February 2006

Well, here I am. Finally arrived in Rwanda four days ago. I am feeling really good about being back in Africa again. It really hit me when I arrived at the Nairobi Airport for a short layover before I left for Kigali. First off we had to walk from our plane over about 500 meters of tarmac to get to the “gate.” It was pitch black out and there were no lights to guide the way, only the line of passengers winding around small aircrafts and still airport trolleys. When I walked into the stale terminal Bob Marley’s soothing voice provided the perfect soundtrack. The tiles were old and stained, the railings made of wood polished by who knows how many travelers’ hands. There was a thin cloud of cigarette smoke hanging in the air and I laughed to myself thinking that in California you have to stand like ten meters from a building to smoke and about those little glass cages they have for smokers in airports in the States. Ben Harper’s Sensual Feelings began to play and was followed by slow jazz. Perfect.
Kigali’s airport was just as simple, but newer and cleaner. On the landing strip there were more military helicopters than passenger carriers and I remembered all that I have read about Rwanda having the strongest military in all of central Africa - a result of the monetary and military donations made by western governments after the genocide. In Rwanda’s situation, “better late than never” doesn’t quite do it, but that seems to be the popular motif of western governments, aid organizations, and businesses here. The place is crawling with western established organizations and there is an embassy on nearly every street corner. It’s similar to Cambodia but somehow seems more serious and the organizations seem to be more efficient and, well, better organized.
Anyhow, the day after I arrived I found an apartment in a very nice area of Kigali (two blocks from President Kagame’s residence and near the now famous Hotel des Mille Collines), which is owned by a previous general of the RPF, the army that invaded Rwanda and both contributed to the start of and ended the genocide. It has an awesome view of the hills of Kigali. It is beautifully green and there are tropical flowers that are nearly as colorful and strange as those in Cambodia. And the birds are amazing! I have no idea what they are, but they come in the most brilliant blues and greens and have split tales and there are some that look like hawks that must be very common because they are everywhere. It is so quiet compared to the busy streets of Southeast Asia and I love waking to the songs of birds rather than the honks of motorbikes. And the people have seemed so helpful and kind. I was told by my landlord that “Americans are VIPs in Rwanda” and it seems to be strangely true. As soon as someone hears my accent they jump to give me directions or to talk a bit about what I am doing here. It’s surprising to me, especially after the mess that Clinton and his administration made of the genocide, but I guess maybe that “better late than never” may have redeemed us as a nation in some Rwandans’ eyes.
Don’t let me fool you though, I have only begun to start appreciating these things the last day or so. My first three days in Kigali were some of the most difficult I have ever had. After leaving Cambodia, Nora met me in Thailand and we had the most amazing vacation together hiking through bamboo forests in the jungle, visiting old fallen temples, and then swimming in the clear luke warm waters of an island off the Southern Adamand coast. That is till Nora got a nasty bug of some sort and a fever of a 102.7 and we were rushed through a truly scary hospital and practically laughed back onto the sand when we suggested that she might have malaria. She spent the next two days in bed sweating out her bug, which thankfully was not malaria but a bad stomach infection. Then we headed back to the mainland and spent a morning visiting a beach and riding our rented motorbike through the rock faced and tree topped mountains around Krabi. It was a wonderful morning, but our day was fated to end in tragedy. Well, it wasn’t that bad, but it sure seemed horrible as we clipped the back of a Thai kids motorbike after he cut stupidly in front of us and were spilled out on the pavement like sacks of potatoes. Thankfully neither of us was seriously injured and the kid seemed to be untouched. Between Nora and I we probably lost enough skin to cover an entire leg, but it was almost worth it to experience the friendliness and helpfulness of all the Thai people who had seen the accident and helped us arrange a policeman and to take care of all the other details. I guess you could say it was an authentic Thai experience.
However, I arrived in Kigali with an ankle the size, color, and consistency of the skin of a rotten dragon fruit (big, red, and scabby), the result of a nasty infection. I could barely walk and felt ill and tired and so I went to the hospital straight from the airport. The Kigali hospital made the one we had visited in Thailand look like the set of ER. There was blood all over the floor and the instruments were laying out in the open with no packages and who knows if they had been cleaned at all. There were maybe a hundred people, mostly women with wailing babies waiting in the covered dirt courtyard “lobby.” Luckily the guy from the hotel I was staying at, Eric, helped me work my way back and forth between three buildings and maybe four nurses, filling out forms and being referred back to where they had just sent us away, in the typical African fashion. I was reminded of registering for classes in South Africa. I have spent the last several days in a lot of pain and barely able to walk, yet have had to in order to get food and find a place to live. And then there’s the fact that everyone speaks French or Kinyarwandan and I have got some major studying up to do in that area so it has been difficult communicating. On top of that I am missing my best friend dearly and having to learn to be absolutely alone once again. I had a good night’s sleep for the first time last night and my ankle is back to it’s regular mango size and has begun to re-grow some skin. I awoke this morning in a really good mood and read till lunch when I went to an expensive place nearby and had traditional goat soup. It was delicious despite the few strands of goat hair I found stubbornly clinging to various pieces of meat. After that I sat and read the newspaper, which was full of articles praising the government for this or that. This theme was interrupted only by a short section called “Leisure,” a page and a half with two articles: “Eminem remarries ex-wife Kimberly,” and “Colin Farell sex tape hits net.” As I sit here at my new laptop and drink my Rwandan tea with Rwandan honey I am relieved that I can do the same thing tomorrow and the next because it is Sunday and then Vote Day (the day before yesterday was Hero’s day and I am looking forward to Revolution Day, Independence Day, General’s Day, Soldier’s Day, Reconciliation Day, Democracy Day, etc. etc.)
I miss you all and promise to write individual e-mails when it is not a public holiday and I don’t leave a trail of ooze behind me all the way to the internet place. Ew gross. Sorry.
Love,
Amelia