I met a man. He was very composed, very peaceful in disposition. He told a tragedy about one April in which he lost many of his countrymen to a sunder opened by simple racial hatred. He was then and still is one of the most accomplished gorrilla trackers in Northern Rwanda.
Francois, then a Hutu and now a Rwandese, was on the agressor's side without ever wanting to be. When he heard of the ensuing violence, he fled with his wife and son to the mountains that were his second home. He hid his family there and went back for his brother and Father which were also 'sympathetic' Hutus with no intentions of partaking in the inexcusable mindless violence against the Tutsis. Upon his return to the city, he was sought out by the genocide soldiers and expected to act with them. Again, he fled to his mountains, this time without a brother and Father he would never see again.
I traveled through Kenya and Uganda on bus, as you all know and I very much enjoyed the scenery, the bizarre assortment of people that I encountered and the education that I received regarding Africa; what poverty actually is. I saw filth, I saw desperation. I saw miles and miles of endless need. I saw babies carrying babies covered in only rags and dust. I saw immense masses of human flesh packed together in markets yelling and bartering, trading and begging, hot outside and empty in. I smelled the stench of onions sitting in the sun for days mixed with sweat, sewage, rotting meat and garbage. I redefined words like need, hunger, desperate and poor for myself; words that I can no longer claim to personally know. All that time, alone and relatively vulnerable in a hot and bumpy bus, I never felt in danger, maybe due to ignorance more than anything else but as soon as I crossed the border into Rwanda, an entirely different sense came over me.
I saw huts of mud and straw with happy and healthy looking denizens, children playing outside with their fathers (or older brothers), mothers that had food to nourish their families even if it was cooked over a fire outside the humble hut. Rolling green hills, farms and people cultivating lush looking crops. People were on bicycles everywhere and there was a generally better looking infrastructure all over, including the roads. Of course there were places like this scattered across Kenya and Uganda as there were packed markets and desperation in parts of Rwanda. It was just the overall look of Rwanda that was "better" in my eyes. The oddest thing was that I felt much more uneasy in Rwanda.
Have you ever gone into someone's house and 'had a bad feeling'? Thats what I got when I crossed into Rwanda, especially as I entered Kigali. Maybe it was because I knew the history but I tend to think that humans have a bit of a collective energy. You can paint that statement as something that its not but there is plenty of evidence that we are affected by one another on levels like hormones, facial expressions and even group mentality (like that illustrated by mobs). I felt the massive trauma here like it still stained everyone and hung thickly in the air. You can see the genocidaires dressed in pink jumpsuits working in chain gangs on the side of the road. You can see more severity in peoples faces. Again, I am the first to admit that I may have had an unconscious prejudice from knowing the history but there were many instances that I saw and felt the strange, unsure and untrusting interactions between a people betrayed. I will illustrate this with stories later but I think I have posted enough to keep you all busy pondering for at least a few days. Think about the repercussions of colonialism and then contrast that with the fallout of humanitarian aid projects. How are the two similar and different? I encourage your comments on that especially and I will respond to them in a couple of days.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Bon Anne
On New Years day a baby's cries were heard from the garden. A child of less than 3 years was left at the orphanage by some desparate guardian that could not take care of her. They named her 'Happy Year'. You would never suspect her of being an abandoned child now. She perpetually smiles and fills your heart with warmth just by crawling into your lap and looking up at you with her big sweet eyes. The other day she, Dion and Jean Pierre had jiggers. These are awful little beetle looking things that burrow into uncovered feet (when they are microscopic ) and grow by eating the flesh. When they grow big enough to be seen, they hurt and have to be dug out. You have to be sure to pull out everything including the legs or further infection can spread and be very dangerous. The nuns seem to know what they are doing as far as removal but they are extremely rough about it and Bon Anne was particularly frightened of Sister Dia. I thought it would be good experience to try my hand at it but I was nothing short of shocked by my subsequent weakness. I am far too emotional, dare I say 'girly' to handle such things again. Cutting into the skin, and fully removing the pus and body of the jigger was so difficult, I can hardly describe it to you. She must have understood what I was doing but seeing the tears run down her dusty cheeks and knowing that I was causing the pain that brought her silent flood made me feel sick, light headed and overcome with sadness. Martin, I hope you have had some experience with hurting people before you go spend the next 4 years of your life in med school. I did not think I would be nearly as affected as I was. Could I learn to control that? I don't know.
OK- I have less than 2 minutes of internet left. I will write another story next time.
OK- I have less than 2 minutes of internet left. I will write another story next time.
Some stories
I have had an action packed week since the last entry and I have been keeping the amazing stories in my hand-written journal so the next few entries I will just add a story every once in a while until I put them all in. I will go back and add appropriate pictures when I have a chance.
Friday, February 16, 2007
The road to hell is paved with good intentions
OK. Mefloquine-induced anxiety slowly dissipating. From the sounds of everyone's emails, you are all as disappointed as I but wait, things aren't necessarily as grim as I first suspected.
First, I don't think Cathy is entirely to blame for my predicament. She is desperately trying to work something out between the Mayor, the orphanage and us volunteers (3). I can't remember what I wrote in my last post but the important feature you need to know is that the soldiers were the ones preventing us from staying at the orphanage because of security risks. Carly and I, in a self-righteous manner that only I can pull off in full form, decided that we were needed and damn it, we were going to march right up there and help those kiddies. So, yesterday we went to the Rwaza orphanage to see the children and their environment. I was quite shocked to see 50 smiling happy faces, full bellies, toys and books and almost a 1:1 ratio of children to adults. I was expecting a much more squalid and heart-breaking situation from the descriptions provided by my volunteer organization. Needless to say I was simultaneously pleasantly surprised and feeling foolish.
There was a great deal of community support from other local mommas and of course fom the nuns. Apparently, three years ago, these kids were NOT so happy and healthy and a great deal of money has been pumped into the institution by Cathy, people like me and tourists that Cathy or others have brought to the orphanage. And now to the catch- as soon as the orphanage got attention, it subsequently began attracting jealousy from poor villagers and the like in the surrounding Rwaza area. In Africa, a problem is never just what is seen on the surface and this is no exception. Orphanages and schools that receive sponsorship in this part of the world are frquently used for profit by people with nothing else to exploit; not bad people, just desperate. The local community is there supporting those children because all of the foreign money has bought seeds, tools, food and other such supplies that they too need. At this location, I would not only be as useless as tits on a bull (not being able to speak Kinyarwanda nor knowing anythign about cultivating edible foods) but I would also be drawing negative attention to these kids if I selfishly pushed myself on this community that does not want nor need me.
Cathy is living what I had only planned to visit. She has left all of the comforts of her North American lifestyle to dedicate herself to a country she fell in love with. Her heart is in the right place and she is working in (hopefully) the right direction but this land is steeped in memories of colonialism followed by mass WHITE evacuations during the genocide. The community here is not only resistant to further white interference but extremely resentful when one family or person gets something that the rest of the community did not. I have been schooled harshly and quickly in the realities of humanitarian aid at its worst. As a wise man once told me, the road to hell is paved with good intentions and when I have more time to elaborate on that statement, I will. For now I leave you to stew on it for yourself.
I would however, like to let you all in on what I plan to do with the next 3 months of my life. First, I plan to acquire every bit of knowledge I can from the amazing people I have met here, especially Romy whom I will write more about later. I will stay here for a couple more weeks, work on some solar ovens and visit another aid project in Kigali. After that, I will have to fill you in as I fill it in for myself.
Till another day...
First, I don't think Cathy is entirely to blame for my predicament. She is desperately trying to work something out between the Mayor, the orphanage and us volunteers (3). I can't remember what I wrote in my last post but the important feature you need to know is that the soldiers were the ones preventing us from staying at the orphanage because of security risks. Carly and I, in a self-righteous manner that only I can pull off in full form, decided that we were needed and damn it, we were going to march right up there and help those kiddies. So, yesterday we went to the Rwaza orphanage to see the children and their environment. I was quite shocked to see 50 smiling happy faces, full bellies, toys and books and almost a 1:1 ratio of children to adults. I was expecting a much more squalid and heart-breaking situation from the descriptions provided by my volunteer organization. Needless to say I was simultaneously pleasantly surprised and feeling foolish.
There was a great deal of community support from other local mommas and of course fom the nuns. Apparently, three years ago, these kids were NOT so happy and healthy and a great deal of money has been pumped into the institution by Cathy, people like me and tourists that Cathy or others have brought to the orphanage. And now to the catch- as soon as the orphanage got attention, it subsequently began attracting jealousy from poor villagers and the like in the surrounding Rwaza area. In Africa, a problem is never just what is seen on the surface and this is no exception. Orphanages and schools that receive sponsorship in this part of the world are frquently used for profit by people with nothing else to exploit; not bad people, just desperate. The local community is there supporting those children because all of the foreign money has bought seeds, tools, food and other such supplies that they too need. At this location, I would not only be as useless as tits on a bull (not being able to speak Kinyarwanda nor knowing anythign about cultivating edible foods) but I would also be drawing negative attention to these kids if I selfishly pushed myself on this community that does not want nor need me.
Cathy is living what I had only planned to visit. She has left all of the comforts of her North American lifestyle to dedicate herself to a country she fell in love with. Her heart is in the right place and she is working in (hopefully) the right direction but this land is steeped in memories of colonialism followed by mass WHITE evacuations during the genocide. The community here is not only resistant to further white interference but extremely resentful when one family or person gets something that the rest of the community did not. I have been schooled harshly and quickly in the realities of humanitarian aid at its worst. As a wise man once told me, the road to hell is paved with good intentions and when I have more time to elaborate on that statement, I will. For now I leave you to stew on it for yourself.
I would however, like to let you all in on what I plan to do with the next 3 months of my life. First, I plan to acquire every bit of knowledge I can from the amazing people I have met here, especially Romy whom I will write more about later. I will stay here for a couple more weeks, work on some solar ovens and visit another aid project in Kigali. After that, I will have to fill you in as I fill it in for myself.
Till another day...
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Unbelievable!
I had a fantastic time in Kampala with Chris and Chelsea. They were so awesome! My bus trip to Rwanda was very smooth and enjoyable and I got to Ruhengeri without even so much as a hitch. Sadly, I have come all the way out here for nothing. A complete waste of all that money for the airplane ticket, all the planning and vaccinations. All I get to do is deliver the supplies I brought. The soldiers will not let any white people (mzungus) go to the orphanage because of security threats. Rwanda is desperately trying to get its tourism industry off of the ground here and all it takes is one North American to get in trouble and they are squashed for another few years. I am helping to build a roof today for a grandmother taking care of 4 orphans just down the street from where I am staying in Ruhengeri but that will be completed tomorrow. The volunteer organization (GVN) is going to refund my fees and I have to leave by next Tuesday unless they can find a placement for me in another orphanage (probably in Kenya) but then I have to pay for the travel to get myself there.
To be honest, I can't express clearly how I feel. I don't think this is a good way to help in Africa anymore. I am completely disillusioned after only a week. Yes, there are many hard working people here desperately trying to rise out of the ashes of various wars and corruption (depending on the country) but there are more volunteer organizations for street children in Kampala than there are street children there. And if so, then why do you still see so many of their sad little faces? There is virtually no infrastructure from the local governments (although it is somewhat better here in Rwanda) and worse, because so much international aid comes here for free without expectation of repayment, many Africans have a very disturbing sense of entitlement to it. They all yell at mzungus for money, constantly everywhere I go and I am bombarded with requests and followed by children begging. I am traveling with no jewelry, no obvious wealth at all and still its constant just because I'm white.
Cathy told me about her goat project here, that often when she gives a poor family a goat, neighbours kill or lame the animal out of jealousy. Its unbelievable. How ridiculous is it that I come here in debt, to volunteer, to give help to Africa's children and I can't even get to the orphanage because some locals are planning to attack me for my few hundred dollars. I am so angry and so irritated I just want to lash out at them. Yell at them: How foolish you are! How little foresight you have! I want to put money into your economy, support education and training and you want to steal from me instead! I feel like they don't even deserve the help and at the same time I completely forgive the few lost souls that behave this way. What do they know but poverty and need? I am not here to judge but I am very disappointed. Disappointed in selfish ways. Disappointed that I don't get to hold the littles or spend time with Sister Marie. Disappointed that I chose this location and this time. Disappointed.
Dad- I need you to call me immediately. Mom and Jason have my new number. I don't know it off by heart and I don't want to pull my cell phone out in this packed cafe. Jason I would love to hear from you too and I can't seem to make calls but I can receive them.
I guess I'll see you all soon.
To be honest, I can't express clearly how I feel. I don't think this is a good way to help in Africa anymore. I am completely disillusioned after only a week. Yes, there are many hard working people here desperately trying to rise out of the ashes of various wars and corruption (depending on the country) but there are more volunteer organizations for street children in Kampala than there are street children there. And if so, then why do you still see so many of their sad little faces? There is virtually no infrastructure from the local governments (although it is somewhat better here in Rwanda) and worse, because so much international aid comes here for free without expectation of repayment, many Africans have a very disturbing sense of entitlement to it. They all yell at mzungus for money, constantly everywhere I go and I am bombarded with requests and followed by children begging. I am traveling with no jewelry, no obvious wealth at all and still its constant just because I'm white.
Cathy told me about her goat project here, that often when she gives a poor family a goat, neighbours kill or lame the animal out of jealousy. Its unbelievable. How ridiculous is it that I come here in debt, to volunteer, to give help to Africa's children and I can't even get to the orphanage because some locals are planning to attack me for my few hundred dollars. I am so angry and so irritated I just want to lash out at them. Yell at them: How foolish you are! How little foresight you have! I want to put money into your economy, support education and training and you want to steal from me instead! I feel like they don't even deserve the help and at the same time I completely forgive the few lost souls that behave this way. What do they know but poverty and need? I am not here to judge but I am very disappointed. Disappointed in selfish ways. Disappointed that I don't get to hold the littles or spend time with Sister Marie. Disappointed that I chose this location and this time. Disappointed.
Dad- I need you to call me immediately. Mom and Jason have my new number. I don't know it off by heart and I don't want to pull my cell phone out in this packed cafe. Jason I would love to hear from you too and I can't seem to make calls but I can receive them.
I guess I'll see you all soon.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Kampala
My bus broke down twice, I was harrassed, hassled, confused, scared and I sat on that dingy bus, the only white face in a sea of black, for 18 hours. I was jostled and rattled over the worst roads in the world, if you can even call them roads! I have pictures to post soon. My entire body aches today from the rough ride and I can barely move my neck.
I arrived in Kampala, in the middle of the night, alone and scared and luckily made my way to Chris and Chelsea. This is all a trifle more overwhelming than I had expected and I have another bus ride that is only supposed to be 10 hours (just like the last one) to get to Kigali tomorrow. I ended up having to take Akamba bus lines and I got myself on th elocal bus for only 1400 shillings rather than the tourist bus for 2200 shillings by complete accident. The guy thought I was a Kenyan and in fact put that down on my ticket.
This is intense. I can do this. Please will someone tell me I can do this. I am trying desperately to get a phone today. I am sitting here on the verge of tears just thinking about you all in a dark little internet cafe in downtown Kampala by myself.
I am OK right now, right now I am OK.
I arrived in Kampala, in the middle of the night, alone and scared and luckily made my way to Chris and Chelsea. This is all a trifle more overwhelming than I had expected and I have another bus ride that is only supposed to be 10 hours (just like the last one) to get to Kigali tomorrow. I ended up having to take Akamba bus lines and I got myself on th elocal bus for only 1400 shillings rather than the tourist bus for 2200 shillings by complete accident. The guy thought I was a Kenyan and in fact put that down on my ticket.
This is intense. I can do this. Please will someone tell me I can do this. I am trying desperately to get a phone today. I am sitting here on the verge of tears just thinking about you all in a dark little internet cafe in downtown Kampala by myself.
I am OK right now, right now I am OK.
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