Wifi!!!!

So, it’s been awhile since I updated, and so much has happened. I guess the last post was more of a cultural briefing in terms of what I encountered in a given day. Since then, we’ve had Kinyarwanda lessons, which have been pretty helpful but have also made me realize how far I have to go. We also had an exercise where we got dropped off in pairs at some random place in Kigali and had to find our way home using public transportation. Ben and I got dropped off at this huge market a ways from our hotel and were told to buy a few things and then come back and explain the market to the group. The market was essentially a farmers market on steroids. I will never look at Conway Locally Grown or the farmers market in Dallas the same way ever again. The market is in this big, open-air building that is divided into sections—fruit, vegetables, flours, fish (whole, dried, etc.), beef (hanging by the leg, of course), chickens (live, of course), crafts and clothes, and hardware. That place seriously had everything. You’re supposed to bargain while shopping there, and our teachers wanted us to do it in Kinyarwanda—we really struggled with that. But we made some friends in the process. Speaking a little Kinyarwanda as a muzungu who has only been in the country a few days in a very African market works wonders on both attracting attention and disarming people. I passed around my photo album from home a bit, and we bought some mango, avocado, pineapple, oranges, and Japanese prunes/tree tomatoes to share with the group.

I’m also getting used to being stared at wherever we go. Ben and I were the only muzungus at the market except for this one lady we saw for like 2 seconds. We basically get stared at everywhere we go. The only reprieve I get is from other westerners, who essentially pay no mind to other westerners. It’s weird. Sometimes they’re the only familiarity I get, yet we basically pass each other by—like in America. It’s weird.

But shopping in the markets is the best deal to be had. Nakumatt—the walmart/target/sears of Kigali—is pretty expensive, and the German Butchery in MTN center, another mall, is super expensive—like $14 fruit loops and $20 dove shampoo expensive. It was crazy.

We moved in with our host families on Sunday night. Mine is great! My mom’s name is Marie, my dad’s name is Tom, and They have 8 kids, two of whom are technically cousins—Ian (4), Peace (7), Fabiola (9 or 12?), Yvonne (9 or 12), Iyvan (13?), A daughter studying in America whose name I forget (15), Omar (17), and Zainabu (19). My father is a businessman in the farming industry and a pastor in the Evangelical Restorationist Church, and my mother is a businesswoman, and I think she at least sells milk from the family farm, but there might be more that she does. Zaina works at a hotel in the evenings, so I have yet to see her since I get home at about 6 and leave at about 7:15 when she is still sleeping. Omar is the reason I’m in this family. He goes to boarding school at Les Amis des Enfants College (high school), which is the school we are partnered with. He left for school this morning (Tuesday), so I said goodbye to him last night and told him I would come visit him at school. I talked to the 15 year old in America Sunday night—she goes to a private high school in Kentucky. Iyvan is the jokester of the family, from what I gather. He’s a funny kid. Fabiola and Yvonne have really been helping me out. They’re really nice. Peace is adorable! She’s always smiling, and she loves to do my hair! Iyvan even straightened my hair last night—or at least tried to. Ian is adorable as well. The first night I was here, they took me to see the family farm, and he rode on my lap the entire way and just fell asleep. So cute! My dad’s dad, so I guess my grandpa, is staying with the family for a while as well. He’s 95 and still has his own house and car! Super impressive. Going out to the farm was really cool. In Rwanda, cows are a sign of wealth, and this family has lots of cows. They asked if I had any cows in America. I tried explaining commercial farming and that most people were no longer farmers, but I don’t think that really made sense to them. Iyvan, I think it was, told me that his father would give me a cow :) They were all curious about my phone and my camera, so they took those and were looking through my pictures and music—their father has an iphone, so they knew what they were doing. Then we went out in the pasture and played frisbee, gracefully—or sometimes not so gracefully—dodging the cow patties. The farm is way out in the country, so we drove through rural villages to get there—the part of the country that I really wanted to see and experience. After that, we came back and had dinner. My family lives in Nyarutarama—essentially the Highland Park/Chenal/Beverly Hills of Kigali. I was a little disappointed that I would be so well off, but I do still feel like I’m getting the full cultural experience. As westernized as my family may be, they are still very Rwandan. Or Rwandese, I should say. All of the kids in my family speak good English, as does the father, and my mother speaks a little English. They all speak Kinyarwanda at home though, so I still need to learn. My room is very nice for Rwanda. I have a double bed, a room to myself, and a table for my luggage. My bathroom is pretty simple, but I have a toilet seat! Really, most bathrooms don’t have that. My sink doesn’t work, and my shower is very cold, but it’s alright. Maybe I’ll figure it out eventually.

My family also has several helpers, as they’re called here—a gateman, two maids/nannies, and a few people that work outside. I think there’s a driver too. It’s common in Kigali for families to have 1 or 2 helpers, but I think my family has 5 or so. And they all have their own living quarters at the house as well.

Also, Ls and Rs in Rwanda are essentially interchangeable, so I get called Sala or Sal/Sar, as my mom says it. The R here is pronounced like the R in Spanish, slightly rolled. And for the life of them, Rwandans can’t pronounce Alissa.

To get to school every day, we take mini busses—these vans with 3 rows of seats in the back which fit 4 adults, usually. And not American “fit,” but Rwandan “fit,” which means you get rather close to the people sitting next to you. The standard fare is 200 franc, which is 33 cents one way—pretty good. You can also take moto taxis to get anywhere, but we’re not allowed to take those unless we absolutely have to since they get in a fair amount of wrecks. 

I'll post about the genocide memorials we went to next time. I'm having to write my posts on word in advance since I don't know when I'll have wifi. Hope you all are doing well!

EDIT

Also, here are my first round of pictures! They upload slowly, so I can only do so many at a time https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1502070761945.2033899.1539480852&type=1&l=367c9018fa