mosquito motos and public toilets

There are two kinds of motorcycles in Kigali:

1. the big ones that look and sound like real motorcycles with over 100 cc's of power
2. the smaller, skinnier, wimpier versions with about 80 cc's of power. they sound like a large mosquito when they ride by.

They tell you never to take the smaller ones.

I walk a half a mile from my house to the road where the motos come by. usally i'm not going anywhere on a time table (TIA) so it doesn't matter how long i have to wait. when i hear the loud buzzing of the weak motos, i just motion my hand to tell them to keep going. today, however, i was meeting Rosette, the minister of tourism, at 2:30. Rosette is very busy, very important and doesn't run on african time. I didn't want to be late.

Waiting for a moto around 2:10... which quickly turned into 2:15... no motos. I began to get desperate. As a mosquito approached, i waved him down. He pulled over and I almost tipped the bike getting on.

(Sidenote: There are many things about driving a moto that worry people around here: how fast they drive; how careless they are; how they overcharge white peopel; the way they pass on the right, inches from the 4 foot-drop rock ditches; the general danger of being on a bike with no protection on your limbs in a 3rd world country... you know, the usual things you woudln't tell your parents. None of those really bother me much. The only thing that I have a hard time with is the helmets.

I mean, thank goodness there is some measure of protection, but sometimes I would rather bash my head against concrete than put one of these helmets on. I'm told they're the best way to get lice in Rwanda. They're consistently moist (from head sweat) and they smell horrible. When you bring the face shield down, you almost get exphixiated by the smell... it's awful. The straps don't often work, so you have to hold the sweaty smelly thing down as you bump around, straddling the skinny hips of an anonymous Rwandan. quite the experience.)

So, the little moto turned down a dirt road to take the "back way", we twisted down a dirt hill, narrowly missing several collisions with women carrying water and baby goats. That wasn't the problem. As we started back UP the hill, the moto slowed to a crawl and eventually stopped moving. The engine was running, it just couldn't propel the mass of two people and a laptop up the dirt hill. So, what did I have to do? Get off and walk. Sweaty-red helmeted, carrying my heavy bag, up a huge-ass hill with (as always) a myriad of laughing spectators. It would have been funny for me as well if it had only happened once, but there were 4 times that I had to get off and walk, with my helmet still on, for over a mile. "Oya hachibazo," I said, out of breath, to the grinning moto driver. Translation: "Not Okay". Probably not my most gracious moment in Rwanda. 40 minutes later, we finally reached the main road. I paid him 300 franks (the equivilant of 75 cents), which was generous, and hopped on real moto. I was late to my meeting, but Rosette was gracious.

***

If you go into a public bathroom in Rwanda you will be met with one of two scenes:

1. a typical 3rd world set-up: a squatter (basically a hole in the floor with ribbed sides so as you squat, you don't slip in someone elses urine), and a sink without soap.
2. a bathroom that is trying to meet 1st world standards, bless their hearts. I have found these to come with a variety of... how should i say it... surprises?

There are always 4 or 5 people milling around in the women's bathroom at the Union Trade Center (the main shopping center in town). 2 are there to clean, the rest are their friends, men included. They hang out there ALL DAY, sitting on the sinks and the trash bins. When i ask if there's any toilet paper (because it's ALWAYS out), one of the guys will stand up, open the trash bin he was sitting on, and hand me a "fresh" roll of TP. Weird.

And then I am not allowed to leave the room until I use the automatic dryer and I've had my picture taken by at least 2 people's cell phones. I mean, if there's an automatic dryer in the room, why wouldn't you use it? (You'd have to be crazy... or so rich that you carry your own automatic dryer around in your purse.) And if there's a white girl in the room, how could you miss the chance to take her picture? Proof for your friends that white people do, in fact, exist.

I saw the woman who cleans the bathroom outside around town today and she greeted me with enthusiasm. I think she has my picture on her phone.

:)

I will see some of you very soon.

Peace of Christ, dear friends.

Maggie

ps. I don't have a spellcheck, so please forgive my erors :)

taking notes at a rwandan wedding

a few things my little sister should think about in regard to her impending nuptials.

bunny,

have you considered having multiple photographers on stage, while the you and john are saying your vows? they should be stratigically positioned all over, and as CLOSE as possible! i think 8 or 9 (at least) people with point-and-shoot cameras would really capture the moment. oh, and don't bother turning the flashes off, it really brings an air of celebration to the event.

you should also look into buying a 4-octave keyboard (the silver ones with purple keys are the classiest) and have someone (anyone, really) on guard to play a few random chords in between every word spoken in the wedding ceremony. and i mean, EVERY WORD. it works best if you keep some of the chords hanging while you're saying romantic things, like your vows. it has the same effect as an alter-call on television. seriously, the key-board would be a good investment for your marriage.

lastly, in order to make a few extra bucks, you should really consider taking an involentary offering at some point during the ceremony. and, get this, the way you really get their money is to make everyone come to the front and put their money in the same basket, that way, if anyone doesn't want to give you money, they look stupid or selfish. it's really clever. and economical.


please know this sarcastic little instalment was writen with a large amount of fondness in my heart.

(:Smiles:)

Maggie

clubbing in butare and business cards

So...

It's been almost 2 weeks since i last wrote. I've sat down many times to write the next installment in my journey, but i always get a little overwhelmed. There are too many tastes, smells, moments where i've laughed out loud in the street when an unknowing rwandan makes my day and i think to myself "I need to tell this story to my friends at home." and then I think of my beautiful friends at home.... who have their own lives and continue to wake up and drink lattes, go to church and plan weddings, all thousands of miles away. what do i say to them? what part of this silly little experience matters enough to send it (albeit electronically) a thousand miles away?

it's intimidating, to say the least (david wright, i'm afraid, takes the proverbial "intimidation-cake" :) add that to to the fact that I just finished "The Kite Runner" and now my confidence as a writer is significantly diminished in comparison. beautiful book. read it, everyone.

But we all have a story to tell, don't we? Even if it doesn't exactly make sense? so, take a deep breath

:: aaaahhhhh::

...and move forward.

Hmmm. ok. bullet point version (always helpful in school):

Last week:

-Met Dustin and Vaughn, two young dreamers from california starting a bike company in Zambia (http://www.abikes.org/), here for the week to check out Project Rwanda (a similar bike project in Rwanda, started by Tom Ritchey: http://www.projectrwanda.org/ check out the video gallery!)

Highlight: the night we were having a fancy dinner on the hotel's patio complete with live entertainment. Dustin and Vaughn politely asked to borrow the mic (and the band) and sang a riveting rendition of Enrique's "I can be your hero, baby" at the top of their lungs while the crowd of upper-class rwandans cheered.

-Friday, we road-tripped down to Butare, a southern province of Rwanda, for the "Wooden Bike Classic"; a series of 3 races: an 80 mile road race, a coffee-bike race and a 10 mile mountain bike course. "Team Rwanda" cleaned up the medals. The afternoons were spent lounging like fat Americans on the patio of the only suitable restaurant in town. it was a motley crew, comprised of big-shots from NGOs, Olympics-gold-medalists and editors of big magazines (notice how i didn't mention any names. don't want to get into trouble) and those of us who were just there because our dads were. Good people, bad beer, lots in common. What they say is true about doing what you love and meeting people you love because their doing the same thing...? you know, something fortune cookie-ish like that.

-Saturday night, there was a huge dinner held for all those involved in the races (i was invited by virtue of being my father's daughter), complete with rwandan music and dancing. all the muzungus (the local word for "rich" or "white" person) felt left out, so we decided to take matters into our own hands and find our own venue through which to express ourselves. a crummy, hole-in-the-wall called the "safari club" which turned out to be the only place open after 9pm, no competition. to accurately describe the wonders of the safari club would take several pages of writing. suffice to say, the only drinks at the bar were straight-whiskey, banana beer (locally smashed and fermented) and warm coke, and the whole place reeked of urine... as if people were literally wetting themselves while dancing. sorry for the detail. but, as always in these situations, there is strength in numbers. we banded together and had a great time dancing long into the night.

Highlight: glancing over my shoulder to find my little brother thomas in a circle (holding hands) with 5 rwandan men, dancing a sloppy form of what i now call the hokeypokey-caberet with lots of flailing arms. and yes, i regret to say, the rwandans were totally copying him. ever seen the 80's movie "can't buy me love"? it was sorta like that, the guy who has no idea what he's doing appears like he does because he's "popular" or, in thomas' case "white". I finally had to pull thomas away from a gentleman who was dancing a little too close (to put it mildly) for my comfort.

(To tommy's credit, he interacts with Rwandans like a dream. He has enduring patience for the language barrier, doesn't mind the the cultural standards physical contact (male hand holding, etc.) and has only showered twice since we've been here. I think he'll do just fine. Tomorrow (sniff) he leaves for the Orphanage. He, in spite of his relentless clueless questioning, will be sorely missed.)

-the weekend's festivities culminated with a wooden bike race, which (here comes a passive-aggressive side-note) i regret to report i missed on account of justin being grumpy and old-manish. he made us leave early and i was so annoyed that, like a 12-year-old, i didn't speak a word the whole 2-hours' drive home (real mature, maggie).

ok, so those weren't really bullet points as much as huge paragraphs. sorry about that. and i didn't even get to the business cards... but don't anyone freak out. i promise to address the business cards in my next blog.

I still don't have anything close to confidence concerning my presence in Rwanda, but i'm beginning to be more comfortable with that posture as time goes on and i am being met by God in simple and beautiful ways. for instance, i am typing from the couch of my new "home". I've been granted asylum with a lovely couple from the states, Otto and Virginia Helweg. Otto won the equivalent of a Nobel prize for water. He's in Rwanda drilling wells. Virginia, when she's not bird-watching or cooking me food, spends her days teaching art classes and writing a book on the Song of Solomon. I'm so thankful to be here. we have have a beautiful view of the city from our balcony. Free room, board, broad-band, and all the mini-bananas i can eat; What more could you ask for? I'm not exactly roughing it... as they say.

but who cares what "they" say?

goodnight, dear friends.


maggie

awake at 4:30am

So, i guess i'm not jet-lag-invincible.

After playing "Brick-Breaker" for the past hour on my phone, I figure it's time to do something productive with my awake hours.

In our hotel room. Tommy's trying to sleep (at about 5am, i caught him online looking at finger charts for a concertina, an obscure, accordion-like instrument, which he has yet to get his hands on). I'm trying not to type too loudly.

It's funny, at home, I don't have time to write, pray, think, blog... but in Rwanda, everything changes. The important things you couldn't fit in become priorities and everything else sort of fades away.

As long as I am in this Hotel, I won't feel like I'm in Rwanda. We're getting the red carpet treatment for the week because I'm here with a bunch of potential investors. The Rwanda they see (driving around in SUVs, eating at the best Indian restaurants, helicopter rides, gorillas...) is almost comical. It's great, but not the Rwanda I know and love. This afternoon I head back to the village where I lived and worked 4 years ago, which has since then changed it's name. It will always be Ruhengeri to me. I've been told it has changed significantly. Go figure. That stupid line "the only thing constant in this world is change" is haunting me. Sure, relationships are still there, the sun still rises and it still rains 20 minutes a day, but I am older, we are older. I don't have the same wide-eyed youth I came with last time. I am thinking about my life in a different way now, and that changes everything. I wonder why I am here this time. Who sent me? Or do I just think I was sent? Who's running this show anyways?

Not to get all existential on you... :)


Yesterday, for the day's activity, I set out to find my old friend, Justin. Justin is from Little Rock and was here the last time I was in Rwanda. We were each other's company for those few months at Sonrise. Suffice to say he is a dear friend. I knew he was back in Rwanda, but since I didn't want him to know I was coming, I tried to stealthily find out his coordinates over facebook messages. No luck. All I had was a phone number (which I couldn't call, because I love surprises) and a rough area of town. So, optimistic Maggie jumped in a taxi with a piece of paper with a few scribbled words on it, and 5000 francs (equivalent of about $10). I thought we could just, you know, drive over to that area of town and keep our eyes out for Living Water International (the org. that justin is working with). No such luck. About a half an hour later, after driving up and down all the main roads in Kigali, I finally asked the taxi driver to call Justin on my phone and ask where he was. The taxi driver agreed. But when the call went through, he simply said "he" and thrust the phone into my hands. Unwilling, at this point, to give up the game, I hung up. I asked if there was any type of operator or 411 number to call. He just looked confused. Stupid question, Maggie. They don't even have phonebooks. I saw a sign for a guest house "near-by" so I said "let's try going there and see if someone can help us". The guest house turned out to be 2 miles away on a treacherously bumpy road. Like, 2 foot ravines running through the dirt. We finally arrived and I went in. There was a sweet man behind the desk who agreed to call Justin. I found out later that he made up some story in Kinerwandan about wanting to come for a meeting about water. Very clever, very kind. We were back on the road with the name of the building. After another 10 minutes of driving, we came to the "Ministry of Infrastructure". This must be it. I ran up the steps only to find a totally deserted first floor. "Does anyone know where Living Water International is?" No, they didn't. The security guard didn't, the 7 people milling around by the side door didn't, and all the doors were locked. Great. But then came a woman in high heels carrying a brief case... she looked promising. Sure enough, she knew how to get up to the second floor. I went up to the second floor. Again, does anyone know where LWI is. Nope. I asked a woman behind a desk for someone who spoke better english. "Yes" she said, but didn't move. "Can you go get her?" I asked. "Yes" she said "Wait". 5 Minutes later, a woman comes out. I ask again. Sure enough, she knows that there is a white man called Justin who works one floor up. Stupid me, this whole time I was asking for Living Water International when I could have just been looking for Justin. So, I go up the stairs and, sure enough, there's Justin, talking on his cell-phone with his endearing southern drawl. If only I could have bottled his face. Suffice to say, he was surprised. It was well worth the pains.

Woah, sorry, that took a little longer than most stories, but, hopefully, it will give you an idea of how things work around here. That episode is an everyday occurrence here. So, when the questions arise about what exactly I'm doing here, I will smile, say something about the Archbishop and, in my mind, refer to this anecdote. Who am I kidding to make plans? As westerners like to say "TIA" (This is Africa). "Plans", in the western sense, don't really fly here.

I could say something now about our meetings with Bishop John and the Archbishop and where I plan to live and work etc., but I don't know much at this point and I'm afraid I've written too much already. If I keep up this pace, you'll all lose interest. Suffice to say, I am embarking on an adventure which (quite literally) only God knows about. It's a wonderful and terrifying place to be. Before leaving, I was prayed over by two trusted friends who both said they had a strong sense I would benefit greatly from God's word during this time and that this would be new season of experiencing God in a way I never have before. Please pray for me, if you want. There is much to be revealed...

and more writing to come...

Peace, all,
Maggie

ps. Thomas is now playing his banjo in the corner chair. i hope the room next to us can't hear.

if there's one thing certain about this year, it's Thomas' music :)

the time has come my little friends

hello, world.

Whelp, here it is... my first ever blog. HA! watch me do that thing that only "those people" do.

why?

because the internet connection in Rwanda is much to volatile to trust the group email system. This way, when the electricity goes out because someone in the village used a hair-dryer, the eloquence is safe in the arms of google.

what a relief.

I don't have much to say because I'm currently at Frost Lake Day... enjoying the last few moments of family togetherness, but tomorrow I depart, and I can guarantee a few traveling goodies by next week.

So, now we are established. Blog, nice to make your acquaintance.

Peace.

Maggie