Storytime

My goodness it's been cold in my village! For the first time in eight months I've felt like putting on a sweatshirt, my flannel pajama pants and my thick socks. And this from a girl who wears T-shirts in the winter. My blood has been thinning considerably. I was trying to guess the temperature on this frigid day and I estimated that it was, sadly, probably 60 degrees with a slight breeze and drizzling. What have I become?!

So last weekend was a bit unique. Edison's (sitemate) parents were visiting so we had planned a whole visiting weekend with our coworkers. I don't know why anyone plans since it never goes as imagined. But I guess that's half the fun.

Our first event was visiting Christine and her husband at their house in Kigali (capital). So I wake up, eat breakfast, do some laundry and get a phone call. Christine is actually in the hospital! Yes, again. This woman can't seem to keep herself unhospitalized (yep, made that one up). She had been in a bus accident while coming home from work the previous day. I was a bit confused on the particulars but I heard that two buses crashed and she was running from the accident when she feel down and twisted her ankle. She basically had a fractured ankle. The baby was absolutely fine, although that was all checked out at the hospital to make sure. Can never be to sure with a bun in the oven.

So plans changed from visiting Christine at her house to visiting at her hospital bed. She was being kept in the post partum section of the hospital. Her small compartment was sectioned off on three sides with curtains. I felt right back at home with my family, because of course we tried to cram about 10 people in a tiny hospital room. Naturally, you can't visit someone without bringing something. So what do you bring a woman in the hospital? A jug of apple juice concentrate, of course. Apple juice is a bit of a novelty here and an exciting arrival in my opinion. I love telling people that in Michigan we grow tons of apples, all different varieties. The apples here are imported from South Africa and I've only seen two varieties.

Next stop - a doctor's house who used to work at the hospital before I started there. We were met with brothers, sisters, grandparents, nieces, nephews, etc. Apparently it's a big event to have visitors from afar. Sadly, when I think of one of my exotic Rwandan friends visiting the US they would be seen far less as an interesting specimen and honored guest. I did learn a fun fact though. Apparently if you work in a US embassy for 15 years, you are automatically granted American citizenship, along with your immediate family. Not sure I completely believe this but it seems like a good gig. The man I was talking to was excited for the possibility of moving his children to America to provide them with a better education. His English was stellar and I would imagine he would do just fine in the US after the initial years worth of culture shock.

So really nothing is more intriguing than meeting someone's parents. It helps explain so much about that person. Not just where they came from but also to see them interact. Family can have such strange effects on a person. For the rest of the weekend I stayed at the parents' house of my coworker Jeanne.

In case you were at all concerned, I have solved the mystery of the 'fat phase'. Yes, it is true. It goes across cultures. Every kid in the world has the susceptibility of being pudgy during their adolescence. Rwandan photo albums have confirmed.

So yet again I have been had by the roving cops versus the street sellers. Jeanne and I were trying to buy some mandarins to bring back to the parents as a gift. Price had been negotiated, the fruit was bagged and ready to go. Jeanne was reaching in her purse for the money when…a tap on the woman's shoulder and oh my, can those woman run. They grabbed their wicker platters of fruit and were off in a flash. We stood there in a staring at the place where the fruit lady had been two seconds ago. Dang, we really wanted mandarins! But they were gone, around the corner and out of sight from the patrolling cops. Selling stuff on the street is illegal. But pretty soon she ran back to hand off the bag, grab the money and go. At least this time I didn't run with them!

This weekend afforded me some quality Rwandan TV watching time. Jeanne's family not only has electricity but also a TV. What actually makes the news is flabbergasting sometimes, and other times just plain comical. One of the top stories on Saturday was a drug bust. We are not talking a huge drug cartel, moving drugs across a border or supplying illegal drugs to thousands of people. Not even close. About five guys in Kigali were busted with pot. Not dealing, just possession. When asked about it they said it gave them a high that was indescribable. Well, I'm pretty sure a lot of people could describe the effects of marijuana quite well. Especially the ones trying to get its recreational use legalized in California. Imagine a small scale drug bust of your neighbor's pot supply making the national news.

So Sunday began with all Jeanne's family members going to church separately. You may realize at this point that Rwanda is an extremely religious country. EVERYONE goes to church, is obsessed with Church, loves talking about God, and doesn't hesitate to ask you to pray with them. The unique part is that many family members will attend different churches. Since the majority of churches are some form of Christianity I suppose the essence is the same and the logistics are a personality preference.

Then I had a lengthy conversation with Jeanne's dad, Deo. He was a bit like yoda, an evangelist on TV and the quintessential grandfather figure all mixed into one. He had so many great quotes that I committed three to memory so I could share.
People think it's about the money but it is really about peace - in reference to development.
Guns are not Gospel.
You are making a long term investment in heaven - in reference to my PC service.
He started his career as a political figure and diplomat in Rwanda but he had to flee to Uganda as a refugee while Rwanda was trying to get liberated. That's where my coworker was born. Imagine being that mother. She was just a nurse. Her family was quite wealthy. She had found a loving, passionate man. So passionate that his aspirations forced them to flee to safety amidst their growing family. Small children in tow they ran for the hills. They came back to their homeland just in time for a genocide. He went back to politics. Her mom took a job in what used to be a hotel, but was being used as an orphanage for all the kids who couldn't find their parents or were suddenly orphaned. Now he has retired from politics. Instead he just wants to spread the news of Jesus. He was the most joyous Christian I have ever met.

They own the whole compound they live in - traditionally about three or four houses that share bathrooms and outdoor kitchens. They live in the smaller house and rent the big house out for a supplemental income. Although apparently renting to other Rwandans while demoting yourself is taboo so they rent to a couple Kenyan brothers. They also have two young girls who live with them during the school year. They are extended family members who stay with them in order to get a better education at a school within the capital.

I also met Jeanne's older brother Paul. It is customary to give visitors gifts. In fact everyone is exchanging gifts with everyone. Paul was a bit caught off guard by our visit but he seemed to gather his wits quickly and offered Edison and I a gift. The first was a baby-sized African drum…and on top was a rock. Well, I'm quite positive the look on my face rivaled every Christmas and birthday gift that I've ever stared at quizzically and had to conceal quickly with a 'Thank you'. Edison did a quiet save, stating how he remembered that Paul like to collect volcanic rock. Indeed, this was remnant of a volcanic explosion. Still strange but if I compare it to some people's love of driftwood - it almost makes sense. My collection of doorstops has increased to a total of one.

So we all grabbed a bus back to the village at the end of the day. Coworker, sitemate, sitemate's parents and heavy luggage in tow. So I don't think I've touched nearly enough on Rwandans' love of debate and roleplaying. This is the perfect story to display all that love. The bus worker wanted to charge Edison more money because of the large bag on his lap. Jeanne instantly spoke up from a couple rows back and argued that that was ludicrous and not going to happen. Mind you that the buses are like extended minivans so we can all hear everyone else's conversations. Pretty soon the whole bus is rallying behind Edison's cause and the bus man's injustice. There is talk of the entire bus boycotting and exiting the vehicle. The slightly intoxicated man in front of me even offered to beat the guy up. Edison quickly told them that he just wanted peace. Pretty soon the whole bus was laughing together and having a good ole time. Because me village is like a small town you always end up on the bus with someone you know. This time it was multiple coworkers, a teacher from the local school, and family members. Like a loud family reunion crammed into a bus ready to get back to real life after a nice weekend. Indeed.