Gisenyi

With only 3 weeks to go in Rwanda, I decided it was time to leave Kigali and see a bit more of Rwanda. The last time I did so it was to drive up north, get lost and then climb a very cold, wet hike up Mount Bisoke, which should have taken 5 hours, but instead took 9. It was miserable and I was so muddy by the end of it that I needed professional help to get my hands a feet clean!

So, I decided instead to head off for a more relaxing weekend and I set my compass towards Gisenyi. Gisenyi is the second largest town in Rwanda and it sits right on the edge of Congo and Lake Kivu. Lake Kivu is one of the only lakes in the Great Lakes Region that you can actually swim in and the vast body of water surrounded by beautiful hills makes for a truly spectacular landscape. The temperature seldom gets above 25 C, but the lush greenery and tropical plants make it look like it belongs somewhere far more hot and humid. The weekend was complete with swimming, exploring the landscape, visiting some traditional hot springs and poking around a local dairy farm. I truly recommend a visit to Gisenyi if you’re ever in Rwanda.

Catch 22

You’d think that getting into Harvard is the hard part, but no, for broke international students there seems to be an unforgiving initiation period in which you have to negotiate the worst combination of school administration regulation, the US government and banks.
I’ve worked in International Development since I left school and let’s face it’s not a lucrative field. So while I might have worked for a salary, had a less interesting CV and not gotten into Harvard, I chose instead to work for pennies doing fantastic things in Ghana, Tanzania, Zambia and Rwanda, which gave me the credentials to get into Harvard, but not the savings to actually be able to afford to attend. So, I looked to loans but little did I know what a headache that would be.
Basically put, the school/government will not issue a student visa until they see a US bank account with the entire years living costs and tuition in it. However, for people, like me, who have to take out loans to go to school (I’m lucky enough to have a US co-signer) the banks will not give you any money until they see a student visa. Then, above that –if, for example you are lucky enough to have a benevolent uncle who can lend you money for a while, trying to open a US account if you are not in the US is next to impossible. How do you enter the US to open the account without the student visa, and how do you get the student visa with out the account with the money in it? Now, try to solve these dilemmas from Rwanda.
Anyways, sorting this out has taken me months and hundreds of dollars in phone calls, FedEx costs and faxes from Rwanda and sadly has taken me away from my blogging. Please accept my deepest apologies. Nice blogs of Rwanda are in the making.

Rescue

On Saturday, I was sitting by the Novatel Hotel pool with friends. Dressed in my jeans and silk tank top, I was hardly dressed for swimming but had dropped by anyways to say hi before going about some errands. I looked over to the pool and noticed a young Rwandese girl swimming underwater in circles. Something about it did not look right. I stood up to take a closer look and just then I saw her thrust herself on to her back and press her face up for air. I’ll never forget it the fight and panic expressed in that one desperate movement before she started to sink below again. Without realizing what I was doing until I was doing it, I dove into the pool. Underwater, I kept my eyes on her pink bathing suit, and I can still see her arms and legs flailing silently. I pushed her up to the surface and felt her small body gasping for air. As soon as I touched her, her body gave up and let me swim her to the side. Someone appeared to help pull her out of the pool and I followed in my wet clothes. The girl was 9 and her parents were inside the hotel having a coffee. As I assisted the girl to become calm and catch her breath, the adreline that had cursed through my body slowed down and as soon as her father rushed to the scene, I left, tears of relief streaming down my cheeks.

It was a truly humbling experience, to realize just how fragile life is and to be so thankful for my own. No one else saw the girl and I shudder to think what might have happened if I had not turned my head.

Walking a Mile in Woman’s Shoes

At what point do you realize that the neighbourhood in which you live has accepted you as one of their own? Is it when most of the women and children know you by name, and call to you as you walk, moto or drive by? Or perhaps, it’s when they show you the secret passage ways behind their houses and tell you to use them so that robbers cannot get away if you are mugged. Or maybe, it’s when they offer to let you borrow their shoes for a day!

Today, I was walking up the final hill to the main road where I normally get a moto to work. However, just as I got there, my flip flop broke. Reluctantly, I took my shoes off and began to walk back to my house, which is about 15 minute walk away. As I walked the villagers sympathized with me saying “sorry” as I passed. Then one woman stopped me and told me that there was a man who fixes shoes in the village. She took me back to the main strip where a man quickly appeared and begin to set up shop on the street. Meanwhile the woman turned to me and said, “You cant wear other shoes?” Thinking that she was asking if I would go home to get new shoes I replied “yes, I have to, I have to go to work”. But before I could leave, she turned to a group of women sorting beans on a ground behind us, and after a few words were exchanged, one of them appeared with a pair of sandals! She thrust them onto my bare feet and told me to wear them for the day and then collect my sandals from her house after work! I could not believe the generosity of that woman! I am currently wearing the shoes of a woman from my village and revealing in the ability of people who have so little to be so kind! Walking for a day in her shoes is definitely teaching a good lesson in generosity and trust.

The Road Less Travelled

The other weekend, my roommate, Stephanie and I decided to drive up north. She wanted to see the gorillas, and I, not ready to spend $500 on them, was going to hike to the top of Mount Bisoke (more on that later!). We borrowed a friend’s huge old red land cruiser, which rattled wildly at ever bump in the road, and headed off on Friday afternoon, Our friend had forgotten to leave his map in the car, but armed with what some vague directions from a friend, Stephanie and I headed blithely up north. The countryside in Rwanda is beautiful and we were enjoying the feeling of being two women taking charge of our freedom in Africa (not something we take for granted). It is very rare that you will see women driving, let along two foreign women driving such a massive car without a Rwandese guide or driver with them. But the fun came to an abrupt halt as we reached the border of Uganda and we realized we had taken the wrong road!

The roads in Rwanda are good, if you stick to the five main ones that spread outwards from Kigali, but if you want to get between those main roads, things look pretty grim. However, Steph and I, intreprid female nomads that we are, were not phased. The little road that joined us to the road we wanted to take was a mere dirt track winding up and down the mountains and without and map or signs. It was quite an adventure at every fork in the road when we’d have to stop, pull down the window and try to interpret various hand movements through a combination of Steph and I’s meagre Kirwanda, and Swahili.

A two hour trip turned into six hours. But taking the road much less travelled was a terrific opportunity to see the beautiful landscape and interact with some villagers who could not have been sweeter to two foreign women taking a road trip in Rwanda.

Rwandese Helmet!

A friend took this photo! I take a moto-taxi to work every day but luckily I've never had to wear a helmet like this!

India: A Treat for The Eyes

India is definitely a country of extremes. You can find the best there, and possibly, some of the worst. Some of the world’s richest people are from India, and definitely some of the poorest live alongside them. But, for me, and for many tourists, it is the juxtaposition of modern development and ancient tradition that stays with you after you leave. Within minutes of arriving in the city you begin to understand the dichotomies that India is famous for. Cows wander alongside modern trucks and cars and traffic, already bottlenecked by random construction will gently swerve around a sleeping cow who has chosen the middle of the highway as a good resting place. My Indian friend pointed out to me that wherever there is a free spot in the city, a temple is raised and indeed there is no shortage of beautiful shrines nestled among business centers and housing developments.

The “extreme” that I appreciated most in Indian culture is their penchant for all things beautiful and ornate. I never managed to take a picture to do justice to the magnificent decorations on all the trucks and auto-rickshaws, but the silver tassels and paint definitely added a cheer to the morning commute. Ancient artisanship and decorations on wood, marble and paper, plus the gorgeous fine fabric of the women’s saris certainly make India a treat for the eyes. Indians definitely know how to make life, however difficult, appear beautiful.