You see that white girl?

Tonight as my host-mom, Grace, and I walked home she translated the conversation the children behind us were having. They were walking close behind us and discussing something in hushed, serious tones.

 “You see that muzungu (white person)? You cannot touch her purse. She has a gun inside her purse.”

When Grace said that I could not help but laugh with surprise. But as she continued to tell me the rest of what they were saying I realized their impressions of white people were more distressing than amusing:

“If you touch her bag, she will take her gun and kill you. Every white person has a gun. White people are the ones who make guns.”

After translating, and after the children had moved onto other topics of conversation, Grace gave me a little background.

“You know Bree, during Genocide there were white soldiers sent here. They were the French and they all had guns. They were supposed to make peace, but they did not help. The even helped bad men that were killing the tribe. They did not make peace. That time of the Genocide was so bad. Those children hear they way their parents talk about white people and what they remember from the Genocide. That is where they learn about white people.”

This isn’t a commentary on the events of the Genocide, but merely a retelling of the impressions – and the causes of those impressions – of some children here in Rwanda. It’s sad to be identified with such violent things.

“You don’t know how to use your hands!”

Since arriving in Rwanda I have gotten a lot of special treatment. Sometimes it’s nice to be excused from participating in certain activities or eating certain foods. However, it can also mean that people think that I am totally helpless and have to have everything done for me. Often people have the idea that muzungus (white people) don’t actually have to do anything for themselves. This means that I am not allowed to do anything for myself.

The other day my host mom said to me, “You don’t know how to use your hands!” At the time I was using a basin of water to wash my face. Obviously, I was not scooping the water with my hands in a way that satisfied her. A few days later I was cutting a mango and she looked questioningly at the method I was employing. This was a little more insulting because coming from Costa Rica I know how to cut mangos! And, in my defense, the knife did not actually have a handle. Finally, I am not allowed to help wash my laundry. We hand wash here, so I am a little out of my league. Nonetheless, I have hand washed things before and am certain that with a little practice I could get the hang of it. As it is now I am only allowed to “help” wash my underwear. So I stand next to Grace and try to scrub and wring out a couple pairs of my underwear probably further convincing her of my incompetence. She takes over and eventually lets me help put them on the line to dry.

Maybe someday I will be allowed to look after myself… (Though I am thankful for all the help I am getting as I settle into my life here for the next few months.)

Music Videos

Growing up in a country without a military (Costa Rica) has often made me start at strong displays of military presence. Never having seen it growing up, other than on TV, I am usually caught off-guard by all the monuments and machinery.  Most of all, I find the intended intimidation in demonstrations and exhibitions of the manpower of different branches of armed forces somewhat unpleasant.

 

Here in Rwanda, the army has a very strong presence. Since arriving I have spent several evenings with my host-siblings watching music videos about the Rwandan military! Apparently, there is a fairly extensive repertoire of songs performed by men (and I have seen one woman) in the army. They are sort of bizarre pieces of propaganda: men in fatigues dance and sing while pictures of more developed parts of Kigali (the stadium, one of the malls, some official buildings, and wealthy suburbs) and pictures of African heroes show up on the screen. My host siblings sing along proudly, their father was a soldier before he died. It is not so much the pride of the military I wonder at as the totally overt manipulation of Rwandans. I realize that there are many subtle and not-so-subtle examples of this all over the world. Indeed, militaries have to garner the support of the people and recruit individuals to their ranks. Still, it is something to think through. In Rwanda there is a fairly forceful government presence. The people are being told that their army is closely tied to the recent economic development and improved infrastructure that has come to Rwanda: big buildings, nicely paved roads, and the over-priced mansions where expats live. People are being asked to take pride in things to which they do not have access. And, they are being told to believe that it is their military that is bringing about these changes (not the outside investors).

 

So the children of Rwanda sing along with the army men ofntheir screens about “amahoro” (peace) and see signs of progress. This progress is far from the realities of life where only a few have running water, electricity is inconsistent, most use pit latrines, and many depend on outside support for the payment of school fees. Rwanda has stabilized and grown, but there is something questionable about how this growth is attributed to the military and how people are asked to value things that do not touch their daily lives.

My Rwandan Family

As I begin to settle here in Rwanda I am sure that the family I stay with will be very significant to my experience here.  It only seems right to talk about them as I will be with them for a total of about five months.

 

My host-siblings gathered around the table for dinner.

My host-mom’s name is Grace, she works at Amahoro ava Hejuru (Amani ya Juu), the project I work with here in Rwanda. She is so sweet and kind. Grace laughs easily, often at my incompetence as a muzungu (white person). But, she has very generously opened her home to me and invited me to be part of her family and she already calls me her daughter. She does a lot to make me feel special and honored. Sometimes this is nice and sometimes it means that I am a little uncomfortable. I am still not allowed to participate in any of the family chores. I am hoping she will become more comfortable with my presence and bring me into daily life. She has five children: two boys, Claude and Manzi and three girls, Janet, Fina, and Kellya. Kellya is Grace’s adopted daughter. Kellya’s mother was Grace’s sister and was killed in the 1994 Genocide.

 

The kids are all home from boarding school right now so there is a lot of laughter and music in the house. They really like rap, hip-hop, and even reggetton. I was pretty surprised to find them listening to music from Latin America and have found it strangely comforting. It’s strange because it’s not music I actually listened to when I was home.

 

Getting ready to go to a Rwandan wedding (in borrowed Rwandan clothes) with my host-mom Grace.

There is also a lot of eating! The kids take advantage of being home to get a break from a diet of rice and beans to enjoy some Rwandan favorites and the variety in their diet. In East Africa, people all eat from the same big plate and they eat with their hands. (I am not yet allowed to join them.) So they enjoy each other and watch TV as they inhale a huge mound of food. I am being sincere when I say that my 10-year old host sister, Fina, can eat about twice as much as I can. I have learned since coming that Rwandans love to eat huge portions and urge me to do the same.

 

Life here is pretty low-key. People spend a lot of time in and around their homes and families. Grace’s mother lives just two houses away. Nine people live in the grandma’s little house: Grace sister, Florence, and Florence’s two sons, and four grandchildren whose parents (Grace’s siblings) died in the Genocide. Family is always in and around the house. Often I wake up early in the morning to hear the voices of cousins and other people coming through. They are a vibrant and joyful group. They do their best to include me and talk to me even though I don’t speak Kinyarwanda. Thankfully, we can always laugh at things on TV or the different things the kids do.

The Tallest Camel in East Africa

Ramadan he was startled and began to stand up.I am choosing to share my most recent “happening” because it has been the most unusual and maybe notable part of the past two weeks. I am not quite sure how to classify it, except to say that it is definitively health related. Just as a disclaimer at the beginning of my story: I am OK.

 

Just before the fall

On Saturday I went on an outing with an American woman who helps at Amani, her name is Trish. We went to this place where people make beautiful glass pieces out of stained glass and blown glass. Anyway, they have all these animals there: donkeys, geese, dogs, turkeys, ostriches, and camels. Ramadan the Camel is, according to Nanie (the eccentric German lady who owns Kitengela Glass), the tallest camel in East Africa. As luck would have it I would have my first (and last) camel ride on the tallest camel in East Africa. OK, I will spare you all some of the more technical details. Basically, before I had fully mounted Ramadan he was startled and began to stand up.

 The thing is that camels are really big, so I could not just scoot myself over his body and hang on. Instead, my heel got hooked on his back and I was hanging on to the harness. This means that I was just hanging off of his right side. The other thing about camels is that their legs have more joints than those of horses or humans. Including their hip they have three big joints. As camels stand there are different heights they pause at before reaching their full height. Ramadan did not heed his trainer, Hassan, who was trying to get him to sit back down.

This sucks. But is also sort of funny.

 

He jostled me as he rose to his full stature. I hung on until he was at his tallest and started moving into the fence next to where I was supposed to get on him. Ramadan finally shook me off and I fell sideways about 7 or 8 feet. When I fell I scrapped a fence and hit some rocks. That sounds very dramatic and honestly there was a moment of pandemonium – a lose camel, little girls (Trish’s daughters) crying, dogs barking, and Trish yelling at the camel trainers to not touch me (incase I had broken my back). Miraculously I did not break any bones, crack any ribs, land on my spine, head, neck, or even bruise my right kidney. I just have a very bruised right side and right lower back. In truth I am really sore, but I am thankful that they are just deep bruises and nothing very serious happened. (Though I did have my SOS card on me, just in case.)

 

Nanie takes charge

What followed was a series of somewhat comical events. Nanie came to tend to me in her own somewhat manic way. One moment she was stroking my hair and pulling it out my face and the next she was screaming at the camel trainers and the rest of her staff. Most people stood around transfixed, looking at the white girl laying on the ground and covered in dirt after falling from a camel. Meanwhile, some people were running back and forth, bringing things that Nanie did not ask for and getting yelled at for it. At this point Trish had decided to document the event. She wanted me to have pictures so that in five years I can laugh hysterically at my misfortune. Nanie gave me some natural herb remedy and I popped a few ibuprofen. Once I was moved off the ground onto a chair, Ramadan came over to apologize – according to Nanie he was as upset as I was – and almost munched on my hair. The pain was pretty bad and though I did not cry or scream I had a couple waves of nausea.  Eventually, things settled down and I sat in Nanie’s chair (after she yelled at someone for bringing the wrong one). Amazingly, my visit happened to coincide with two Kenyan acrobats who were there for the day to perform for some guests. To “take my mind off things” Nanie invited me to stay and watch. So after having fallen off a camel I was seated in front of a makeshift performance area where two men – Lorenzo and Ziggy – jumped through fire hoops, did handstands off of each other, walked tight ropes, ate fire, and performed many other amazing acrobatic tricks. Needless to say, it was a very bizarre day.

 

I know it seems unbelievable, but everything I just wrote is true.

Intern Extraordinaire

I am finally doing what I said I would do all along. I am setting up a blog for those who wish to keep up with my life while I am in Kenya and Rwanda.

For the past two weeks I have been in Nairobi, Kenya training for my five-month stint in Kigali, Rwanda. I am interning with a fair trade project that has many names: Amani ya Juu (Swahili), Amahoro ava Hejuru (Kinyarwanda), and roughly translated to A Higher Peace/ Peace from Above.  Amani is a group of about 70 women, refugees and Kenyans who come from difficult circumstances. At Amani they work with textiles, making clothes, quilts, handbags, and many other beautiful things.

If you want to get an idea of where I am the website is http://www.amaniafrica.org/

Here in Nairobi I am at the original center learning about how it got started. I spend part of my time observing the different departments that keep things going. I am also working on a few projects. Right now we are working on designing next year’s collections. The lines draw from different African aesthetics. Each line relies on a special kind textile. The textiles – kitnege, kikoy, kanga, batik, etc. – anchor the products and every year the colors are changed and designs are revised. Less than a week after arriving I found myself involved with design. I was just barely getting settled and I was asked to help make decisions for some of next years products. This was much more than I expected. I was still trying to figure out exactly what I was. Design is not all I do, I also help out in different departments and create excel spreadsheets. My work is moving along nicely. Frankly, I am more involved than I expected. My life here has been very full and time has moved much more quickly than I imagined. 

In about two weeks I will be re-locating to the center in Rwanda where I will be for five months. 

I will be periodically updating this page with some thoughts, photos, and stories from my life while I am in Kenya and Rwanda. I hope you enjoy the news. Rest assured that I am alive and well all the way over here.