Western infiltration

To most Americans, mass transit is a novelty done only in places like NYC or DC or Europe. Piloting your own phaeton through the mayhem is a navigational nightmare to say the least. But in the boonies, a bus may be as suited to the terrain as I fit the qualifications for ambassador from the afterlife. Nimble, rugged, simple: all quintessential attributes to daily life here in Rwanda, and even Africa as a whole. Magnify the necessary capabilities four-fold to travel to my meager residence. Why this discourse on the African form of offroading? It all started yesterday morning. I was headed to Kibuye to catch the bus to Kigali. The drive to Kibuye bus station is about 30 km and a mere 1 km of that is surface with tarmac. The remainder bears a smorgasbord of toppings which change daily: wood (bridges), gravel, dirt, mud, boulders, goat scat, streams, and small oceans. To save money, I bummed a ride from the ambulance, as did about 8 other people. My bus was scheduled to leave at 11 (some friends had gone to town earlier and bought my ticket). Finally, about 9:50, the ambulance embarked on its delivery. About half way through, the driver assured me I would arrive in time. However, with 2 km to go, we deviated from the road more traveled because a bridge washed away (not entirely but our Land Cruiser was too wide; motorcycles could still cross, which my friends had ridden). Half way through the detour, we approached two large Isuzu delivery trucks firmly entrenched in the muck with no hope of quick rescue. We had to slither around and between them (they were staggered). 4-Low, lock the differentials, etc. Let's go! 10 meters later, we were stuck and burrowing ever deeper into the ground and despair. But the village people! With 4-wheel and 20-foot drive, we shook loose our bonds and stormed into Kibuye throwing mud everywhere. The bus driver had waited several minutes for me after a plethora of frantic calls. Finally, he resolved to forgo the delay and cut his losses. I was 500 meters away. At the bus station, we learn of our misfortune, but the driver couldn't accept defeat. We jumped back in the now quite dirty Land Cruiser and chased the bus all the way to the next town 15 km away. For added effect and to skirt police interest, lights flashed (it is an ambulance after all) like a laser light extravaganza. Long story in a short format: I both missed and caught the same bus.

I have previously mentioned L'Esperance, a haven to so many on so many levels. A few months ago, the orphanage couldn't have accepted Christmas as a financially feasible endeavor. But some of the first generation of "graduates" from the orphanage decided to change this. While not wealthy by any stretch, they paid for over half of the Christmas festivities, in which I participated. First, on Sabbath, the muzungus (one Philippino-German, 1 Brit, 2 Americans, 2 Ugandans, and the Guatemalan orphanage director) meandered down to Lake Kivu, a 2 mile walk that drops 1,000 feet. Dugout canoes (bailing was mandatory), lunch, relaxation, swimming, huddling in the hut during the rain: all part of the experience. Some kids eventually joined us, having been detained by a zealous evangelist. The real party began Sunday. Volleyball matches, feasts for 150 people, singing, dancing, speeches, gifts, and worship. Miriam, a volunteer from several years ago who returned for the holiday, personally matched gifts with over 100 children, keeping in mind each one's likes and dislikes. What I admired the most was that despite the celebratory nature of the day, they still retained their morning and evening worship services, lest they forget the source of their fortune.

In the course of one day, I see so much variety, especially when traveling between Kigali and Mugonero. Many people walk or bike while people whiz by in Mercedez and Land Rovers. Houses without electricity have fiber-optic internet cables running through the front yard. More than these disparities in living conditions is the level to which Europe and America have imprinted the minds. Who chased a bus 15 km when another bus was leaving in a 2 hours and costs $4? Who sacrificed so much for their "little siblings" at the orphanage? Who held to their most revered activity in the face of an overwhelmingly materialistic celebration? These people overlook the fact that I am so much like the people in Kigali and treat me like one of their own. Knowing the West hasn't brainwashed every aspect of local life brings a smile to my mind, and watching their fascination with my arm hair brings one to my face.

(Pictures are on Facebook, the internet is too slow to upload them here too)