Rwanda: The Scenery

As I peeked out my window today, I saw nothing but green; green hills rolling one after another, covered in various crops terraced to as close to perfection that one can achieve with a hand-wielded hoe.  Bent double, hacking in a rhythmic motion, farmers (mostly women and children) labored the day away on their small plots of land that some call farms.  These farmers are working on their .5 hectares or less plots of land to produce a monthly salary of nearly $10. The contrast of the lifestyle that these farmers live and the beauty that I had the pleasure of witnessing is so stark, one cannot describe it.

The farmers produce everything under the hot, equator sun: bananas, coffee, maize (corn to us Americans), yams (sweet and white), soybeans, etc.  The food feeds the nation, but not enough to be food secure for the entire year.  This is the problem that has brought me to this country; investigating how we can help, how American’s can indirectly provide food for the population of Rwanda. 

               

Back to the scenery…imagine yourself sitting atop a mountain and as you look down across the vista before you, all you see are terraced hillsides from a quarter of the way up to the top.  And in-between these hills, the glistening water of the rice patties reflecting a sun that highlights the checkerboard arrangement of them.  This land is so pristine and untouched by modern hand that only a few places on earth can equal it.  Driving along the road, on my left and right, the street was straddled by huge eucalyptus trees, allowing only seconds of beauty to peak through, teasing you, until you reach the peak of the hill where you can look down and behold the magnificence laid before you. Pictures do not describe, words to not describe, but I will try to do my best with both (pictures to follow, upon my return).  

Rwanda: Only a few days on the ground

People always say that a country never recovers from a civil war.  Neighbors have killed neighbors. Families torn apart and or wiped off the map.  A friend here told me that it would take her 3 days to be able to eat again if she went to the memorial in Kigali, where the bones of the genocide’s victims are on display to represent the war.  It is hard to believe that a country that was ignored by the world, when it needed help the most, continues to survive, moving ahead; constantly looking over their shoulder staring the ghost of their past dead in the eyes. 

As I walked around Kigali today, I couldn’t help but feel as if there were a thousand eyes watching me, while simultaneously watching every other person‘s movement, gesture, and expression.  Each time I looked to my left, a man clad in dark-blue police fatigues and a crooked hat stood with a military-grade shotgun.  I looked to my right, the same scene.  But if you were to remove yourself and look down on this beautiful city, you see them doing the right things that even a place like America should be doing; only by the wrong means.  (Case and point: it is illegal to possess a plastic bag in the country, so much that they randomly search arriving people’s bags as they get off the plane; if they catch you with a bag they charge you $4 to buy a reusable canvas bag.  For the people here, they live in fear that G-d forbid they have a bag, they will be beat by the police or imprisoned. Important to note, this is only one example.) 

Despite the police state, I could not be more impressed with this city.  It lays claim to the safest city in Africa, which I believe (see above).  Unlike Nairobi, I don’t feel threatened every time I walk down the street.  It also lays claim, in my eyes, as the most beautiful, untouched paradises in the world.  Despite the 5 million (slight exaggeration) white, NGO workers in this country, you don’t see the ugly skyscrapers everywhere; you don’t see a single piece of litter (see above, Example 2); you don’t see the obnoxious globalization (save Coke) that you witness in every other country.  I sit every day next to the pool of my hotel and look out over a valley that is as green as any stretch of jungle you can imagine. The hills surrounding are dotted with white houses that breakthrough the canopy to only show the top floor capped with red, clay tiling.  The roads streak through the many farms at the base of the valley red from the clay that makes them.  This is truly a paradise that all should witness before it turns into a Nairobi or Cotonou.

Now you may be wondering…why am I here? Isn’t this a work trip?  Well, of course it is.  But if I can’t sit back and take in the beauty around, then my work is wasted.  I am here on a fact finding mission to research a project for work. If I didn’t enjoy the scenery I would hate what I do and that is why I love my job.  I get to witness the uncommon life that the “other half” lives, summoning my inner Jacob Riis. 

But seeing as it is close to 11PM local time, it is off to bed I go, hoping to experience another aspect of life in Rwanda.

Rwanda: Thoughts from the Air

It is amazing the emptiness of the skies over North Africa.  I know you are thinking, DUH, but there is a difference between the black, bleak sky of North Africa and the Ocean.  As you fly over the Iberian Peninsula, the entire landscape is dotted with the picturesque, hilltop villages and towns of Portugal and Spain.  Even the Med is dotted with islands, ablaze with the lights of civilization.  But not North Africa.  Looking at the in-flight map, it shows that I am less than 30km from a town (Constantine, I think Morocco possibly Algeria??) large enough to warrant a dot on the map, but when I look, nothing.

Bouncing across the sky in my cocoon for the past 10 hours and as I will be for the next 10, I am off on another adventure.  Unlike my previous trips, I will be in a land completely foreign to me, meeting with people I have never met before, known only by an obscure name I can barely pronounce and the sweet, accented voice on the other end of Skype.  Rwanda is the scene; the mission is work; and the hope, to come back enlightened and touched by a culture that has known nothing but war, betrayal at the hands of neighbors, and rapid reconciliation.  None of this will be realized until I have successfully set foot in three countries, boarded three planes and hopefully collected a small token from each.

In my imagination Kigali (the capital of Rwanda) is a dusty town, crisscrossed by terre rouge roads, with innumerable motos weaving to miss the people doing the most ill-advised thing one can do in Africa…cross the road.  Every building will be caked in red dust, from tin roof to the dirt ground the buildings have sprung up from.  Of course, this was probably the scene some 25 years ago, but now I am sure the buildings are modern, the streets are “paved” or as close to paved as one can be, cars and motos alike, sharing the road, and the hustle and bustle of a large town.  We shall see…