Over the hills to Rwanda
My trip to Rwanda, where to start? As per usual, my bus had a delayed start and we didn’t reach the Uganda/Rwanda border until late in the day. Thinking myself a confident black market moneychanger from my time in Rwanda last year, I decided I would change some money at the border. I negotiated a good exchange rate and was watching the dealer unload the francs for me, especially as many of the bills have a different look now. He handed me my wad of money and I gave him $100. I started walking across the border, feeling pretty good about my little exchange when another dealer approached me and told me I had just been cheated. No, I watched the bills and I MUST have the right amount. The man insists and tells me I was given 100 notes in place of 1000 notes [and yes, I too was wondering why this man couldn’t tell me this before and not after the fact]. I rummage through my wallet and my heart sinks. I was indeed cheated out of 7,200 RwFrancs (probably about $13). I turn around and rush back to the Ugandan side of the border to seek out this man, as much as I know it is in vain. I eventually resigned myself, hurt pride and all, to accept the loss and to get myself to the Rwanda side so that my bus wouldn’t leave without me, especially as I see I my anger is giving the dealers a bigger laugh.
My frustration dissipated the further we traveled into the beautiful terraced hills of Rwanda. As we approached Kigali, I immediately noticed so many changes. I got off the bus and made a run for a minibus/matatu, and was struck by the fact that a young man approached me speaking English rather than French. This seems to be the trend: the anglophonizing of francophone Rwanda. I can’t say that I am too disappointed as my Français is rusty and mixed up with Spanish and Swahili. I settle in at Chez Lando (which is substantially more expensive now, much like the rest of the city) and start calling around. My friend Justine, who I met in DC, came to meet me for a Rwandan style tilapia dinner with her husband, both of whom have come back to Rwanda to settle. Ahhh! It felt so great to be back there!
I spent the next two days running around the city visiting with friends and old colleagues. I was looking forward to seeing Claire of the AIDS commission. She always makes me laugh; especially with the way she would explain things to me. When a man would urinate in public or if children begged for money from me, she would say: “You see, these people, they have a very bad behavior.” Maybe you have to be there. So she came to see me at my hotel and I told her how skinny she was and she explained that she went on a “regime” as she was getting too fat. Then she tells me, in classic Claire fashion, that I am fat. Thanks Claire. Justine told me that Gulu made me skinnier, so the issue remains unresolved and in accordance with my Western culture I prefer to keep it off the agenda altogether.
But yes, Kigali is in the midst of a transformation, or what the government is calling beautification (NYC Guilliani fashion). Pristine new tall buildings are beginning to dot the skyline, streetlights and trees are now lining all the roads, and the traffic police are ensuring that people cross at the intersections (they yelled at me in Kinyarwanda when I first arrived because I crossed in the middle of the road, just like everybody used to). When I left last year, I saw the construction of what had to be the first sidewalk, but now they are everywhere. What struck me most was the absence of the street children who used to shout, “AMAFARANGA MZUNGU!!” There are a few beggars remaining on the streets, namely those who are grossly disfigured, but the children were just not there. Before I left last year there were rumors that these children were being relocated. But to where? What were they to do? My impression is that the government is attempting to cover-up anything unsightly without fully addressing the underlying problems.
When attempting to get rid of my remaining francs, I decided to get a newspaper and again fell prey to one of the oldest tricks – finding myself with last week’s paper rather than the most current. DOH! I was also well recognized by the money dealers when crossing the border back into Uganda. I told them where to go, but one insisted that he had a message for me, saying he is to deliver a message for Kerry coming from Kigali (recall that most Africans opt to call me Kerry rather than Kelly). I at no point told anybody my name, leading me to believe that these dealers have access to customs records, which is a bit disturbing to say the least. I also got into a heated debate with the visa man on the Ugandan side, as he didn’t want to accept my student ID card and I was absolutely refusing to pay the extra fee – I came out victorious after pulling out the “I am doing charitable work for YOUR country” card.
I managed to arrive back safely back in Kampala, accompanied by a healthy fever (though I think I have it under control today). I am supposed to head back up to Gulu on Sunday for this reconciliation conference, so here’s hoping for a speedy recovery.
My frustration dissipated the further we traveled into the beautiful terraced hills of Rwanda. As we approached Kigali, I immediately noticed so many changes. I got off the bus and made a run for a minibus/matatu, and was struck by the fact that a young man approached me speaking English rather than French. This seems to be the trend: the anglophonizing of francophone Rwanda. I can’t say that I am too disappointed as my Français is rusty and mixed up with Spanish and Swahili. I settle in at Chez Lando (which is substantially more expensive now, much like the rest of the city) and start calling around. My friend Justine, who I met in DC, came to meet me for a Rwandan style tilapia dinner with her husband, both of whom have come back to Rwanda to settle. Ahhh! It felt so great to be back there!
I spent the next two days running around the city visiting with friends and old colleagues. I was looking forward to seeing Claire of the AIDS commission. She always makes me laugh; especially with the way she would explain things to me. When a man would urinate in public or if children begged for money from me, she would say: “You see, these people, they have a very bad behavior.” Maybe you have to be there. So she came to see me at my hotel and I told her how skinny she was and she explained that she went on a “regime” as she was getting too fat. Then she tells me, in classic Claire fashion, that I am fat. Thanks Claire. Justine told me that Gulu made me skinnier, so the issue remains unresolved and in accordance with my Western culture I prefer to keep it off the agenda altogether.
But yes, Kigali is in the midst of a transformation, or what the government is calling beautification (NYC Guilliani fashion). Pristine new tall buildings are beginning to dot the skyline, streetlights and trees are now lining all the roads, and the traffic police are ensuring that people cross at the intersections (they yelled at me in Kinyarwanda when I first arrived because I crossed in the middle of the road, just like everybody used to). When I left last year, I saw the construction of what had to be the first sidewalk, but now they are everywhere. What struck me most was the absence of the street children who used to shout, “AMAFARANGA MZUNGU!!” There are a few beggars remaining on the streets, namely those who are grossly disfigured, but the children were just not there. Before I left last year there were rumors that these children were being relocated. But to where? What were they to do? My impression is that the government is attempting to cover-up anything unsightly without fully addressing the underlying problems.
When attempting to get rid of my remaining francs, I decided to get a newspaper and again fell prey to one of the oldest tricks – finding myself with last week’s paper rather than the most current. DOH! I was also well recognized by the money dealers when crossing the border back into Uganda. I told them where to go, but one insisted that he had a message for me, saying he is to deliver a message for Kerry coming from Kigali (recall that most Africans opt to call me Kerry rather than Kelly). I at no point told anybody my name, leading me to believe that these dealers have access to customs records, which is a bit disturbing to say the least. I also got into a heated debate with the visa man on the Ugandan side, as he didn’t want to accept my student ID card and I was absolutely refusing to pay the extra fee – I came out victorious after pulling out the “I am doing charitable work for YOUR country” card.
I managed to arrive back safely back in Kampala, accompanied by a healthy fever (though I think I have it under control today). I am supposed to head back up to Gulu on Sunday for this reconciliation conference, so here’s hoping for a speedy recovery.
posted by Africa Anonymous @ 4:17 PM
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