22 July 2010

2am, 2005 – Dunedin, NZ:  I am lying in my bed in my cold flat, underneath 2 duvets, a woollen blanket and clothed in as many layers as I could comfortably wear, cursing the sound of the Captain Cook Tavern three blocks below my house.  I can hear drunken laughing, girls squealing and the incessant pounding of the bass underneath every song that was played.

2am, 2010 – Kigali, Rwanda:  I am lying in my bed at the front of my house, underneath a sheet (having kicked off my one blanket in an effort to keep cool), cursing the sound of the drunken, high, or just plain overexcited boys, sitting all of 5 metres away from my window.  I can hear laughing, heated conversations, joke-telling at high volume, all of which is in a language completely foreign to my ears.

Over the last few days, my love affair with my surroundings has taken a significant nose-dive.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t still love being here in Kigali experiencing all of the wonders it has to offer.  But at the risk of sounding ungrateful I am about to sound-off on some of the frustrations that, after 6 weeks here, have really begun to weigh heavy.  For me this is a cathartic exercise to get over the halfway hump of living in a foreign country, and for those of you reading my blog, it will no doubt give you a bit of light entertainment at my expense.

So here goes – a list of things that are really starting to get on my goat (or how to use a blog as therapy101):

                         NOISE – as you can tell from my introduction to this post, I am beginning to go insane with noise.  In the last 6 weeks I think the only time that my head has been free of noise is while I am asleep (and that only last until 4.30am when the call to prayer starts up down the road).  At first the business of the streets around my house (there are two shops attached to my front gate, a hairdresser beside my house and two bars across the dirt road) was rather charming.  However, after what feels like an eternity of broken night’s sleep and the inability to collect my thoughts, I find myself longing for the solitude of the beach outside our old house in Riverton.

                         OVER-FRIENDLY PEOPLE – I use the word friendly here loosely.  I remember in my first post how I marvelled at the novelty of children running alongside me as I jogged down the street.  That novelty has now been pushed to its outer limits.  I have a picture of a movie character (I have a feeling it’s Something About Mary) who could not have his headphones taken off him.  Now picture me with a set of hot pink earphones permanently shoved in my ears providing me a false barrier to the constant cries of Muzungu, the blatant laughing at my white legs and the requests for me to ‘greet’ half of the men in Rwanda. 

What can be wrong with people wanting to say hello you might ask?  Well, try having every second person stopping to yell bonjour, good morning (at all times of the day) or sister, sister, at you every day for 6 weeks.  By way of example, on Tuesday I was stopped 3 times on the way to get a coffee (it is a block and a half) by moto drivers and a random man, then the waiter at Bourbon coffee told me he wanted to tell me something - leaning close for his words of wisdom I got “you’re really smart” (an oft-used complement with no ties to my intelligence); a young boy at the RPF Rally (an explanation of my presence and experience there is not worth reliving the event) stood 5m away and stared at me until someone literally ran into him and broke his gaze (something my waving at him hadn’t managed to do); a policeman posted at my sector office called me across the street so that he could greet me (the highlight of his day) and inform me of his working hours and that I could greet him every day if I wished); and last but by no means least, I had three women yell “Muzungu” then rush over to me with their children so that the children could touch me. 

                                     BARGAINNING:  I’m so sick of bargaining.  It’s the same with every country I go to in Asia or Africa.  It is a game of cat and mouse where both sides know what the outcome is going to be and yet you still have to go through the process of the game. 700? No way! 400.  Oh sister that is too little. 600?  500.  I never pay more than 500.  No I cannot.  Ok then I will get another Moto.  Walk 5 metres.  Sister, sister get on.  We go. 500?  Yes, yes, 500.

                                    VUVUZELAS:  These charming horns have made their way to Rwanda with a vengeance.  No longer symbols of the South Africa world cup, these bloody horns are the new election party piece.  Sitting on my porch this afternoon trying to do some work, I had to compete with someone blowing a vuvuzela for, I kid you not, a good hour.  My hat off to them for the stamina and lung capacity to pull it off but AHHHHHHHHH!

                                     FOOD:  I saw mushrooms today.  I had to stop myself from doing a little dance for joy in the supermarket.  Admittedly that was because they were mushrooms I had never seen before and they were at a price that only royalty could afford.  I realised a long time ago that when people ask me about my trips one of the first things that comes out of my mouth is a description of the food I ate.  Here though, the cuisine has failed to grab me and I have found myself on more than one occasion, standing in the ‘cereal’ aisle at Nakumatt dreaming of muesli.  Right, so to get it off my chest here is the list of things I am going to stuff myself with when I get home (I am drooling at the thought):

• - Mushrooms,
• - Muesli, yoghurt, walnuts and soy milk,
• - Broccoli bigger than a golf ball and costing under $5,
• - Gnocchi,
• - Risotto,
• - Fish,
• - Cheese that doesn’t say gouda regardless of the type and smell of it,
• - Chocolate without anti-melting agents,
• - Brown bread,
• - Bran muffins,
• - Wine – any variety will do.
• - On the other side of the coin, I will definitely not be eating for a very long time:
• - Courgettes, carrots or green peppers,
• - Crackers – particularly those which have added sugar,
• - Pineapple or strawberry flavoured yoghurt (sans fruit),
• - Potatoes or any form of white pasta (basically anything with a high percentage of starch and not a lot else),
• - Toast,
• - Papaya,
• - Avocado,
• - Red dust.

Ok so now that I have all of that off my chest, it’s onwards and upwards.  Literally actually.  I am off to convalesce for a couple of days with the lovely Allie on the shores of Lake Kivu (the Rwandan side for all those drawing breath sharply at the thought of my going to the DRC) and I hope to catch Lauren Hill doing here thing at the Stadium for the Fespad, Pan African festival. 

To finish up, and to show that I am not completely deprived all of things familiar and comforting, see the photo below for the most amazing discovery I’ve had.  It almost brought tears to my eyes (and that wasn’t purely the result of the cost)....

Ritter Sport chocolate.  Never again will I ask darling Elfie not to buy me this!

P.S.......

Ok so I am feeling a bit remorseful at my complaining so here are a couple of quirks about Kigali which give the city its charm:

Bourbon Coffee.  I heart you!!!

1. Children saying “good morning” in English to me regardless of whether it is morning or evening;
2. The painted, themed buses (which like cars and motos are often called ‘taxis’).  One day you could ride the “King of Pop” the next it’s a local Rwandan artist;
3. Getting a little shortbread cookie free with my coffee;
4. Never knowing who the driver of the bus is.  I never know which side the steering wheel will be on and there are always three people in the front-seat of the bus – all of whom may be talking on a cell phone;
5. Squishing into said bus and playing peek-a-boo with the baby in front, whilst sitting on the knee of one person and having someone sitting on one of your knees;
6. Scooters – the excitement of getting to ride a slow old scooter rather than a crazy moto;
7. The ladies at my local market who never change their prices and always greet me in the same way – with a mixture of amusement and excitement; Swahili/Kinyarwanda/English and French; and a tray of 20cent eggs.
8. Walking down the street hearing my name being called out by one of the little boys who somehow remembered my name after my telling him last week that it was Torie, not Muzungu.
9. The school boy who greets me on the way home from work with a “Hey Muzungu, Peace and Love” and then proceeds to bang his closed fist into mine.
10. Cheap omelettes filled with smelly, cheap cheese and French fries.
11. Goat brochettes and cold Mutzig (aka bbq meat on a stick and a giant beer).
12. Drinking my morning coffee out of a Paul Kagame mug - NZers, can you imagine drinking out of a Helen Clark mug or John Key mug!!!.
13. Having BBC World service and DW radio in four different languages throughout the day.