Birthday Party and Rwandan Time

So a few weeks ago, it was my sister Yvonne’s birthday. I don’t know if birthdays were traditionally a big thing in Rwanda, but it was definitely a special night in my family. We all gathered in the living room and had our pick of Fanta (no special occasion is complete without Fanta :P). My mom then stood up and gave a speech about how Yvonne was her third born, when she was born, and some other things (it was in Kinyarwanda). Then all the siblings got up and gave a little speech to Yvonne wishing her a happy birthday, me included :P Then my dad got up and did the same. I think his was in English. This family can code switch like no other. Then it was cake time! Yvonne blew all the candles out after we sang happy birthday to her, and then she had to relight them and do it all over because our dad was out of the room. I’m pretty sure we ended up singing happy birthday about 5 times that night both in English and French like it was no big deal. Then my sister Fabiola helped her cut the cake before we each took a piece. After eating, Yvonne got up and gave her own speech thanking us, God, etc. and expressing wishes for the future. And then she started dancing :) Then it was gift time! Gifts apparently aren’t as big of a deal here as they are in America. My mom got her…I think it was maybe chips or something? It might have been from the whole family. I got her a chocolate bar and perfume, which, I didn’t mean to one up anybody, but no one really seemed to mind, so it was fine. Then it was dinner time! Birthdays at my house mean ketchup and mayo, which is a big deal. My dad says he doesn’t buy those often because he doesn’t want the kids to get fat, yet he tells me all the time that he wants me to grow fat. Whatever :P Great night though! I hardly ever get to see my whole family together (my whole family meaning those who live at home), so that was nice.

And now for the frustrating phenomenon known as Rwandan time. And this is backtracking a bit. Right when we got home from the wedding, my sister came in to ask me if I wanted to go visit their aunt right then. I said sure, but asked if I needed to change back into my wedding clothes. She said yes, but hurry. So to my American mind, that meant get your ass upstairs, throw on the easiest, nicest outfit, and get to the car in less than a minute because mom is leaving now. So naturally after doing so, I ended up sitting in the car for about 15 minutes waiting for everyone else to meander out to the car. After all 8 of us crammed into the car, we left. It was starting to get dark, but they didn’t seem to mind. We got about 10 minutes away from the house, and then my dad stopped along the side of the road to talk to someone for a while. We then proceeded to pull into the parking lot of a group of stores where my dad informed us that it was now too late to go to Nyamata and that we would go tomorrow after church. Frustrated American was frustrated. So we sat in the parking lot for a while as some of my siblings and my parents went in to buy snacks for us. At least I got popcorn, chips (crisips, as my 7 year old sister says), and passion fruit juice out of the whole ordeal. My 7 year old sister, Peace, and I went to English church the next day. It was great because I actually understood what was going on and the sermon actually didn’t piss me off (like I was fearing it would), but it was soooooo American. After Rwandan church (small benches with no backs, big choirs, Kinyarwanda hymns, babies everywhere, and no white people), this was quite a shock. After that, we came home, ate lunch, then proceeded to wait 2 hours until we were supposed to leave for Nyamata. At 4, my sister came in to say that we were leaving right then. So again, my American mind tells me to get up, grab my stuff, lock my room, and go wait by the stairs. A while later, my mom comes out and decides we need to eat peanuts and drink juice before we can leave. So we do so. And then just as we finish eating, my aunt decides that it’s too late for us to come. We’ll come some other time. ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I never realized how much I love schedules, definite (hell, even approximate) plans, etc. until now.

Moral of the story: Asking what time something is going to happen just doesn’t make sense here. Gotcha.