Technology is a wonderful thing. In the past two days I have talked to my parents, grandparents, and a number of friends, one in Argentina and a few at Bowdoin. Yet I still can’t upload photos quick enough to show you more visually where I am and where I am living and the people I am with. Hmmm.
Anyways, a recent thought of mine. If you are an American, of any color and creed, and you feel like you don’t get paid enough attention in your everyday life then you should seriously consider coming to a city like Kigali. You should also consider changing your name to Muzungu if you do make the trek. My morning walk to get to the taxt stop takes me about fifteen minutes. In that time I pass by a number of houses and stores as well as fellow commuters. That means I also pass by a large number of children under that age of ten. I mention this because to them, I must seem like an alien creature in their world. They stare for a while and then the inevitable “Muzungu” is shouted. Other children turn their heads and their eyes grow wide, indeed a muzungu walks among them. You would think that after a few weeks of making this exact same trek up this exact same hill that the novelty of my pale, freckled skin would wear off, but no, oh no no no.
Also, whenever someone greets me they assume I am either French, which earns me a “Bonjour,” or American, which earns me a “Hello.” When I respond in Kinyarwanda with a “Waramutse,” or a “Wiriwe,” the shock on peoples faces is simply magnificent. They are so surprised that any foreigner knows any little bit of their language. Unfortunately when they try to continue a conversation, my Kinyarwanda ultimately fails me and their surprise turns to laughter. I have some work to do on my language skills.
Transportation in Kigali is a wonderful process to be a part of. The city has a very well established taxi system with taxis that run to each part of town. It is incredibly easy to find them and the drivers are more then happy to help guide you to where you are trying to go. The cabs themselves are vans meant to fit probably twelve people comfortably, but due to high demand and the need to make a little cash, the operators are able to wedge about nineteen people into the van on a regular basis. They are awesome. Each taxi is decorated in it’s own personal theme. Many drivers choose to dedicate their vehicles to famous musical artists (Sean Kingston, Young Jeezy, Rihanna), others to sports teams and players (Arsenal is the most common, followed by Barcelona) and then there are some random ones (T-Bag?, No Jesus No Life). The rides are cheap, at most about 40 cents a ride.
The other forms of transportation are motos, which are motorcycle taxis that due to SIT’s insurance policy we are prohibited from riding, bummer, and also private hire taxis which charge about ten bucks a ride and frankly aren’t worth the price when the other taxis are so efficient and easy.
But as I was saying, transportation thus far has been relatively easy. Also, we have for the most part, besides our obvious American heritage, have avoided making scenes and making fools of ourselves in Rwandan society and culture, and fortunately, that changed today.
A few of us had stayed at the SIT offices after class to work on an essay we had due today. After working for a few hours and talking with Apollon, one of our Directors, we decided to head to the center of town (UTC). Normally this merely takes a short walk to the taxi stop where we hop on a bus headed to the UTC. We made the walk down and waited at the stop but we were having a really hard time getting a taxi with enough room for us. One showed up but a bunch of Rwandans rushed the cab and successfully boxed us out of the taxi and claimed their seats. After a few more failed attempts we decided to try a private hire taxi. There were six of us, me and five girls from the program, so we figured that we could split the cost a number of ways and it wouldn’t be too bad. So we pulled a cab over and four of us hopped in the back and two in the front seat. The driver looked at us like we were insane. He pointed to a police officer wielding a machine gun and told us that there was no way that he could legally transport us like that. We all piled out of the car, much to the delight of the onlookers, and resumed our posts on the side of the road. We then turned around to find a small group of children saying, wait for it…. “Muzungu!” and, although it was five in the afternoon, “good morning!” We tried out our Kinyarwanda on he kids and quickly realized that we were out of our league. Time to find another taxi. Finally, a bus pulled up and we all fit in, our public shaming had come to an end.
It is going to feel weird to come back to the States and be just another face in the crowd.
Muzungu currently sticking out like a sore thumb in Kigali, Rwanda
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