Move around Mabel

I’m beginning to realize that no matter how long I remain in Rwanda, there is very little about the expat lifestyle that is not fleeting, momentary. Since I last wrote, I have moved twice, started a new project, welcomed two MSW/MPH interns from Tulane to Rwanda, said goodbye to new acquaintances, and even met a seemingly incredible companion. Overall, I’m really happy I decided to stay in Kigali. I continue to greatly enjoy my colleagues and learn a great deal from them on a daily basis. Not only is the work challenging me to gain new skills, but I have been lucky enough to do some field work bringing me out into rural communities which is always such a great lesson in humility and survival. It has truly been a great gift to try to comprehend the people here, their culture, and what makes them Rwandese. I focus much of my daily intention on staying aware, staying open, allowing for a continuous learning curve that only seems to offer more questions.

Two weekends ago, Karen (one of the new interns) and I went back to Lake Kivu, only this time to the sleepy town of Kibuye. You can walk the entire circuit of the village in under 2 hours, with the lake serving as a calm and peaceful backdrop amidst small islands, jutting cliffs, and trees growing along the mountainside. We stayed at a guest house on the edge of a cliff, with spectacular views of the lake on both sides. Up the road sits a church with stained glass and a tall steeple…the site of one of the worst massacres of the genocide. Over 4,000 people gathered there seeking refuge…and were later killed. It is a hauntingly beautiful spot, with mass graves and memorials…difficult to believe what took place there. It’s hard not to imagine the trauma this community endured…an alarming 9 of every 10 Tutsis were killed in this small lakeside town. It really makes me wonder how little I truly comprehend of Rwandan people, and how they continue to grow and strengthen as a country…the resilience they must have to lead the lives they do. I found Kibuye to be an ironically peaceful place—filled with friendly, calm inhabitants greeting us all day, small children running up to give us hugs, inquisitive yet shy school children wanting to practice their English with the mzungus. Again, words can’t really describe how humbling it was to walk through town and not think about what occurred. I’m beginning to think the longer I’m here, the less I’ll truly understand.

On a much, much lighter note, I am not sure how much I’ve shared about my living situations since I’ve gotten to town. My first month here, I rented from a couple who I knew indirectly through friends of friends from Peace Corps Togo. While a gorgeous house and a relatively nice location in town, it lacked furniture. Like any furniture. I had a bed to sleep in, of course, but with the exception of a very small bookshelf housing my journal and three month supply of sunscreen, the house was empty. Month two I was offered a free place to stay for an American couple who was heading home for annual leave. I was asked to housesit, dog sit, cat sit. I realized during this month that there is no such thing as free lunch. The dog is 4 months, and two days into August, I find myself assisting the local veterinarian in a spay surgery on the dining room table. Um, not the best day I’ve ever had. The cat is 15, and a curmudgeonly old soul—has not yet adapted to the puppy (or the children for that matter). The pets kept me and Lila on our toes and we spent endless hours watching The Office and 30 Rock on the delicious Apple TV until our eyeballs popped out. Then I move in with a 40 year old Indian bachelor and restaurant owner. He literally lives next door to the Tulane office. I open his gate, take about 10 paces to my right, and I’m at work. With rainy season on the way…absolute perfection. I moved in August 28.

Saturday morning I wake up to the sound of packaging tape. I emerge from my room to have Patel inform me that we are indeed moving…the Belgian owner of the house is back in Kigali and wants to move in. Um, huh? Patel assures me that he doesn’t want to disrupt my weekend in any way, but after a few careful minutes of observation, I realize bachelors are not the best movers. Patel was basically taking curtains off the windows, emptying his closet in a huge pile on the floor, and bundling the curtains up to be transported to the new location. Um, do you not have any luggage? Don’t worry dear, he says. Um, ok. I’ll be at the coffee shop. Call me when you’re at the other end and need a woman’s touch. I must say, the new apartment is beautiful…right in the center of town behind the bus station and within walking distance to just about anywhere (although a much longer commute to work…wuh wa). Who cares that it’s technically an office building and everyone else is working for Ecobank, Western Union, or the local radio station? Do I find it odd that I’m sharing an apartment (and a closet!) with an Indian man I barely met two weeks ago? Not at all! Please pass the naan. Only in Africa.