Group Counselling at Tubahumurize

On Thursday, I had the privilege of attending a group counselling meeting. It was not planned that way; a group of Canadians was at the centre filming (research for a funding proposal) and they and I were invited to introduce ourselves to the group and the group to us. The plan was that we would then leave and the women were to have their regular counselling session in private, especially because they are a relatively new group, having been meeting for only a few months.

But what happened in reality was that after our introductions to the group, which were translated from English to French to Kinyarwanda (a fairly tedious process)(and for me just French to Kinyarwanda), the women introduced themselves one by one, and each one told us about their lives and about what had happened to them during the genocide. All of the women present are widows with children and all are HIV positive. They range in age roughly, from thirty to forty. Most of them experienced brutal, violent rapes. Most of them lost their husbands and families in horrifying ways. Many never were able to bury them as they would have wished. One woman said she had no more tears to cry and that she didn’t care if she lived or died. Each of these mini stories was translated for us as we watched and listened.

One woman, who I will call Fortuné, made a decision to tell her whole story for the first time. And she told it well. She is about thirty three now and is very beautiful, so I can only imagine her beauty as a girl and young woman. I suspect that beauty was also once a curse.

She began her story talking about her birth in Kigali to two parents, the first child of what would have been a family of five. But a few years after her younger brother was born, her parents separated and the father took a new wife. Her mother lost the baby that she had been carrying and then her brother died as well. The parents spent the remainder of her childhood fighting over who would get her. She was shuttled back and forth from house to house, even stolen, all of which created a lot of confusion and instability for her.

At age fourteen, the house servant, who was her friend, offered to take her away because all this fighting over her was causing Fortuné to suffer. So she agreed and they stole away to another place entirely, far away in another area of Rwanda. But the so-called friend betrayed her and brought her to a man who locked her in a house. Even if there had been any possibility of escape, it wouldn’t have helped, as she had no idea where she was nor where home was. So she was given more freedom. The man, needless to say, raped her repeatedly and she became pregnant. He also beat her frequently. She carried the baby and gave birth to a girl.

Not too long after that, at some point, somehow, she recognized a man from Kigali who was a friend, and through this relationship she was somehow able to escape with her baby and find her way back to Kigali. She eventually found her mother and settled in with her for a short while. But one day, the father of her baby came with some other men and stole the baby from her. She was despondent and suffering as well, since she was lactating and stopping so abruptly made her ill. She went for help and, while out, again, a man took her hostage and locked her up, raping her over and over, as well as being very abusive towards her. I don’t know how long she was in this situation, but not too long.

At some point, she was able to get away from this man, but just then also came the beginning of the genocide. She was pregnant again actually by this second man, but did not know that for quite some time. She was fifteen. After leaving this second man, she returned to her father’s home. One night, militia entered the house and raped her, one after another, while her father was forced to watch. Then they killed her father in front of her and took her away again, again imprisoned as a sex slave. Throughout the genocide, she was passed from one man to another, each one staying with her for one or two weeks. Sometime during the genocide, she realized she was pregnant and she gave birth to another child near the end of the genocide. However, she did not know that she was HIV positive and, indeed, didn’t know that for a long time. She repeatedly told us that she wished she hadn’t left the man who beat her (the second child’s father) as it would have been better than what happened during the genocide.

Finally, Fortuné, at seventeen, was found by a man who was good. She did not love him, but he was nice to her. Over several years, they had four children together, plus the child of the second man. But one day in about 2002, a friend of hers, who had suffered in the same way she had during the genocide, decided to go and be tested for HIV. She was positive. This made Fortuné decide that perhaps she too should be tested, but she was very afraid to go as she did not want her husband to know what she had been through during the genocide. She was so ashamed. She thought he would reject her.

But in the end, she did get tested and was positive. She told her husband and he too was tested, but was negative. She was sure he would leave her. But he did not. He accepted all that she had suffered during the genocide and wanted to stay with her. But Fortuné herself decided to leave him. Why was not clear as he was a good man who treated her very well. Perhaps it was that she did not want him to become ill too. But she did leave him with her children. Perhaps it was the shame of him knowing what she had been through.

During the past few years, she has only had the courage to have two of her children tested for HIV. She did not say if they were positive or not, but since she did not test the others, one can only assume the news was not good.

Through the years, Fortuné continued to look for her lost daughter. She was finally able to find her in 2003, but at that point the father and his family had turned the child against her. The child rejected her completely. But she continued to see the child, affirming her love for the child and telling the story of how they came to be separated from each other. At this time, the child and Fortuné are becoming closer. But as a “widow” with five children, she does not have many options.

Just to read this story is bad enough, but to be present to the pain with which she spoke, the anguish that rose up from somewhere very deep inside her over and over in waves, to hear her heartfelt cries for her mother and for her lost child, the unimaginable shame she felt to have her father witness her multiple rapes, I (and everyone else in the room) could not help but share her anguish, her shame, her sorrow as she relived her past as a fifteen year old girl again. Our tears flowed freely with hers. And somehow, what arose from this deep sorrow was some relief and some peace. Fortuné reasserted that she had never told the genocide part of this story to anyone, and was only able to do it that day because she was with friends who were present for her. She left, I am sure, lighter, filled with the certainty that she had not been rejected yet again. That she was not just accepted but loved.
She was smiling and able to give and receive hugs.

I feel very privileged to have borne witness to the very heart of the group counselling that goes on here at Tubahumurize. Each one of these women arrives here alone and suffering. Each one is able to share her deepest burdens with the group, in her own time and way. And each is growing in previously unimaginable ways. The women support one another, as each person is at a different stage, and all of them have been through similarly horrifying experiences. I don’t know what will happen to Fortuné in the long run, but I do know that she is now on a new stage of her journey. She knows that she is no longer alone.

The People of Rwanda

The other day, while I was in Akagera Park, I met a German woman and her husband who had been travelling in several other African countries. They talked a little bit about how much begging went on in the countries they had visited. I reported that I had seen very little of that here, just a few children who annoyingly say “give me money”, practicing their few English words, and a few older women downtown who beg, sitting on the ground with a child or two by their side. Otherwise, at least as far as I have seen, everyone is very busy working.

Seriously, the streets are always filled with people. The majority of the economy here is at a micro level. There are thousands upon thousands of small shops that sell pretty much everything under the sun, though you totally have to know where to go to find what you are looking for as neither the store front nor the sign will tell you much at all about what is inside. Then there are the thousands upon thousands of people who walk the streets selling fresh eggs, phone cards, internet cards, tomatoes, jewelry, papayas, and so on. Then there are the professionals, very much the minority and pretty much only in Kigali, who work in offices, hospitals, schools and the like. Then there are the hordes of moto-taxis that are ubiquitous, not to mention taxis, which are equally present and the hundreds of bus drivers. Then there is construction that seems to be going on everywhere, both in the city and rurally. These endeavours require thousands upon thousands of people to do the work. It looks to me like this country is growing, and growing well, economically.

To date, I have not heard anyone refer to anyone else as anything but Rwandan, which suggests that President Paul Kagame’s recipe for reconciliation is working, at least on the surface. Who knows what goes on in private? But public is a good step, rather like racism in Canada. It is not evident in Canada though it rears its head in more insidious ways. And children are hopefully being taught about being Rwandan, not Hutu or Tutsi or Twa. I am starting to see the great variety in facial features, stature and so on, but I have never seen anyone flinch, for example, if, on the bus, they sit next to someone who is different from them.

Speaking of buses, I do enjoy them, plus they are pretty cheap, only 200 RWF (about 50 cents). The buses are packed, but everyone gets a seat. You do have to be able to tolerate a fair bit of body odour! The larger buses hold about forty people I think. When all the main seats are taken, there are aisle seats that fold down. The etiquette when getting on the bus is to always take the seat furthest to the back, especially when the side seating is quite full. If someone gets off from the back, several people shift to fill that spot. Otherwise, everyone in the aisle would have to stand, fold up their seat, and make room for the next person getting onto the bus. It works like a charm but you do have to know the rules.

I have had many a nice chat in French with various people on the bus. People are generally very friendly and warm towards mzungus, and always delighted to hear we are from Canada. Almost always, someone knows someone in Canada and asks if we know them too. They have no concept of how vast Canada is. Others are curious to know what it is like, and how it compares to Rwanda. Rwandans are very proud of their country and rightly proud of the direction in which it is going. They see hope after many years of despair.

Of course, here at Tubahumurize, I do hear a different side of things as pretty much all the women here have suffered or still suffer in situations of domestic violence. Simone thinks the young men of Rwanda really have a problem; they are far too confident and far too cocky, swaggering when they walk. It is clearly still a patriarchal society, even though the family is definitely matriarchal.

There is a very strong division here between male and female. To be female is to have children and take care of home and family. Dowries are still essential; you cannot marry without the dowry. The man has to give at least one cow to marry a woman, which, believe it or not, is a small fortune as cows are very precious. Girls are still the ones who are last to go to school. Homosexuality is impossible, not recognized, not believed in (sinful). It just doesn’t exist (obviously, completely closeted). Divorce is pretty close to impossible. The judge will say to a disputing couple, if one wants a divorce and the other doesn’t, to go back to the home and work it out and come back in six months. In the case of clear domestic violence, divorce is possible but the police become involved, creating a real risk of violence escalating.

I see this divide between the sexes as a huge obstacle to change within the family. The women of Tubahumurize are lucky, in that they are learning about all the things they are capable of, and are gaining confidence in their abilities, some earning an income. These are important steps, I think, in changing the role of women in the family so that women and men share more equal partnerships.

All that said, there are many men who clearly are gentle and kind, who see women as different but equal, and who probably are wonderful partners to their wives. Not everyone is dominating and cruel or punitive. But there is definitely an underlying thread of male supremacy that needs to shift before this country can really emerge as a fully-functioning society. That’s the way I see it anyway.

Agakera National Park

In contrast to our site visit, Simone and I spent the weekend in the relative lap of luxury. We hired a driver and went for two days to Akagera Park, staying overnight at Akagera Lodge. Simone, who had visited once before, very much wanted to see elephants, and I was excited to see whatever we saw, having never seen exotic wild animals in their natural habitat. (Sidebar for anyone who decides to visit: take what the guide book and the website with a grain of salt: e.g., there is NO guided walking tour, there IS an entrance and reception to the park in the north, the hotel phone number is WRONG and the hotel does NOT take Visa. They do take US$ though, so we were saved!)

We left at 7:30 am on Saturday in a 4x4 SUV, driven by Robert. During our two hour plus trip to the park, I saw the countryside and had a glimpse into the lives of rural Rwandans. The hilly countryside is quite lush, filled with fields of crops and banana plantations. People walk and ride bicycles along the roads, and there are many minibuses that are always quite crowded. Many people were tending their crops in the fields, all by hand. Very labour intensive lives. What amazed me were the many bicycles, driven usually by young men and on which were laden huge piles of green bananas, or numerous jugs of water, or several bags of coal, for example. The roads are hilly, so to see them laboring uphill, let alone on the flat, was quite something.

On our way there, we visited Agahozo Shalom Youth Village, the result of Simone meeting someone who had worked there and said to drop in. The director, an Israeli named Nir Lahav, took time to talk to us about the work. It is an amazing place that encompasses a pretty large area. Until last year, it was all about construction, only opening last year to 150 orphans, who entered between the ages of fifteen to seventeen, four from each region of Rwanda. The selection process is based on vulnerability, rather than criteria such as intellect. Construction during the next year and a half will boost capacity to 500 orphans, which is the goal. The youth will live there for four years, attending school and having access to a great deal of resources, including sports and music, as well as responsibilities, like tending the fields. Sixteen youth live in a home with a housemother, who is local, and a counsellor, who is also local. It is their family.

The village is modeled after ones that were built in Israel after the holocaust, with cultural adaptations. By any standard, the village if gorgeous and is clearly well-funded. Volunteers are welcome, but with a project in mind. The hope is that these young adults will return to their homes and villages someday, and will be leaders in their communities. To learn more, visit their website at www.aghozo-shalom.org. If only someone would take such an interest in Tubahumurize's vulnerable women and build a safe village for them and their families!

From there, we travelled on to Akagera Park, which is long and narrow, located in the northeast corner of Rwanda bordering Tanzania. We entered at the southeast corner and exited the next day at the northeast corner, guided by Fulgence, who was very knowledgeable. The park boasts many large lakes on the western side and savannah on the east. During our trip, I was introduced to my first sightings of all sorts of wildlife. When I say sightings, I don’t mean through binoculars, but just a few metres away, like ten to thirty: giraffes, Cape buffalo, topi, oribi, hippos, baboons, vervet monkeys, a baby crocodile, a green mamba, a warthog, impala, bush bucks, water back antelope, reed back antelope and zebras! Our guide was also able to identify a wide variety of birds we sighted: great white pelican, open billed stork, sacred ibis, egrets, saddle billed stork, marabou stork, African fish eagles, spur winged plover, African grey hornbill, goliath heron, blackheaded heron, hadada ibis, oxpickers and red necked francolins. The closest we came to elephants was fresh dung but we lost their trail. There are not that many (200) and the territory they cover is pretty huge, moving every day from one lake to another.

The experience was amazing, truly amazing. There was always something to see, if only a sweeping landscape that could take your breath away. The “roads” we followed were sometimes just tracks with ruts and rocks, very bumpy and very rough. It took almost eight hours on Sunday to travel up the Park to the north. Peering into the bush or across a plain was sort of like looking for the piece of a jigsaw that doesn’t belong. Perhaps something moving, or a bit of different colour. Early on, I was confused quite often by piles of red earth, that looked rather like animal shapes from a distance. It turns out they are termite nests, sometimes several feet high. They are literally everywhere, though I have no idea where they fit into the ecosystem!

The park has existed since the time of the Belgians, but has only opened recently to tourists with a considerably smaller land mass. Still, the park was expanded this year to over 125,000 hectare, up from 90,000 last year. I gather that during the war, the park was not safe for animals as they were poached heavily. But bit by bit, it is being repopulated, sometimes deliberately by humans, and sometimes the animals just arrive and stay. Some never left. So I would think in ten years the park will be quite rife with many species of growing populations of animals. As well, one would hope the park will have the infrastructure needed, like package tours and such, as well as systems for tracking animals, to become a truly great tourist attraction, not to mention Visa-friendly and accurate on the web. That said, the expense was worth every cent. I could not have imagined that two days could bring such richness.

The Women of Kabeza

In the district of Kabeza where I am staying, all seems relatively prosperous. But that is only because what you see is on the main road, which is mostly commercial as well as is where the schools, churches and clinics are located. The road seems to more or less follow the crest of a broad hill, or it is at least elevated because about every 200 metres, there are roads that lead down the hill, from which other roads and paths twist and turn. All of it is inhabited with all manner of dwelling. The further down the hills you go, the rougher the terrain, and the more dense and crude the housing. Everywhere, the smell of charcoal fires burning. There are open drains everywhere, from which emanate all sorts of odours. Children gather water into large plastic jugs from open taps that spill into drains. At the bottom if the hill are banana trees, which sounds very exotic but is a breeding ground for all manner of pestilence.

Anyway, on Friday, Simone, Jeanne and I walked the treacherous paths down to the bottom of one of these roads to pay our respects to women who are members of Tubahumurize, but many have not been active members recently. It seems it is quite an honour to pay visits to these women in their own homes, as many of them took the day off so they would be there for our fifteen minute visit. We visited six homes in all.

There are hordes of children everywhere, all of them dusty, barefoot and ragamuffin. All of them with eyes like saucers to see two mzungus (white people) in their midst. A gaggle of children followed us everywhere. The children who go to school are learning English and they love to practice their little phrases like “good morning” and “how are you”. They always giggle when we actually respond! Anyway, the small children not yet in school broke my heart somehow, as they live in a very brown world. I seriously didn’t see a drop of colour down there. And yet, people seem proud of their small homes and possessions.

We went to Nathalie’s home, a woman I have met several times because she is active and attends the workshops. She is clearly poor but well off in comparison to others we met. Shie also HIV positive. She lives with her son David and her brother’s little girl, Solonge, with whom Simone fell in love. I had still a little doll from my bag of toys that I carry around that I was able to give her, which made her super happy. Nathalie showed us pictures of her wedding and it is clear that her life has been on a downward spiral recently.

Next we visited two of the women who make beads and jewelry, Crescence and Margot, in the former's home. I delivered the calendars so many of you helped me gather, for which they seemed very grateful. They were working indoors, with the finished beads on a table, stringing tiny beads onto nylon cord. They work in incredibly dim light, as there is just one small window and even that was half covered. There is no electricity. They both need glasses to do this fine work, as apparently so do all the other women who make beads, but have no money for such luxuries. They sell these beads in the market for a pittance of what people are willing to pay in North America for such painstaking work.

Next we visited Atanasie, a woman who is in truly dire straits. She is battered by her husband, who has left her but returns from time to time to do more damage. He drinks and has infected her with HIV, which has been passed to the children. He comes and takes, but brings nothing. Nice guy, right? She is actually afraid for her life. She has nothing to feed her children. She had a black eye on the day we visited. Her eldest daughter has been rejected by this man because she is a product of a previous marriage, even though the father is dead, murdered during the genocide. He refuses to allow the girl to be in the home. Whenever he appears, the girl runs away. I think the mother is the saddest woman I have ever met. Her eyes are just deep, deep with sorrow and, dare I say, hopelessness.

Simone and I asked Jeanne if we could bring her and her family to Tubahumurize for shelter, as she fears for her life and also that of her daughter. Jeanne said it was impossible as there are too many other women like her who need the same thing. I argued that perhaps it was better to help one rather than none, although I do see the dilemma. Aaron, Jeanne’s husband, who is a pastor and a very nice, gentle man, said perhaps the women themselves should decide, as that way the decision would be very democratic and inclusive. I think that is a great idea and perhaps something to work towards – setting up such a process. On the other hand, what happens after we leave, for example. How long could this place reasonably offer shelter? The long and the short is there is no women’s shelter in all Kigali. To build one is Jeanne’s real dream. There is surely a need.

Next, we visited Jacqueline, who lives in a tiny two room home with nine people – seven children and she and her husband. It is a very crude home and I can’t imagine doing much more in it than sleeping. And even that would be crowded. The amazing thing is she is one of the happier, stronger women, I believe because she is active at the centre and has responded well to the counselling. There is hope in her eyes. Her husband, who had been abusive, contracted HIV, and is now quite docile. He has not infected her and her children are all healthy too. He is willing to wear condoms.

At the home of Yolande, we were invited into a tiny room by her daughter, Leah, who is actually one of the students who is learning sewing. The site visit had been cancelled from Thursday and move to Friday but this message had not been passed on to Yolande. She had missed work the day before to greet us and was unable to take another day off. Thus her daughter missed a day of instruction in order to care for her youngest sister. The family clearly does its best living in such tiny quarters, but I fear it is an uphill battle, with crumbling walls and a dirt floor.

Finally, we visited Febronie, who sells tomatoes in the market. She is full of energy and even joy, even though her life is not easy. She has five children, the four youngest of whom I was able to give a small toy. They seemed quite pleased. I believe Febronie’s life has been vastly improved by a micro-credit loan. It may not show in her immediate surroundings but she has some pride and faith that things are getting better.

I came away somewhat shell-shocked and feeling very blessed. I have seen poverty before, but nothing really like this. And yet, and yet, each family really does its best to keep things clean, to eat, to care for one another, and to have a sense of dignity. I did not see one iota of shame in any of these women for the state of their lives. They have hope that things will get better, and most of them are taking steps to make it so, little by little.

Genocide Memorial

On Sunday afternoon, Simone and I went to visit the Genocide Memorial of Kigali. We took moto-taxis across town, up hills and down to an altogether new district for me. The memorial site is on a hill overlooking part of the city, with ever more hills in the distance. There are cultivated fields between the site and the city. Further up the hill, beyond the memorial site, there is clearly another neighbourhood, as there were many people walking in both directions, dressed in their Sunday best it seemed. Some were also no doubt bound for the memorial.

The site itself is guarded as apparently there have been bomb attacks and scares on it as recently as two months ago. So we were scanned and searched before entering. Also, no photos were allowed inside and cell phones had to be turned off.

The main building is white and very modern. I am not sure what year this was built, but the funder is the Aegis Foundation. It is very beautifully laid out, full of air and light. This was not a site with piles of bones, but a history of Rwanda and the years leading up to, during and following the genocide. There are many photos, very carefully described events in as few words as possible, memorabilia and several videos of various Rwandans telling parts of their story in three languages (you select the one you want). It is a very peaceful place and everyone I saw who toured it that day was very quiet and respectful.

I found it quite heartbreaking, especially the areas where children were featured. Such innocents. Such wasted lives. And of course, it tapped into my shame and guilt about my/the world’s lack of response to this awful slaughter. The situation was so complex and was described to us in the news as civil war. And indeed, it was very confusing as there were at least half a dozen political groups with official names. Even Rwandans were confused. However, I/we watched, doing nothing to stop this genocide. I felt their blood on my own soul and shed tears for this terrible suffering that afflicts the country now and likely will for generations.

One of the areas of the memorial is a series of rooms describing a few other genocides around the world, such as the Armenians, the Bosnians and the Jews. The point seemed to be that predictable signs are always there ahead of time and that, in future, we can be more alert and better prepared to avert such disasters.

Outside the main building are some beautiful gardens and fountains as well as over a dozen mass graves that commemorate thousands of the dead. Several fresh bouquets of flowers had been placed on some of the graves, so clearly locals come to remember their slain family members. One wall is dedicated to the names of the dead who are known to be there. It is very peaceful and was a good place for me to process a bit of what I had seen inside. I found myself thinking as I walked, “Here, you can rest in peace.”

I feel very hopeful for the Rwanda of today. Yes, many people are scarred and it is not easy to let go of the past. Yes, some of the perpetrators actually live among the victims. Yes, there are thousands of prisoners who have yet to be tried. But there is a justice process in place, Gaccaca courts, albeit one that is very new and quite an experiment. The accused must face their victims in their villages and neighbourhoods and describe exactly what they did. Then the justice system takes over and applies sentences.

The president here, Paul Kagame, is trying to break the cycle of violence the country has lived with for two generations, so that Rwanda can move on. He has outlawed identity cards that caused such problems and indeed, has outlawed anyone identifying as anything but Rwandan. You are either Rwandan or not. The economy is growing, as is tourism. Small businesses line all the main streets. Just outside Tubahumurize centre itself are probably twelve shops directly across the street and as many more on either side, with all manner of things for sale. And the president has placed much emphasis on education.

My hope is mostly for the generation that is now coming of age and those who are younger. It is hardest for the older generation, which witnessed and experienced far too much. But even they have shown great resilience, just in continuing to live. That said, for them it will always be hardest. But if the young can be kept free of hatred, in school all together, learning. If the economy can offer hope for the future of everyone. And if the laws of the land are fair and just, I believe that Rwandans can leave the past behind, not forgetting, but healing and flourishing all the same.

A Day in the Life

There is so much to describe about life here in Kigali. I think perhaps the easiest way to give you an idea of what it is like is to describe an ordinary day here.
The birds, which all have lovely songs that are new to me, are the first noises I hear in the morning. Then roosters start to crow from all directions. The night is still upon us, except for a glimmer of light perhaps only birds can see. My cell phone’s clock says it is about 4 am. I sleep and doze for a few more hours under my bed net on a comfortable double bed. I hear the increasing sounds of traffic as the city wakens and begins its business. I hear the sounds of the young women arriving to begin their day of sewing in the studio behind the main house at 8 am. I think about what the day will bring.

At some point – perhaps the need for coffee or a drink of water, perhaps I hear Jeanne arrive – I decide it is time to get up, usually about 8:30, which, if you know me, is no easy feat. In the bathroom, which I access from my room, I wash, brush my teeth, taking care to use boiled water, take my meds and get dressed. I make my bed, open the curtains and windows, and tie up my bed net into a knot over the bed. I am never this tidy at home! Then I make my way to the kitchen down the hall.

The kitchen is small, with tiny ants, flies and other little bugs all over the place. I am now used to this somehow, and I am okay with it as long as they aren’t near the food we prepare. On one wall, there is a deep, double wide stainless steel sink, with a flat area for drying dishes. Across from this is a three foot high fridge and above it, two cabinets with shelves. They are not used for much except empty paper bags and empty water containers. On the wall between the fridge and sink, a 4 burner gas stoves sits on a table. The stove is attached to a large propane tank on the floor beside the table and fridge. On the other side of the fridge is a toaster oven, which sits on a very low table. If you want to use the toaster oven, you must unplug the fridge. The trick is to remember to plug the fridge back in! On the fourth wall is a cabinet, filled with dishes, cutlery, pots and pans and so on. The top of the cabinet holds bowls of fruit, onions, garlic and lemons. This is also pretty well the only flat surface to cut or mix anything, besides the top of the fridge. Above is a shelf on which rest supplies like coffee, tea, spices, milk powder, honey, sugar, and cans. We use clean dinner plates to cut up what we prepare, which works but dulls the knives very quickly. I hope to soon find a cutting board somewhere. It is ironic, because John raised quite a lot of money for Tubahumurize making gorgeous cutting boards and here there are none. I don’t think it is part of the culture.

Generally, Simon is the kitchen at this hour. He is a charming local boy from a rural area who was hired to do all manner of duties – cleaning dishes, washing floors, preparing meals for the sewing students, and so on. He also runs errands such as just today, I sent him to the store for more powdered milk and matches (needed to light the stove). Sidebar: the matches are made of wax, so lighting them is a trick that involves holding it close to the sulfur point to strike it because it bends easily, and then moving your fingers back very quickly once it is lit. Yesterday, he washed all my clothes (except my underwear) and brought them folded to me at the end of the day. He speaks only Kinyarwanda so communications are difficult. We do a lot of gesturing, but he only needs to be shown once as a rule. And he is learning a bit of English along the way.

For my first task, if Simon has not already done so, I funnel the water into bottles from the large vat of water Simon boiled the night before and put them in the fridge. Next is coffee. I have a small espresso pot so I get that ready, along with a pan of clean water to which I add sugar and milk powder. I make a cup for myself and one for Jeanne. Then Simone and I have some kind of breakfast – perhaps fresh fruit, perhaps eggs that are scrambled, fried or made into an omelet. Perhaps there is bread and we make a bit of toast. These days we are out of butter, and this can only be purchased downtown. We eat at a large table in the main room, which is also the room where the group counseling sessions and workshops are held. We clean up and Simon does the dishes.

After this, we discuss all kinds of things with Jeanne from what is planned for the day to dreams for the future. Also, one or the other of us is often needed to help Jeanne write a letter or email in English. Simone is mostly her private secretary these days. Jeanne’s computer is in her office and her cell phone serves as a modem, through which we access the internet. Unfortunately, this complicates our lives as there is often a bit of a lineup of people to use this computer. It is our main contact with the outside world. We keep the modem stocked with money, using cards that can be bought practically anywhere. Indeed, people approach you in the street to sell them. You scratch off the wax to reveal the code and enter it on the phone to fill up the account with minutes.

These days, when I am not giving a workshop or sitting in on counselling (something I have not done as yet) or assisting with English lessons, I am preparing for another workshop. The one I am working on now is basically women’s reproductive health – puberty to menopause and what comes in between, as well as a bit about child development as most of the women have families. The area where I need to use the internet relates to the women who are HIV positive. I know a bit but need to understand better how this disease affects the way they would ideally behave. I work at a desk in my room on my own laptop, except when I need to access the internet.
Lunch often consists of leftovers, which today is an amazing dish that Simone prepared last night with fish, coconut milk, tomatoes, garlic, onions, ginger and half a habañero. So utterly delicious! Today we will eat this with rice prepared by Jeanne. I plan to look over her shoulder as she makes rice, because my two-to-one rice recipe makes sticky rice and hers is the way rice should be, separate grains. So I will learn. And she will get to taste Simone’s cooking!

[Well it is now tomorrow evening, that is to say Saturday. A whole day has passed. Jeanne loved Simone’s dish and I learned a new way to make rice. And Simone and I found a shop that makes furniture and they will fix up a board that we can use for cutting in the kitchen! We pick it up tomorrow.]

Now I will go back to generalities. On three afternoons a week, there are workshops in English and also a yoga class in the early evening. These were organized and are led by Simone. I assist with the English, and in the yoga class, I am a student. It is amazing how a bit of exercise and stretching makes you feel good! And I adore watching as women master this new language, even in the smallest ways.


Once a month, there is a general meeting held at a church hall down the road apiece. This month’s meeting was today. There was a lot of singing and prayer and a homily by the sewing instructor. This was all in Kinyarwana so I was mostly flirting with a little girl of about two years. All the women today were given a bag of goodies, from articles of clothing to toothbrushes to little bottles of perfume, to pencils and so on. All the things that were donated by so many different people. There is something unsettling for me in giving such small things. Not that I think they aren’t appreciated, but that they are so very little. On the other hand, the women are very appreciative of the fact that so many people know and care about them and live so far away. Happily, I was able to give one of the toys that I had gathered from the Op Shop and from Sophia to the little girl. I am sure it was her very first toy, a small, gray bunny rabbit, something that some other child no longer wanted. I am sure it will be well-loved. A dream would be to be able to put a child’s toy in each of the women’s bags. The pre-school children all seem so under-stimulated.
One of the concrete things to come out of the gathering was the demand for more English classes, which Simone is delighted to insert into the schedule. Another is I put forward was that the women form a choir, led by me (not that I am qualified but hey, who’s checking!) and pretty well all the women in the room raised their hand when Jeanne put out the idea to gauge interest. And they want to sing Canadian songs! Simone and I spent a couple of hours today brainstorming songs that would be fun to harmonize, but we did stray beyond Canadian borders… for sure!

Another interesting thing that happened at the monthly meeting was that Jeanne said I would basically discuss any problems with women who had a health issue. So a gaggle of women followed us back to the centre where I gave out acetaminophen and a lesson on drinking enough water to stay hydrated, and also some back pain meds for a few women with sore backs, but first insisted that they stretch some before I would give it. And to the little 2 year old, I gave a two week supply of vitamins because she has a cough and because her mother took some red pills and she wanted some too.

So the afternoons pass in a variety of ways and then it is time to prepare dinner. That all takes awhile. Simone and I have developed a kind of dance as we work in the tiny kitchen, trying not to bump into each other or infringe on what the other person is doing. Simon is often watching as well so we have to avoid him too. But somehow we get it done and the table set and then we eat and clean up. So far, we are eating very well. The fruit here is fabulous. Fresh pineapple for about $1 and riper than I have ever tasted. Tomatoes and avocadoes and papayas, which are so sweet and delicious… And something that Jeanne calls Japanese plums, which are egg sized and red and full of edible black seeds, the size of a peppercorn perhaps. And so on. What is harder to find are grains in variety. And there is just one bakery that sells brown bread, all the way downtown. Not cheap.

One day soon I will have to get some more Rwandan cash. This is a cash economy and very few places accept Visa. I think I have figured out the currency and am beginning to get a sense of what things cost. I can even bargain a little bit but I also tip, which is not part of the culture… so I guess it all evens out. As an aside, I brought a bunch of US $100 bills. I had been told they should be new, and they were, at least in terms of ones that are more difficult to tamper with. But here, the exchange on bills that are older than 2006 is less than on the newer ones. Not sure what that is about, but I would have to say someone somewhere is pocketing the difference.

Into the evening, Simone and I often play a couple of games of cribbage. We may also do some emailing and writing and reading. Even though night falls quickly, we do have electricity in the house, although the lighting is not that bright. But bright enough to do those things. I am glad I brought a small desk lamp with a halogen bulb so that I can see better and a transformer so it works (thanks Jim). My old eyes don’t really do that well in dim light.

Sidebar: This evening we enjoyed a torrential rain. The heavens opened. The wind blew. Thunder rumbled and cracked. After the deluge, the night air smelled so delicious, free of dust and heat and humidity. It may be the beginning of the small rainy season…

At bedtime, I take a quick shower. And I do mean quick as the water is cold only, from all the taps. It is a bit like diving into a Canadian lake in July, say, and gasping a few times and then saying, well this isn’t so bad really. At least some of us say that. :) Anyway, it feels awfully good to wash off all the sweat and dust of the day. And that is pretty much the end of my day. I open my net and put it around my bed, along with my lamp and a book and bunch of crosswords and sudokus and such. And pretty soon I go to sleep to the soporific sounds of drinkers and loud music from the bar next door. Like a lullaby…

All in all, life here is pretty grand. Murabeho!

Impressions of Kigali

Muraho! (this means 'hi', or more exactly, 'I greet you.")
Kigali is a low, sprawling city. As far as I can figure out, everything is curves, both up and down and around, like the landscape of round, reddish hills in which the city sits. Between the curves and my absence of direction (the sun seems always to be overhead!) I never have a sense of where I am. I have taken to writing down the names of the various neighbourhoods. The one where I live and where the Tubahumurize centre is located is called Kabeza. Most of the city is built close to the ground, though there are buildings several stories high that are newer or being built as the country gets back on its feet and grows.

Although I am not at all certain of the population of Kigali, it seems there are people out in the street all the time, at least during the day, going about their business. Although there is a lot of curiosity about a white foreigner, I do not feel at all threatened; just a bit stared at. I try to wave and smile and people respond in kind. The children, all in various uniforms, are learning English in school and love to try it out on the likes of me, saying "hi" or "how are you", to which I respond in English, to their complete delight it seems. One of the most endearing things I see here is the way people touch each other. Men hold hands with men, women walk arm in arm or arm and waist. All greetings with people you know or people you are introduced to begin by touching or shaking hands and by either one or three kisses on the cheeks. Every departure involves the same ritual.

Little buses are everywhere, some old and worn, some new, larger and airy. I have now taken the bus three times, to the tune of 200 RWF per trip (about $0.40), including a transfer. The buses arrive at stops, as well as where people are waving them down. If you understand Kinyarwanda or have a good ear, you will hear the name of the district to which the bus is heading. I have no idea how it works, but somehow, I have managed to return to the centre or arrive at my destination each time. It feels like luck, but I am sure there actually is a system!

To be sure, I have not tried to take this trip without someone who is from the city and speaks the language. One day I will try with just Simone. The experience is pleasant enough, with country music playing (!!), and people either peeking at us or studiously avoiding eye contact. You announce that you want to get off by tapping the window and the people around you make a “psh, psh, psh” sound to get the person who opens the door’s attention. Somehow it works!

There are swarms of motor-taxis throughout the city, which is basically a motorcycle that accepts passengers. You can recognize them by their green helmets, which are numbered (they are the official, registered taxis) and blue helmets (a bit more sketchy, I am told, with no recourse if something bad happens).

Yesterday, I took my first motor-taxi ride with Valentin, the son of my host, who rode with a large bag of groceries I had bought, and me alone, sporting the obligatory passenger helmet. It was quite a thrill riding behind my driver, as they dart in and out of traffic, in their efforts to get you where you are going as quickly as possible. Negotiating a price for the trip happens before you get on, as it does, actually, before you show interest in any item you want to buy. The cost is based on how far you are going, just like a regular taxi only cheaper and more dangerous – but to me more fun. A tip is not expected but very much appreciated. It cost 800 RWF for Valentin and I to get home with the groceries, and I gave the two drivers 1000rwf (about US$5). Their smiles were very broad.

Today, Jeanne, Simone and I visited a group of women who are clients of Tubahumurize, indeed a few of whom I had already met, who live in a neighbourhood at some distance. We arrived by foot, then bus, then motor-taxi, then foot. We had the privilege of being invited into two of the women's homes, followed by the rest of the women and a gaggle of children too young to be in school. The children are incredibly shy and incredibly curious and incredibly beautiful. Before we left, I had asked Jeanne if I should bring something as a gift, especially for the children, and she said no. But I wish I had. I was able to share an energy bar with three of the children, who became a little more daring after that. And of course the oldest one conned the youngest, whose name is Prince, out of his share. The purpose of the visit was to get a sense of how the women live, even for Jeanne, as it was her first visit there as well.

The neighbourhood stretches behind the main road where the school, church and training centre are located. The houses are arranged in what seems rather like a honey comb, with many twists and turns on dusty paths. All the houses seem to be constructed of concrete – at least that is what I think it is. The women lead simple and probably difficult lives, as it is not cheap to live in Kigali, as I am discovering. And it is almost completely a cash economy. Beautiful bougainvillea spill over the wall that surrounds the neighbourhood, making the dusty walk quite enchanting.

For me, the highlight of our visit was when the daughter of one of our hosts, who is deaf from childhood meningitis, and who had quite a closed face as if she was not interested in us, discovered that Simone can speak sign language. All of us watched spellbound as Simone and Marie Jeanne talked in a very animated way, their hands flying as they signed, for quite a long time. I am sure it is not often that this young 17 year old feels so included in so-called normal life. They became bosom buddies, from all accounts, and MJ opened to me as well, as I am Simone's "tanti" -- her aunt.

The women all escorted us down the hill and out of the neighbourhood, a few vying to be the ones to put their arms around my waist or to talk with me in French. I had the feeling we had paid these women a great honour in visiting their homes and their neighbourhood. I am a bit uncomfortable with this, as it was a complete honour for me as well. And it felt a bit artificial visiting with no purpose than to be voyeurs. I hope it did not feel that way to them. It did not appear to be so, and for that I am grateful.

Enough for now. Murabeho! (good bye, or I bid you farewell). Elaine

The life of a princess

The life of a princess

Muraho! I am writing under the canopy of a lovely mosquito net and I feel like a princess! Needless to say, I am in Kigali, having arrived safely with little trouble. All my bags arrived with everything intact! It was a long trip with several adventures, but it all ended well and so much has happened since that all that seems rather trivial.

I am staying at Tubahumurize centre with Simone, my niece. We are enjoying each other’s company a lot and she is helping me figure things out, since she has six weeks on my four days. So she is who I turn to. Jeanne, my host and the director of the centre, is here every day and she treats me well. She seems to like me quite a bit. Her son Valentin is the sweetest man, and he is who I turn to for help most often after Simone that is.

The language here of course is Kinyarwanda but many, if not most, people speak French as well. English is now the official language too so it is being taught in schools as a second language. Older people are taking every opportunity to learn. Simone has three English classes every week, and they are very popular and the women are learning like sponges. I have now attended two and enjoyed myself immensely as a sort of teacher’s aide.

I bought myself the obligatory cell phone. I say this because pretty well everyone has one. They are cheap and they are the way that people stay in touch, which is to say all the time! Also, the cell phone serves as a modem, to which you add points which represent money. It is not cheap to be online.

Speaking of money, most things are actually rather expensive here. The economic downturn has taken its toll on the economy here, especially the cost of food. As with all foreign currencies, there is quite a bit of calculating that has to happen whenever you encounter prices. And for the record, if you exchange $100 US (which is the exchange currency) you will not get the full exchange if your bills are older than 2006 I think. Does that sound like a scam or what?! Take note anyone who plans to travel here!

The climate is lovely. Somewhat hot in the sun, but I think it is hotter at home. Even though it is barely south of the equator, I doubt that it ever reaches ninety degrees, likely because of the altitude, which is one or two thousand feet. Interestingly, when filling a water bottle using a funnel yesterday, Simone noted that the eddy turns in the opposite direction to north of the equator! Very cool. Also way cool is how night falls – it takes about a minute, from daylight to night. That again is the equator. I had never thought of that.

Water is my life, at some level. In the morning, we boil our water in a large pot for ten minutes. After it cools, we pour it into containers. One of my water bottles is never far away. So far I have remained healthy and I hope to continue with that pattern. Food is another large part of my life, deciding what to eat and preparing it. The fruits are amazing and this evening I ate the most delicious avocado I have ever tasted. I am mostly eating vegetarian with Simone, plus fish. It is not the most tempting cuisine here, as many people use a lot of heavy oil.

I have met several groups of women, both older and young. Women and one man form the sewing class, which arrives around 8 in the morning, eager to get going. They seem to be very happy in their training and are learning quickly, perhaps eager to put their skills to work! The machines are gorgeous and I love hearing the clack, clack of the pedal as they sew.

I gave my first workshop today. Talk about baptism by fire! I was so not ready and the women had not been warned either. But I was prepared enough to teach a workshop – well, more like 2/3 of a workshop – we did not finish – on hygiene and first aid. The women were very interested and asked many questions. I was glad that I had brought posters of four systems of the human body. I think they really started to understand about the heart and circulatory system. They had difficulty finding their carotid pulse, but we all agreed in the end that we all had one and were alive!

Simone and I spend a little time in the evening decompressing from the day by playing cribbage. (Thanks John for suggesting that I bring cards and a portable crib board.) And here I am now, under my princess canopy, writing my blog, which I will post tomorrow. Good old thumb drives and copy and paste. We are working on making It possible for me to access the internet from my computer, but so far no luck. It is peck and search on the centre’s computer as it is a French keyboard I think. Different enough to make tons of mistakes, and for my editor’s eye, that is a no-go. I have to fix it all before sending.

Tomorrow brings a shopping expedition. Extension cord. Tomatoes, garlic, olive oil, butter. Something for dinner. A corkscrew. And perhaps finalize a plan to travel this weekend to see herds of elephants in the northeast corner of Rwanda. The discussions are raging but I think we are close to a decision.

With love to one and all. TTFN. Murabeho!