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Published: August 13th 2007
The Rice Fields
Cyangugu province rice is some of the best in the world!One of my favorite memories of Zambia was listening to the rain fall on the roof as I went to sleep. In the rainy season it would rain every day, and usually rather heavy rain, too, and since the roof of our house was corrugated asbestos with no ceiling, the rain was very loud. The loud drumming sound had a calming effect on me, and it drowned out most other noises, making it easier to fall asleep.
And so I find myself lying on a mattress in Muganza, looking up at the metal roofing sheets of the Baha'i Center that I am sleeping in, and praying for the rain to fall. Too bad its the dry season and there is no chance of that happening. I will have to seek comfort in the constant sound of Gad's snoring. The guy is worse than my dad, believe it or not!
You may be asking, "but how did you come to be in Muganza?" I will tell you.
Early(ish) on Wednesday morning, Faustin and I loaded up the back of the truck with all our supplies, loaded the cab with food, water and Irene, got in and left for Cyangugu province,
Over Eager
This girl asked me to take a picture of her...while I was doing so she was knocked over by several other kids trying to get into the pic. Violent little kids! to the small town of Muganza that we visited last month with Chris.
The drive there was uneventful and long, but not as long as last time, since the Hilux goes faster than the Hiace and we didn't stop nearly as often. We didn't see any monkeys (one of the reasons that we didn't stop, not the other way around) so not many pictures were taken. None, actually.
We arrived in Muganza around 1530 and found Gad and Fidel (who had left the day before in a bus) already working with the people there. After a brief discussion of the plan for the next two days we had dinner (rice, potatoes, beans and cabbage...man, is the rice there good) and then did some food shopping.
The next morning we are up bright and early for morning prayers with some local Baha'is and breakfast, and then off into the village to do work! "Work" consists of visiting friends and family of the local Baha'is, newly declared Baha'is and interested persons and talking to them about the Baha'i Faith. We split into two groups to do this, Irene in one group, me in the other. My group visited five different people/families that
morning and had a really long talk with a man named Jacques.
After lunch (the same stuff as yesterday's supper), we headed out again and visited more people. It was a scorching hot day, 40 degrees in the sun and 33 in the shade. Coming from Canada, this is WAY too hot for me. Not only is it the dry season, but August is the hottest month of the year here. Ouch.
Once night fell I was more inclined to be outside as it was cool, finally. So I spent at least an hour playing with some local kids in the dark, chasing them around and kicking a ball around, yelling my head off the whole time. The kids were laughing and yelling "Muzungu niza! Muzungu niza!" "Good Muzungu! Good Muzungu!"
Dinner was....the same. The tea that they served us was sweeter than I would have thought possible, but that is how they like their tea here. Hot and sweet.
Slept beside Gad again, which meant I had to go to bed half an hour before the others so that I would be asleep before Gad started snoring. Poor guy. I wonder if he knows that he sounds like a chainsaw going through a petrified forest. I certainly didn't have the guts to tell him.
On Friday morning plans were made to go visit a Baha'i family who had recently had a baby. I was told that we would go visit them at 1000, so I sat down and read a bit of my book. I look up half an hour later, at about 0830, to find everyone gone, without having told me where they were going. Apparently they meant that they would visit some other people first, and then go to the family with the baby at 1000. So I stayed at the center the whole morning, played and talked with a few kids (the talking didn't work out well...they don't know French), read more of my book and waited for everyone to get back.
When they finally did return around 1230 I gently expressed my annoyance that they had left me behind, and they explained that they thought I was tired and wanted to stay at the center. Despite the fact that I had never said anything like that, and no one asked me what I wanted to do, I accepted this reason in the name of not getting mad at friends and moving on with life. Lunch (same old, same old) was tasty and hot.
We spent the early afternoon preparing for a big meeting scheduled to begin at 1500, which actually began at 1600, of course. We had invited many people to come and talk about religion and the Baha'i Faith and many people turned up. The meeting went until 1830, when we were supposed to have dinner. But just after the meeting ended and everyone left, the Chief of the area (le chef de la quartier, if anyone knows what "quartier" means) showed up, so we all sat down again and talked with him. This went until 1930 (oooo, am I hungry, or what?). Once he left we ate dinner and went to bed.
Saturday morning we were up and out early (though slightly delayed by the fact that the battery was dead and the connections to it were so corroded that we had to re-wire the battery).
With Gad and Fidel once again taking a bus (I have to drive, Irene is a guest and I need Faustin for navigation, which leaves the other two to take buses every time...dang that Hiace for dying on us), we headed off to Butare. We arrived in Butare just after noon, which turned out to be a surprise to Innocent, whose house we were going to stay at, who thought that we were going to arrive at night. So he quickly runs out to a store and buys some bread and drinks for lunch and we have a quick chat about what the afternoon's plans are.
We end up walking around Butare for the afternoon, visiting people and talking to them and seeing the town. That night, while waiting for dinner which was rather late (no ones fault, they had no water and had to go a long way to get some), we all sang songs and told stories, which was entertaining. I fell asleep before dinner arrived, and was woken up with the magic word "manger", "eat". I love my eats.
Sunday morning we have morning prayers with a few other Baha'is, then jump into the truck and head up to Muganza (not the first Muganza, which is four hours drive away, but another one, much closer at fifteen minutes of driving) for the weekly children's classes. The classes went very well. They are run by Innocent, a really nice guy who Chris describes as a "giant teddy bear", and a very kind old lady named Christine. They sing songs with the children (about 30 of them this time, I don't know what the normal number is), tell stories and play some games (it looked like some version of a relay race, but ended with someone tagging someone else...a bit confusing, and I forgot to ask to an explanation).
After the children's classes we returned to Chez Innocent, packed up the truck once more, Gad and Fidel jumped in yet another bus (I feel sorry for them, I really do), and we all headed back home to Kigali. Gad and Fidel, who left while we were packing the truck and got at least a half hour head start on us, got back about three hours after we in the truck did, and we were all very tired.
Food and rest were quickly prescribed to the whole group by Papa Jean (yes, he was beaming a huge smile while prescribing it...I love that man).
Today, being Monday, we are preparing like craziness for our trip tomorrow to Kamashi for four days. This trip, however, will be different and less strenuous, and we are only doing a Ruhi Book with some of the Baha'is there. The Ruhi Institute is a series of (currently 7) books which discuss and study various topics to do with religion, the spirit, the Baha'i Faith and morality.
Short Blurbs SAY WHAAAAT????: While talking with the children of Muganza on Thursday morning (after being abandoned...grrrr), some of the children were asking for books (we take Baha'i books with us to sell, the children wanted the Children's Prayer Book), so I pulled some out and told them that they were 40frw (roughly 0.08 USD). The kids complained that they didn't have any money, so I said "no money, no book!" The idea is that if they pay for the books, even a tiny amount like 40frw, they will car for them more and wont throw them away. One of the children piped up "No money, no life!" I found this a bit amusing, but sad too, since it shows how materialistic the children are. As I was beginning to refute this statement, another child piped up "No ganga, no life!"......Say WHAAAAATTTT???? That one was unexpected! Bob Marley, where art thou? This is your fault!
Random hugs: While I was walking through Butare with Innocent a little boy of 7 or 8 years came running out of a house and came straight at me, arms opened wide. I had no idea what he was doing, but I expected him to go around me. Nope. He came running up to me, wrapped his arms around my waist, gave me a really tight hug and started babbling a phrase in kinyarwanda over and over and over. This took me by surprise, but it was nowhere nearly as surprising as what he was saying. What he was saying (translated by Innocent) was that his grandma was sick and he wanted us to come pray for her. When I asked, through Innocent, why he wanted us specifically to pray for her, he responded because we are Baha'is! That REALLY surprised me. It seems our reputation precedes us! Either that or Innocent has done some REALLY good teaching work in his who-knows-how-many years there.
"Speeduling": After the children's classes in Muganza II, while driving back to Butare, I noticed that the gas was a bit low in the truck. I decide that I will fill up the tank before heading out because I don't know how long the gas will last, and where I can get gas once I leave Butare. So I pull into a gas station just off the road and fill up. While the truck is being fed, a bus shows up and dumps its passengers, two of whom are police officers. This is not uncommon, as the police use public transport all the time to get to their posts where they watch for speeders and so on. After finishing filling up the truck and paying, I pull out of the gas station in first gear, letting the engine rev-up a little before shifting into second gear. The police officers immediately wave me off the road and come up to my window. Now, I learned a long time ago that when the police are confronted by an English-speaking muzungu, they tend to give up quickly due to communication problems and let you go. So, whenever I am stopped, I pretend to only speak English. And whenever they ask Faustin anything in Kinyarwanda he replies "I'm not the driver and he only speaks English". So I greeted the policeman in English, saying "hello, how are you?" The "how are you" is specifically to confuse them and make sure they know I speak English. The poor policeman then tries to explain in English why he pulled me over. The answer eventually turns out to be "speeduling". Because I revved my engine up a bit, the police are saying that I was going too fast! I couldn't have gotten to 10km/h before shifting into 2nd! Papa Jean had told me that this happens, but I didn't believe him. I thought that he must be joking! But here are two, very real police officers trying to fine me for going too fast (50,000frw, they said), when all I did was rev my engine. So, using my weapon of English again, I launch into a long explanation about engine speed and neutral and gear ratios and so on and so forth, talking as fast as I can. I throw in a little arm waving, give my voice a half angry, half annoyed tone and what you have now is an angry, annoyed, excited, fast-talking, English-speaking muzungu who is revving his engine a bit to demonstrate a point! Needless to say, they quickly let me go, but not before warning me; "No speeduling". Poor guys. I shouldn't be so mean, but they shouldn't try to steal 50,000 off me.
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Jess
non-member comment
You and the law...
One of these days, little brother, the law is going to catch up with you and all your fast English speaking and arm waving aren't going to save you! Riley and I almost died of laughter reading about your "speeduling" incident. And I can picture it all too. Well, minus the complete language barrier. Zambian police were similar but at least we all spoke English, sort of. Sorry you have to come home in 14 days.