Memorial

Rwanda is a beautiful country in many ways. Its landscape is awe-inspiring. It is probably one of the cleanest places we have ever been. It is making advances in health that far outpace most African countries. However, worldwide it is most well-known for the horrible atrocities that took place during the 100-day genocide of 1994.

Next week marks the 19th anniversary of the start of the genocide. April 7th is the National Day of Mourning, and the following week is Remembrance Week. For Rwandans, this idea of remembering, the necessity of not forgetting, is incredibly important. On genocide memorials throughout the country, of which there are many, the slogan ‘Never Again’ appears repeatedly. And with good reason.

As Westerners, we have become incredibly familiar with the 1994 genocide. We have seen documentaries and Hollywood biopics about it; it is the first thing that comes to mind whenever Rwanda is mentioned. However, it was not, in fact, the first genocide in Rwandan history. Or even the first one to take place in the 20th century. 

The Hutu-Tutsi conflict has had incredibly high death tolls. Between 1959 and 1961, 100,000 Tutsis were massacred by Hutus. In 1972 in neighboring Burundi, somewhere between 80,000 and 200,000 Hutus were slaughtered by Tutsis in 1972. And in 1994, the dead numbered between 800,000 and a million Tutsis, killed at the hands of Hutus. The violence has been systemic, retaliatory, and brutal, with surprisingly short intervals between genocidal outbreaks. Today, the tribal clash continues in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

With so few years between these genocides, in a culture where tribal heritage is important, and where the clash continues in neighboring countries, it is no wonder that the need to keep ‘Remembrance’ alive and well is so vital in the Rwandan psyche. It is seen in the presence of numerous genocide memorials across the country, in the respect and solemnity of Remembrance Week.

Though, of the practicalities of some genocide memorials in general (I am including my experience of Cambodia, as well), I have mixed feelings, particularly in relation to the use of the skulls of victims in these memorials. I understand that they bring home the reality of the atrocity, but do these victims, even if their identity is unknown, not deserve a proper burial? Do we need to see mass graves full of bones and clothing in order to understand, or should these people be put to rest? Why is it that a map made of skulls is considered disrespectful and dismantled, as happened in Cambodia, but shelves, temples, churches and mass graves full of skulls and bones is acceptable? Are pictures of the victims, something with a face and a name, a remnant of life, not a more vital reminder than nameless, faceless skulls?

But, I digress. Whichever side of that debate you fall on, there is no denying the importance of honoring the victims, as well as the importance of remembering in order to not allow these things to happen again. Thanks to the Rwandans’ efforts in this realm, the country today is a remarkably safe place; its future is bright, its people one unified group. 

Simple, Serene

Working evenings and Saturdays, our travel opportunities while in Rwanda have been quite limited. We managed to escape from Kigali’s hustle and bustle (if its road traffic and churches blaring hymns can be considered as such) for roughly an 18-hour getaway to the country’s beautiful Lake Kivu. So, we headed to Kibuye, the cheaper of the two destination options on the shores of the lake, to soak up some R&R.

Not being ones to pass up some exploration outside of Kibuye’s tiny tourist sector, we did amble through the town. We passed those at work and play, local eateries and shops, all as they languished in the mid-morning heat. Children repeatedly approached us, wondering who we were and where we were going. They were heading to markets and churches, uncertain why in the world we were just walking without destination.  

Unintended though it was, we eventually came to a destination of sorts, stumbling upon Kivu's more open, and less scenic, shore.  From this vantage point we were able to catch a glimpse of neighboring Congo (DRC) across the water, hazy and distant. 

We checked out the large lakeside Catholic church and its adjoining genocide memorial. The church itself was so full of a Sunday morning that worshipers were perched along the church walls in an attempt to catch the service, and more seemed to be pouring in by the minute.

But, the town offered little to compete with the tranquility of the town’s smaller stretch of lake. Laced between towering hills, topped with an array of hotels, this sliver of Kivu is a paradise unto itself, and the reason tourists venture to this area.

If Colorado were home to a vast array of tropical plants, it would be Kibuye. From pines with long, drooping needles to massive cactus-esque flora to trees bursting with yellow flowers and eucalyptus filling the air with their fragrances. Birds flit among the trees, lizards precariously climb flower stalks, cows low in the distance, all perfectly accompanying an early morning breakfast with a spectacular view. 

Not a bad escape, no matter how brief. 

Weaving by Hand

Handmade, through the work of countless hours, Rwandan baskets are so much more than just utilitarian. Yes, they can store any of a number of food items, and have traditionally been used in exactly that way (as well as in wedding ceremonies and as decorative items). But, with the diversity of color, shape, pattern, and size, each basket is truly a work of art.

Traditionally made from sisal fibers extracted from the leaves of the agave plant, which are then dyed to the desired color, it takes several days for a single basket to be woven (typically by a woman) to completion, depending on the size. Some are large enough to hold a grown man, others small enough to hang on a Christmas tree.

Wide and flat or tall and cone-lidded, these baskets are the definition of precision. The patterns range from basic zigzag to spiral to blossoms sprouting from the base. Even in handicraft centers where their only purpose is to be peddled to tourists, you can see the expert work and immense time and dedication given to each item.

Lift with Your…Neck?

It seems common in a large number of cultures throughout the world to carry things on your head (and ‘things’ in this case is incredibly diverse). As an American, I can honestly say this had never occurred to me as being the most efficient way to bear a load. Sure, as a young child I may have tried to walk across a room with a book balanced on my head, but that’s as far as it went. It certainly didn’t include baskets of fruit, bags of rice, or my mattress.

 But, during our travels, I have seen a great number of objects being carried atop a head. The list includes bags, bushels of plants, plastic tubs full of any number of things, a garden ho, a shovel, the aforementioned mattress (shared between two heads really), as well as a number of backpacks and purses whose straps dangled uselessly.

 Maybe it’s a good way to keep your hands free for waving, shaking, high-fiving, and talking on your phone. I just don’t think I would have the neck strength to carry these things, let alone walk while keeping them balanced.

Ice Cream. Coffee. Dreams.

Rwanda is not a country for ice cream lovers, despite what I would consider (at least in our two months here) weather to warrant some frozen treats. However, for the determined, there is one ice cream shop in the whole of the country. Nearly three hours from the capital of Kigali sits the university town of Butare, home to Inzozi Nziza ice cream shop. Yes, we did travel this far for some ice cream, and you can bet we got a large.

Inzozi Nziza, or Sweet Dreams in Kinyarwanda, is a unique venture. Brain child of a local woman, the shop was backed and opened by Blue Marble Dreams, the non-profit arm of Brooklyn’s Blue Marble Ice Cream. Not only did they have to import a soft serve machine, but there is only one person in the country who can fix it.

Vanilla and chocolate soft serve, topped with nuts, fresh fruit, granola, sprinkles, or raw honey (my personal favorite), the ice cream was as delicious as you would expect.

In addition to selling soft serve, the restaurant serves omelets, sandwiches, pastries, cakes, and fruit juices. It also provides the community the valuable service of training local women to become entrepreneurs, an important skill in a developing country. 

A bit of a trek for ice cream (admittedly, we were seeing a couple of other things as well, we’re not crazy people), but a worthy, delicious project. 

AfriCat

I have a weakness for adorable baby animals. (I mean, really, who doesn’t?) Kittens, in particular, are my kryptonite. They turn me into a cooing, fawning mess. It’s a little pathetic. So, when we rolled into Kigali and were confronted with a litter of kittens in a far-less-than-ideal situation, I knew I was in trouble. And, hence, we ended up with foster kittens abroad, for the second time.

If you’ve ever tried to pet three kittens at once, you know that it is not easy. Our first month in Rwanda was a tumult of fur, purring, and litterbox changing. But, things have slowed down now.

Of the litter of three, we have found happy, loving homes for the two males. Apparently, when you put up an ad for kittens, the males (who you originally didn’t want to part with) will be scooped up within 24 hours, leaving behind one ridiculous female kitten.

For better or worse (temporarily speaking), Lila is my little AfriCat. We spend a great deal of time together, which has made her incredibly attached to me. I think she is just about the most adorable critter ever. She alternates wildly between ball of cuddling, purring love and crazy mini-lion, climbing, chewing on, or trying to maul everything in sight. And some things that aren't in sight at all. And I love it.

* Credit for the word AfriCat goes entirely to Win. 

Meaty Morsels

A rose by any other name, etc. etc. Well, the same can be said for meat on a stick. Living in foreign cultures, I have come to truly appreciate meat on a stick as quick, easy, tasty, and typically cheap. Call it a shish kabob, call it a brochette, hell, call it Ralph. It doesn’t matter because it is still delicious.

I have had many varieties of meat on a stick: chicken, pork, beef, fish, hotdog (not sure which category that falls in), elk, ostrich, venison, crocodile. And, thanks to Rwanda, I can now add goat to that ever-growing list.(Seriously, for a former vegetarian of a decade it's a pretty long list.)

As in many developing countries, meat quality here is a complete gamble. Sometimes it’s incredible, other times it is like meat-flavored chewing gum, all fat and tendons, a struggle to choke down. But, with the right spices and sauces, when the quality isn’t horrible, goat’s not half bad. In fact, I have had some that was downright scrumptious. Whoda thunk it?

Mzungu! Mzungu!

Gringo. Gavacho. Farang. Keenok. Suddha. Mzungu. As foreigners in a foreign land, the first word we learn in the local dialect is what they call us, the white people.  Schoolchildren shout it as we pass by. It jumps out in conversations held by locals. Sometimes it is derogatory in nature. Other times it is used matter-of-factly: we are the outsiders.

Here, in Rwanda, and throughout much of Africa, we are greeted with Mzungu! Mzungu! A Swahili term meaning ‘aimless wanderer’, the tag was originally applied to European explorers. Also used is the Kinyarwanda word Rutuku, or ‘red’, for the color we turn in the sun. Which is, in some ways, better than a name originating from bird shit or pink/white fruit, as is the case in Thailand.

And, despite the large number of expats in Kigali, never before have we been so clearly the foreigners. With almost nothing to speak of in the way of tourism (aside from some incredibly expensive gorillas), the number of white folks coming through Rwanda is miniscule compared to some of the more touristic countries. We are, in some ways, still a novelty: children run up to us in mobs to say hello, good afternoon, and touch our hands; I’ve even received a couple of hugs.

Our skin color, our hair, our clothing, our language, all of these things make us noticeably and immediately different. Unfortunately, the world over, these things make people assume we are inherently wealthy. We have discovered that it also means that, here in Rwanda, they assume we have the correct answer for every situation. Although, that is probably just because they don't have the hordes of drunk tourists visible in some places (another assumption we try to dissuade people from making about Westerners).

And though my name is not Mzungu, and I will not pay higher, mzungu prices, we try always to be good ambassadors for the white people, our fellow gringos, the farang spread across the globe, doling out handshakes, conversations, and hugs, dispersing myths of automatic wealth and knowledge, and spreading smiles.

A Grand Opening

Had you asked me mere months ago where I thought we would be at the start of 2013, Rwanda would not have been my first answer. Nor would it have appeared in a probable top ten list. Yet, life being unpredictable as it is, here we are.

Beautiful circumstances have conspired to land us in this tiny African country, working for newly-launched (opened on January 7^th) City Arts Kigali. Springing from the overwhelming success of Ballet Rwanda, the country’s first classical ballet school, City Arts fills a vacuum in Kigali: offering a dizzyingly expansive selection of classes for children and adults.

Win and I have been brought on to dedicate our time to teaching art and yoga, respectively; the other teachers, expats and Rwandans alike, teach classes and workshops once or twice a week, as they have real jobs to attend to.

With such an exciting job prospect, we did a very basic research rundown of Rwanda --- Is it safe? Check. Is it affordable relative to pay? Yep. Is it somewhere new from which we can launch explorations of other African countries? You bet. --- and left the rest up to chance. Beyond the basics, no amount of research will tell you whether or not you will like a place. Sometimes you just have to jump in with both feet. So, that's just what we did.

Rwanda’s reputation among the western world is based almost solely on the genocide of 1994. It is understandable; what we know of a place is based on what is in the media. Since the early 90s, however, Rwanda has become an incredibly safe country, especially when compared to some of its neighbors. People walk around at night. The streets, though only about ten percent paved, are virtually spotless. Grass is kept trimmed, hedges squared. I even hear that the police pride themselves on being helpful.

Not only is Kigali clean, but it is breathtakingly beautiful. Known as the ‘land of a thousand hills’, the city is a mass of rolling green, highlighted by the orange of roofs and the red of the dirt, all under a huge, expressive sky. And by night, the cityscape sparkles with breadth and depth. Roads snake around and over it all, making for some of the most impressive mototaxi rides I have yet to experience.

Most importantly, people are friendly and helpful. Smiles are wide and bright. And food, though a bit bland, is plentiful. We have eaten a decent amount of goat in the past week and a half, along with a ton of rice, beans, potatoes, and other starches. But local produce is cheap, as is local beer. We have what we need, and with a little exploring, we are sure to find more to eat, experience, and enjoy.