I have now officially been in Rwanda
for over a month, and Kigali feels more like home with every day that
passes. I keep imagining myself years from now. I wanted to celebrate this feeling of home by sharing my joys of Rwanda with you, rather than the bones and
sorrows.
In no particular order: 10 of my loves
of Rwanda
Transport
I have a strange love of the rickety,
overcrowded transportation system of Kigali. Crammed buses and ever
present moto-taxis make the whole city available for a few cents.
While buses challenge Western notions of personal space (like, the
idea we should have some) and are occasionally a horrifying testament
to the general lack of deodorant in this country, I have found I
really enjoy the people watching on them as I sit next to university
students, business men, mums with their babies, teens absorbed by
cell phones: its a view into Rwanda.
Markets
The truth is I love the adventure of
labyrinthine, dim markets of thousands of oddly specific stalls (Need
Katchup? Go two aisles to the right for the condiment sales-man) more
than the sterility of our grocery stores. It's not as easy, but it
turns shopping from a chore to scavenger hunt, and buying from a
meaningless interchange of money to a conversation and depending on
the extent of the bargaining: a game.
Colors
From orange sunrises, misty gray/green
evenings, to the explosions of vibrancy from women's traditional
skirts, to the inevitable buildings painted as advertising for
competing cell phone companies, everywhere I am surrounded by
color.
Traditional dresses at a concert
Beauty
I have found Kigali to be one the most
beautiful non-European capitol city I have been in. Not for the
architecture, which consists of basic concrete and
'developing-country-blue' glass, but for the mountains, which make
every street a vista. I feel I can see forever from wherever I am.
That I walk to school across the top of the earth. At night the hills speckled with streetlights look like waves of stars.
My Host family
Of course, I cannot leave out my
vibrant, silly, wonderful host family. I spend my time at home with
my host siblings: singing, playing cards, or watching bizarre movies (everything from allegorical christian horror films to 40 year old Kung Fu movies in the original racist accents).
Me and Mugisha (left) Christine, a family friend (middle) and Peace (right)
Kids
As a Muzungu in Rwanda, I am instantly
loved by every child ever. I don't quite know why, but my foreignness
warrants high fives, jumping up and down, and excited calls of 'How
are youuuuuu?!?!?'. It also sometime warrants demands to 'give me
money!', but this makes angry at the misguided whites who
treat children like beggars, not the kids themselves.
Fruit
I can't even begin to tell you how good
the fruit is here. I gorge myself on mangoes, passion-fruit, avacados
and bananas at every opportunity.
Several kilos, and just a couple of dollars, worth of fruit.
'Ailmentations'
While I may have mentioned the tragedy
of Rwanda's potato-cuisine before, I do really love the little
convenience stores that dot the city selling cookies, 'amandazi'
doughnuts, samosas, chapatis, and fruit. I am always hungry here, so
snacking is critical.
Unpredictability
One of the greatest adventures of
traveling is the break from routine. I am happiest when I can relax
enough to be amused by the dubious coughing and rattling of my bus,
suddenly canceled meetings, instantaneous hail storms, or power
outages that leave us giggling by candlelight. The only
unpredictability I cannot stand is that of my greatest addiction: the
internet.
Appreciation
Travel teaches you more about yourself
than anything else. Looking around every day I am reminded of how
much I have and how lucky I am to have it. Though I am living out of
two suitcases, I still have more possessions than even well-off
Rwandans. My western privilege is disconcerting, but precious. And
getting to truly know that is another privilege in itself. I am
grateful every day for being here For getting to struggle with the
depth of human darkness, but at the same time having the honor to
witness the extremes of our resilience.
