Travelling brings out the best and worst in people, particularly international travel. I have learned this the hard way on numerous occasion, yet am always astonished when I find myself on a weekend where we’re leaning much towards the latter. Coupled with the somewhat inevitability of the artificial, superficial expat world, one typically finds it completely acceptable to by-pass niceties, jump in with both feet, and force oneself into a level of closeness that would otherwise simply not jive in most other settings. It’s part of the transient lifestyle, the adventure, the attitude. Therefore, it didn’t require second thought when planning a weekend trip to Burundi (a short, five hour drive to the small country south of Rwanda) with four other people I have barely known a shade over a month.
There is also something to be said about expectations when travelling, personal perceptions of culture, and overall cohesiveness of groups. My travel companions in a nutshell: a 50-something Indian man who has spent the majority of the last two decades shuttling around East Africa for business. He is more Kenyan than he is Indian…and a complete wild man. Add his silent counterpart: a shy, 20-something, non-drinking Indian Muslim; a 24 year-old sassy Dominicana Americana who also attends Tulane; and a Pittsburgh native and fellow-RPCV from Togo. We were a regular old Benetton advertisement.
I learned quickly that my own expectations were being challenged before we even left Kigali. Evidently Indian time is not a far stretch from African time. Leaving at 10 am really meant 12:30…and that was pushing it. Breathe. The drive was gorgeous as we climbed hills and fell into lush valleys, watching the vegetation become more tropical as we drove farther south. Indian Punjabi music blaring on the semi-functional stereo system; escaping into novels; Ipod salvation; resentful silence; napping…ahhhhh; polite chitchat.
We arrived in bustling Bujumbura just around sundown. At first glance, Burundians are a bit more of a lively bunch that the peaceful calm the Rwandese project. Outgoing, lovers-of-life, energetic, colorful, welcoming. These were my first impressions.
Hindi, Kiswahili, French, English (and I assume some well-warranted choice words in Spanish muttered under the breath)…Burundian francs, US dollars, Rwandan francs. And I wonder why we’re not getting along? It was pure mayhem across the board. Utter confusion every step of the way. Wait, you don’t eat ANYTHING but Indian food? Really? I thought YOU had enough Burundian francs to pay for dinner! Alcoholics socializing with non-alcoholics. Workaholics frustrated with pending deadlines and lack of internet access. Pasty white gals needing too much sunscreen. Disastrous.
I have to say overall, against all odds, I really did enjoy myself. We stayed on the beach at a lively joint which had a dance party going at all times and an amazing view of the mountains and Lake Tanganyika, Africa’s deepest freshwater lake. I spent much of Saturday hopping waves with some Burundian teens, who asked me endless questions about hip hop and Michael Jackson. I fell in love with a four year old named Ritchie, who basically shuffled between my beach towel and my lap all afternoon and giggled uncontrollably while drinking his Fanta and hiding bottle caps in the sand. Magical.
Saturday night, we somehow ended up at the Indian restaurant (again) and got swindled into attending the expat party of all expat parties…karaoke night at the Marine Corps house. Now THIS is what I call cross-cultural exchange. Seriously? I have to say, my Bobby McGee rendition was a bit weak due to the small crowd (and lack of cocktails consumed) but overall, it was interesting to see the expat scene in Bujumbura compared to Kigali. Shocker to discover that it was basically the same. A bunch of Westerners over-indulging in their beverage of choice, chain smoking cheap African cigarettes, and listening to their favorite MJ tunes while figuring out how to score for the night. Pretty standard.
Sunday I stayed on the beach all morning, laying around on day beds plush with pillows and sparkling pools and fruit smoothies and small, inquisitive toddlers wanting to befriend the very pale American in her bandanna and tankini. (Please don’t judge me about the hairy legs. I haven’t had hot water for days). It was a really beautiful day. I started reading a fabulous book. I was consumed with sunshine and music and breeze. It was lovely.
Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the drive home. Bickering. Fighting over where to eat lunch. Hindi. English. Hindi. English. KiSwahili. Go. To. Hell. Stupid. Ass. Face. Racing to the border before it closed. Mommy and Daddy are fighting again! Oh dear Lord, was I happy to reach Kigali and peace out to my travel companions. I’m not entirely sure I’ve processed the weekend entirely, if I will ever subject myself to such social turmoil again. Maybe there’s something to be said for riding solo…at least to the restaurant of your choice =)
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Truth and Beauty
There is a moment when travelling when your mind shifts from initial perceptions of a new place, filled with questions and shock and interest into the next layer of complexity—where suddenly what you observe begins to enter a certain realm of normalcy and routine, yet you begin to gain a deeper understanding of what is going on around you, or at least make valid attempts to.
I just spent the last few days in the countryside-partially doing field work and also to celebrate Liberation Day. Getting away from the organized, regimented, structured world of Kigali and heading out into the rural areas (where the majority of Rwanda’s 10 million people live) both simplifies and magnifies the complexity that is Rwanda. In one sense, rural living highlights simplicity; it is red dirt, hand-washed laundry drying in the sun, mud houses, jerry cans strung to the back of bicycles, groups of men hovering around a radio. It is small children wearing ill-fitting clothing, waving at the mzungus in the white SUV. It’s the livelihoods of farmers and village woman selling and weaving and chopping. It is the commonality that is Africa. It is beauty in its purest form.
While this lifestyle is simplistic by our standards, impressions are challenged by the complexity of comprehending this type of poverty and recent history—the daily survival and struggle faced by people that have most likely never visited Kigali, where a President makes decisions for a nation based on progress and forward-movement that the majority of Rwandese will never directly benefit from. It’s almost impossible to watch the gentle-natured Rwandese and picture their lives fifteen years ago during the genocide—the terror and fear they felt; the loss they continue to endure; the violence they witnessed and the loss of trust in their neighbors, communities and the rest of the world as we sat back and watched. And while their government strives towards “One people, one destiny”, there is an unmistakable sadness for that part of their history, and the pain is still very fresh.
Liberation Day commemorates the official end of the genocide when the RFP took over power in 1994. I spent the weekend at Lake Kivu with some friends, appreciating the quiet and also trying to wrap my head around what this nation was like 15 years ago. It’s devastating to think about. Truly. And even more perplexing as I watched the calming sunset over the lake, and how different Rwanda now is, realizing that on the other side, the Congo continues over a decade of suffering similar atrocities…and the chaos and horror faced by the Congolese due to corruption, greed, natural resources, tribal conflict, a breakdown in infrastructure and government–an enormously divided country in the heart of Africa awaiting any sort of rescue. And yet they wait…
For being such a tiny country, Rwanda boasts about its biodiversity…lakes, mountains, forest, volcanoes, plains…as it rightly deserves to. It is magnificent. So, I guess it’s a natural tendency to reflect on one’s own existence when surrounded by such a backdrop. It helped that the village we stayed in was well-lit by the full moon—Africa’s flashlight paving the way. As a dear friend mentioned before I left, this type of work awakens something in me that typically lies dormant in the States. I believe this to be true, and why I’m continuously drawn back to the continent of Africa. It allows me to see my own life with clarity and invites questions that are otherwise dismissed or ignored at home. In that sense, it’s a great privilege to seek that kind of meaning in my life. So yes, after a month in this deeply gorgeous yet pained nation, the cobwebs are once again beginning to clear…and I am opening myself up to the truth and beauty that is Rwanda.
I just spent the last few days in the countryside-partially doing field work and also to celebrate Liberation Day. Getting away from the organized, regimented, structured world of Kigali and heading out into the rural areas (where the majority of Rwanda’s 10 million people live) both simplifies and magnifies the complexity that is Rwanda. In one sense, rural living highlights simplicity; it is red dirt, hand-washed laundry drying in the sun, mud houses, jerry cans strung to the back of bicycles, groups of men hovering around a radio. It is small children wearing ill-fitting clothing, waving at the mzungus in the white SUV. It’s the livelihoods of farmers and village woman selling and weaving and chopping. It is the commonality that is Africa. It is beauty in its purest form.
While this lifestyle is simplistic by our standards, impressions are challenged by the complexity of comprehending this type of poverty and recent history—the daily survival and struggle faced by people that have most likely never visited Kigali, where a President makes decisions for a nation based on progress and forward-movement that the majority of Rwandese will never directly benefit from. It’s almost impossible to watch the gentle-natured Rwandese and picture their lives fifteen years ago during the genocide—the terror and fear they felt; the loss they continue to endure; the violence they witnessed and the loss of trust in their neighbors, communities and the rest of the world as we sat back and watched. And while their government strives towards “One people, one destiny”, there is an unmistakable sadness for that part of their history, and the pain is still very fresh.
Liberation Day commemorates the official end of the genocide when the RFP took over power in 1994. I spent the weekend at Lake Kivu with some friends, appreciating the quiet and also trying to wrap my head around what this nation was like 15 years ago. It’s devastating to think about. Truly. And even more perplexing as I watched the calming sunset over the lake, and how different Rwanda now is, realizing that on the other side, the Congo continues over a decade of suffering similar atrocities…and the chaos and horror faced by the Congolese due to corruption, greed, natural resources, tribal conflict, a breakdown in infrastructure and government–an enormously divided country in the heart of Africa awaiting any sort of rescue. And yet they wait…
For being such a tiny country, Rwanda boasts about its biodiversity…lakes, mountains, forest, volcanoes, plains…as it rightly deserves to. It is magnificent. So, I guess it’s a natural tendency to reflect on one’s own existence when surrounded by such a backdrop. It helped that the village we stayed in was well-lit by the full moon—Africa’s flashlight paving the way. As a dear friend mentioned before I left, this type of work awakens something in me that typically lies dormant in the States. I believe this to be true, and why I’m continuously drawn back to the continent of Africa. It allows me to see my own life with clarity and invites questions that are otherwise dismissed or ignored at home. In that sense, it’s a great privilege to seek that kind of meaning in my life. So yes, after a month in this deeply gorgeous yet pained nation, the cobwebs are once again beginning to clear…and I am opening myself up to the truth and beauty that is Rwanda.
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