclubs, for a night of dancing. This was quite the experience- reminded me a great deal of a combination of prom night in the 80's and my good friend Peter's parent's basement. An interesting combo indeed. At 2:30am I packed it in and headed to bed, and much to my dismay, due to pressing projects, was up again at 7am to work. The roomates were in and out of the house until noon, when all but Assef left back for the village.

Thankfully, Assef suggested I stop working and go with him to Kimironko market and explore. A much needed break . So off we set, on a beautiful afternoon in Rwanda, to check out some local art . Assef was particularly good at negotiations, and I managed to get some cool masks and drums for some lucky people back home. Then we considered our options for dinner-go out again or cook. I mentioned I'm not the greatest chef-a fact my driver, Jovin, learned, and laughed uproariously at, informing me that I'm going to be a lousy wife. Nice. Assef, however, is an excellent cook, so we wandered the market, found gorgeous fresh ingredients, bought some more beer, and headed home to cook. Assef proceeded to make amazing spagetti and sauce, we negotiated a proposed trip to head to Uganda to go rafting down the Nile in May, listened to some great music, and feasted on the porch while watching the sun set over Kigali. The kind of day that makes life worth living.

Unfortunately, I'm so wound up right now due to all the work I have on my plate that I couldn't sleep last night, despite the fact that I was exhausted from only four hours of sleep the night before. Also, as it is becoming increasingly clear that the rainy season is coming early this year, the mosquitos are acknowledging this fact as well, and seem to be bent on feasting on and torturing me every night. I don't know how, but they manage to make their way into my mosquito net, and don't seem to be the least bit swayed by my added effort of bug repellant. I am on anti-malarials, thankfully, but at this rate I won't be the least bit surprised if I get Malaria. Am going to be very conscious of fevers while this keeps up.

And finally, for my dear friends and family who want to express their love and adoration by phoning and texting, Sunday night my time is not the time to do it. I'm always tired, I always have to get up early for a crazy day at the office, and it always makes me feel borderline violent when you do. I would turn off my phone entirely but I rely on it for the alarm clock. Come on. I love you. Stop the madness.

Is Monday at lunch and I'm back to work. Have to go up to the field office tomorrow and at this rate with work and school, I'm praying I can keep going. I leave you with a couple of pictures of Sonia and Assef at the restaurant, Assef cooking for me, and the concoction he came up with.

Thanks, I'll Walk

It's Umuganda, "community work" day in Rwanda. On the last Saturday of every month, every Rwandan citizen is obligated to help clean the town, fix the roads, weed the public spaces, etc. The obligatory work period generally runs until noon, and then one is able to commence with their Saturday routine. Last month I attempted participation and got laughed at. Instead I went for a run- it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience as no one is on the roads at this time and I don't have to breathe in lungfuls of carbon monoxide or get chased (did I mention I caused an accident last week when some dude thought watching me run was more important than watching the road and ended up in the ditch? Given that he wasn't hurt, nor did he take anyone out with him, I was secretly happy. What a gomer). The Rwandans may know a thing or two about ditching plastic bags, but Vancouver should exchange their air-care techniques. Anyways.

In the time since I got to Rwanda, I've managed to take on so many projects that my eyeballs are swimming in them. I also don't have access to internet at home. Which means I have to trudge with my trusty laptop to some venue providing internet-sometimes the local coffee shop, but today I decided to come into my office for uninterrupted work time. UN Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon is on his way over here from Goma (Congo) tomorrow, so the office is buzzing with speech writers and logistics coordinators. In I come. So, the other problem is that I live a fair distance from my office. On weekdays this is no problem because Jovin comes to get me. On the weekends, a touch trickier, and on Umuganda, trickier still. One of my weekend roomates had to go to town anyways, so we figured we'd grab a cab. While I was under the impression that this could be tricky,I didn't realize it was illegal. So off we trudge, me with my laptop strewn over my shoulder, to get a cab. After trekking a great distance (and we're in Rwanda, we're talking hills. Steep hills. Heavy laptop.), some motos come along. I've been warned against motos. I've been told their at best they're not exactly reliable, at worst, dangerous. But I also know that everyone uses them. I used them frequently in Cameroon and Chad, but here I've been more cautious. Unfortunately, taxis here cost a fortune and couldn't be found, the local transport wasn't running this morning, and the moto looked like my big opportunity. So I tell him to go slow, hop on the back, and say aurevoir (as I'm in french now) to my roomate who hopped on another moto. And off we went.

Um, I'm fairly certain he wasn't interested in my pleas for restraint. Instead we tare off at a staggering speed, and I start thinking, aieee, I made a mistake. So I'm tapping on his shoulder, begging for him to slow down, to which he heeds my requests for all of three seconds before raring off again. I start to panick when I see a police officer up at the round about-genius, I think, the police will surely stop us (I was thinking more due to speed than to the fact that it was illegal to be on the roads). So indeed, an attempt is made, and instead of slowing down, the moto dude goes faster and then swerves as the cop lunges at us. Not exactly a safety conscious move on the police's part, but the driver is crazy. We speed off again, and I'm screaming at him to slow down. Again ignored. Then we get to a point and see another police checkpoint, so the driver spins a uey over the meridian (I didn't know motos with two people on them could get over meridians), and then boots it off-roading style up the side of the mountain. I'm hoping the police don't take this opportunity to bust out their trusty machine guns, as this is a scenario I assume they would use them for. And I don't have time to bust out my white flag.

Despite the fact that Rwanda is supposed to be in a dry spell, we aren't, and the rains had been pouring all night, so part of the dodgy-off road got swept away. But by that time, I'm so far from anywhere I know, and ps largely in the middle of no where, that my choices became increasingly limited. The jist is, I finally managed to leap off the moto when I thought it was least likely to kill me, and walked the rest of the way. The moto guy tore off because the police started chasing us. "Well", I think, "I suspect I've learned my lesson, and also, I didn't have to pay him". Always looking for a silver lining. Guess who comes racing after me on foot to get his money about five minutes after? My trusty driver. I gave him a little but probably should have kicked him in the junk. I'm going to claim that I was still in shock.

On the work front, I've been back and forth to Nyagatare(my field office), quite regularly, and will post some pics of the view on the way there for your viewing pleasure. It is really quite breathtaking how beautiful the landscape is-these are more from Rwamagana, which is forty five minutes from where I live, but as you keep driving the terrain changes substantially. It's gorgeous. What can I say. On the life front, Sarah, one of my closest friends (and photographer of several of the pictures I have posted), popped in last night on her way up to Uganda. I had just enough time for a quick visit between a run and having to trudge back to night school, and it corresponded with a ginormous thunderstorm, so we hung out, laughing our heads off at the banality of some of the thoughts that go running through your mind when you spend a lot of hours on your own. Let's just say that the right-speech I was considering in a previous post came there to die. Oh and also, a word of complaint: on my way back from French class, I have to pass a really creepy white mannequin. I wish someone would take care of that for me. May have to call in the troops to take care of it...I've already been on several reconnaissance missions. Stay tuned.

I have to get back to work. I know my posting efforts have been lame-I will try to improve on them, but really, I'm here to work, not entertain. I'll try harder...