We made it back alive, and went straight to Centre St. Vincent, the hostel run by nuns, who laughed at our condition on arrival (we must have been a sight) and took really good care of us. Then I decided that I really needed a hot shower, so on Thursday I went to the beach to a nice hotel with a real bed and hot water and spent two days recuperating and sifting through my summer experience. Today I tried to make it to Uganda, but halfway there on the bus my digestive system rebelled and I had to get off at the nearest town to stay the night. Luckily, that town is Ruhengeri, and I'm back at St. Vincent's with the nuns.
In all the time I have had to think and write, I have come to some conclusions about life and my trip in Rwanda. Things like this always seem trite, but I'll try my best...
The most important things are ones we tend to ignore because they're right in front of us: time with family, shared daily activities like making dinner, a beautiful sunset, the chance to share a laugh ith a stranger.
No matter how busy and stressful life is, there is always time to say hello.
People who drop by uninvited and unannounced are not just friends; they become family. They should be seen as blessings, not annoyances.
Keeping relationships informal creates friends wherever you go. Paying with food or an exchange of services forges a bond that money can't touch.
Sometimes there are things competely out of your control: rainy season, public taxis, etc. Not stressing about them and focusing only on what you can control makes you much more effective at accomplishing things.
People generally pull through; trusting them will get you better results than doubting them will.
People are generally good. Acting on this shouldn't mean being naive or stupid; but fearing everyone cuts you out of some amazing relationships and experiences.
Do not pity poverty. People don't want your pity, or if they do it is only because they have figured out the most effective way of exploiting white guilt. What they want is exposure to the things you have access to, and some help getting their hands on the tools that have not been available to them. The rest they are capable of doing, and pitying them is limiting.
Do not idealize their traditional ways of life. Tradition can be stifling. Some aspects of it are beautiful, but coupled with those things are poverty, disease, oppression, repression, ignorance, and anger. This is not to say we should attempt to change their culture either, but to see their lives as idyllic is far too simplistic.
There is a fine line between respecting the culture tht you are a guest in and denying the person you are and your own culture. Sometimes modificatiopns in behavior and small lies of omission help things go more smoothly. But if people welcome you into their homes and their lives, it is because they, too, are curious about another way of life. Be honest with them, because they already love you, and it's not like they don't know that things are different where you come from. That's why they asked. Explain why you believe what you do, but also don't expect to change their minds on the spot. If there is something that you're going to try to convince them of (like the importance of gender equality) make sure you choose your timing and audience carefully. Make sure, as well, that you are in the right mood and frame of mind.
Always dress nicely and shine your shoes. It counts.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Ellen versus the volcano
Two asides before I start this. Number one: I am out of the news loop, but can someone please explain why Tony Snow AND Karl Rove are resigning? I am ready to jump for joy, but I also have the sneaking suspicion that this means something sinister has happened and we don't know the half of it yet. Number two: As I sit here typing this, in EQUATORIAL AFRICA, I am wearing a wool sweater, long underwear under my jeans, and a scarf. Seriously, what is up?
Now for the real story. Since I last updated, the following things have happened: I found travel buddies and decided to climb a volcano. The office of tourism did not manage to give us any of the right information, so we attempted to walk 14 km to Kinigi; the town where park headquarters are, but no buses go... Then we spent a sleepless night camping at a hotel, and then we headed out for the hike. This is a classic tale of overestimating ourselves and underestimating the mountain. For about an hour, things were amazing. We were so excited to actually be there after the horrendously complicated ordeal that preceded the excursion. Then we realized that only hiring one porter and switching off carrying the other pack was ridiculous. But the guide's porter was amazing and took our other bag in addition to the one he already had. Porters are incredible. So that solved our problem, and life was good again. Until the hike started to get really intense and involve shin-deep mud and person-height stinging nettles, which I am still covered in. But we kept our chins up. Until it started to rain tropical amounts of rain and soak all our warm clothes. But we kept our chins up. Until it started to hail. (For full effect, at this point you should know that I am wearing shorts, a t-shirt, a shell raincoat, and chacos. Brilliant, Ellen.) Now I'm starting to not be so happy. So we ask the guide, Espoir, how much longer we have until we reach the base camp where we will sleep. At the tourism office, the guy told us the hike to the base camp takes two hours, so we're thinking that we are probably close. Wrong. Espoir says that it will be two more hours, maybe one and a half if we really go fast. In those two hours, we will gain about 700 meters in altitude; and we're already starting to feel it.
After a few minutes, Myriam starts stopping a lot. (You should know that she has low-grade food poisoning and thus cannot keep food down, so is essentially running on nothing at this point.) And I'm doing okay, except I'm freezing to death, running on no sleep, and trying to mentally convince myself that I don't have food poisoning, which ultimately was not the case. So while we are stopped, I realize that I can no longer feel my hands and feet, and I panic a bit. I'm trying to explain in very broken kinyarwanda that I need to keep walking, that we have to split up into two groups because if I stop I'll never make it. Normally splitting up is not a good idea, but I figured it would be okay because accompanying Myriam and myself were the following people: Espoir the guide, two super-human porters, and 12 members of the Rwandese army, equipped with satellite communication devices, AK-47s, and a rocket launcher. (More on that later.) So we split up, and in my panicked craze, I made it up that mountain in record time, but I'm not really sure how because I sort of blacked out. I do remember hallucinating that trees were the base camp, though. When we arrived, I took off my wet stuff and ate lots of food, and was sane again. But I still couldn't feel my extremities. The army dudes made a fire, and I tried to dry my clothes but it was so cold out that they wouldn't dry, so I was left with jeans, one sweater, and a not-nearly-warm enough sleeping bag (which I had carried under my raincoat). We pitched the tent, and I got in it to conserve body heat. I passed another sleepless night, shivering the whole time, still not able to feel my hands and feet, and at 6 am we got up and came back down the mountain. On the whole, it was not as horrible as this account makes it seem, because situations like that provide so much opportunity for irony and self-deprication, and we all know how much I love those. And it was a major learning experience. Here are my big lessons: 1) What Oregonian does not have a rain cover for her pack? Seriously. 2) When the guide tells you that you should get porters, do it. 3) When the guide tells you that many people don't even make it to the base camp, listen and think. 4) Difficult hikes are tons of fun when you're in good shape, and not fun at all when you're not. Get your butt to the gym this semester. 5) The "dry season" excludes the Virunga volcano range. 6) As stated earlier, Africa is not always warm. 7) If the fees for climbing the volcano seem really high, it's not because they're trying to rip you off, it's because 12 military guys need to get payed for keeping you safe.
Safe from what, you ask? They tried to tell us that there are dangerous animals in the mountains, which is probably true. But we were skeptical that animals merited that many guys and a rocket launcher. Plus, the mountains do border DRC, and it is the region where many different militia groups chill out, most notably the former Interahamwe. After Mymi and I pointed these things out, they finally admitted that there was an ever-so-slight chance of an attack by one of those groups. Add that to the list of things to know before you go.
Now for the real story. Since I last updated, the following things have happened: I found travel buddies and decided to climb a volcano. The office of tourism did not manage to give us any of the right information, so we attempted to walk 14 km to Kinigi; the town where park headquarters are, but no buses go... Then we spent a sleepless night camping at a hotel, and then we headed out for the hike. This is a classic tale of overestimating ourselves and underestimating the mountain. For about an hour, things were amazing. We were so excited to actually be there after the horrendously complicated ordeal that preceded the excursion. Then we realized that only hiring one porter and switching off carrying the other pack was ridiculous. But the guide's porter was amazing and took our other bag in addition to the one he already had. Porters are incredible. So that solved our problem, and life was good again. Until the hike started to get really intense and involve shin-deep mud and person-height stinging nettles, which I am still covered in. But we kept our chins up. Until it started to rain tropical amounts of rain and soak all our warm clothes. But we kept our chins up. Until it started to hail. (For full effect, at this point you should know that I am wearing shorts, a t-shirt, a shell raincoat, and chacos. Brilliant, Ellen.) Now I'm starting to not be so happy. So we ask the guide, Espoir, how much longer we have until we reach the base camp where we will sleep. At the tourism office, the guy told us the hike to the base camp takes two hours, so we're thinking that we are probably close. Wrong. Espoir says that it will be two more hours, maybe one and a half if we really go fast. In those two hours, we will gain about 700 meters in altitude; and we're already starting to feel it.
After a few minutes, Myriam starts stopping a lot. (You should know that she has low-grade food poisoning and thus cannot keep food down, so is essentially running on nothing at this point.) And I'm doing okay, except I'm freezing to death, running on no sleep, and trying to mentally convince myself that I don't have food poisoning, which ultimately was not the case. So while we are stopped, I realize that I can no longer feel my hands and feet, and I panic a bit. I'm trying to explain in very broken kinyarwanda that I need to keep walking, that we have to split up into two groups because if I stop I'll never make it. Normally splitting up is not a good idea, but I figured it would be okay because accompanying Myriam and myself were the following people: Espoir the guide, two super-human porters, and 12 members of the Rwandese army, equipped with satellite communication devices, AK-47s, and a rocket launcher. (More on that later.) So we split up, and in my panicked craze, I made it up that mountain in record time, but I'm not really sure how because I sort of blacked out. I do remember hallucinating that trees were the base camp, though. When we arrived, I took off my wet stuff and ate lots of food, and was sane again. But I still couldn't feel my extremities. The army dudes made a fire, and I tried to dry my clothes but it was so cold out that they wouldn't dry, so I was left with jeans, one sweater, and a not-nearly-warm enough sleeping bag (which I had carried under my raincoat). We pitched the tent, and I got in it to conserve body heat. I passed another sleepless night, shivering the whole time, still not able to feel my hands and feet, and at 6 am we got up and came back down the mountain. On the whole, it was not as horrible as this account makes it seem, because situations like that provide so much opportunity for irony and self-deprication, and we all know how much I love those. And it was a major learning experience. Here are my big lessons: 1) What Oregonian does not have a rain cover for her pack? Seriously. 2) When the guide tells you that you should get porters, do it. 3) When the guide tells you that many people don't even make it to the base camp, listen and think. 4) Difficult hikes are tons of fun when you're in good shape, and not fun at all when you're not. Get your butt to the gym this semester. 5) The "dry season" excludes the Virunga volcano range. 6) As stated earlier, Africa is not always warm. 7) If the fees for climbing the volcano seem really high, it's not because they're trying to rip you off, it's because 12 military guys need to get payed for keeping you safe.
Safe from what, you ask? They tried to tell us that there are dangerous animals in the mountains, which is probably true. But we were skeptical that animals merited that many guys and a rocket launcher. Plus, the mountains do border DRC, and it is the region where many different militia groups chill out, most notably the former Interahamwe. After Mymi and I pointed these things out, they finally admitted that there was an ever-so-slight chance of an attack by one of those groups. Add that to the list of things to know before you go.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
August 8
WOOHOOOOOO! Impact assessment officially finished. Today I actually got dizzy from staring at Excel spreadsheets for too long. I had to go walk around because my eyes were starting to freak out. But it is done: report written, appendices compiled. We present the research to the CEO, CFO, COO etc. tomorrow, which should be fine. I basically know everything by heart at this point. It feels good to have actually finished something, statistically unreliable though it may be… Our data wasn’t really clean enough to do any regression analysis, so we put everything in charts and graphs and used summary stats, which is fine because the purpose of this assessment is mainly for publicity and grant application purposes. I will see if I can get permission to put some of the findings on here, so you can check it out. Plus, this means that I can be done with work on Friday, so I can leave this weekend to travel! Here’s what I will be doing:
At the beginning of next week I’m going to climb Mt. Karisimbi, a volcano in the north of Rwanda on the border with DRC, near where the gorillas are. The climb takes a couple days and you sleep in huts on the top. It should be pretty genius. I’m going with one of the girls from Quebec who will be here for two more weeks. After we climb the volcano, we’re going to Uganda. We will go to Kabale, a town near the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. We will penetrate the impenetrable forest. There’s also a lake there, Lake Bunyoni, that is supposed to be amazing. There are some traditional Batwa communities in that area, and if there’s a discreet way to see them I really want to. Sometimes I feel like things like that are a “people safari” and that it’s really insulting for all these white people to come and take photos, buy weird-looking masks, and then leave with really no understanding of the culture at all. It’s the worst part of globalization. But, at the same time, there are communities whose economies rely on selling things to tourists, and sometimes when I’ve taken pictures with the village women at community bank meetings, they really love it. So I don’t know, I guess I will have to feel it out. From Kabale I’ll go to Kampala and Entebbe, and then to the Ssese Islands in Lake Victoria. If there’s time, I might go to Jinja and see the source of the Nile. It’s kind of far, though, and a major tourist destination (with good reason) but I’m kind of in the mood for more off-the-beaten-path type things. But, after Kabale I’ll be traveling on my own, so if off-the-beaten-path seems dangerous, then a lame tourist I will be. If anyone out there has been to Uganda, I would love some suggestions/input so I don’t rely solely on Lonely Planet.
I had kind of a cool experience after work, which I will attempt to relate, even though I feel like most of the stories like this that people try to tell never really hit on the main point. Anyway. Downtown (mu mugi) near my office, there are lots of mizungu offices. USAID, UN High Commission for Refugees, World Food Programme, Oxfam, HOPE International, and some embassies have their offices in the area where I work. And it’s in the financial district, so the government always has people cleaning things and it’s basically too beautiful and clean to be a third-world capital. So, sometimes, I feel like when I’m in town, I’m in pretend Africa or something, because it’s just weird. It does a nice job of exposing the paradoxes and ironies of Africa, though. Like the huge fountain in the roundabout that somehow always has water in it even though our running water at the house has worked a total of four days since I’ve been here. I see people with jerry cans going to get water from the fountain. And then the police chase them away. But they always come back, and the third or fourth time, the police are like, whatever, I’m not getting up again, just take the water, I don’t really care. It’s a great relationship.
That tangent was just to illustrate the fact that sometimes I feel like there is a whole city, an entire society, that lives right alongside the town that you see when you walk down the street. But you can’t find it if you don’t know where to look. I have had some glimpses of it, but it only ever appears when I’m with a Rwandese. Somehow, I can never manage to find it on my own. This mysterious city hides behind the visible shops and offices, and you have to access it through specific alley ways. But once you’re back there, it’s pretty amazing. I was first initiated when Marie, a lady from work, took me to her tailor to get a dress made. I would never be able to find the place on my own, even though it’s less than five minutes from my office. We took tons of turns down a really narrow alley/drainage ditch and arrived at a tailor, and it was like a whole other world. That’s really contrived, I know, but I’m not sure how else to describe it. Anyway, today I went hunting for a sweater after work because I need something really warm for the volcano. I went around to a few shops, but none of them had anything, and finally I found a guy who spoke French. I explained to him what I was looking for, and he took me out the back of his shop and around the block to another place. They didn’t have anything either, but one of the guys who worked there took me to another place he knew of, and so on a few more times. By the end we were so deep in the secret city that I had no idea which way was out. But I did eventually find a woman who sold sweaters, and I ended up with a cute green button-up wool sweater from… Old Navy. Where else? And either Old Navy is a luxury brand here, or they thought I was the biggest idiot ever, because they tried to make me pay 30 USD. But my bargaining skills are pretty awesome. I will be really mad at fixed prices when I get back to Montreal…
So I’m deep in the invisible city, and the guy who was helping me went back to his shop, so I had to find my way out. It was pretty awesome, and on the way I found a guy who prints things on t-shirts. Megan and I want to get t-shirts made that say (in Kinyarwanda) “If you can read this, say mizungu!” I eventually found my way out, and I was right by the bus stop place. What’s weird is that I don’t know how all those people and shops fit in between the street and normal shops. The laws of physics must be different here, which would explain why people are so good at carrying things on their heads.
At the beginning of next week I’m going to climb Mt. Karisimbi, a volcano in the north of Rwanda on the border with DRC, near where the gorillas are. The climb takes a couple days and you sleep in huts on the top. It should be pretty genius. I’m going with one of the girls from Quebec who will be here for two more weeks. After we climb the volcano, we’re going to Uganda. We will go to Kabale, a town near the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. We will penetrate the impenetrable forest. There’s also a lake there, Lake Bunyoni, that is supposed to be amazing. There are some traditional Batwa communities in that area, and if there’s a discreet way to see them I really want to. Sometimes I feel like things like that are a “people safari” and that it’s really insulting for all these white people to come and take photos, buy weird-looking masks, and then leave with really no understanding of the culture at all. It’s the worst part of globalization. But, at the same time, there are communities whose economies rely on selling things to tourists, and sometimes when I’ve taken pictures with the village women at community bank meetings, they really love it. So I don’t know, I guess I will have to feel it out. From Kabale I’ll go to Kampala and Entebbe, and then to the Ssese Islands in Lake Victoria. If there’s time, I might go to Jinja and see the source of the Nile. It’s kind of far, though, and a major tourist destination (with good reason) but I’m kind of in the mood for more off-the-beaten-path type things. But, after Kabale I’ll be traveling on my own, so if off-the-beaten-path seems dangerous, then a lame tourist I will be. If anyone out there has been to Uganda, I would love some suggestions/input so I don’t rely solely on Lonely Planet.
I had kind of a cool experience after work, which I will attempt to relate, even though I feel like most of the stories like this that people try to tell never really hit on the main point. Anyway. Downtown (mu mugi) near my office, there are lots of mizungu offices. USAID, UN High Commission for Refugees, World Food Programme, Oxfam, HOPE International, and some embassies have their offices in the area where I work. And it’s in the financial district, so the government always has people cleaning things and it’s basically too beautiful and clean to be a third-world capital. So, sometimes, I feel like when I’m in town, I’m in pretend Africa or something, because it’s just weird. It does a nice job of exposing the paradoxes and ironies of Africa, though. Like the huge fountain in the roundabout that somehow always has water in it even though our running water at the house has worked a total of four days since I’ve been here. I see people with jerry cans going to get water from the fountain. And then the police chase them away. But they always come back, and the third or fourth time, the police are like, whatever, I’m not getting up again, just take the water, I don’t really care. It’s a great relationship.
That tangent was just to illustrate the fact that sometimes I feel like there is a whole city, an entire society, that lives right alongside the town that you see when you walk down the street. But you can’t find it if you don’t know where to look. I have had some glimpses of it, but it only ever appears when I’m with a Rwandese. Somehow, I can never manage to find it on my own. This mysterious city hides behind the visible shops and offices, and you have to access it through specific alley ways. But once you’re back there, it’s pretty amazing. I was first initiated when Marie, a lady from work, took me to her tailor to get a dress made. I would never be able to find the place on my own, even though it’s less than five minutes from my office. We took tons of turns down a really narrow alley/drainage ditch and arrived at a tailor, and it was like a whole other world. That’s really contrived, I know, but I’m not sure how else to describe it. Anyway, today I went hunting for a sweater after work because I need something really warm for the volcano. I went around to a few shops, but none of them had anything, and finally I found a guy who spoke French. I explained to him what I was looking for, and he took me out the back of his shop and around the block to another place. They didn’t have anything either, but one of the guys who worked there took me to another place he knew of, and so on a few more times. By the end we were so deep in the secret city that I had no idea which way was out. But I did eventually find a woman who sold sweaters, and I ended up with a cute green button-up wool sweater from… Old Navy. Where else? And either Old Navy is a luxury brand here, or they thought I was the biggest idiot ever, because they tried to make me pay 30 USD. But my bargaining skills are pretty awesome. I will be really mad at fixed prices when I get back to Montreal…
So I’m deep in the invisible city, and the guy who was helping me went back to his shop, so I had to find my way out. It was pretty awesome, and on the way I found a guy who prints things on t-shirts. Megan and I want to get t-shirts made that say (in Kinyarwanda) “If you can read this, say mizungu!” I eventually found my way out, and I was right by the bus stop place. What’s weird is that I don’t know how all those people and shops fit in between the street and normal shops. The laws of physics must be different here, which would explain why people are so good at carrying things on their heads.
August 5
Yesterday I saw the Quebec girls again. Some of them live in Montreal, and I’m really excited for us to be friends when I get back. They are awesome. It was their last day in Rwanda, so we went to the memorial in Nyamata and then to dinner. It was one of the memorials that I have seen already, but I saw it very early on in the trip, and it was actually harder to see the second time. Being here for two months and talking with people about their experiences, hearing about what happened firsthand really changed the way I related to the memorial. We were there with Asnathe, a friend of the Quebeckers who grew up in Nyamata, and during the genocide she was hiding in the forest right by this church, where thousands were massacred. Many of her family and friends died there. She told us about going into the church a few days after the massacre and seeing bodies piled halfway up to the ceiling. I was amazed at how composed she was through the whole thing, but then she told us that she goes to visit the memorial very often, so she is used to it by now. The guy who gave us a tour also grew up in Nyamata, and on the way back to Kigali we talked about what it must be like to work at a memorial like that. It is one thing to go and visit once in a while, but to have a full-time job that consists of talking about something that horrific must take a very strong character.
I have been really amazed at the way people are open about genocide here. When we were doing client interviews, there were some questions that asked about extended family, and people would just say “My entire family was murdered in ’94.” There were some people who had injuries that looked like genocide injuries, like they were missing hands or eyes or had large gashes in their heads that really looked like they were from machetes. They would just tell us “this is from genocide.” It is really hard to react in situations like that because what do you say to someone who had their head nearly cut in half by the Interahamwe? At the same time, I think it is good how the people want to tell us, they want us to go back and tell our friends, they want me to write this in my blog because they think that the more we are made aware of the atrocities that occurred, the more likely we are not to have another genocide like theirs.
After the memorial, we went to the market in Kimironko, the big market in Kigali, so they could smuggle sugar cane back to Canada. If they’re successful, I will also try to bring some back. It’s pretty great. It was fun for me to be the tour guide. I got us all on the right buses, showed them around the market, argued prices (in kinyarwanda!) and it was really great. I am just starting to feel at home here, even out in the city, and I’m sad to leave just when I’m starting to fit in (I use that term loosely…) It’s only recently that I’ve started to handle tricky situations with grace and humor. Like at the market, when you walk through the main gates, dozens of boys mob you and try to sell you bags, get you to pay them to carry your stuff, or just beg for money. It’s pretty intense, and definitely uncomfortable when you are going to a market to buy things and people ask you for money, because everyone knows that you have some so you’ve really got no good excuse. But I have several ways of accomplishing two key things: First, having a moment of shared humanity with the kids (like laughing together when they say “I want money” and I say “Oya, ndashaka amafaranga,” which means “no, I want money!”) and second, getting them to eventually leave me alone. It feels pretty great. Okay, back to the point. Then we went to dinner, had a great time, some really good goat brochettes, and banana beer. Warning: It is CALLED beer, but it’s actually 14% alcohol, which is a good thing to know BEFORE consumption. Just thought you all should be aware, you know, for next time you’re in East Africa.
I spent the whole afternoon and evening home today, which was great because I have been out a lot lately and haven’t gotten enough family/baby time. Neema and I hung out, and just talked about stuff and played with Wesley for hours. I am going to miss that baby.
I have been really amazed at the way people are open about genocide here. When we were doing client interviews, there were some questions that asked about extended family, and people would just say “My entire family was murdered in ’94.” There were some people who had injuries that looked like genocide injuries, like they were missing hands or eyes or had large gashes in their heads that really looked like they were from machetes. They would just tell us “this is from genocide.” It is really hard to react in situations like that because what do you say to someone who had their head nearly cut in half by the Interahamwe? At the same time, I think it is good how the people want to tell us, they want us to go back and tell our friends, they want me to write this in my blog because they think that the more we are made aware of the atrocities that occurred, the more likely we are not to have another genocide like theirs.
After the memorial, we went to the market in Kimironko, the big market in Kigali, so they could smuggle sugar cane back to Canada. If they’re successful, I will also try to bring some back. It’s pretty great. It was fun for me to be the tour guide. I got us all on the right buses, showed them around the market, argued prices (in kinyarwanda!) and it was really great. I am just starting to feel at home here, even out in the city, and I’m sad to leave just when I’m starting to fit in (I use that term loosely…) It’s only recently that I’ve started to handle tricky situations with grace and humor. Like at the market, when you walk through the main gates, dozens of boys mob you and try to sell you bags, get you to pay them to carry your stuff, or just beg for money. It’s pretty intense, and definitely uncomfortable when you are going to a market to buy things and people ask you for money, because everyone knows that you have some so you’ve really got no good excuse. But I have several ways of accomplishing two key things: First, having a moment of shared humanity with the kids (like laughing together when they say “I want money” and I say “Oya, ndashaka amafaranga,” which means “no, I want money!”) and second, getting them to eventually leave me alone. It feels pretty great. Okay, back to the point. Then we went to dinner, had a great time, some really good goat brochettes, and banana beer. Warning: It is CALLED beer, but it’s actually 14% alcohol, which is a good thing to know BEFORE consumption. Just thought you all should be aware, you know, for next time you’re in East Africa.
I spent the whole afternoon and evening home today, which was great because I have been out a lot lately and haven’t gotten enough family/baby time. Neema and I hung out, and just talked about stuff and played with Wesley for hours. I am going to miss that baby.
August 2
So, life is interesting sometimes. I have had some seriously philosophical talks the last few days, and many of them I haven’t yet had time to digest, but sometimes I’m not sure what I think until I try to explain it to others, so that’s what this is. I talked with Megan for a really long time, and we covered many topics from how we will become undevelopment workers in N. America to why I can never be a part of organized religion to justifications for not having sex before marriage. I am realizing (in Africa, strangely enough) that there are segments of American culture that are equally foreign to me as Rwandese culture is. It’s weird to realize that while I have no problem sitting in my Arabic classes talking with veiled women, it makes me really uncomfortable to have people greet me by saying “Praise Jesus.” Slowly, I am pinpointing why I feel that way, and it is bringing a lot of things to light.
I have learned a lot about American culture on this trip, and that is something I hadn’t expected at all. It’s weird for me to admit this, but in a way I have had a very narrow view of some ideas/philosophies/ways of life. This was shaped in part I think by growing up in Portland, by my education, by the generation I’m part of, and partly it’s just the way I make sense of the world. Ironically, the ideas I have been unwilling to entertain are ideas that the people who share my intellectual/philosophical culture (those blasted pinko hippie environmentalist freaks) love to call rigid and narrow-minded. But the truth is, I had simply never allowed myself the occasion to discuss these ideas with someone who could relate them in a logical way. I had only ever seen them put forth by crazy people (televangelists, for example) who presented them in off-putting or hateful ways, which made it very easy for me to write them off as psycho right-wing Evangelical neo-con gay-hating freaks. Much the same way they dismiss the dreadlocked vegan anti-capitalist freaks. Coincidence? I think not.
It’s very easy to ridicule an idea or a philosophy if you manage to keep your understanding of it simple and one-dimensional. Illegal immigrants would be a good example. If you remain ignorant and disconnected from them, it’s pretty easy to argue that they are a burden, that they’re the reason the public schools and emergency rooms are so overloaded, that we should ship them all back and build a wall between Mexico and the U.S. But if you actually hear them out, and realize that as long as life is bad enough in their home countries to make it worth risking their lives to come to the U.S., arguing that the solution is building a wall sounds juvenile and poorly reasoned. It’s not comfortable for me to say this, but I definitely had a (carefully-guarded) simplistic view of certain segments of American culture. Specifically, social conservatives and Evangelical Christians. I realize that these two groups do not always align on all the issues, but in general they have many points in common, so just bear with the generalization for this blog entry.
I was always taught that people are basically good, that we are all equal, that people should be judged based on their individual merit and not based on race, religion, creed, etc. My liberal education, specifically at SMA and Scripps, seemed to put forth a very relativist philosophy. Whether it was intended or not, I (and I think most of my classmates as well) came out of that with the idea that there are many points of view that command equal merit. Our teachers rarely told us that there was one right answer (except in math class) and the rule of thumb was that you can pretty much argue any viewpoint you like, and as long as your defense is clear, consistent, well-supported, well-documented and logical, you aren’t ‘wrong.’ It was the argumentation that counted most, not your premise. Which is a great way to teach kids how to analyze, how to deconstruct an argument, how to intelligently discuss nearly anything, and to equip them with the tools they need in order to weed their way through the many misleading propositions they will be confronted with both in and out of school.
But, it also creates a climate where logical, analytical argument is king, and anyone who makes the leap from logic to inherent belief loses some credibility.
Due to that basic paradigm, I pretty much viewed anyone who claimed that there was one absolute truth (religious, philosophical, moral, etc) as slightly less than credible. Same goes for hard-line social conservatives: Who gave them the right to determine what is okay for me? Isn’t that a great thing about America, that no matter your personal views or private actions (private: i.e. not harmful to the public good), you’re still entitled to the same liberties and freedoms the constitution provides? But instead of actually engaging in conversation about some of these questions, and trying to understand how they arrived at their conclusions, I decided that somehow they were less worthy of dialogue than people who shared my perspective. [I would like to put in my disclaimer now, which says that I am not necessarily any more in agreement with the aforementioned ideas than I was before this series of enlightening conversations. But I am able to entertain the thought that these ideas can have well-reasoned arguments behind them, and that not everyone who thinks this way is insane. Some of them are, to be sure, but then so was Tre Arrow.]
Megan is my window into conservative America, or Evangelical Land as she likes to refer to it. Although we are in line philosophically on many things, especially social justice issues, we come from such radically different backgrounds that we always seem to approach things from the opposite perspective, which is awesome and really interesting for both of us. For example, in our talk the other night, we somehow meandered onto the topic of abstinence. She has made the decision not to have sex before she gets married, and I asked her if she could just talk to me about how she came to that decision, etc. She did, and it was really interesting. I wasn’t raised in a culture that pushed the no-sex-before-marriage idea. It was more like no-sex-before-committed-adult-relationship. She was raised in a family/church/culture that definitely expected people to wait for marriage, but it also seems to be a very personal decision for her. She was funny about it, saying that in order to be the token prude she has to assume that role and joke about it, or else people think she’s weird, which is an awesome attitude to have. There was a serious explanation as well, which I’m probably not able to relate eloquently, but at the end of the conversation I respect her more for having that well though-out a philosophy, and the conviction to stand by it for quite possibly a long time.
The following day, I went to dinner with Megan and Janine, and a three-hour long conversation about religion and theology sprung from a question I have had for a long time: What do people mean when they say things like “by the blood of Jesus?” I seriously didn’t know what that meant. It seemed like a catchphrase to be used when you want to be dramatic. And Megan said that most Christians she knows probably don’t really know what it means either but they never ask about it in any case. In other conversations we’ve established that she has more in common with me and my questioning of religion/faith than she does with people at her church who are so sure about everything. Megan and Janine talked about their spiritual journeys and why they stick with their religions despite the fact that they have lots of criticisms of the church, its leaders, its actions, etc.
They tried to explain a lot of concepts that I’m not really sure I can understand, but it was definitely enlightening and I feel like I understand people better now. I can never explain exactly what I mean about issues like this, so I hope this was somewhat coherent at least. But, one good thing about being here is you get used to not being able to fully explain yourself, and it becomes no big deal, so oh well!
I have learned a lot about American culture on this trip, and that is something I hadn’t expected at all. It’s weird for me to admit this, but in a way I have had a very narrow view of some ideas/philosophies/ways of life. This was shaped in part I think by growing up in Portland, by my education, by the generation I’m part of, and partly it’s just the way I make sense of the world. Ironically, the ideas I have been unwilling to entertain are ideas that the people who share my intellectual/philosophical culture (those blasted pinko hippie environmentalist freaks) love to call rigid and narrow-minded. But the truth is, I had simply never allowed myself the occasion to discuss these ideas with someone who could relate them in a logical way. I had only ever seen them put forth by crazy people (televangelists, for example) who presented them in off-putting or hateful ways, which made it very easy for me to write them off as psycho right-wing Evangelical neo-con gay-hating freaks. Much the same way they dismiss the dreadlocked vegan anti-capitalist freaks. Coincidence? I think not.
It’s very easy to ridicule an idea or a philosophy if you manage to keep your understanding of it simple and one-dimensional. Illegal immigrants would be a good example. If you remain ignorant and disconnected from them, it’s pretty easy to argue that they are a burden, that they’re the reason the public schools and emergency rooms are so overloaded, that we should ship them all back and build a wall between Mexico and the U.S. But if you actually hear them out, and realize that as long as life is bad enough in their home countries to make it worth risking their lives to come to the U.S., arguing that the solution is building a wall sounds juvenile and poorly reasoned. It’s not comfortable for me to say this, but I definitely had a (carefully-guarded) simplistic view of certain segments of American culture. Specifically, social conservatives and Evangelical Christians. I realize that these two groups do not always align on all the issues, but in general they have many points in common, so just bear with the generalization for this blog entry.
I was always taught that people are basically good, that we are all equal, that people should be judged based on their individual merit and not based on race, religion, creed, etc. My liberal education, specifically at SMA and Scripps, seemed to put forth a very relativist philosophy. Whether it was intended or not, I (and I think most of my classmates as well) came out of that with the idea that there are many points of view that command equal merit. Our teachers rarely told us that there was one right answer (except in math class) and the rule of thumb was that you can pretty much argue any viewpoint you like, and as long as your defense is clear, consistent, well-supported, well-documented and logical, you aren’t ‘wrong.’ It was the argumentation that counted most, not your premise. Which is a great way to teach kids how to analyze, how to deconstruct an argument, how to intelligently discuss nearly anything, and to equip them with the tools they need in order to weed their way through the many misleading propositions they will be confronted with both in and out of school.
But, it also creates a climate where logical, analytical argument is king, and anyone who makes the leap from logic to inherent belief loses some credibility.
Due to that basic paradigm, I pretty much viewed anyone who claimed that there was one absolute truth (religious, philosophical, moral, etc) as slightly less than credible. Same goes for hard-line social conservatives: Who gave them the right to determine what is okay for me? Isn’t that a great thing about America, that no matter your personal views or private actions (private: i.e. not harmful to the public good), you’re still entitled to the same liberties and freedoms the constitution provides? But instead of actually engaging in conversation about some of these questions, and trying to understand how they arrived at their conclusions, I decided that somehow they were less worthy of dialogue than people who shared my perspective. [I would like to put in my disclaimer now, which says that I am not necessarily any more in agreement with the aforementioned ideas than I was before this series of enlightening conversations. But I am able to entertain the thought that these ideas can have well-reasoned arguments behind them, and that not everyone who thinks this way is insane. Some of them are, to be sure, but then so was Tre Arrow.]
Megan is my window into conservative America, or Evangelical Land as she likes to refer to it. Although we are in line philosophically on many things, especially social justice issues, we come from such radically different backgrounds that we always seem to approach things from the opposite perspective, which is awesome and really interesting for both of us. For example, in our talk the other night, we somehow meandered onto the topic of abstinence. She has made the decision not to have sex before she gets married, and I asked her if she could just talk to me about how she came to that decision, etc. She did, and it was really interesting. I wasn’t raised in a culture that pushed the no-sex-before-marriage idea. It was more like no-sex-before-committed-adult-relationship. She was raised in a family/church/culture that definitely expected people to wait for marriage, but it also seems to be a very personal decision for her. She was funny about it, saying that in order to be the token prude she has to assume that role and joke about it, or else people think she’s weird, which is an awesome attitude to have. There was a serious explanation as well, which I’m probably not able to relate eloquently, but at the end of the conversation I respect her more for having that well though-out a philosophy, and the conviction to stand by it for quite possibly a long time.
The following day, I went to dinner with Megan and Janine, and a three-hour long conversation about religion and theology sprung from a question I have had for a long time: What do people mean when they say things like “by the blood of Jesus?” I seriously didn’t know what that meant. It seemed like a catchphrase to be used when you want to be dramatic. And Megan said that most Christians she knows probably don’t really know what it means either but they never ask about it in any case. In other conversations we’ve established that she has more in common with me and my questioning of religion/faith than she does with people at her church who are so sure about everything. Megan and Janine talked about their spiritual journeys and why they stick with their religions despite the fact that they have lots of criticisms of the church, its leaders, its actions, etc.
They tried to explain a lot of concepts that I’m not really sure I can understand, but it was definitely enlightening and I feel like I understand people better now. I can never explain exactly what I mean about issues like this, so I hope this was somewhat coherent at least. But, one good thing about being here is you get used to not being able to fully explain yourself, and it becomes no big deal, so oh well!
Monday, July 30, 2007
Things I will miss...
I know I still have over a month here, but I can’t help thinking about the things I will miss when I leave. Here are the highlights:
Taxi motos. They are so cheap, efficient, fast, fun, and only a bit life-threatening
Fruit: Passion, papaya, mango, lemon (they are way better here)
The insect noises at night
Being woken up by goats and roosters in our yard
The way people greet EVERYONE when they arrive somewhere
Really amazing African tea and chapatis
The view of all the hills
The sound rain makes falling on the tin roof and the smell of the dirt roads afterward (which I miss already because it’s the dry season…)
Having family and friends drop by randomly to say hi
Girl time in the back bedroom with the baby
Preparing dinner outside (it’s actually really great, and the charcoal smells good)
The music in the public taxis
The paint jobs and tassels on the public taxis
Hitting the ceiling to signal that you want to get off the taxi
The taxi fare-taker guy who loves me because I keep my money in my bra. He says I can always take his taxi, even if it is full, he will make someone get off.
Okay, everything about the public taxis
Moms with tiny babies tied to their backs
The way that people don’t throw away very much stuff
That a coke costs 40 cents, a taxi ride 25 cents, dinner $2, a hotel room $12
The pervasive optimism even in the midst of very tough circumstances
Hearing people sing all the time
My little neighbor boy who says “Mizungu, bye!” every morning
The guys who sell stuff on the street. We call them the walking Wal-marts. They have absolutely everything, and you can send them on little errands (to get cold water, to bring you change, to find a specific thing that they don’t have) while you wait for the bus
Drinking soda (especially Fanta citron) out of glass bottles with straws.
The way that people I barely know (or don’t know at all) invite me to dinner, to their hometowns for a visit, even to their weddings
Geckos on my ceiling
The beautiful birds that live in our bushes. They are bright red, blue, yellow, or green, and really tiny.
Hilarious articles in the New Times, “Rwanda’s leading daily”
Commercials for SONARWA, which I will film and put on Youtube.
Awesome vegetation
Seeing laundry hung to dry on trees
Little kids in school uniforms
How the earth is red
Disorganized, beautiful terracing on the hills
Taxi motos. They are so cheap, efficient, fast, fun, and only a bit life-threatening
Fruit: Passion, papaya, mango, lemon (they are way better here)
The insect noises at night
Being woken up by goats and roosters in our yard
The way people greet EVERYONE when they arrive somewhere
Really amazing African tea and chapatis
The view of all the hills
The sound rain makes falling on the tin roof and the smell of the dirt roads afterward (which I miss already because it’s the dry season…)
Having family and friends drop by randomly to say hi
Girl time in the back bedroom with the baby
Preparing dinner outside (it’s actually really great, and the charcoal smells good)
The music in the public taxis
The paint jobs and tassels on the public taxis
Hitting the ceiling to signal that you want to get off the taxi
The taxi fare-taker guy who loves me because I keep my money in my bra. He says I can always take his taxi, even if it is full, he will make someone get off.
Okay, everything about the public taxis
Moms with tiny babies tied to their backs
The way that people don’t throw away very much stuff
That a coke costs 40 cents, a taxi ride 25 cents, dinner $2, a hotel room $12
The pervasive optimism even in the midst of very tough circumstances
Hearing people sing all the time
My little neighbor boy who says “Mizungu, bye!” every morning
The guys who sell stuff on the street. We call them the walking Wal-marts. They have absolutely everything, and you can send them on little errands (to get cold water, to bring you change, to find a specific thing that they don’t have) while you wait for the bus
Drinking soda (especially Fanta citron) out of glass bottles with straws.
The way that people I barely know (or don’t know at all) invite me to dinner, to their hometowns for a visit, even to their weddings
Geckos on my ceiling
The beautiful birds that live in our bushes. They are bright red, blue, yellow, or green, and really tiny.
Hilarious articles in the New Times, “Rwanda’s leading daily”
Commercials for SONARWA, which I will film and put on Youtube.
Awesome vegetation
Seeing laundry hung to dry on trees
Little kids in school uniforms
How the earth is red
Disorganized, beautiful terracing on the hills
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Fooood!
Yesterday was one of the best days I've had this whole trip! In the morning Megan and her host sister Claudia came over and we made brunch for my host family. Scrambled eggs with veggies, breakfast potatoes, pancakes, fruit, and coffee. It was really fun, and I was amazed that it all turned out well even though I had never cooked on a charcoal stove before. People liked the food, except they thought I was weird for putting honey on my pancakes. No one really likes sweet things, except that they put about four huge spoonfuls of sugar in their tea, which I think is weird, so I guess we're even. The fruit here is really amazing. We had passion fruit and mango, and it was delish. I normally don't like mango(e?)s, because I think they're slimy in a weird way, but here they are fresh and I eat them all the time. Then I went into town with Neema's cousin Lina, who took me around to her sister's house, and from there we went to a party at one of their friend's houses. It was really fun. I have been trying to spend more time with Rwandese people outside of work hours, and yesterday was exactly what I've been looking forward to doing. We had a great time, and I'm going to maybe see them again on Thursday. Plus, Lina lives in Bujumbura, so this weekend if we actually go, she will show us around there! Apparently Bujumbura has the most beautiful inland beaches in Africa, great nightlife, and good food. Lonely Planet has not let us down so far, so hopefully this will be no exception!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)