High Grade Spring Water “Source de Huye”

For your best life, it is very important to take natural water every day. It is also better to check your caloric report, and to take regularly a physic activity with “Source de Huye.”

According to its success in mineral salt, “Source de Huye” participates daily in a necessary calcium and magnesium. It is sprung from the earth’s natural sources of Huye mountains, that is why it is the table water of choice.

Shock Treatment

The hotel staff has apparently tired of heating my bathing water every morning and now they make me do it myself. I go downstairs and they give me a little yellow bucket and the magic heating wand. I fill the bucket with water and then, contrary to everything I've ever been told about electrical appliances, I plunge the wand into the water.

The yellow bucket is too small to heat enough water to bathe in, and the little clip on the magic heating wand won't attach to the white bucket. So I have to heat the water in the yellow bucket to near boiling and mix it with cold water in the white bucket to achieve the desired temperature and quantity of water. Then I use my water bottle dipper to pour the water over my head and wash myself. This is the first thing I do every morning. I find it helps me prepare for the challenges I face the rest of the day.

Atkins Nightmare

Rwanda is an Atkins nightmare.  The best restaurant near my hotel serves a set lunch that consists almost entirely of carbs.  Large portions of rice, potatoes, sweet potatoes and French fries topped off with a small serving of beans, maybe some greens (not sure exactly what kind) and a small piece of jaw-breaking beef.  The percentage of Rwandans working desk jobs is negligible, and most people do some kind of physical labor. Obesity is almost unheard of.  Maybe Dr. Atkins should look into that.

Candid Camera

For a Muzungu like me taking candid photographs in Kigali is almost impossible. Everywhere I go I'm followed by the chorus of "Muzungu" and packs of little kids, so there's no chance of being inconspicuous. As soon as I lift my camera adults dive for cover and kids strike goofy poses. So this is what I get, and all I'm likely to get:

JICA

One of my new friends here in Kigali is a Japanese woman named Fumio who works at Gisimba Memorial Center, the orphanage where I've been doing most of my teaching work. Fumio is here with a group called JICA, which is a Japanese version of the Peace Corps. Last weekend I went with her to meet about a dozen other JICA volunteers for a Japanese culture festival they put on at a local school. I lived in Japan for four years and speak the language, so it was great to hang out with the JICA kids and reconnect to the culture. But it messed with the Rwandan school kids. They got very confused when they heard me speaking Japanese, and kept coming up and squinting into my eyes to see if I was Japanese or not.



Pre-game.


Showing off some Japanese culture.


Showing off, uh, Japanese culture?


That's better. Masa teaches at the Fawe school. Here he shows off some Kendo moves.


MEN!


Lining up for Kanji "tatoos."


Tatoo artist at work.


Kanji lessons.


Kimono fashion show.

Muzungu

When I lived in China I was Lao Wai. In Japan I was Gaijin, in Thailand, Farang. In Rwanda I am Muzungu. The word follows me everywhere I go. Sometimes it's voiced as a simple statement of fact or an expression of surprise. Other times it's a greeting, often followed or preceded by "Bonjour." In this former Belgian colony educated people are expected to speak French. My education is apparently lacking.

The familiar chorus of Muzungu followed me even more persistantly than the occaisional herd of small children the other day while I was on an extended walk through some of the smaller houses on the outskirts of Kigali. Always the same. "Muzungu!" "Bonjour Muzungu." But at one house about half a dozen kids came out and started shouting in perfectly articulated English. "Come and see the Muzungu!" "Look, it's a Muzungu!" "Did you see the Muzungu?" I was laughing way to hard to stop and talk to them. But I did manage a wave and a smile and they seemed satisfied with that.

Two weeks in Rwanda

I have now been in Kigali, capital of Rwanda, for exactly two weeks. My luggage been here for a slightly shorter period of time. Apparently I was lucky. My bag took only a day longer to get here than I did. The baggage attendent at the airport told me it often takes a week or more for bags to show up.

My first few nights here I stayed at the Grace Hotel, a relatively upscale place that cost me a little less than $20 per night. I had a bed, a balcony, a bathroom and a mosquito net. Most nights I had electricity, but not always. Most nights I had running water, but not always. I did not have hot water. Rwanda is equatorial, but its altitude makes for a surprisingly cool climate, which is great except at shower time.

After a few days at the Grace I moved to my current lodgings at the Auberge de Nyamirambo, where I have the same amenities minus the balcony. However, the one boy who seems to do all the work at the hotel brings me a buket of water he heats on the stove every morning at 8:30. I "shower" by pouring water on my head using a water bottle that I cut the top off of. My bathing problems are solved.

Around the time I moved into the Auberge de Nyamirambo I started teaching photography to a small group of students at the Gisimba Memorial Center (see photos below). All of them are out of secondary school (high school) and are waiting for the funding they need to either go to university or take job training courses.

Gisimba is an orphanage housing about 185 kids. They also support a number of people living outside the center. Most of the older residents were orphaned during the genocide of 1994. The younger kids are mostly AIDS orphans, and 15 of them are HIV positive.

After two weeks I'm beginning to learn my way around. I'm meeting people who are interested in working with us. And I can say "How are you?" (Amakulu?) and "thank you" (Murakoze) in Rwandan. Baby steps.

Tiziano Project

So what the Hell am i doing in Rwanda? For the most part I'm still trying to figure that out. This post has to do with the part I have figured out. Baby steps.

I am part of a brand spanking new non-profit called the Tiziano Project, named for a legendary Italian journalist. The overall goal of the project is to bring something like citizen journalism to Africa. We want to teach people here how to get information about themselves out to the rest of the world. In many ways Africa remains a dark continent, and up-to-date information can be hard to find.

The first project I'm working on is with the Gisimba Memorial Center, an orphanage in Kigali that has been around since before the genocide of 1994. Most of the older kids were orphaned during the genocide, but the younger kids are mostly AIDS orphans. Out of 185 kids 15 are HIV positive. Gisimba provides the kids with a place to stay, meals, and pays for them to go to school. Last week I spent a day with five Gisimba residents photographing the center and the surrounding neighborhood. For most of them it was their first time using a camera. For rookies they did a great job and took some amazing photos. Check out their galleries and bios.

Or stay here and check out the stuff I shot:


One of my students hard at work.


Back at Gisimba getting ready for lunch. The numbers on the pots correspond to numbers on the tables where the kids sit. All kids have an assigned table.


Cooking for 200.


Digging in.


This one's still growing.


Mmmmm... Mystery fruit. Don't know what they are, but they're sour and pulpy and have lots of seeds.


Kids at Gisimba pre-school. The pre-school is open to kids from outside the center for a fee. The fees help support the center.


Swinging at the pre-school.


Pre-school teacher for 4-5 year olds. She teaches both English and French but struggles because there aren't enough picture books for the kids.

Coffee Blues

Coffee is one of Rwanda's primary exports, so I was expecting some good, strong coffee to help me get my new project off the ground. But unless I go to the swanky Starbuck's knockoff in downtown Kigali all I get is Nescafe, and even that's hard to come by.

Fancy Flights

Behind every toilet on the plane were two strips of red tape that read "EVEDENCE: DO NOT TAMPER."

I flew from Washington, D.C.to Rwanda on Ethiopian Air, the aid-worker special. There were more seats empty than full, and most of us had a row to ourselves. I was surrounded by over two dozen Seventh Day Adventist missionaries on their way to build an orphanage it Ethopia. They were exceedingly friendly and blessed me often when I told them I was going to Rwanda. Service on the flight was excellent and the food was good. All movies stopped playing about 30 minutes before they ended. Just before we landed in Addis Ababa the movies finally started playing all the way though, and passengers frantically flipped back and forth on their personal TV screens to see the ending of all the movies they had watched on the 16-hour flight.

In Addis Ababa I had one hour to make the change to my flight for Kigali, Rwanda. I made the flight, but my bag did not. There was a long line at the lost-luggage office. A lot of people were missing bags, but no one seemed terribly alarmed. I went back to the airport the following day to see if the bag had arrived. The attendant was every bit as surprised as I was relieved when I found it. She said bags usually take 2 or 3 days to arrive, and often take more than a week.

So now I'm in Kigali. I have clean underwear and socks, and I have my malaria pills. Life is good.
My hotel has 24-hour electricity, but only has running water in the afternoon. In the morning they bring me a plastic jug of warm water for bathing.