Rwanda through my eyes. (1)

Rwanda, to me, is ...

• the land of a thousand hills, literally. My calves have been having their work cut out for them;

• the cleanest country I have ever seen. Each and every single day there are public workers cleaning the streets with brushes, pulling weeds, trimming hedges, … You’d be afraid to drop something by accident. Every last Saturday of the month is also called “Umuganda”, which means that everyone, and I mean everyone, has to help clean the city and do some public work from 8am until 11am. The streets are dead during that timespan;

• the cheap mototaxi rides;

• throwing your head back on that same mototaxi while listening to some music and suddenly realizing your helmet’s clasp isn’t working properly (every - single - time);

• the “mélange”, a lunch buffet you can get pretty much everywhere around town from noon until 3pm. It consists of vegetables, two kinds of rice, pasta, baked bananas, all kinds of potatoes, sometimes fish or chicken, fries, pancakes, beans, all kinds of sauces, etc. And when you’re done devouring that tray of food, you can still go back in for dessert, mostly pineapple and papaya. All for a mere 2500 RWF (about 3,5 euro);

• the even cheaper bus fares. Driving for about 20 minutes will cost you 200 RWF (around 25 eurocents). Driving for about 45 minutes to an hour will cost you 500 RWF;

• the obvious reasons why the buses are a lot cheaper. There are a lot more people to split the cost with of course, but there is more: the bus doesn’t have a time schedule, the bus will leave when it’s full and not any sooner. Also, a person vomiting because of carsickness is 95% guaranteed. Make sure you get a window seat. Some of them vomit out the window, others in a piece of cloth. Sitting at the window at least gives you the opportunity to get some fresh air;

• becoming aware of the fact that wearing a skirt on a mototaxi isn’t one of the best ideas (or wearing a skirt/shorts in general). Other mototaxis come and stand next to you, literally pointing and giving a thumbs up. Maybe they were referring to the countless mosquito bites I scratched open;

• the endless amount of salesmen and –women at the taxi parks. When waiting for the bus to fill up and leave for your destination, you’ll be asked to buy earplugs, sweets, drinks, jewellery, socks, newspapers and so on. I once saw a guy hop on the bus trying to sell his “own” newspaper. Apparently he just selected the most interesting stories from a legitimate newspaper, copied them and tried selling the thing for only 100 RWF. He got two buyers: success;

• shopping and getting lost at the Kimironko market. The most amazing one I’ve seen so far. Stall after stall after stall, a real labyrinth filled with vegetables, fruit, fish and meat covered in flies (and running away from the smell), souvenirs, footwear, cloth which can be turned into tailor made clothes, bags, jewellery, … you name it;
• the non-stop “muzungu” rallies when walking the streets that are not located in the city centre;

• the children of Mana Mfasha running out of the classroom each morning, screaming, to come and give me a (group) hug. I absolutely adore ‘em;

• the nearby mosque and its imam who starts to sing at 4.30am. Before I knew there was a mosque in this area, his songs were really creeping me out. If I’m completely honest, they still do;

• the night guard, for when there’s no imam singing, who gladly volunteers as substitute with songs on his phone at maximum volume. No, Rihanna’s “Umbrella” at 5.30am doesn’t make me feel all too happy;

• the wonderful people at Gahanga, the home for disabled children and youngsters. When first visiting there, I’m not going to lie, I really felt like I had been going through a culture shock. However, after a few days of volunteering at the institution, it quickly became clear to me that these kids are lucky to have a place like this;

• the cold showers/buckets. When there’s no running water, a bucket will have to do. You get used to it really easily. I even started appreciating the chilling showers after a long hot day;

• potatoes… potatoes everywhere;

• the teachers at Mana Mfasha who I admire for willing to improve themselves as teachers in any way possible. Inspiring!;

• my never ending arch enemies, “mosquitoes”;

• the MTN salesmen, always trying to sell you a prepaid phone card with the biggest smile on their faces, even when you don’t buy one;

• the local arts and handicrafts, sometimes made out of cow faeces;

• the daily chanting of children and women, guided by drums, just outside from where I’m staying. Makes you just want to go out and join them;

• the everlasting masses in church. Generally a mass takes about two hours, others take four. Guess which ones I went to;

Nyamata Genocide Memorial, a 
church filled with clothes of 
murdered Tutsis.

• the multiple genocide memorials all over Kigali and its surroundings (cf. Ntarama, Nyamata, Nyanza), leaving you breathless and defeated every time you leave one;

• the (not really proclaimed) non-smoking policy, practically all over the city. I only smoke when at home, so yes, my packs aren’t going as fast as I would’ve thought. Apparently, when you smoke on the street as a woman, you’d be portraying yourself as being a prostitute, although the thought of having to throw the cigarette butt on the ground affects me more;

• the ridiculously high prices for a piece of chocolate;

• the ever so grateful kids. I never thought giving a piece of soap to a 5 year-old would make him scream and do a victory dance. 

To be continued. 

My name is not muzungu.

Muzungu! Give me money, muzungu! Muzungu, give me a balloon! You want a taxi, muzungu?! 

Oh boy, the life of a caucasian in Kigali. I must say that in the streets of Kigali you don't get to see a lot of tourists, so imagine when you get out of the city center... I can't and will never get used to the constant staring either when passing the locals but that doesn't make them any less friendly at the end of the day. Mastering some of the simple greetings already puts a smile on their face, appreciating the effort of addressing them in their native language, asking them how they're doing, etc. 

After working at Gahanga, the home for disabled children, I now have been working for two weeks in a school called Mana Mfasha. Initially, I would have been working there as an English and French teacher, but I quickly realized that this wasn't of a lot of use in the long run, meaning that I would just be taking up all the hours of the local teachers who clearly love to teach themselves. The principal and I then decided I would coach the teachers instead as a lot of them don't have a degree in teaching. They didn't start or weren't able to finish their teacher training because of the sky high costs it involves which they weren't able to afford. The school houses five classes: 1st, 2nd and 3rd nursery school and 1st and 2nd primary school, each class containing about 15 to 20 pupils. I've been observing some of the teachers, writing reports about what they're doing and what can be improved (cf. the didactics mostly). After two weeks of observing I created a file in which I put all the reports I've written so far. When arriving in school on Thursday, all of the teachers and the principal gathered on the playground and they were going through all my comments. I felt a bit uncomfortable thinking the principal wasn't too pleased about what I wrote, but I couldn't have been more wrong. All the teachers wanted to know what I had written down and wanted to learn as much as possible from what I advised/suggested in the file. I thought it was really admirable to see how they're very serious about their job and how they really want to improve themselves as teachers. That afternoon, we also arranged a teachers' meeting in which the teachers could ask me questions or if they wanted some more information or more details about what I suggested, one of the subjects being corporal punishments. I already explained to them that this was a cultural difference which wouldn't go away overnight as it's something that's being used all over Rwanda, but I tried to let them see it from another point of view, letting them know there are a lot of other ways to get their message across without scaring the kids holding rulers throughout the lesson. After a lot of discussing and explaining and putting it into context, the principal let me know that he would want to abolish the corporal punishments as soon as possible. I think I couldn't have been more happier that day, just knowing he would simply think about it would have already made my day. 

Apart from the teacher coaching, I've been having a lot of fun with the kids as well. Already in 1st nursery, they are being taught in English and in French. I couldn't believe my ears! By the time they arrive in 2nd primary, the pupils are already able to communicate in English and in French (next to their mother tongue, Kinyarwanda). Also, when the French lesson starts, the kids spontaneously start talking in French, even talking to each other they would be using French. Such motivated and enthusiastic kids, it's inspiring. 

When leaving for Rwanda, we got to assemble a lot of materials which we could donate to the different causes, such as Gahanga and Mana Mfasha. After a few days of observing, I brought some balloons to school, about 20. The kids were ecstatic until the point where there were no more balloons. "Muzungu... give me a balloon." Some of the toddlers were really giving me disappointed looks, yikes. So the next day I brought balloons for every one of them, blowing up about 90 balloons before their break got me a bit dizzy but the smiles on their faces were so worth it. They didn't let go of their balloon for one second unless the teacher explicitly ordered them to put them away during the lesson. Even when the balloon snapped, they didn't mind cause then they would use the latex to create airplanes or catapults out of their writing materials. The creativity is beyond me. Also the gratitude for giving them a pen and a pencil is something I'll never forget. All day kids came up to me to thank me for it. It felt unreal at times. 

After visiting a lot of the memorials in and around Kigali, as well as the other sightseeing opportunities in the city, I also got to go to the Akagera National Park to do a safari. I had never done anything like it, so I was curious as to what I would get to see. After a three hour drive to the park, we arrived at the Akagera Game Lodge and my oh my, did those beds look comfortable! We even had hot water to shower with and a balcony with a wonderful view. A little bit of luxury, I welcomed it with open arms! The first day we did half of a safari and in the evening we did a sunset boat trip. I loved every bit of it. No cars, no mototaxis, no people in general, just nature and wildlife. Well, no, let me be completely honest, the mosquitoes and the horseflies sure knew how to annoy the hell out of me, but I guess nature is nature and you have to take it as it comes. My legs and arms look like a lunar landscape, but it's definitely worth it. It's really hard to describe being in the park and seeing the animals in their natural habitat, so I just added some of the pictures to give you an idea.

And what the evenings are concerned, there isn't a lot of stuff to do here as a single traveler to keep busy at night apart from having dinner somewhere and enjoying the scenic views of the thousand hills lit up by little lights. I have visited the movie theaters here to see what it was like. Very modern, although most visitors don't seem to get the concept of watching a movie, being relatively quiet and enjoying the movie, that is. No, no, chattering the night away! Didn't bother me as much as the movie itself though, "The Longest Ride", which was one of the worst movies I've ever seen. Oh well! #firstworldproblems 

Culture shocks and cleaning gel.

Muraho, amakuru? (yes, my vocabulary is expanding!) 

Last week I started working at Gahanga, the home for disabled children and youngsters. I visited the institution on Sunday together with Sister Steven, to get an idea of what I would get myself into. And no, I did not expect to see what I saw…  

We entered a room where all the children sat in a wheelchair or were laying down on the ground with a blanket on top of them, very immobile and not really able to do anything, except for a few of them. A lot of them had deformed bodies, which allowed them to only take on one single position, others were able to move their heads and arms, but that was about it. Communication was a huge barrier for me, as I know only a few words in Kinyarwanda. I looked around and didn’t get a lot of words out. I was very shocked by the first impression of the institution. I mean, I think it’s wonderful that there’s such a place for abandoned, disabled children, but I couldn’t get my head around how they would be activated throughout the day. 

As we took the bus home, I didn’t say a word. The idea of working there was constantly going through my mind, thinking of how I could be of any use there. Not beating around the bush, I wasn’t all too excited and I was worried of how this would turn out. Eventually, I got the message that there were two German volunteers working there throughout the week, which lit up my mood, knowing I wouldn’t be alone in this. On Monday I arrived, got to meet the other volunteers and saw a whole new context of the institution. Apparently, a lot of the kids were able to learn basic things, like connecting images to words, spelling words using cards with letters on them, enhancing their motor skills by divers board games, there was even one kid that wanted to learn how to read the clock! I was relieved to see that throughout the morning, they were activated by doing educational activities. 

Also, every two days, the kids would receive physiotherapy to loosen up their muscles and joints. There was also an autistic boy, Emmanuel, who wanted to learn in English ánd in French. When I talked to him in one of these languages, it became very clear that he really understood me, which was great and admirable, not letting his physical and mental state hold him back from learning new things.

By lunchtime, we had to feed all the children, together with the nuns and the caretakers. Huge bowls of food I wouldn’t even be able to finish (and trust me, I can eat quite a lot), so what about some of these tiny kids? I took my time to feed the kids that were assigned to me, but when I was looking around, some of them were being fed like you would see a duck being fed at the foie gras factories… Some of them threw up and then the caretaker would clean it up and continue feeding the child. I just did not get it. I asked one of the caretakers to teach me the Kinyarwandan word for “enough”, so I could ask them in time.

Why cleaning gel? Well, most of the kids were drooling a lot. When you would be busy with one kid, another would be looking across your shoulder and you would suddenly feel a few drops of drool coming down. I’m not a prude and it’s not like I can’t handle the dirty works, but at one point I really thought I was starting to get mysophobia. My bottle of cleaning gel was getting empty pretty fast. Not only that, but there was also one kid, one of the funniest ones around, who was infected with the HIV virus, so I had to watch out for possible wounds on my hands when being in contact with him.

After one week of working at Gahanga, I was able to conclude that I’ve had a good time, it had been a huge eye opener and I’m glad I was able to help when necessary but I figured, in general, I wasn’t of a lot of use. Sometimes I would be sitting there, not being able to do anything and that didn't feel good at all. So on Friday, May Day, I visited the nursery and primary school Mana Mfasha, founded about ten years ago. I will be observing on Monday and on Tuesday to see if it would be useful for the children and for me, to teach English and French there. Evidently, I will keep you all updated on that soon.

Mwiriwe neza.