Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Dancing
I used to dance, often. I'm convinced that dancing can turn any circumstance into something free and spontaneous - even when we have to force ourselves into rhythm. Few things have such an effect.
But at some point, I quit dancing. Life became all too serious. During college, it seemed like there was always another pending decision or opportunity. And there were any number of voices tugging at my attention. Through ignorance or confusion or pride or insecurity (probably some combination), I just wasn't very good at sorting through, terrible sometimes. I tended to isolate myself. Somehow, I let go of certain parts of my personality. It's amazing how easy it is to lose touch with self, no matter how independent we think we are.
Sometimes I think this adventure is about simply muddling through on my own, being quiet for long enough to figure out where I lost touch. Africa brings with it a lot of perspective. As much as anything, I wish you could see the way they dance here. Any momentary celebration or rush of emotion is reason for dancing. They dance with their entire bodies - hands and wrists and arms and heads and faces and feet and ankles and legs - all flailing about. They chant and sing and clap and yell. Africa is unique because - perhaps more than anywhere else - the people remain deeply in tune with their identity and culture. It is a culture filled with color and emotion - greens and purples (and blues and reds and yellows) and sufferings and elation like nowhere else on earth. And they wear it all on their faces when they dance.
I'm swept up, and I dance with them, more often than ever before. Every day brings some cause for dancing. Here are a few highlights:
Random Note - In the absence of American music for such a long stretch, it's interesting to note the songs that come and go through my head. For some reason (apparently the setting), they are different songs than normally stick there when I'm at home. Today it was the White Stripes (Seven Nation Army), out of nowhere. Phish and the Beatles have been mainstays in my mental playground.
Remember: Music is our common ground. There ain't no other way around. Dance this week.
Peace & Love.
But at some point, I quit dancing. Life became all too serious. During college, it seemed like there was always another pending decision or opportunity. And there were any number of voices tugging at my attention. Through ignorance or confusion or pride or insecurity (probably some combination), I just wasn't very good at sorting through, terrible sometimes. I tended to isolate myself. Somehow, I let go of certain parts of my personality. It's amazing how easy it is to lose touch with self, no matter how independent we think we are.
Sometimes I think this adventure is about simply muddling through on my own, being quiet for long enough to figure out where I lost touch. Africa brings with it a lot of perspective. As much as anything, I wish you could see the way they dance here. Any momentary celebration or rush of emotion is reason for dancing. They dance with their entire bodies - hands and wrists and arms and heads and faces and feet and ankles and legs - all flailing about. They chant and sing and clap and yell. Africa is unique because - perhaps more than anywhere else - the people remain deeply in tune with their identity and culture. It is a culture filled with color and emotion - greens and purples (and blues and reds and yellows) and sufferings and elation like nowhere else on earth. And they wear it all on their faces when they dance.
I'm swept up, and I dance with them, more often than ever before. Every day brings some cause for dancing. Here are a few highlights:
- The night before the World Cup kicked off, I was in a massive crowd of people in Rwanda, watching the opening ceremony in a public square. There are two signature songs here for the tournament. People are crazy about them, and strike into dance whenever they are played in public. But never like we danced that first night. During the concert - hundreds, perhaps thousands of people stomping and yelling and cheering, relishing their moment to host the world's attention. I was right in the middle, hugging and stomping along. Everyone in that crowd owned the moment individually, for different reasons, but danced like it was their moment to share. And it was. Their passion was contagious. In that moment, I felt slightly more African myself.
- When I arrived here, there was a group of American college students visiting and staying in the same guesthouse. They all had great insight about being in Rwanda, and I hit it off with them quickly. They stuck around for my first couple of weeks before turning to go back to the States. The weekend before they left, I went to meet them in Kigali, and we decided to go on a bar crawl. Clueless of anything around us, we set out in a general direction to see what we'd find. But I was insistent that we find a way to go soak of the atmosphere of an African night club. They all attend a small Christian university together and hardly make a habit of dancing at all, but we found our way to a place called New Planet nonetheless. The club is divided in half (similar to Workplay), with a local music venue and a dance venue. I was interested in the music, so we went with that half first. It was absolutely packed, and there was a midget rapping on stage. He was incredible. Except that, on closer inspection, this 'midget' turned out to be a kid - no more than ten years old - absolutely tearing up the stage. But this was only a detour. Dancing was the goal. We crossed sides to find a weak scene - three people on the floor while the rest sat around the edge in conversation. The DJ was good, but the juvenile rapper had stolen the crowd away. I wasn't about to give up on the place, so I walked out and claimed the floor for myself, yanking along my friend Heather (who looked utterly terrified), dancing about and winking at all moderately attractive African ladies around the edge. Soon enough the gamble paid off and the enthusiasm began to catch on. For them there was novelty in dancing with Americans; for us there was novelty in simply being in a night club in central Africa. People began to drift over from Kris Kross 'R Us to join this American style of dancing. Fast forward three hours, and it was absolutely ferocious. People everywhere, laughing and jumping about - a hot, sweaty, ecstatic mess of Africans surrounding a few white faces. I dare say the Americans made the party. By the end of the night, I was shirtless, drenched, and too tired to walk home. It was one of the best dancing nights of my life.
- I mentioned the local trade show in the previous post. Really this was more like a fair in the evenings. There was food, drink, music, and local business, so everyone turned out. In a place where such events are rare, it was the thing to do for five nights. But my favorite part was the dancing. Like clockwork at 8 each night, the show turned into a community dance fest, with hundreds of people - mostly children and teenagers - dancing together in the middle of the soccer stadium. For the countless orphaned children who don't attend school, this was a rare chance to join the party, and they certainly didn't waste it. They danced like crazy. It was hilarious. I joined in one night, but most of the time I had to stand by and man our product booth. Apparently many of these children wanted to show the white man their skill(z), so they made a habit of forming a huge circle right in front of our display. It may have kept a few customers away, but I loved it. On the final night of the show, I walked into the circle, held up some money (about three bucks) and offered it to the winner of a dance off. My judgment here was questionable. Twenty people quickly turned to over a hundred, but it remained peaceful. One little boy danced like mad for about ten minutes and even showed a little Michael Jackson improv; he was clearly the winner. After two songs I presented him with the prize money, which was promptly snatched away and ran off with. I should have thought that through a little better. In case you're wondering, I did pay him again.
- The most recent story: I visited a village called Nyamutera yesterday. There is a savings group there, our largest with 217 members. This group is remarkable because it is a so-called 'reconciliation group' - meaning it is filled with Hutu and Tutsi neighbors who literally killed each others' family members during genocide 16 years ago. They have reintegrated their villages, returned from refugee-status, and born the painful and monumental (though not impossible, as all of Rwanda has proven) task of forgiveness, and formed this association together to share their savings and loan to each other. Like the visit to Jomba last week, they greeted me with a ceremonial dance. However, this was not a rite of passage like at Jomba. It had another meaning. They drummed and clapped and danced to celebrate unity in Rwanda. I was sitting at the edge of the circle, watching two young men and one young woman dance in the center. The moment was significant because of the meaning, and everyone there was overjoyed - the type of joy that can only be understood (paradoxically) through suffering and healing together. They were proud to have a visitor recognize their progress. As I was soaking up the moment, the young lady started to dance in my direction. I should mention she was absolutely beautiful, wearing a hypnotizing yellow and blue swirled skirt. She stopped in front of me, smiled, grabbed my hands, and started to lead me to the middle. I had a split-second decision to make - pull away because you have no clue what this ritual is, or say to hell with it and claim another magical African moment. I kicked off my sandals and waded in. So I just danced like I knew how, to the beat of their sheepskin drum. They went crazy, and other villagers quickly ran to join the commotion. Eventually it turned into a bit of a dance-off between myself and the girl, which was the most fun. It all lasted about five minutes, and when the drumming stopped everyone erupted. I was laughing hysterically. Later I was told that the young lady was the 'village virgin' - their most eligible. I concur.
Random Note - In the absence of American music for such a long stretch, it's interesting to note the songs that come and go through my head. For some reason (apparently the setting), they are different songs than normally stick there when I'm at home. Today it was the White Stripes (Seven Nation Army), out of nowhere. Phish and the Beatles have been mainstays in my mental playground.
Remember: Music is our common ground. There ain't no other way around. Dance this week.
Peace & Love.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Week In Review
This has been my busiest, most productive, most fulfilling and most exhausting African week. I think it deserves a recap.
The initial learning curve here took a couple of weeks. I couldn't always communicate or travel independently, but I worked as much as I could. There were more meetings than anything at first. Since then, I feel like I've constantly been chasing after resources - contacts and informants, materials and manpower. There are things to build, transport and publish. I realized about a month ago that I would not have nearly enough time here before moving on to the next place.
At the very beginning in Rwanda, I was tasked with following up with construction of four church buildings (and seeing through the completion of one of them in particular), locating/training/updating each of the 24 cooperative savings groups around Northern Province, consultation on the design of new science labs at a prep school, and various marketing and consulting projects for a local construction company. All of these projects are funded, in some part, by American interests. As of three weeks ago, I hadn't yet seen one of the church sites or met any one of the savings group leaders.
So I've been chasing, around the clock - running and jumping and calling and gathering people. But all may have come to a surprising head over the past five days. The construction company (Haki Construction Solutions) is in good shape. I finished a records database for them a couple of weeks ago, and they are learning to update it independently. Also, we presented products at a regional trade show last week and received a lot of attention, along with very positive feedback. Apparently it works as a marketing ploy here to simply stick a white man next to your product. So, much as I love spending the days alongside the company laborers, I felt comfortable to withdraw during the past weeks and focus elsewhere.
Last week, I was able to meet with all 24 savings group leaders in one place. That was a small triumph. I learned about their projects and different group issues, and this week I set out to visit three of them. I will not be able to visit them all, but it was most important to meet the leaders, to encourage them and begin to implement basic accounting principles as the groups grow. They are very innovative, with members sharing loan funds and businesses, and they are quickly growing independent from the sponsoring entities that organized their start-up.
Also, by this Monday I had finally seen three of the church sites (at various stages of completion), but not yet the one that was most important to complete - by July 20, this Tuesday. They are all very remote, with exquisite views, but in extremely poor villages (average income less than 250 USD/year). There is only a 'road' to two of them. The other two are reached by path. To transport materials for construction, hundreds of villagers (children, elders, women, men) walk up and down the hills in line, carrying cement and wood and stones, on heads of course. This cannot be much different than building a pyramid 3000 years ago. The first time I was taken to see the construction sites, I rode with a local Anglican Vicar on the back of a dirt bike. The journey was agonizing, impossibly steep, slow and bumpy over countless soccer-ball-sized stones, with blinding-dust sand dune stints due to the height of the rural dry season. We tipped over sideways three times, killed the bike countless times, lost it sliding back down a hill once, and started to flip over backward once (I bailed every time). But there was a minor victory in finally seeing these church projects first-hand. But the final church - in a village called Regeshi - remained a mystery. Of all my work objectives here, the completion of this small obscure church had been repeatedly emphasized. Yet I had not been able to see it, and my questions were skirted by the locals. I took this to mean that they had diverted the American money given toward construction to other community projects. But I kept pressing, passed on from person to person, looking for answers and accountability from someone.
Exhausted and frustrated, I took two days this week to help the Tom's Shoes project. I posted pictures from this experience below. I'm afraid it was one of those distinctly African experiences that I could only cheapen in an attempt to describe. Let the pictures speak. Suffice it to say that the other half of the Tom's Shoes business legitimizes the American style craze. This is one bandwagon worth jumping on. I realized the pictures and faces and expressions I came away with in my mind are the reason I traveled to Africa in the first place. In that experience I found part of what I came to search for.
Yesterday, I decided to simply take the day off and go adventuring. I haven't taken an off day in two weeks now. I've been running to see and finish as much as possible. I had given up on the Regeshi church deadline, and was very frustrated and disappointed. It would not be finished, and not for lack of effort. I had insisted and annoyed as gracefully as I could to push the project along,
but I wasn't receiving good information and I had run out of avenues. So I took off early yesterday with my friend Francis to go to Lake Burera on the Ugandan border - an absolutely gorgeous water-filled volcanic crater with multiple islands, skirted by banana and tea farms and stilted thatched huts. We found a fisherman tying his boad (a hollowed-out tree trunk) and asked him if he would paddle us out to the first island, about an hour away. He insisted we pay him ten U.S. dollars (two weeks' wages, at least). I had been willing to offer five, still generous considering the average bus ticket around the country costs three. But he was hell-bent on his price. So we acquiesced and he fetched his 12-year-old son to help paddle, and we shoved off. The day was perfect. While we cruised, I felt more relaxed than I have in a couple of weeks. The man and his son ended up being remarkably hospitable. They walked the perimeter of the island with us, showing off the best lookout points and lagoon spots. The island was inhabited by two families; they harvest bananas each morning and float them along shore to be picked up by a passing boat. I felt like a castaway. They could have left me there.
By noon we had to turn back so Francis c
ould go teach English. She teaches in a village called Mwico, on a hill point that juts out into the lake, surrounded by water on three sides. I set off on my own to explore the shoreline and take some pictures. We met again in a few hours to return to Musanze, thoroughly exhausted. On the way back my phone rang, and I picked up to speak with the same Vicar who had showed me the three churches a few days before. He was out of breath, and there were hammers pounding in the background. He told me they had managed to organize the funds, and the villagers in Regeshi had come together to help finish the church. They were removing stones to pour the final concrete, so it would be dry by Tuesday exactly - the day that the contingent of Americans who funded the project will arrive to visit. I couldn't believe my ears. I was more proud than any other moment in Africa thus far (Landon Donovan's goal a close second). I have not seen the place myself, but by some good fortune I have been able to coordinate its completion through connecting the right people. In the overall scope of things, this lone church building is insignificant when compared to the other, larger projects - but it feels like my biggest work-related victory in Africa.
Last night, I was invited to take dinner in a family's home, and I arrived to find a spontaneous, raging house party. I was handed a Coke as the surrounding mass of Africans sang traditional tribal music and danced ferociously. I stayed for a couple of hours, returned to my guest house and collapsed. Perfect.
Everything can slow down now; I am largely finished with my work commitments, slightly ahead of 'schedule' (whatever that means here). I can move on to tie up lose ends and polish the details this week, as well as host groups of visitors from the U.S. So I breath out. I have ten days left here. After that I'll travel for a couple of weeks on my own, to Congo, back through Rwanda, then overland to Kenya. The adventure begins anew.
In other news, I have the beginnings of an awesome beard, the 24 DuPont Chevrolet tops this weeks NASCAR Power Rankings, and - for what it's worth - it is nearly unanimous opinion amongst Africa's GenY that Tupac is still alive. Also, with my departure, I must have popped the cork on engagement and wedding season. Congrats to Jake & Kara, John & Maggie, Kallie & Chris, TB & Sam(B), and Nate & Erin. I toast you from afar. The untimely 8,000 miles I've placed between myself and your respective festivities probably symbolizes the relative distance I intend to keep between myself and marriage for the foreseeable future. (although a wife in Africa is ripe for the picking.)
Peace & Love.
The initial learning curve here took a couple of weeks. I couldn't always communicate or travel independently, but I worked as much as I could. There were more meetings than anything at first. Since then, I feel like I've constantly been chasing after resources - contacts and informants, materials and manpower. There are things to build, transport and publish. I realized about a month ago that I would not have nearly enough time here before moving on to the next place.
At the very beginning in Rwanda, I was tasked with following up with construction of four church buildings (and seeing through the completion of one of them in particular), locating/training/updating each of the 24 cooperative savings groups around Northern Province, consultation on the design of new science labs at a prep school, and various marketing and consulting projects for a local construction company. All of these projects are funded, in some part, by American interests. As of three weeks ago, I hadn't yet seen one of the church sites or met any one of the savings group leaders.
So I've been chasing, around the clock - running and jumping and calling and gathering people. But all may have come to a surprising head over the past five days. The construction company (Haki Construction Solutions) is in good shape. I finished a records database for them a couple of weeks ago, and they are learning to update it independently. Also, we presented products at a regional trade show last week and received a lot of attention, along with very positive feedback. Apparently it works as a marketing ploy here to simply stick a white man next to your product. So, much as I love spending the days alongside the company laborers, I felt comfortable to withdraw during the past weeks and focus elsewhere.
Last week, I was able to meet with all 24 savings group leaders in one place. That was a small triumph. I learned about their projects and different group issues, and this week I set out to visit three of them. I will not be able to visit them all, but it was most important to meet the leaders, to encourage them and begin to implement basic accounting principles as the groups grow. They are very innovative, with members sharing loan funds and businesses, and they are quickly growing independent from the sponsoring entities that organized their start-up.
Also, by this Monday I had finally seen three of the church sites (at various stages of completion), but not yet the one that was most important to complete - by July 20, this Tuesday. They are all very remote, with exquisite views, but in extremely poor villages (average income less than 250 USD/year). There is only a 'road' to two of them. The other two are reached by path. To transport materials for construction, hundreds of villagers (children, elders, women, men) walk up and down the hills in line, carrying cement and wood and stones, on heads of course. This cannot be much different than building a pyramid 3000 years ago. The first time I was taken to see the construction sites, I rode with a local Anglican Vicar on the back of a dirt bike. The journey was agonizing, impossibly steep, slow and bumpy over countless soccer-ball-sized stones, with blinding-dust sand dune stints due to the height of the rural dry season. We tipped over sideways three times, killed the bike countless times, lost it sliding back down a hill once, and started to flip over backward once (I bailed every time). But there was a minor victory in finally seeing these church projects first-hand. But the final church - in a village called Regeshi - remained a mystery. Of all my work objectives here, the completion of this small obscure church had been repeatedly emphasized. Yet I had not been able to see it, and my questions were skirted by the locals. I took this to mean that they had diverted the American money given toward construction to other community projects. But I kept pressing, passed on from person to person, looking for answers and accountability from someone.
Exhausted and frustrated, I took two days this week to help the Tom's Shoes project. I posted pictures from this experience below. I'm afraid it was one of those distinctly African experiences that I could only cheapen in an attempt to describe. Let the pictures speak. Suffice it to say that the other half of the Tom's Shoes business legitimizes the American style craze. This is one bandwagon worth jumping on. I realized the pictures and faces and expressions I came away with in my mind are the reason I traveled to Africa in the first place. In that experience I found part of what I came to search for.
Yesterday, I decided to simply take the day off and go adventuring. I haven't taken an off day in two weeks now. I've been running to see and finish as much as possible. I had given up on the Regeshi church deadline, and was very frustrated and disappointed. It would not be finished, and not for lack of effort. I had insisted and annoyed as gracefully as I could to push the project along,
but I wasn't receiving good information and I had run out of avenues. So I took off early yesterday with my friend Francis to go to Lake Burera on the Ugandan border - an absolutely gorgeous water-filled volcanic crater with multiple islands, skirted by banana and tea farms and stilted thatched huts. We found a fisherman tying his boad (a hollowed-out tree trunk) and asked him if he would paddle us out to the first island, about an hour away. He insisted we pay him ten U.S. dollars (two weeks' wages, at least). I had been willing to offer five, still generous considering the average bus ticket around the country costs three. But he was hell-bent on his price. So we acquiesced and he fetched his 12-year-old son to help paddle, and we shoved off. The day was perfect. While we cruised, I felt more relaxed than I have in a couple of weeks. The man and his son ended up being remarkably hospitable. They walked the perimeter of the island with us, showing off the best lookout points and lagoon spots. The island was inhabited by two families; they harvest bananas each morning and float them along shore to be picked up by a passing boat. I felt like a castaway. They could have left me there.
By noon we had to turn back so Francis c
ould go teach English. She teaches in a village called Mwico, on a hill point that juts out into the lake, surrounded by water on three sides. I set off on my own to explore the shoreline and take some pictures. We met again in a few hours to return to Musanze, thoroughly exhausted. On the way back my phone rang, and I picked up to speak with the same Vicar who had showed me the three churches a few days before. He was out of breath, and there were hammers pounding in the background. He told me they had managed to organize the funds, and the villagers in Regeshi had come together to help finish the church. They were removing stones to pour the final concrete, so it would be dry by Tuesday exactly - the day that the contingent of Americans who funded the project will arrive to visit. I couldn't believe my ears. I was more proud than any other moment in Africa thus far (Landon Donovan's goal a close second). I have not seen the place myself, but by some good fortune I have been able to coordinate its completion through connecting the right people. In the overall scope of things, this lone church building is insignificant when compared to the other, larger projects - but it feels like my biggest work-related victory in Africa.Last night, I was invited to take dinner in a family's home, and I arrived to find a spontaneous, raging house party. I was handed a Coke as the surrounding mass of Africans sang traditional tribal music and danced ferociously. I stayed for a couple of hours, returned to my guest house and collapsed. Perfect.
Everything can slow down now; I am largely finished with my work commitments, slightly ahead of 'schedule' (whatever that means here). I can move on to tie up lose ends and polish the details this week, as well as host groups of visitors from the U.S. So I breath out. I have ten days left here. After that I'll travel for a couple of weeks on my own, to Congo, back through Rwanda, then overland to Kenya. The adventure begins anew.
In other news, I have the beginnings of an awesome beard, the 24 DuPont Chevrolet tops this weeks NASCAR Power Rankings, and - for what it's worth - it is nearly unanimous opinion amongst Africa's GenY that Tupac is still alive. Also, with my departure, I must have popped the cork on engagement and wedding season. Congrats to Jake & Kara, John & Maggie, Kallie & Chris, TB & Sam(B), and Nate & Erin. I toast you from afar. The untimely 8,000 miles I've placed between myself and your respective festivities probably symbolizes the relative distance I intend to keep between myself and marriage for the foreseeable future. (although a wife in Africa is ripe for the picking.)
Peace & Love.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Village Welcome
Today I had to travel to a village in Rwanda called Jomba, about an hour away. There is no road to Jomba, only a path. I was going there to meet the villagers and greet them on the Bishop's behalf. The people there have set up a savings cooperative together. They each put a set amount of money into a common fund; a portion of the fund is used for local loans, while another fraction is paid out in lump sum to an individual community member each month. They scrape to commit about a quarter's worth each month, individually. But they have figured out that, together, they can purchase and breed chickens and goats, even pay to move their woven goods to a town market. There are many such rural programs going on around Rwanda and Uganda. Some of them are very creative.So I set out for Jomba. As usual, I was supposed to arrive around 9, and I got there at about 11:30 (time will become a common motif to this string of blog posts I think). It is not much of a village, only a meeting building, church and school - all huts
really. But the
y sit atop the highest hill around, overlooking the Rwandan landscape in all directions. The 'villagers' are mostly subsistence farmers from surrounding valleys. They convene on this hilltop.So I finally arrive, carrying a chicken as a good-will present. Before meeting, they danced. Today was also a rite-of-passage graduation for 8 village adolescents. They coordinated my arrival with the traditional dance as a sort of welcome. So 4 young men and women, dressed in traditional African robes and colors, danced fiercely to the beat of a sheepskin drum, jumping and spinning and performing erotically to symbolize passage into adult life. It was amazing. Something out of a storybook.
After the festivity, I met with local leaders to discuss the terms and progress of their cooperative. By mid-afternoon all was finished, and the elders ushered me into their community building to share lunch. I hadn't expected food, and I was eager to return to town. But I was starving, and it was a fantastic surprise. So on a whim I found myself in a dim hut, in a circle of rural village elders, eating goat and potatoes and peas from my lap. [Sidebar - by some miracle, everyone was drinking Coke. I am sure after this trip that the Coca-Cola brand has the most recognized logo on earth. My bottle had a date from 1995; I'm hoping it was recycled.] The room was filled with sounds of chewing, no conversation. At one point, the elder directly across from me ripped off one of the loudest burps I've ever heard. Without looking up or any break in chewing, the people around me raised their eyebrows, grunted in approval, and continued devouring their plates. I laughed to myself at learning another new custom.
Peace & Love.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Time
For as slowly as Africa tends to move, everything seems to be snowballing. I have about two weeks left in Rwanda. I'm not sure how I'm going to get everything finished. Days are hectic.
I think it's fitting to talk about time. In Africa the entire concept of time is different. This is one of the major things that any American must figure out and adapt to. Traditionally, years, months, days, hours, minutes are not so firmly set as we may be accustomed to. There are no 'schedules' as we think of them. Americans and aid workers here are quick to observe "everyone is late in Africa." But Africans aren't even thinking/operating on the same plane. For them, time is task-oriented. Months and seasons give way to 'rainy' or 'dry' or 'harvest' ...etc. What actually happens is what matters. In a day there is sunrise, milking, grazing, midday rest, and so on to sundown. These are the 'hours'. What matters is finishing the task at hand. If I call for a meeting at 4, and people gradually show up through 5, I might be frustrated. But for them, the fact that the meeting occurred (eventually) means it was 'on time'.
So you can understand the tension, and the occasional frustration. This place demands creativity and flexibility with all things schedule-related. For someone doing logistical things, always trying to move materials and people around, it's a real adventure. Despite the frustration, there are many benefits to this way. Sometimes I wish I could structure more of my own life to fit this concept. Life moves more slowly.
It's also an interesting time of transition here. This is an emerging market, and the younger generation carries a broader, more educated worldview than their elders. Many of the students graduating university now have a more concrete concept of time, in hours and minutes, while older generations operate much as they always have.
As for me, I haven't fully caught on. Days still rush by, and I'm running hard to see all that I can. Looking forward to only travel in a couple weeks.
Peace & Love.
I think it's fitting to talk about time. In Africa the entire concept of time is different. This is one of the major things that any American must figure out and adapt to. Traditionally, years, months, days, hours, minutes are not so firmly set as we may be accustomed to. There are no 'schedules' as we think of them. Americans and aid workers here are quick to observe "everyone is late in Africa." But Africans aren't even thinking/operating on the same plane. For them, time is task-oriented. Months and seasons give way to 'rainy' or 'dry' or 'harvest' ...etc. What actually happens is what matters. In a day there is sunrise, milking, grazing, midday rest, and so on to sundown. These are the 'hours'. What matters is finishing the task at hand. If I call for a meeting at 4, and people gradually show up through 5, I might be frustrated. But for them, the fact that the meeting occurred (eventually) means it was 'on time'.
So you can understand the tension, and the occasional frustration. This place demands creativity and flexibility with all things schedule-related. For someone doing logistical things, always trying to move materials and people around, it's a real adventure. Despite the frustration, there are many benefits to this way. Sometimes I wish I could structure more of my own life to fit this concept. Life moves more slowly.
It's also an interesting time of transition here. This is an emerging market, and the younger generation carries a broader, more educated worldview than their elders. Many of the students graduating university now have a more concrete concept of time, in hours and minutes, while older generations operate much as they always have.
As for me, I haven't fully caught on. Days still rush by, and I'm running hard to see all that I can. Looking forward to only travel in a couple weeks.
Peace & Love.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Dave Matthews & LeBron James
In reverse order:
First, please allow me one paragraph of self-fulfillment. For seven years, 'Ryne Saxe' has maintained that LeBron James does not have the competitive fiber of Michael Jordan. 'Ryne Saxe' has refused to compromise in this opinion. He will not concede any argument of LeBron versus Kobe (or MJ for that matter) that bends in LeBron's favor, always founded upon bandwagon opinions that may have their place, but nonetheless overlook an apparent lack of leadership and overload of adolescent ego. I can understand his decision and even accept it; it would be enticing to go play with your all-star friends and hang out in South Beach on the side. But the entire process was a joke. 'Ryne Saxe' believes [exiled] King James should be reminded that you are a basketball player. You should not exercise control over management decisions, you should not demand VIP status for your mooching entourage, and your "team" consists of other basketball players, not your group of 'advising' lawyers, 'business managers' and 'friends'. Go play the game and do your best to finish a season. You've chosen the easy road. The pressure is off, now that you've seen fit to captivate a sports nation with a fabricated free-agency and selection show. But 'Ryne Saxe' cannot begin to understand the chain of awful advice and decision making that led to that debacle. Here I have referred to myself in third-person no more than King James did during that painful hour. "I will be taking my talents to South Beach and the Miami Heat." Please. and thank you for clinching my own argument against you better than I ever could myself. I'm sure that somewhere Kendall Brown is shaking her head at this bout of self-gratification. All the better.
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/100709
On another note: This has been my busiest week in Rwanda, by far. 14-hr days, missed meals, chaos. There is a trade show going on. I've scrambled to put presentations together for the construction company, and also to arrange meetings with local leaders in Uganda, regarding their ongoing savings bank program and distribution of aid packages for World Hunger. There is much to balance. But something cool for this week - Tom's shoes is coming over to host a large promo event and distribute shoes to 1000 kids in a village called Mwico, in the province where I'm staying now. I've been to the village twice to see the school there, where my friend Francis teaches English. It is one of the most breathtaking views in Rwanda. So I'll help with this event; it will be fun, a welcome break.
I have not had internet all week (or phone, or electricity for that matter), but I have ideas for several posts. I'll get them up as quickly as I can. For now, a short story:
A couple of weeks ago I was musing to a couple of my African friends how much I missed American music. In my journal that evening, I felt like drawing, so I impulsively sketched the dancer logo for Dave Matthews Band. I wrote under "This is the first summer in recent memory where DMB has not played a huge role. Stand Up."
Last week, I took two days to go work in the stock yard for the construction company that is handling many of our projects. I love working alongside the laborers. Many of them are about my age; they work very hard, but they goof off like brothers. We were sitting around molding concrete, and my friend Gerard told me he wanted me to play American music on my phone. So I just pushed play and the first song up was Ants Marching. One of the guys snapped to and said "Dave Matthews." I was thrilled. By the end of the morning, we were 6 guys sitting in a circle, 5 Africans, 1 American, all mixing concrete and whaling out DMB.
There are those moments when you realize you are exactly where you are supposed to be. You soak it in and smile to yourself. Yet those moments are fleeting; you know you're not supposed to stay. All the better. It just makes that enjoyment more intense. Such moments come often in Africa.
I'm going to set up a web album soon with more pictures, if there is time.
Peace & Love. I miss you all.
First, please allow me one paragraph of self-fulfillment. For seven years, 'Ryne Saxe' has maintained that LeBron James does not have the competitive fiber of Michael Jordan. 'Ryne Saxe' has refused to compromise in this opinion. He will not concede any argument of LeBron versus Kobe (or MJ for that matter) that bends in LeBron's favor, always founded upon bandwagon opinions that may have their place, but nonetheless overlook an apparent lack of leadership and overload of adolescent ego. I can understand his decision and even accept it; it would be enticing to go play with your all-star friends and hang out in South Beach on the side. But the entire process was a joke. 'Ryne Saxe' believes [exiled] King James should be reminded that you are a basketball player. You should not exercise control over management decisions, you should not demand VIP status for your mooching entourage, and your "team" consists of other basketball players, not your group of 'advising' lawyers, 'business managers' and 'friends'. Go play the game and do your best to finish a season. You've chosen the easy road. The pressure is off, now that you've seen fit to captivate a sports nation with a fabricated free-agency and selection show. But 'Ryne Saxe' cannot begin to understand the chain of awful advice and decision making that led to that debacle. Here I have referred to myself in third-person no more than King James did during that painful hour. "I will be taking my talents to South Beach and the Miami Heat." Please. and thank you for clinching my own argument against you better than I ever could myself. I'm sure that somewhere Kendall Brown is shaking her head at this bout of self-gratification. All the better.
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/100709
On another note: This has been my busiest week in Rwanda, by far. 14-hr days, missed meals, chaos. There is a trade show going on. I've scrambled to put presentations together for the construction company, and also to arrange meetings with local leaders in Uganda, regarding their ongoing savings bank program and distribution of aid packages for World Hunger. There is much to balance. But something cool for this week - Tom's shoes is coming over to host a large promo event and distribute shoes to 1000 kids in a village called Mwico, in the province where I'm staying now. I've been to the village twice to see the school there, where my friend Francis teaches English. It is one of the most breathtaking views in Rwanda. So I'll help with this event; it will be fun, a welcome break.
I have not had internet all week (or phone, or electricity for that matter), but I have ideas for several posts. I'll get them up as quickly as I can. For now, a short story:
A couple of weeks ago I was musing to a couple of my African friends how much I missed American music. In my journal that evening, I felt like drawing, so I impulsively sketched the dancer logo for Dave Matthews Band. I wrote under "This is the first summer in recent memory where DMB has not played a huge role. Stand Up."
Last week, I took two days to go work in the stock yard for the construction company that is handling many of our projects. I love working alongside the laborers. Many of them are about my age; they work very hard, but they goof off like brothers. We were sitting around molding concrete, and my friend Gerard told me he wanted me to play American music on my phone. So I just pushed play and the first song up was Ants Marching. One of the guys snapped to and said "Dave Matthews." I was thrilled. By the end of the morning, we were 6 guys sitting in a circle, 5 Africans, 1 American, all mixing concrete and whaling out DMB.
There are those moments when you realize you are exactly where you are supposed to be. You soak it in and smile to yourself. Yet those moments are fleeting; you know you're not supposed to stay. All the better. It just makes that enjoyment more intense. Such moments come often in Africa.
I'm going to set up a web album soon with more pictures, if there is time.
Peace & Love. I miss you all.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Virunga
I worked most of this weekend to visit construction sites in three villages around Musanze (a school and two church buildings). All three were actually close to on schedule, and the right materials had arrived. This has been a rare occurrence here, but it put me a little bit ahead this week, so I took today off to adventure. Bear with me for a hell of an ending.
I decided to join a group of travelers for a hike this morning. There were 8 of us - two men from Switzerland, a couple from Espana, two from Canada, and another guy from U.S. We started out at five and set off toward Virunga National Park - where the borders of Congo/Rwanda/Uganda meet. There are six volcanoes in the park. We wanted to hike to a valley where two of them meet (called Gahinga & Muhabura). We hired two porters to go along as well - soldiers to protect against possible poachers or raiders who have crossed through the jungle from Congo. We drove along toward the border, and set out by 7 on foot across the rolling fields that lead up to the park. Here Rwanda changes. The country opens up, and the impossible rocky soil that defines much of the country gives way to dark, plowed dirt that benefits from the rainy season runoff each spring. This is widely regarded as the most fertile soil in Africa. As far as you can see, there are long furrows planted with potatoes, coffee, corn, wheat. There are no villages, only plots of three or four huts in a circle. Here you do find the traditional round mud house, thatched roof and all. By the time we passed through, families were wide awake, starting fires, carrying water (wooden buckets), driving livestock to graze, and carrying hoes and pickaxes toward the fields. Every surrounding field has been turned up and tended by hand, every day. Just imagining the task is daunting. As with most places in rural Africa, we walk along and draw a crowd. Children drop their chores to run along behind us, and we eventually build a crowd of at least 40. As soon as we get far enough, however, they turn back. We walk along rock fences through the fields, pressing on toward the jungle.
The terrain starts to pick up and grow steeper as the fields gradually give way to dry brush. By 9 we get to the jungle and begin to climb between the volcanoes. Here things get more interesting. The porter in front carries his gun in left hand and hacks down tangled undergrowth with his right; the porter behind keeps watch. At first, the jungle is mostly eucalyptus, and sunlight streams through. It smells sweet and cool. There is even a remnant of a trail that makes going a little quicker for the first part. But eventually ferns and vines and bamboo take over, and it gets tougher. We are shadowed over. We stumble and slog through mud and compost, sinking in to our ankles. There are elephant tracks as well, and trampled trees and bamboo warn us of their movement. Strangely enough, there are hardly any bugs here; the elevation is high and the air is cool, keeping the humidity and critters away. We climb on.
By 10 I'm breathing and sweating hard, gone through most of my water, and taken about 300 pictures. At the start of the morning, the air was crisp and we were ready to go. We spent the first couple of hours changing order, exchanging pleasantries and conversing about our respective parts of the world. By now, however, we go along single file, in silence. Exertion and jungle senses have trumped conversation. All the better. In our silence, everyone took note when the forest ahead of us began to shake. About 200 meters up, we saw the tops of trees sway and we heard bamboo cracking. The porter ahead hooted and ran toward the disturbance while we pursued behind. Let the chase begin. After a brief sprint to halfway, we slowed and crept along. Apparently our approach was noticeable, and whatever was ahead settled down to quiet, waiting. I do not know who spotted it first (not me, although I ended up being closest), but a couple of our entourage stopped and stared off to the right. There, crouched in the dark shadow under a large fern, were the watchful eyes of a large gorilla. Studying, waiting, curious. She was no more than ten feet from me. After a minute or so, she sat up, broke off some bamboo, and went about chewing as if we had been any other jungle animal that posed no threat. We shared the forest. We snapped plenty of pictures and moved on, all too aware the gorillas always travel in families.
About 100 yards further, we met the rest. In a small clearing, there was a dominant male, two other Silverback males, three females, and two babies. By now it had reached 11, more sun streamed through, and it was time to rest. The gorillas lounged, eating bamboo and laying to sleep. One even reclined, hands behind head. The babies rolled and wrestled and climbed and fell, over and again. We walked right up, amazed beyond words. For the next hour, we hovered in the area, snapping pictures and watching. Sometimes, another family member would pop out of the jungle behind us, split our crowd in half, and rumble through to join the rest of the family. They passed within feet. If we approached too close on our own initiative, one of the Silverbacks would rumble a calm, territorial growl. Yet not threatening. Cautious.
At one point, I split off from the large part of our group. I wanted to loop around behind the family to try and get a better view of the babies. As I walked a long circle to the other side, I was fiddling with my camera, changing settings and reviewing pictures. My American companion David followed my lead, about 30 feet behind. As I was looking down, not entirely paying attention, I heard a crack just in front of me. I looked up and found a young black male not five feet away, sitting and staring at me. I stopped immediately and slowly backed up, inch by inch. The gorilla let out a brief grunt, rose from the brush and ambled straight toward me. I had backed to about ten feet away, but I stood between him and the family. He walked up to me, looking straight ahead, obviously not concerned with meeting my gaze anymore. As he passed, he reached out and brushed me aside with his arm. It was incredible. David was behind me the entire time, deer-in-headlights.
This was one of the most intimate experiences I have ever had. I wish I had you all here with me.
I have to post the story, but I cannot do it justice. I cheat the experience with my words.
Many have messaged to ask about pictures from the trip, and today certainly promises many photos worth sharing. At present, I simply don't have enough bandwidth to upload them. I'll continue to share a couple with each post, if I am able. Peace & Love.
I decided to join a group of travelers for a hike this morning. There were 8 of us - two men from Switzerland, a couple from Espana, two from Canada, and another guy from U.S. We started out at five and set off toward Virunga National Park - where the borders of Congo/Rwanda/Uganda meet. There are six volcanoes in the park. We wanted to hike to a valley where two of them meet (called Gahinga & Muhabura). We hired two porters to go along as well - soldiers to protect against possible poachers or raiders who have crossed through the jungle from Congo. We drove along toward the border, and set out by 7 on foot across the rolling fields that lead up to the park. Here Rwanda changes. The country opens up, and the impossible rocky soil that defines much of the country gives way to dark, plowed dirt that benefits from the rainy season runoff each spring. This is widely regarded as the most fertile soil in Africa. As far as you can see, there are long furrows planted with potatoes, coffee, corn, wheat. There are no villages, only plots of three or four huts in a circle. Here you do find the traditional round mud house, thatched roof and all. By the time we passed through, families were wide awake, starting fires, carrying water (wooden buckets), driving livestock to graze, and carrying hoes and pickaxes toward the fields. Every surrounding field has been turned up and tended by hand, every day. Just imagining the task is daunting. As with most places in rural Africa, we walk along and draw a crowd. Children drop their chores to run along behind us, and we eventually build a crowd of at least 40. As soon as we get far enough, however, they turn back. We walk along rock fences through the fields, pressing on toward the jungle.
The terrain starts to pick up and grow steeper as the fields gradually give way to dry brush. By 9 we get to the jungle and begin to climb between the volcanoes. Here things get more interesting. The porter in front carries his gun in left hand and hacks down tangled undergrowth with his right; the porter behind keeps watch. At first, the jungle is mostly eucalyptus, and sunlight streams through. It smells sweet and cool. There is even a remnant of a trail that makes going a little quicker for the first part. But eventually ferns and vines and bamboo take over, and it gets tougher. We are shadowed over. We stumble and slog through mud and compost, sinking in to our ankles. There are elephant tracks as well, and trampled trees and bamboo warn us of their movement. Strangely enough, there are hardly any bugs here; the elevation is high and the air is cool, keeping the humidity and critters away. We climb on.
By 10 I'm breathing and sweating hard, gone through most of my water, and taken about 300 pictures. At the start of the morning, the air was crisp and we were ready to go. We spent the first couple of hours changing order, exchanging pleasantries and conversing about our respective parts of the world. By now, however, we go along single file, in silence. Exertion and jungle senses have trumped conversation. All the better. In our silence, everyone took note when the forest ahead of us began to shake. About 200 meters up, we saw the tops of trees sway and we heard bamboo cracking. The porter ahead hooted and ran toward the disturbance while we pursued behind. Let the chase begin. After a brief sprint to halfway, we slowed and crept along. Apparently our approach was noticeable, and whatever was ahead settled down to quiet, waiting. I do not know who spotted it first (not me, although I ended up being closest), but a couple of our entourage stopped and stared off to the right. There, crouched in the dark shadow under a large fern, were the watchful eyes of a large gorilla. Studying, waiting, curious. She was no more than ten feet from me. After a minute or so, she sat up, broke off some bamboo, and went about chewing as if we had been any other jungle animal that posed no threat. We shared the forest. We snapped plenty of pictures and moved on, all too aware the gorillas always travel in families.
About 100 yards further, we met the rest. In a small clearing, there was a dominant male, two other Silverback males, three females, and two babies. By now it had reached 11, more sun streamed through, and it was time to rest. The gorillas lounged, eating bamboo and laying to sleep. One even reclined, hands behind head. The babies rolled and wrestled and climbed and fell, over and again. We walked right up, amazed beyond words. For the next hour, we hovered in the area, snapping pictures and watching. Sometimes, another family member would pop out of the jungle behind us, split our crowd in half, and rumble through to join the rest of the family. They passed within feet. If we approached too close on our own initiative, one of the Silverbacks would rumble a calm, territorial growl. Yet not threatening. Cautious.
At one point, I split off from the large part of our group. I wanted to loop around behind the family to try and get a better view of the babies. As I walked a long circle to the other side, I was fiddling with my camera, changing settings and reviewing pictures. My American companion David followed my lead, about 30 feet behind. As I was looking down, not entirely paying attention, I heard a crack just in front of me. I looked up and found a young black male not five feet away, sitting and staring at me. I stopped immediately and slowly backed up, inch by inch. The gorilla let out a brief grunt, rose from the brush and ambled straight toward me. I had backed to about ten feet away, but I stood between him and the family. He walked up to me, looking straight ahead, obviously not concerned with meeting my gaze anymore. As he passed, he reached out and brushed me aside with his arm. It was incredible. David was behind me the entire time, deer-in-headlights.
This was one of the most intimate experiences I have ever had. I wish I had you all here with me.
I have to post the story, but I cannot do it justice. I cheat the experience with my words.
Many have messaged to ask about pictures from the trip, and today certainly promises many photos worth sharing. At present, I simply don't have enough bandwidth to upload them. I'll continue to share a couple with each post, if I am able. Peace & Love.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Belated Wish
Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Blakey & John. I can't log into my email right now, so I'll post it here. I'll raise one to you from Africa.
Work, Sleep, Food
Several people have messaged to ask for details about the following:
Work
There are a couple of American businessmen that I met a while ago who have funded aid projects and invested in businesses in Rwanda. They are very close friends to a Rwandan Bishop named John Rucyahana, who I also had the good fortune to meet several months ago. Essentially, I work in between them. I am here to follow up with the American business interests, but I must go through the Bishop to really get anything done. The American men have entrusted the administration of their different projects to the Bishop's network and resources. Primarily, these projects are: the establishment of a construction supply company in Musanze, Rwanda; the construction of a church and school; and the establishment of 24 savings banks (not building establishments like we think of them, but cooperatives between neighbors) all over rural Rwanda. So on any given day I am mostly hopping between these things, with a few surprises mixed in. Some days this means going around to meet with people, other days surveying progress at different sites, some days even hammering and hauling supplies where they might be short-handed. I rarely know what I'm doing next more than a few hours ahead of time. But these projects are also in far-flung villages, alongside local people. It's been a lot of fun.
Sleep
Most of the time, I make it back to Musanze to sleep. I have my own room here. The Bishop has a guest house for visitors. There are 10 rooms, a courtyard, and even a swimming pool. The picture from this post is a view from home - down the hill outside. My room is simple - bed, desk, bathroom. But electricity and hot water are fairly reliable. The guest house also sits behind a larger hotel that also belongs to the Bishop. It is very nice. In Rwanda, he is a very important man. He is often hosting international aid groups, or foreign diplomats or executives. So I'm close to the hotel, and there are plenty of interesting people in-and-out to meet and talk with. On the rare occasion I don't make it back here in the evening, I have stayed out with people in houses. In the villages most people live in simple concrete block or mud brick houses with a metal roof. If you are picturing mud huts with thatched roof, that's not so much the case in Rwanda. I've slept on cots or pallets, depending on what's available. So far the most distinctive night was in a 'hotel' in Kigali, two weekends ago. The hotel I had called gave away the room I reserved, but told me they had an 'extra'. I told them I'd look at it for no more than half-price, with breakfast included, and they agreed. So I followed the porter to the roof, over a sheet-metal walkway the crossed a narrow alley, to a single shack on the roof of the building behind. There was a couch, bed and toilet, so I stayed. I slept with my knife under my pillow. But, 6 nights out of the week I make it back to my own room.
Food
I usually take breakfast early, and am off to work by 7. I get breakfast for free at the hotel. Eggs, fruit, juice & coffee every morning, always fresh. I eat breakfast better here than in the U.S. The main meal here is lunch, and people usually take later, around 2 (ish - time is a very vague concept here; more on that in another post). So people eat a lot at this one meal. There isn't much variety - always some combination of soup, potato, rice, beans, meat - but there's a lot of it. Essentially they rotate between about six different meals, and the meat and potato/vegetable are all that change. They load lunch with carbs to last you the rest of the day. I usually take lunch at the hotel, most days of the week. Other days there are lunch meetings elsewhere or I am too far out to return. I rarely eat dinner - usually just coffee and bread called chipati to settle my hunger. I'm losing weight. I miss food at home. But Rwanda does trump America with fruit and coffee - both are incredible. There are also some very upscale places to eat around here, because so many visitors come through the province. But many of them are still expensive by American standard. There is a bar called Volcano about a half-mile away, and I go there a couple of nights each week. It is as nice as any bar at home, and it's the hub for American/Canadian aid workers who are here (about 12-15 full time; everyone knows everyone).
Hope this helps to answer some questions. I try to take a couple of days every two weeks to take off and go around on my own. That always proves to bring the best adventures.
In about 3-4 weeks I'll leave Rwanda to travel on my own a little bit. I don't know how or where yet. Getting into August, I'll be working in Kenya for a safari camp called Muthaiga (www.muthaigasafaricamp.com), taking care of guests and tracking animals. That will go through October, then I'll travel around a little more.
Happy 4th of July. I miss you all. Peace & Love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)