Humans Have Eye Lashes for a Reason…

…the principle function of which is to shield the eyes from dirt, debris, and, well, bugs zooming by at 40 miles per hour. Ask me how I know this – a long moto ride from Ruhengeri back up the mountain to Shyira. So here are a few rules to moto rides in Rwanda.

1. For those who don’t know, motos are the Rwandan equivalent of a taxi. Except they’re more like Vespas with a three speed transmission and a long-travel suspension. Pick your driver carefully. Your life is in his hands.
2. Umuzungu prices run around 1000 Rwandan Francs more. Shop around. You’ll likely get a discount the moment you threaten to seek another ride.
3. Make sure you get a helmet with the clear plastic face shield. Otherwise you’ll learn what eyelashes are for the hard way…like I did…and you’ll have your day’s worth of protein while you’re at it.
4. Motos have two speeds – full throttle and stall. You’re likely to encounter both.
5. Be ready to leap off the back at a moment’s notice. The aforementioned “stall” speed requires the passenger (you), to leap frog off the back and help push the moto and its demented driver out of the muddy rut (of which you will encounter many).

On the Mountain

Shyira, Day 1

I awoke this morning to one of the most beautiful sights I have ever laid eyes on. As I ate my breakfast of fruit salad – bananas, passion fruit, and pineapple – and sipped from a cup of strong Rwandan coffee, the scene out of my front window was in constant motion. The mist rolled through the valleys as the sun occasionally penetrated the deep purple clouds that hung above. Sleeping the morning away here is an impossible feat – not only because of the views to be had but also because of the crowing roosters and songs from passing school children. What a start to my first day on Shyira hill.

Any tranquility that characterized the beginning of the morning soon came to an abrupt halt as I made my way down the hill to Le Hospital Shyira. It would be sink or swim today. After the morning staff meeting – a mélange of languages, Kinyarwanda, French, very little English – I worked with my roommate Logan Mauney and our irreplaceable translator and friend, Epimaque, in triage. After taking and recording the vitals of the newest patients in the clinic, I accompanied Louise on her morning rounds. We saw cases ranging from the more common maladies of malaria and kwashiorkor among infants, to an interesting case of Pott’s Disease in a middle aged woman.

Kigali, Day 2

This morning I met up with my new friends John and Tristan Miller to go see the Genocide Memorial. We all three hopped on motos and headed through the hills across Kigali as the memorial is somewhat removed from the random hustle and bustle that characterizes Kigali City Center in general.

Nothing I had heard or read about the 1994’s genocide had prepared me for what I would see this morning. The two-hour experience at the memorial and museum was the most moving and thought provoking experience I have ever had. As all three of us sat in the shade after walking amongst a burial ground containing over a quarter of a million Rwandan victims, three women staggered out of the museum’s building, eyes filled with tears, utterly inconsolable. There wasn’t a dry eye between us – the three umuzungu still there. I think it was at this moment that we all realized the legacy this unspeakable act had left – even sixteen years later, many Rwandans still struggle to understand and cope with the killings – neighbor against neighbor, priest against congregation. The country and its people have made a remarkable recovery, but there is still much work to be done.

Speaking of work, Tristan, the aforementioned Aussie from the earlier post, is currently embarking on a project to raise money for charity. Check out the marathoning madman here:

http://runlikecrazy.com/

Kigali Morning

Barbed Beauty

The view from James' porch.

Just a few pictures from an early morning stroll.

Dispatch from Kigali - Day 1

Sam's garden and the surrounding hills.

They say honesty is the best policy. Well, I'm a firm believer in that axiom. So, honestly, I could not have asked or imagined for a better introduction to Rwanda. Simply put, the last 24 hours have been amazing, beyond my wildest dreams, and surreal.

My flight from Brussels, though delayed due to a few individuals who had to be forcibly removed from the plane, eventually made it to Kigali (I've been told an hour delay is lucky these days). I was greeted at the gate by a billboard that proclaimed, "August 9 an important date to put in your dairy!" Semantics and spelling aside, a pretty welcome reminder of Rwanda's second free election this coming August. I shared a chuckle with the Dutch nationalist waiting beside me in line. Little did I know what the coming evening held in store for me.

Thus far, I owe all of my stories to the brothers Dargan, James and Sam. They have been gracious hosts and, for some country fellas from my hometown of Florence, South Carolina, I'll say they're doing pretty well for themselves. After James picked me up from the airport we went straight to Sam's for what I was told would be a little cocktail party. Little it wasn't. Cocktails there were...

...cocktails and a wonderful dinner and beautiful, interesting people. What an introduction! As the evening turned into the early morning and the conversation strayed from casual introductions to intimate stories, the mood was poised for perfection. But I'll leave it there for the evening. Anticipation is the best part of the story after all. My last Primus (THE Rwandan beer, fyi) of the evening calls and tomorrow's a full day. Tomorrow, more to come from Kigali and the stories of a globe-trotting, marathon running Aussie. Cheers.

Still here....

Alas, my journey to Rwanda didn't quite begin as originally planned. It's amazing how an hour's delay can throw your trip off by a whole day - though in all fairness that's only partly true in my case. So instead of multiple connections in London, Ethiopia, and Uganda, I find myself with two simple connections in D.C. and Brussels, my ultimate arrival delayed by only a few hours. So not all bad then.

My new, more leisurely schedule has allowed some down time (5 hours to be precise) in the greater D.C. metro (suburban) area (Dulles Airport to be precise). Without such a change I wouldn't have had the opportunity to indulge in one last lunch that offered a taste from home. So, packed to the proverbial gills with fried Cod and and riding a carbohydrate high (and slight morning buzz thanks to a pint of Old Dominon pale ale - good, not great - ), I find myself in an altogether deserted section of Dulles' Terminal D. I'll leave it at this for now and enjoy what solace I can, while I can.