6/19/11
I’m so sorry that I’ve been MIA for a few days. A lot has been going on. I am currently staring down the gecko on my wall. I know I should be okay with him, but he still catches me off guard and creeps me out a little. I named the one in the last house Rafiki. I need a new name for this one so he’ll be less scary. I’m open to suggestions.
Also, I really need to say again how wonderful the people in the clinic have been to me here. They got me home in one of their off duty ambulances on Wednesday (not kidding), gave me free medicine, several of them have called to check on me between Wednesday and today, and they’ve done everything in their power to make sure I have everything I could possibly need. I feel bad for using their resources, but I am so grateful to have genuinely kind people looking out for me. I am not 100% back to normal, but I am definitely better than I was.
This will be a longer post, so forgive me, but this is also how I’m documenting my trip for myself, and I’d like to be able to throw in as much as I can remember.
Thursday morning Lucy and I left at 5:45 am to catch a bus to Kampala. We had to climb onto a motorbike with several bags and three of us altogether to get to the station to wait in line. I was telling Mom, I’m amazed at how things work here. You don’t plan ahead, you just show up, hopefully at the right place and time, and hope for the best. Anyway, we did get space on a tightly packed bus (some people stood the WHOLE way), and made it to Kampala about 4 hours later. We didn’t know exactly where we were going, and when we drove by the place she was staying, we had to run to the front of the bus, or else they keep driving and you’re out of luck. Everyone was annoyed and said we were doing it the wrong way anyway. I really need a printed list of rules. Anyway, we found her hostel, threw some stuff down, and wandered to the National Mosque to kill some time. We had to rent the traditional garbs, and we climbed an awful amount of steps to get to the top. The view was pretty amazing from the tower, and we got some good pictures in our Muslim wear (to come at some point, I promise). I still think Kampala is disgusting. We had to shower again after our walk just to not feel covered in dirt. The hostel did set me up with a taxi to take me to the bus park to meet Missy, one of Dad’s McAfee students, and some of her coworkers to leave that night for Rwanda.
This bus left at 10:30 pm, and we were late, so we got the last seats in the very back with no leg room. Turns out it’s the worst place to sit late at night, on roads that are being constructed, with a driver who speeds, and instead of going over speed bumps, swerves off the road (because that’s better), and also with passengers who think the whole bus wants to listen to their music selection at 2 am (thus my title, courtesy of Toto). None of us slept that night. Also, we got to the border at around 6 am, and we had to sleeplessly stumble across a bridge in the freezing cold with all of our luggage to get to the Rwanda immigration office to stamp our passports. We finally made it to Kigali, had some awesome breakfast at a very trendy coffee shop, and found our hotel. We spent the rest of the weekend wandering the city, listening to cheesy pop music from ten years ago, eating amazing food, and visiting the many genocide memorials in and around the city.
If you don’t know about the Rwandan genocide in the early 1990s, I encourage you to Google it, or at the very least, netflix Hotel Rwanda (we walked by the hotel the movie was based on and it served as a safe house for many victims during the killings). The Kigali Memorial was amazing and disturbing and beautiful all at the same time. They really explained the history leading up to the genocide from colonialism to independence to civil war. Thousands and thousands were killed by their friends and neighbors, and the rest of the world ignored and downplayed the problem for 100 days before finally sending aid. The U.S. even withdrew its aid workers to protect them, leaving those on the brink of death with no one to turn to. The memorial had pictures of victims, including an entire wing dedicated to the children who were killed, with not only pictures, but stories of their favorite foods and best friends. Gardens surrounded the building, all with special significance to remember what happened, and honor those who were killed. I took lots of plant pictures since I have a weakness for plants in memory of people. :) As we were leaving, all I wanted to do was fly home ASAP and hug my parents and family. We were there during the 100 days of remembrance, and there were silent parades all over the city. You can tell that everyone is still trying so hard to rebuild their country, and recover personally. It was recent enough, that so many still remember and carry scars from all of the tragedies. Rwanda is incredibly clean (you get EXTREME fines for littering) like they’re trying to remove the dirt from the past, and everyone still seems very serious. I missed the friendliness of my Ugandan friends while we were there, and you can still sense the pain everywhere you go.
One place we visited was a church turned into a memorial for those who were killed in mass there. People (Tsutsis) ran to churches thinking they would be spared, and instead, some of the priests alerted the army of where they were, and thousands were killed with bullets, machetes, grenades, whatever the Hutu soldiers had. So many died during this time, that the graves were dug quickly and unsustainably. While we were visiting, family members of victims were digging up bodies, cleaning them, and building lasting graves to bury and honor their family in. It was just so sobering. Inside were just piles and piles of clothes the victims had worn, folded, laid out on pews, and covered in dirt untouched since they were placed. Rosary beads were strewn everywhere, and bullet holes were still in the ceiling of the church, skulls with different traumas were on display, and long bones were in stacks and stacks underground (I've learned Rwandans are not afraid to be graphic). The guide who was walking us around said he works there so that he can make peace with all of the atrocities that he witnessed. It was his coping mechanism to make sure the rest of the world never forgets what happened, and knows that genocide still happens and must be stopped.
Speaking of making peace (and to switch to a more pleasant topic), we ate dinner at Peace Restaurant and Bar, and we stayed in the Hope Lodge, which was conveniently right upstairs. I told you, I like the words hope and peace. I took it as some sort of sign. We did have some fun while we were there, we didn’t just mourn for those lost. We went to the same coffee shop about 4 times for the best ice cream I’ve ever had in any country, and for the free Internet and clean bathrooms. We also found some amazing Rwandan food in real restaurants, and found some interesting music at a bar close to our hotel. It was good to be around a few Americans, and laugh and talk and dance a little. It was a lovely trip.
I am grateful to be home in Mbarara. Seeing Kampala and Kigali makes me grateful for my home here. The people always smile and greet you on the street (and occasionally yell stupid stuff, but I’ll overlook it), and it’s fairly modern, even though we are currently without a refrigerator and still have no hot water in the shower. I will miss Lucy terribly, because I think she helped to get me through my first weeks here, but she is home in her clean house with drinkable tap water and a hot shower. My newer roommates are lovely as well, and I’m hoping that my next 37 days will go quickly and pleasantly.
I still have a list! Also long, get excited.
I’m thankful...
1. for incredible Rwandan white chocolate ice cream.
2. for new friends to be made in foreign countries.
3. for cheesy love songs sung down the street.
4. for hot water in showers even if you have to squat under the faucet (all I could think was Ashley would DIE).
5. for my youthful face. This is actually on the list of things I hope to be grateful for when I’m 35. Three women in Rwanda placed bets on how old I am: 16, 18, and 22 were the guesses. My age is now universally questioned, and at least they got up to 22.
6. for coming home to a full email inbox.
7. for kind people who check in to make sure I’m feeling okay.
8. for 37 days to go. I’m one week from halfway!
9. for pizza. Finally found some at the hostel in Kampala!
10. for tweezers. It's amazing what plucked eyebrows can do for your self esteem.
11. for the fake Gerber daisy I brought from home to decorate my room.
12. for honeysuckle in Africa! I thought it was just a southern thing, but most definitely not.
13. for my amazing Dad on Fathers’ Day. He makes me laugh even with his corny jokes, offers me money if I need it (and even if I don't), always sends emails to check in (even when I’m in the same country), is the sweetest man I know, loves good clothes almost as much as I do, puts up with my sarcasm/bluntness/crassness, loves to talk to ANYONE, has always been proud of me even during my less than proud moments, and passed on his cheeks, nose, love of the Braves/Bulldogs, and clumsiness to me. Love you, Dad!
Goodnight everyone else! You are loved!
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