Driving tour through Kigali

August 11

Kigali makes for some great driving.  With the windows down, you catch a nice breeze; the weather here is perfect.  Mornings are cool (just below 70F) and afternoons are warm (just above 70F).  Folks start shivering at 65, and start looking for shade at 78.

Kigali sprawls over dozens of hills, so a drive through the city involves constant climbing and descending.  On cresting each hill you see a new section of the city: in the valleys: small plots for farming, brick yards and lumber yards, a large golf course.  Neighborhoods snake up the sides of hills: along dirt roads you’ll find small mud-brick houses, single-room barber shops (“New Look Salon”) and cell phone stores with hand painted signs.  Clusters of folks loiter outside chatting and doing business.  Along paved roads you’ll find blocks of gleaming, gated mansions.

Closer to downtown, you start seeing big hotels and government offices.  Shops are housed in four-story strip malls; corporate billboards plaster the sides of buildings (Coca Cola, telecom companies, insurance companies).  One Mutzig Beer billboard features a smiling African business man, toasting to “The Taste of Success.”  Two sky scrapers are being built in the middle of town.  Kigali boasts several large traffic circles with water sculptures and elaborate gardens planted in the center.

Along every road, you see a file of people walking, carring their groceries or supplies on their head.  A line of five boys, each with a kichen table balanced on his head march along a main highway.  An overloaded banana truck that had broken an axil is being unloaded into smaller trucks.  Pedestrians are almost skimmed by the traffic: motor bikes weave in and out of trucks and SUVs.  Everyone beeps their horn before passing.

In the dry season, roads are coated in a thin layer of red dust, stirred up by the traffic.  The air is cool, but there’s also the smell of exhaust fumes, and a faint whiff of burning trash.

Home sweet home

Tues. Aug 10, 10:00pm

From the dispatch home:

Pastor Andre, Chris and Alivera

Hi guys -

Everything has come together, and now I'm lounging around Pastor Andre's house.

Late this morning as I was checking out of the hotel the desk clerk was able to get a hold of Andre on his cell: he must only keep it on during the day.

He swang by the hotel with his driver to pick me up:
Pastor Andre: " I am so sorry, Chris, we forgot about you."
Me: "Don't worry about it, Andre, I'm sure there was just a mix-up at the airport."
Pastor Andre: "No, no, we just forgot you."

Despite what andre says, im sure he has a good excuse somewhere: Rwanda's elections were yesterday and big political festivals last night. Traffic must have been bad.

We picked up Pastor Andre's wife, Alivera, at her church before heading to lunch. On the way ,the driver pulled into a bank where Andre hopped out. Alivera turns to me:
"Hmm, Chris, I'm so sorry we forgot about you."
"Oh that's fine. I'm sure it was just a mixup"
"Hmm, do you not have Andre's phone number?"
"No, I do"
"Hmm, he turned it off! Let me give you my number; I never turn my phone off."
Alivera's number is probably the most useful to have in Rwanda.

We had lunch at a buffet playing country western hits. Beans, spaghetti, potatoes, meats, fried banana. Andres driver sat at a separate table in the corner, we took a table in the back. When we sat down with our heaping plates, I offered to go back to the line to fetch some bottles of water or Fanta but Andre stopped me:
"you are in Africa now, Chris. Sit; it will be brought to you"

Napped away the afternoon at Andres house, then dinner. A hearty mound of rice, potatoes, beef, beans, and sardines. Andre: "you can remove the heads." thanks Andre . Dont know whos going to win out: Tony Horton or Pastor Andre, awaiting the emergence of my African pot belly.

Alivera excused herself early from the table: "My movie is on"
We join her on the couch after dinner to watch Alivera's show, an English-dubbed tele-novella. Theme of the day must have been Loss: plot revolved round losing a necklace, losing a scholarship, losing virginity, losing a friend, all in that order. Lots of angry slapping also.
Finally a bit of Kenyan news @ 8

Tomorrow I should be going out with Alphonse to run a few errands: setting up my phone, getting money. Maybe take a trip to a new coffee house I've been hearing about

So jet lagged, but otherwise feeling good. Glad to finally have a home base  so I can get my bearings. Oh, and i found a sturdy shelf in my room that i can do p90x pull ups on.

Firework invasion

August 10, 4:30am

After checking into my room around one or two that morning, I piddled around on the wireless, frustrated that jet lag was keeping me from sleeping.  I finally got in bed around 4:00, delerious from sleep deprivation and the malaria meds I had popped back in Dallas.

No one told me that when the election party wrapped up around 4:30am, they’d light up a grand fireworks show down the block from my hotel.

Thirty minutes later, half asleep, I had Blake’s warning of “election night craziness” swimming around my head.  When I heard the barrage of pops and bangs, I immediately jumped to the worst conclusions.

So since I had concluded our hotel had been targeted as the unlucky site of a rebel invastion, I instinctively flopped out of bed and crawled to safety in the bathroom.  Then, my malaria meds started helping me reason: it would be a good idea to hide all my luggage with me in the bathroom, so intruding rebels think my room is vacant.  Even if they could find me, I would bribe them with an iPod and M&Ms.

I rushed back out to the room to pack up and haul in my stuff.  Then locked the door of the bathroom and sat atop my pile.  Whew.

My heart stopped beating when I heard footsteps down the hallway.  I hold my breath, hearing the footsteps pass my door.  They stop outside my neighbor’s door where I hear two girls start fussing about the fireworks show:

“...at four thirty in the morning?!” they say, exasperated.

Hmm... probably should have tossed back a chill pill along with the mefloquin.  Not one of my finer moments, but hey, at least I didn’t have to pack up my stuff in the morning.

Stranded at the airport

August 10, 12:00am

The midnight flight from Nairobi to Kigali was the most comfortable of the lot: firm, leather seats, generous leg room, smiling flight attendants with snacks.

After landing, while we taxied towards the gate, the man in the next seat welcomed me to Rwanda.  I mention I had visited several summers ago.  Then he reminds me:

“You know, the elections are tonight.  We are electing our president today.”

“Oh, right that’s tonight,” I said.  “Have they already tallied the votes?”

He smirked, “No, not yet.”

Then he lowered his voice, leaned in toward me, says with a sly grin: “But we all know who the winner will be.”

We exit the plane, to a bus, then to the airport.  Passed through passport control, then downstais to baggage claim.  Waiting for my bags, I kept an eye on the lobby, expecting to find a driver holding a sign with my name on it.  I haul my bags into the after-hours airport lobby, sitting on an empty bench.  I turned away a few soliciting taxi drivers, saying “Sorry, I’ve got someone meeting me.”

I checked a few emails on the airport wireless, checked my watch (12:15am), wrote a few emails, then checked my watch again.  Around thirty minutes past midnight, I grew skeptical that anyone was coming at all.  Just as I started thinking I might take a taxi driver up on his offer, I heard a voice over my shoulder:

“Looks like your waiting for a ride that didn’t show up.”

“That’s what I’m starting to suspect,” I answer.

My new friend turned out to be a generous missionary, Blake, waiting for his sister who was stuck on a delayed flight.  Since he had an hour to spare, he offered to give me a ride to a hotel.  I agree gladly, and we head out into dimly lit parking lot to find his truck.

“Let’s get you to a hotel quickly.  I don’t want to keep us out too long,” he said, as he started up the engine.  As we drove past the front gates of the airport parking lot he explained his anxiety:

“Since elections are tonight, things might get a little crazy.”  He explained that at this time everyone was packed into the sports stadium celebrating a huge election night party; Blake was nervous about the after party.

We made our way through Kigali’s winding and vacant streets to a nice hotel downtown.  A half dozen hotel guards loitered around the front desk, watching the election party on the lobby television screen.  No election results yet, but plenty of celebration: the stadium was packed with Kigami supporters, waving streamers and sparklers.  They all cheered a self-assured Kigami who presided over the spectacle.

All packed

Hey guys,

Thanks to Anne I'm packed over three hours before my plane takes off.  Packing early takes the thrill out of putting on your socks while racing to the airport while shoving a few last soap bars into your pack, but it also gives me a bit more time now to say bye to friends and family.

In a few hours, I'll catch my flight to Rwanda (with exchanges in London and Nairobi) where I'll visit for the next ~12 weeks.  I'll be teaching English and computer literacy at a small secondary school in a town named Rwamagana, about an hour outside of Kigali.  Four summers ago I had visited this school, and wanted to return before some of these students graduated.

At the end of October, when the school's term ends, I'll take a trip to Morocco with my friend Zahir.  We will visit for three weeks working on our Argan Tree project.  I'll write more on this later, but for now you can visit our website here.

If I don't get lost, I'll be back in Dallas by Thanksgiving.  I look forward to seeing you all then.  In the mean time, I hope to keep you updated on my trip via this blog.

Thanks guys,

Chris

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