Motorcycle taxis are ubiquitous in Kigali, at least in the city center where I’m staying. They are painted green, yellow, and white, and they actively seek customers or beep their horns in greeting to one another, pretty women, and anyone who looks like they might need a ride somewhere.
Each driver negotiates his own price and I’m using the masculine pronoun here because I haven’t seen a female moto driver yet. The drivers are usually young men, and most seem to have some basic vocabulary in English, especially regarding prices.
Traffic in Kigali is amazingly dense. Cars, trucks of all sizes, public mini-buses, and motorcycles all share the same roads or “roads.” All passengers must wear a helmet that the driver provides, and there’s no side-saddle riding. This is where a tiny bit of experience riding horses helps, especially if you’re not tall: put your foot on the passenger foot rest and then stand over the bike, swinging your other leg over. Amazingly enough, the drivers keep balance. Flip down the visor and zooooooom! You’re off!
Some passengers play it cool and hold onto the rear bar behind the seat. Me, I’m not at all cool, so I get up close and personal with the driver and hang on for dear life. That was especially the case when I travelled back to my lodging after Dr. Joseph’s wedding.
It was pitch black, but there was a stand of motos waiting outside the hotel. I agreed to pay 800RF to get back, put on the helmet and climbed on. I think the hotel must have been at the top of the highest hill in Kigali because we went down so many steep hills on those dark, paved and sorta-paved roads. You can bet I was hanging on. The first couple minutes of any ride are white-knuckled for me anyway, but both the driver and I laughed when I made some strange noise as we went down a steep, unpaved road that was full of ruts, bumps, pedestrians, and lots of other traffic.
Oh, and stops signs are for wimps. Traffic lights too. Oh ya, and street signs. Who needs those anyway?
And make sure you keep your elbows tucked in. Otherwise you might knock someone off a passing moto.
When we finally got on a straightaway, the driver really picked up speed, maybe 45 miles per hour. Then all of a sudden there was noise and flashing lights and eeeek! we came to a complete stop. I thought maybe the driver was going to get a traffic ticket, but he said that President Kagame’s motorcade was passing, and no one is allowed to drive when his cars—four or five—pass.
When we got to the city center, I pointed to the bridge-type sign that marks my neighborhood and we zoomed down yet another hill. He got me back and for the extra thrills, it seemed fine to give him an extra 100.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Rwandan weddings, part 2 (corrected)
There isn’t even a word for how wrong my assumptions were about Rwandan weddings. I thought they would besimple, low-key, maybe Christian with some cultural elements….
Not only no, but really, really not.
The third of Dr. Joseph’s wedding ceremonies was today (the first was a cultural ceremony in traditional attire which happened before I arrived in the country; the second was the civil ceremony I posted about earlier. Better yet, there is an American independent radio journalist who interned with NAR a couple of years ago and is now here doing a series of pieces on Dr. Joseph’s whole wedding extravaganza. Her name is Anna Boiko-Weyrauch. Listen for her “Postcard from Rwanda” and other stories on your national public radio station.
Everyone assembled at an Episcopal church in Nyamirambo, one of the districts in Kigali. There were two couples marrying, Dr. Joseph and his beautiful Betty, and another bride and groom. I took a moto (a motorcyclce taxi) there. More on motos in another post. There were lots of people dressed in traditional Rwandan clothing (women’s wear looks almost like a sari, but with less wrapping). Lots of Western attire as well, and lots of combinations. Very colorful. The gentlemen wore suits and ties that ended at about the sternum. I have to say that I tried to put together the most celebratory look I could, but I simply didn’t bring clothes like that. Next trip I’ll know. I ended up wearing a black jumper dress with a white undershirt, black tights and black mary jane tennis (yes, I know…please don’t nominate me for “What Not to Wear”) and a light blue jacket. I still looked like “Rachel Researcher,” but dems da breaks.
Back to the wedding: there was no processional; the couples and their wedding parties sat at the front, which reminds me a little of Mexican weddings, except there were two couples today. There were lots of prayers, blessings, and speeches. Almost all of it was in Kinyarwandan, with the exception of a few minutes in English. Here’s what I’ll never forget from Dr. Joseph’s and Betty’s wedding:
“You are too young to fail. You are too smart to fail. You are too important to one another to fail.”
These wise words were spoken by I think the highest of the three officiants.
There were exchanged vows, exchanged rings, more prayers and blessings, and then each bride was handed an open traditional Rwandan basket and the guests were invited to come up the double aisles and make a contribution to what I surmise were the fees or donations to the three clergymen. After that, each couple completed the wedding certificate and held it high overhead for photos.
They had officially, finally, tied all their knots.
And then there was the reception!
We traveled to a fancy hotel where there were many many many many photos taken. After an hour of that, we went inside to sit in tightly packed rows. The civil ceremony was the same way: the rows of chairs had about 8 inches between rows. Honestly. All the tall people had to scrunch up their knees to sit down.
Coca-Cola’s world domination was evident here: offerings from one family to another were bottles of Coke, Fanta, and Sprite. Yes. The bride and groom fed each other sips of soda instead of champagne. Really. Guests drank…you guessed it…Coke, Fanta, Sprite. Come to think of it, urwagwa, traditional banana beer, was probably used before soda came into the picture.
The highlight of the evening were the traditional dancers, both men and women. (And ya, I forgot my camera. Wah. ) You’ll need to listen to Anna’s reportage; she’ll tell you. There were six or seven dances, all symbolizing different things. But some things are universal: the dance of gifts proffered Betty a jug of milk; in the next dance, Dr. Joseph was presented with a spear.
There were more speeches, but interestingly enough, not one word from the bride nor the groom. The cultural customs moved them along through age-old processes that have adopted modern flavors.
But now that they are completely married, Dr. Joseph and Betty will have plenty of time to talk.
Not only no, but really, really not.
The third of Dr. Joseph’s wedding ceremonies was today (the first was a cultural ceremony in traditional attire which happened before I arrived in the country; the second was the civil ceremony I posted about earlier. Better yet, there is an American independent radio journalist who interned with NAR a couple of years ago and is now here doing a series of pieces on Dr. Joseph’s whole wedding extravaganza. Her name is Anna Boiko-Weyrauch. Listen for her “Postcard from Rwanda” and other stories on your national public radio station.
Everyone assembled at an Episcopal church in Nyamirambo, one of the districts in Kigali. There were two couples marrying, Dr. Joseph and his beautiful Betty, and another bride and groom. I took a moto (a motorcyclce taxi) there. More on motos in another post. There were lots of people dressed in traditional Rwandan clothing (women’s wear looks almost like a sari, but with less wrapping). Lots of Western attire as well, and lots of combinations. Very colorful. The gentlemen wore suits and ties that ended at about the sternum. I have to say that I tried to put together the most celebratory look I could, but I simply didn’t bring clothes like that. Next trip I’ll know. I ended up wearing a black jumper dress with a white undershirt, black tights and black mary jane tennis (yes, I know…please don’t nominate me for “What Not to Wear”) and a light blue jacket. I still looked like “Rachel Researcher,” but dems da breaks.
Back to the wedding: there was no processional; the couples and their wedding parties sat at the front, which reminds me a little of Mexican weddings, except there were two couples today. There were lots of prayers, blessings, and speeches. Almost all of it was in Kinyarwandan, with the exception of a few minutes in English. Here’s what I’ll never forget from Dr. Joseph’s and Betty’s wedding:
“You are too young to fail. You are too smart to fail. You are too important to one another to fail.”
These wise words were spoken by I think the highest of the three officiants.
There were exchanged vows, exchanged rings, more prayers and blessings, and then each bride was handed an open traditional Rwandan basket and the guests were invited to come up the double aisles and make a contribution to what I surmise were the fees or donations to the three clergymen. After that, each couple completed the wedding certificate and held it high overhead for photos.
They had officially, finally, tied all their knots.
And then there was the reception!
We traveled to a fancy hotel where there were many many many many photos taken. After an hour of that, we went inside to sit in tightly packed rows. The civil ceremony was the same way: the rows of chairs had about 8 inches between rows. Honestly. All the tall people had to scrunch up their knees to sit down.
Coca-Cola’s world domination was evident here: offerings from one family to another were bottles of Coke, Fanta, and Sprite. Yes. The bride and groom fed each other sips of soda instead of champagne. Really. Guests drank…you guessed it…Coke, Fanta, Sprite. Come to think of it, urwagwa, traditional banana beer, was probably used before soda came into the picture.
The highlight of the evening were the traditional dancers, both men and women. (And ya, I forgot my camera. Wah. ) You’ll need to listen to Anna’s reportage; she’ll tell you. There were six or seven dances, all symbolizing different things. But some things are universal: the dance of gifts proffered Betty a jug of milk; in the next dance, Dr. Joseph was presented with a spear.
There were more speeches, but interestingly enough, not one word from the bride nor the groom. The cultural customs moved them along through age-old processes that have adopted modern flavors.
But now that they are completely married, Dr. Joseph and Betty will have plenty of time to talk.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Almost blew out my laptop
July 4
Many of you know that I’m not fully confident about my technical skills. I joke that in technical communication, I’m low T/high C. That is certainly the case tonight. I slept for a few hours with the help of one bendryl, but woke up at around midnight to hear rain pattering the tin roof overhead. It was so peaceful for a moment. Then I heard the next-door bar’s music start to pound. Argh. It was not quite as loud as last night, but the bass feels like a second heartbeat running through me. I took a second Benadryl, turned on my iPod and stared at the ceiling through the mosquito net.
After an hour or so, as I was trying to figure out why I couldn’t sleep, I thought about my immediate worry: I’m having trouble recharging my laptop. I tried to recharge it at a coffee shop earlier, but it would start charging for a moment and then stop. After several attempts to make sure the problem was not due to some silly mistake like a loose cord, I concluded that something else was at play and put everything away and wrote instead in my notebook.
So tonight (and it is now this morning), I figured that since I couldn’t sleep, I should try to recharge the laptop in my hotel room. So here’s the set up: the only working outlet is in the bathroom, dangling from the wall. Also, there is water all over the floor, not right under the outlet area. I also have two electrical converters: one is a simple adapter from an American-style plug to a French-style plug; the other is a current converter with two settings, 50 watt and 1600 watt. The bathroom outlet has a ring around the holes so the current converter won’t fit in there.
Oh, and one more thing: I am a magnet for electrical troubles. If there’s one loose wire, I’ll end up getting lightly shocked. This happened when I used to stir something in my granma’s electric skillet and at the same time, lean against the edge of the kitchen counter, which had an aluminum piece along the top edge. It also happened in one house I owned: if I turned on a certain light switch without my shoes to ground me, I felt the strange tingling feeling of just a bit too much current running through me.
So coming back to the laptop very much in need of a charge, I first placed the physical converter in the outlet, then the current converter (set on 50 watts),then the laptop power cords. To support the weight, I tied a bandana around the whole thing and hung it on the corner of the mirror. It worked for a moment. It charged for about 30 seconds, and then stopped. I rechecked the cord connections. No good. It just wouldn’t charge. So…I thought maybe it needed more voltage.
Okay, tech friends, you can stop laughing.
Yes, I flicked the switch to 1600 watts and fired the whole thing up. It began to charge! Yay! I was so proud of myself. I even took a picture. I closed the cover and let it sleep.
After a few minutes, I thought hey, why not get some writing done? I have pages and pages to get from my notebook to Word to the blog (since I can’t get online very often or very cheaply, so I’m trying to pre-write blog entries and emails). I pulled over one of the room’s chairs, picked up the laptop and set it on my lap.
Ziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
I didn’t think too much about the stinging on my thigh, but my left hand was holding the laptop and was right against four ports. Wow. Then I noticed my right hand was slowly going numb.
I put the laptop down fast.
It didn’t take too long for my brain to kick in and all it said was, “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Losing my laptop and all my work on it is not in the plan. I have my documents backed up, and I could probably recover my stuff. Thank goodness that Apple has my tunes online (priorities, priorities).
But buying a new laptop is not in the budget.
Very tenderly, I shut down the laptop and prayed that it would be okay. Then I disconnected the power cord from the computer. When I disconnected the current converter from the wall outlet, it was sizzling a little. After a few deep breaths, I turned on the laptop to see if it was fried. It seemed to be working, and I pulled up a couple of docs, one old and one new. Everything looked okay.
Whew.
Before I left home, the guy at Radio Shack told me that the laptop should have an auto-adjustment feature for different power sources for all over the world. I’m sad to say that I doubted him. Wherever you are, Radio Shack Guy, you were right. I was wrong.
It’s right there in the Appendix B of the user’s guide on the desktop, yet more proof that no one reads user manuals, even those who occasionally write them.
The correct equation: physical converter + regular laptop power cords = happiness
In the time it took to write this, I’m up to 93% charged. Now if I could just go to sleep.
Many of you know that I’m not fully confident about my technical skills. I joke that in technical communication, I’m low T/high C. That is certainly the case tonight. I slept for a few hours with the help of one bendryl, but woke up at around midnight to hear rain pattering the tin roof overhead. It was so peaceful for a moment. Then I heard the next-door bar’s music start to pound. Argh. It was not quite as loud as last night, but the bass feels like a second heartbeat running through me. I took a second Benadryl, turned on my iPod and stared at the ceiling through the mosquito net.
After an hour or so, as I was trying to figure out why I couldn’t sleep, I thought about my immediate worry: I’m having trouble recharging my laptop. I tried to recharge it at a coffee shop earlier, but it would start charging for a moment and then stop. After several attempts to make sure the problem was not due to some silly mistake like a loose cord, I concluded that something else was at play and put everything away and wrote instead in my notebook.
So tonight (and it is now this morning), I figured that since I couldn’t sleep, I should try to recharge the laptop in my hotel room. So here’s the set up: the only working outlet is in the bathroom, dangling from the wall. Also, there is water all over the floor, not right under the outlet area. I also have two electrical converters: one is a simple adapter from an American-style plug to a French-style plug; the other is a current converter with two settings, 50 watt and 1600 watt. The bathroom outlet has a ring around the holes so the current converter won’t fit in there.
Oh, and one more thing: I am a magnet for electrical troubles. If there’s one loose wire, I’ll end up getting lightly shocked. This happened when I used to stir something in my granma’s electric skillet and at the same time, lean against the edge of the kitchen counter, which had an aluminum piece along the top edge. It also happened in one house I owned: if I turned on a certain light switch without my shoes to ground me, I felt the strange tingling feeling of just a bit too much current running through me.
So coming back to the laptop very much in need of a charge, I first placed the physical converter in the outlet, then the current converter (set on 50 watts),then the laptop power cords. To support the weight, I tied a bandana around the whole thing and hung it on the corner of the mirror. It worked for a moment. It charged for about 30 seconds, and then stopped. I rechecked the cord connections. No good. It just wouldn’t charge. So…I thought maybe it needed more voltage.
Okay, tech friends, you can stop laughing.
Yes, I flicked the switch to 1600 watts and fired the whole thing up. It began to charge! Yay! I was so proud of myself. I even took a picture. I closed the cover and let it sleep.
After a few minutes, I thought hey, why not get some writing done? I have pages and pages to get from my notebook to Word to the blog (since I can’t get online very often or very cheaply, so I’m trying to pre-write blog entries and emails). I pulled over one of the room’s chairs, picked up the laptop and set it on my lap.
Ziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
I didn’t think too much about the stinging on my thigh, but my left hand was holding the laptop and was right against four ports. Wow. Then I noticed my right hand was slowly going numb.
I put the laptop down fast.
It didn’t take too long for my brain to kick in and all it said was, “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Losing my laptop and all my work on it is not in the plan. I have my documents backed up, and I could probably recover my stuff. Thank goodness that Apple has my tunes online (priorities, priorities).
But buying a new laptop is not in the budget.
Very tenderly, I shut down the laptop and prayed that it would be okay. Then I disconnected the power cord from the computer. When I disconnected the current converter from the wall outlet, it was sizzling a little. After a few deep breaths, I turned on the laptop to see if it was fried. It seemed to be working, and I pulled up a couple of docs, one old and one new. Everything looked okay.
Whew.
Before I left home, the guy at Radio Shack told me that the laptop should have an auto-adjustment feature for different power sources for all over the world. I’m sad to say that I doubted him. Wherever you are, Radio Shack Guy, you were right. I was wrong.
It’s right there in the Appendix B of the user’s guide on the desktop, yet more proof that no one reads user manuals, even those who occasionally write them.
The correct equation: physical converter + regular laptop power cords = happiness
In the time it took to write this, I’m up to 93% charged. Now if I could just go to sleep.
Marriage in Rwanda
This afternoon, I’m going to the church wedding of the NAR Director, Dr. Joseph. It is the last of three ceremonies. The first is the “negotiation” where the groom’s family pays something to the bride’s family (at least I think it goes this way, since he is taking away a source of free labor). Then there is the civil ceremony, which I attended Thursday. This is where the government performs its rituals. It was very interesting. A type of magistrate describes all the laws and state expectations regarding married couples.
Then after an hour or so of that, each bride and groom, one at a time, raises his or her right hand and holds the Rwandan flag with the left and recites the legal promise. Two of the four couples read their vows in English and were mystified at the syntax (from a wild translation).
In the second half of the ceremony, the magistrate asks each member of the couple how many children they would like to have. In a few of the couples on Thursday, the bride and groom mentioned different numbers. The magistrate tells them that they need to decide on a number together and agree on it. One of the brides named Sandra stated that she wanted 10 children. This became a running joke with the magistrate. He lectured the couples on the rights of children, particularly the right to a college education. Loosely translated from a gentleman sitting near me, the magistrate said, “It is their right if they want to go. And if you can’t afford to send them, then you must explain to them why you cannot provide this basic right. But it is their right.”
Afterward, we went to a restaurant and had a wonderful meal of African food: salads, rice, fish, grilled meats, and fresh fruit. I sat with one of Dr. Joseph’s friends, Dan , and an American (Quaker) doctor who worked with another of Joseph’s ngos and his daughter, a radio journalist. I asked Dan about when the couple can call themselves married, and it all depends on who you ask. The family and tribal chiefs are happy after the first ceremony; the state is happy after the second, the church after the third. But after the second, which is about 70% married, he said, most people are content.
We had a really interesting talk that evening on the prospect of peace, of the concept of hope, revenge, retaliation, ex pats, childbirth in Rwanda, NGOs, life expectancy, and other subjects, too.
More later on the church ceremony...
Then after an hour or so of that, each bride and groom, one at a time, raises his or her right hand and holds the Rwandan flag with the left and recites the legal promise. Two of the four couples read their vows in English and were mystified at the syntax (from a wild translation).
In the second half of the ceremony, the magistrate asks each member of the couple how many children they would like to have. In a few of the couples on Thursday, the bride and groom mentioned different numbers. The magistrate tells them that they need to decide on a number together and agree on it. One of the brides named Sandra stated that she wanted 10 children. This became a running joke with the magistrate. He lectured the couples on the rights of children, particularly the right to a college education. Loosely translated from a gentleman sitting near me, the magistrate said, “It is their right if they want to go. And if you can’t afford to send them, then you must explain to them why you cannot provide this basic right. But it is their right.”
Afterward, we went to a restaurant and had a wonderful meal of African food: salads, rice, fish, grilled meats, and fresh fruit. I sat with one of Dr. Joseph’s friends, Dan , and an American (Quaker) doctor who worked with another of Joseph’s ngos and his daughter, a radio journalist. I asked Dan about when the couple can call themselves married, and it all depends on who you ask. The family and tribal chiefs are happy after the first ceremony; the state is happy after the second, the church after the third. But after the second, which is about 70% married, he said, most people are content.
We had a really interesting talk that evening on the prospect of peace, of the concept of hope, revenge, retaliation, ex pats, childbirth in Rwanda, NGOs, life expectancy, and other subjects, too.
More later on the church ceremony...
Friday, July 4, 2008
I'm closer than you think...
I have a cell phone in Rwanda: 250-0359-2529. Feel free to call (though it won't be free...). I'm ahead seven hours, but if you call while I'm asleep, I'll answer. Just keep talking 'til I wake up.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
I'm here
After four flights, 20 hours of flying, and another 8 or so in various airports, I'm here. I slept in this morning after arriving at the hotel here about 2 a.m. but now I'm at Never Again Rwanda, the organization that is hosting me here.
The personnel are generous and patient, which is terrific because I still don't feel 100% awake. It's going to take some time to fully understand the cadences of the beautiful English here, and I'm really wishing my French were better.
But all is well. The countryside is beautiful, and many faces of the people make my heart want to break. More later.
The personnel are generous and patient, which is terrific because I still don't feel 100% awake. It's going to take some time to fully understand the cadences of the beautiful English here, and I'm really wishing my French were better.
But all is well. The countryside is beautiful, and many faces of the people make my heart want to break. More later.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Sing up contemporary art!
For friends in San Antonio--
Mark your calendars for the fabulous art exhibition "All the Things that Go to Make Heaven and Earth," in the Central Library Gallery. The opening reception is Thursday, July 3, from 6:30 to 8:30, and the show runs through July. This is the second solo show of Sandra Carreon Griffin.
Sandra's art is edgy, smart, and bold. Her paintings take their themes from photojournalism but Sandra transforms these images into dream-like representations. Powerful. See for yourself.
Mark your calendars for the fabulous art exhibition "All the Things that Go to Make Heaven and Earth," in the Central Library Gallery. The opening reception is Thursday, July 3, from 6:30 to 8:30, and the show runs through July. This is the second solo show of Sandra Carreon Griffin.
Sandra's art is edgy, smart, and bold. Her paintings take their themes from photojournalism but Sandra transforms these images into dream-like representations. Powerful. See for yourself.
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