Work

My job has provided me with a lot of great experience and some pretty significant professional growth. It is true that when you teach something it is the best way to learn. I really enjoyed having a course to teach, students to help, and course preparations to do. I became comfortable in the teaching role, and gained a deep appreciation for the value of education.

Now I am gaining a deep appreciation for hands-on work. I have spent the last few weeks in an office, working on curriculum development. In order to comply with a new policy, the lab department has had to reformat their entire curriculum. To me this seems like a reinvention of the wheel, all because some lady from Scotland thought modules were a better idea than courses. With all this paper pushing I discovered something: I really love nursing. I miss it. I miss interacting with patients, making decisions, hands-on care, and working in a team. Word documents and my computer screen just aren’t providing the same stimulation.

Although work is slow now, I’m glad I had this revelation, as it reaffirms my entire career choice. For now I’ll try to keep busy and be helpful where I can, one word document at a time.

Teamwork

This weekend I had the hit of inspiration I was looking for. I got to meet the people in my community, spend productive time leaving behind tangible results, and have some fun. I got to plant trees.

As part of an initiative with fellow interns, we decided that each person should endeavor to plant enough trees to offset the pollution from our flights. In the age of global warming, which as a profound impact on developing countries as well, it would be foolish and rude to discount the environmental impact of travel during our internships. At first I wasn’t sure exactly how we would get to find saplings, land, and resources to plant the trees. However, the solution presented itself through a partnership with a youth organization in our community, as well as the community itself. Rwanda is concerned about soil erosion, so the solution to both our problems allowed us to come together.

On Sunday morning about 50 people, a truck full of 500 little trees, and some community leaders gathered on the street above ours to plant. Many of the holes had already been dug on Saturday, so we got to work filling them. Many eager children joined us, and as we planted we got to talk about how important trees are for our planet. When the 500 trees were planted, 100 more were picked up so that we could start a little forest at the edge of the Nyabugogo valley.

It felt absolutely wonderful to connect with members of my own community. Since five white girls with mud all over them was probably somewhat of a rarity, I did feel a sense of appreciation for our eagerness to pitch-in and beautify the community. I was astounded at how helpful everyone was, and how quickly we managed to accomplish something with a visible output. I hope the little trees survive, but I will be checking on them and I know the community has a sense of ownership over them. It was a great way to spend my Sunday morning, and the follow-up ice cream made it a perfect day in Kigali.

Food, Glorious Food

BUFFET VOLCANO

They say when you return from a big trip, other people want to know three main things: did you get sick, what was the weather like, and how the food was. To satisfy your curiosity and explain a little more about Rwandan culture, I thought I would describe for you my diet here. The Rwandan mentality towards food, for the most part, seems to be a eat to live, rather than my preferred live to eat. Variety is not high on the priority list, and my stomach is starting to settle into the routine. Here is my typical daily menu:

Breakfast: You can count on Quaker oats. I have them pretty much every day, varying my toppings depending on what is available. Our kitchen doesn't have a running fridge, so if I remember to buy yogurt the night before I might put that on top or maybe some bran flakes or bananas. If I've splurged, then dried fruit muscli really makes my morning. Peanut butter and bread are dangerous things to buy because we tend to go through those at break neck speed.

Lunch: BUFFET. Apparently to save time in the '80s when everyone needed to rush through lunch, the buffet was invented to allow for quick service, and the idea, like neon colors, scrunchies, and other silly ideas out of that era, has never died. For 800 frw ($1.50) I can pile my plate high with rice, beans, cassava, one piece of meat, stewed bananas, potatoes, fries, and sauce. I'll admit the amount of starch is a little overwhelming at times, and I've had to give up on the stewed bananas because they require too many follow-up tums. If I want to spend more and go to the Karibu buffet, the selection of vegetables is far more substantial and quite delicious. However, it never changes. The trick with buffet, I've discovered, is to not take a little of everything, but rather rotate through the dishes to keep the variety going. Rwandans pile their plates very high, and it is often referred to as the Volcano. Some days I just go to the shop for an apple and a cookie. Probably just as nutritious.

Tea: Around 10:30 at work I can go into a large tent and get a cup of African Tea. It is made with boiled milk, tea, and ginger. It is quite tasty, especially if you add sugar. It is also very filling, and if I drink it too often I feel the effects of too much milk. I like to have it with a chapatti, though - essentially a piece of fried four and water. Mmmm.

Dinner: If I cook dinner at home, I'm limited to dishes made on our hotplate. Thus, couscous is a favourite, along with stir fries and steam veggies. Last night I made a delicious home made pasta sauce, which I will defiantly be doing again. I was getting sick of zucchini.

Food cooked for traditional meals and celebrations varies according to religion and region. A lot of Rwandans use small outside stoves to save on power, fuelled by Eucalyptus wood, so the smell of the smoke often fills the air (but beats the burning garbage smell). At the end of Ramadan we went to a Pilau feast and got to learn how to eat rice with our hands (the trick is to squeeze it together and use your thumb to push the ball into your mouth).

For the most part, high end restaurants cater nicely to the business and ex-pat crowd, and then the typical Rwandan restaurants seem to serve a lot of the same things. Brochettes of goat, tilapia fish, or beef are very reasonably priced, and go well with grilled or boiled bananas, fries, rice, peas or roasted potatoes if you're lucky. My favourite order at the restaurant down our street is a “Mutzig grand (620ml beer) avec brochette de chevre et des bananes grille”. And then the waiter usually replies in Kinyrwanda and I say “Yego” (yes) and hope that whatever he brings me is tasty. As long as he gets the beer right, it usually is.

World Poverty Day

Last friday, October 17, was world poverty day. A day of reflection on the 3 billion people that live in poverty. 3 billion people. That is just about half the world's population. One out of every two people. If the world shared it's problems equally, you could look at the person next to you and know that one of you lives a life where struggling for survival is the entity of your existance. Where daily decisions are not over wardrobes or meals, events or careers, but rather whether to spend the little money available on school fees or food, shelter or clean water, health insurance or firewood. Here in Rwanda, poverty smacks me in the face every day, from the begging children asking for "cent franc manger" to the mothers at the hospital who cannot afford treatment for their children. But you don't even need to picture someone in the "third world" (I hate that term) to understand poverty; you only need to take a stroll in the centre of any major city to see it. In fact, conditions on Native reserves in Canada have been compared to those in rural developing countries. Poverty is everywhere, if you look for it.

3 billion people - I can't get over that number.

Obviously there is something terribly wrong with our world, with us, if we keep letting that number grow, and allow the gap between the rich and poor to become a vaste valley, a great divide. Work is being made to bridge the gap, it's true, but it is still there. I think it will remain there until the stem of the problems is addressed, namely global trade policies. For example, Rwanda is ripe for cultivation, but farmers are not being paid fairly for their goods. And why? So we can my more cheap crap at Walmart? So we can save money on commercial goods in order to afford our five star vacation? Wouldn't it make sense to do what is just in the first place?

Imagining a world without poverty is difficult. However, I think we have to remember we are all human beings, all together in mankind, and that we all, each and every one of us, deserve a good life, a whole life. The right to health, the right to education, the right to the basic necessities of life - these rights should be upheld. I know it will take time, but I am impatient. I want to see some justice, and I want to see it soon. The solution, though, still evades me. Is it a simpler life? Acts of charity? Shifts in thinking? It is hard to grasp commercialism, to understand all the dynamics of give and take, trade and charity, rich and poor. I'm working on it though, and if I ever figure it out, I'll be sure to let you know.

The Turkey

About three weeks ago, L sent me a text saying she had seen a turkey near her workplace poking around in the garbage. From that moment, our hopes for a Canadian Thanksgiving FEAST were born. L and C went to retrieve said turkey from the owners on Saturday, but the Muslim family that had it either didn't get the order right or didn't believe we really wanted a turkey that was dead, defeathered, and gutted. Either way, upon arrival it was still alive and well, so a couple of Canadian girls had the fortunate opportunity to witness the demise of their thanksgiving main piece. Unfortunately in the process it was cut into pieces, but this turned out to be for the best since the oven was too small for the bird in its entirety anyways. Stacked in a pot with some garnish and butter, the turkey went from a family pet to our dinner in a matter of 24 hours. It was delicious poultry, a rare treat; although you could tell it was a turkey of the streets. Accompanied by mashed potatoes, gravy, sweet potato bake, peas and carrots, broccoli, wine, squash pie (a delicious substitute for pumpkin), and apple crumble, it was a thanksgiving dinner true to form.

No one else wanted to go around the table and say what they were thankful for, but I've been thinking about what I am giving thanks for this holiday. If Rwanda has given me any gift, the greatest one so far is an intense appreciation for the blessings in my life. Running water, light to read by, a ride to work, decent shoes, clean smelling clothes, a good cup of coffee, these are the basic things I am grateful for. I am increasingly thankful for opportunities I was born into, like my education and country. I am thankful to be here in Rwanda, safe, healthy, and given the chance to experience life lessons and grand adventures I will never forget. What I reflected on the most though was how thankful I am for the people in my life. Missing them shows me just how much they mean to me and how important my relationships are. Friends here, friends abroad, and friends at home have been, and continue to be, an immense support to me. I have a family that loves me and wants me to be happy. I have emails in my inbox, letters on their way, and I know love, friendship, laughs, and a shoulder are only a phone call away. So on this holiday of giving thanks, thank you all for being part of my life.

Nyamirambo

South of my workplace, if you follow along the ridge of the hill towards the large mosque, lies Nyamirambo. It's the heart of the legitimate Kigali. A mixture of slums and small compounds, stores and barbarshops, restaurants and side bars, it has a vibe. The main street is colorful, with brightly painted storefronts advertising their products and the store name, usually something like “The Feelings Shop” or “Faty Store”. Matatus, the minibuses, are named after rappers or painted in team colors, and run up and down the street, compeating with the Moto drives, trucks, old cars, children, bicycles, animals and shoppers. We went to explore this “authentically African” part of town; the busy streets and feeling seems to be hard to find in Kigali, but it's obviously not impossible.

You could spend money on virtually anything in Nyamirambo. I bought a short wave radio (since which BBC has changed my life), and C bought a shirt. We also found watermelon, for the first time and much to my excitement. If you wanted to buy a phone, electronics, stereo systems, food, sodas, beer, livestock, used clothing, new clothing, sewn clothing, material, hygiene products, cooking products, old products, new products, music, movies, a new weave, or hopefully a turkey this week, Nyamirambo is the where you need to be.

We ate lunch at the “New Happy Restaurant” (which did make me pretty happy) and dinner at the “Green Corner” with some friends, consisting of bananas, goat brocettes, fries with mayonaise, and Mutzig beer, of course. Apparently Nyamirambo is actually alive after dark. Alive. Kigali is so quiet, so serene. It's as though the genocide stamped the fun out of the city, and was kept that way through all the new laws, regulations, street clean-ups, and rules. It was fun to find life, to find a place with some sort of character. Nyamirambo's got it, and I finally found it there.

Holla Bolla Kampala

Lake Victoria
Traditional Dancers
Hustle and Bustle

Infamous for a busier party scene, and rumoured to be where “anyone can make it” and have “tall buildings” and “many many people”, Kampala seemed like the place to be. The bus ride to Uganda's capital city is 8 hours from Kigali, plus an additional hour at the boarder to go through customs. C, my room mate, L, a fellow Canadian intern, and I decided it was worth the journey to verify the buzz about the big city. We were allowed to take Friday off work for this “visa renewal journey”, as it is easier to cross the boarder and come back into Rwanda with a new 90 day visa than go through the paperwork at the immigration office.

We set off early Friday morning and with the help of some gravol I slept most of the windy way through Rwanda. The boarder crossing was interesting and a very busy place. We clamoured off the bus and amongst the pushing people made it to the exit office where we were officially stamped out of Rwanda. We then had to cross “no man's land”, a riverbed between the two countries. I couldn't help but imagine times in history where more than a million people in one day fled across the Rwandan boarder, or my colleague at work, who had lived in that very riverbed for two weeks when no country wanted him, his family, or his people. He told me that as he lived there, soldiers told him that not even God loved him or wanted his people. He soon joined the RPF [Rwandan Patriotic Front -a rebel army] after that, at only 14 years old. Thinking about it in the cold morning mountain air made me shiver.

We were welcomed to Uganda by people offering to change our money and boys selling all sorts of tasty looking things. The next 6 hours on the bus passed faster than I thought it would, as I watched the landscape change from Rwanda's thousands of hills to Uganda's somewhat smoother landscape. The highways in Uganda felt like actual highways, as there were actually moments that passed without seeing a single person on the road and the surrounding areas didn't seem to be packed with people and cultivation. Driving on the left hand side took some getting used to, as did the loud funny sounding horn the driver would blare when passing any vehicle.

On first glace, Kampala is already remarkably different than Kigali. There is a visible downtown centre, with new(er) buildings consisting of a fair number of tall towers, shopping centres, a giant mall, at least 2 casinos, hindu temples, mosques, and parliment buildings. We were dropped off at the bus terminal and immediatly made our way to the main street, where the hustle and bustle shook off any sleepiness and made me terribly excited to be there. Since street selling is legal in Uganda (it is illegal in Kigali, as is begging, prostitution, livestock, etc etc) the roads were packed with people, merchandise, animals, street kids, and shops that had overflowed onto the sidewalk. You could have bought anything there it seemed. The pineapple slice I bought from a man with a knife and a cart full of pineapples was the most delicious bite I have ever had (the rest was given to a kid and I've been dreaming about it since). We exchanged some money and got ripped off by a cab driver (shillings are confusing!) who took us to the Imperial Royal Hotel, where a fellow Canadian intern, M, was holding a conference. We were facebook friends and thus couch surfing at his place. God bless F-book.

M was the perfect host. His apartment was on the outskirts of town, close to Lake Victoria (the second largest body of freshwater after lake Superior, I'll have you know). Much like our complex, he had a small 2 bedroom place. Only it was newer, cleaner, next to other muzungus, and the kitchen was inside. It was perfect! Since he only had one mattress, we had to borrow some extra ones from fellow intern ex-pats in his community. I think it was actually the highlight of the weekend, finding these matresses. We walked through his community down the dirt roads, greeting the children he knew along the way. The stars were bright overhead, and the sound of singing from the nearest church could be heard across the feilds. The cool evening air was refreshing. We retrieved the foam mattresses and carried them back to his house on our head, much to the amusement of everyone we saw on the way. But, as they say, when in Rome...

Friday night we ate Ethiopian food. The curries are served in little dishes and each person recieves a large piece of Injera, a spongy sort of sour bread made from Teff (if it can be found). The food is spooned onto the bread, and eaten with only the right hand by using the bread to scoop it up. Not only was it delicious, but fun to eat, too. The coffee we had after the meal was incredible, and I will probably be dreaming about it for awhile. As if I didn't have enough reasons to want to visit Addis (the capital of Ethiopia), now I want to go to experience this coffee ceremony they speak of. Imagine! A whole ceremony dedicated to one of my favorite consumables! I'm tempted to go...

Anyways, after dinner we went to Bubbles O'Leary, an irish (yes, irish) pub where we met some more interns. There seemed to be a larger expat crowd in Kampala, or at least one our age. It was fun to discuss development over some Nile beers (made from the source of the Nile, of course) and meet people with common interests. We followed up with some dancing at the Latin club next door, and climbed into bed to the sound of the evangelist church screaming praises to the good Lord in the early hours of the morning.

First we made our way to the lake for the tolken photo op, and the rest of Saturday was spent wandering the city. I am so glad that I got to experience another capital city in Africa. Kigali is nice, but it is just so... cleaned up, I guess. Tamed. Quiet. Subdude. All the things that you picture to make an African city exciting, such as street vendors, are illegal in Rwanda. It's as if Kigali is trying to hold onto a facade that everything is OK, and that development is happening. But the truth is that extreme poverty has not gone away. In fact, in an attempt to sweep it under the rug, it has forced people from their homes and made livihoods, such as trading, more expensive and difficult. Kampala was alive. It was real. It was in my face and I liked it. However, the giant walmart-like stores did overwhelm me a little; I hadn't seen so many things in one place in awhile! There was a great book shop in Garden City, a mall built by the president for his wife, so I bought a new book there which was a nice treat. No luck finding any cheap clothes though (that looked good on me, that is). We had some delicous Indian food for dinner with some people from M's conference, and called it an early night.

The national museaum was first on the agenda Sunday morning, which had a good collection but probably could have used some TLC. I liked learning about another African country in some detail, and the exibits were interesting enough. We rode the boro-boros (motorcycles) doubled up (which is legal and fun in Uganda – best seat is the bologne) to a concert held for M's conference to raise awareness about cluster bombs and get signatures for the People's Treaty against them. I scored some sweet pins and stickers and got to see some famous Ugandan artists, including Bobi Wine and Sweet Kid. Best of all were the traditional dancers, as I got to compare styles with Rwandan dancing. It was a hot afternoon perfectly spent, followed up by some tasty Mexican food (our stomachs made it around the world in one weekend).

Unfortunatly, the midnight bus home turned out to be the slow bus, afterall. Around 0400h it stopped on the side of the road, in the rain, in the dark. The engine was still running, and I'm still not sure what the problem was, but we didn't move for four hours. As L pointed out, it could have been worse, because they could have made us get off the bus and stand in the rain. At least I was dry and warm. But there was of course no explanation nor compensation. No one seemed bothered or surprised, and most quietly slept. I couldn't help but wonder whether a lack of critisism and complaints from Africans (or at least the ones I have met) is a contributing factor to the tedious pace of development. I'm not sure. I just wonder how anything improves if problems are never pointed out. At any rate, the popcorn we bought in Kampala held us over and my bladder didn't suffer any irreversible damage, although my butt is still sore.

We arrived back in Kigali all in one peice, and the Karmic reward was an unexpected public holiday on Tuesday. I feel like a slacker since I havn't been to work in almost a week, but my colleague reminded me that this is it. This is not just a work term, it's a grand African adventure! So I'm thankful I got to get out there and see more of this dynamic continent, and I look forward to more roadtrips soon. Next up? Burundi!