Do you ever get the feeling that the day will be elegant and glorious? Today, my day was neither elegant nor glorious, but full of grace at every bend. It started before 6 when the guards outside my house took it upon themselves to wake the dead, namely me. Worse things have happened and I enjoyed the additional reading time. Shower, breakfast outside (an exquisitely beautiful moth joined me but wasn't too chatty), and then off to work. Along with the usual email checks and project notes, a trip to Kibuye for cement and some piping supplies constituted my labor, and I was happy to be driving again, despite the risk of a compressed spine and ruptured kidneys (these didn't happen, which seems amazing given the road condition). Some of the orphanage kids scored a lift from me on their way back to secondary school (like boarding academy). Despite the slow pace, they were happy to not be paying for the bus. Before lunch time, I was in Kibuye, loaded with 1000 kg of cement, and relieved of the $300 required to purchase it.
At this point, I looked toward the restaurant where Jean and I typically eat lunch during town trips. It was utterly decimated, along with the stores on either side of it. No problem, we just went to the next closest one and ate the same food as always. Post-lunch, our final shop stop was for some plumbing supplies. As expected, the store didn't have all the parts necessary for a simple solution. After half an hour of rummaging through all the shelves to form an unwieldy solution, we had our booty. I returned to the truck and took it out for a drink, which wasn't cheap. However, that's when things started to go more awry than usual. I couldn't get the truck into gear, which aroused far too much attention. After much straining, we turned for home.
The first few km passed as mundanely as always, that is until we met a bus on a road barely wide enough for one of us. Talk about close! I was piloting the hospital delivery truck, which is right-hand drive. But Rwanda is a left-hand drive country, which made judging distance more difficult. After avoiding the bus with literally centimeters to spare (I looked out the back window to check the separation and must have gone pale), a rather pungent odor filled the cockpit. We both thought it was exhaust from the bus, at least until we noticed a small plume of smoke emanating from the gear shift (the engine is below the cab). After coaxing the rancid vehicle to the top of the hill, I was able to cool the engine on the downhill. My driving became ever more cautious, constantly watching the temperature gauge and never sure if it even worked (most of the gauges don't). On virtually all the major remaining uphills, the truck stalled at least twice.
Finally, almost to Gishyita (the last town before home) and the police tell me to stop for a routine check. I show them my license and they ask for some vehicle papers, which I don't have and have never seen. I direct them to the insurance sticker. Little did I know it was expired. They then asked for some proof of a technical inspection of the vehicle, an inspection the hospital has never undertaken for this vehicle. Because they speak very little English, I call Dr. Mfizi (a hospital administrator) and hand the phone to the police. They chat/argue for several minutes, then return my phone. I'm informed that not all the violations can be forgiven but run out of airtime before Dr. Mfizi finishes. And he won't call me back! Now, Jean won't get back in the truck. He continues chatting with the officers and ignoring me. Finally, after several minutes, he pops back, hands me my license (which the police have had the entire time), and tells me we are free to go. He has convinced the police to let me off the hook! Great! Except that they stopped us on an incline and I can't get the truck into gear. After arousing even more interest (from the police this time), we finally pull away and breathe a heavy sigh of relief. But all is not finished. To save strain on the engine, we head to the orphanage for delivery #1. Our arrival concludes sans mishap and Victor even gives me some cake, which made my day. However, as we depart, the clutch pedal goes straight to the floor. Courtesy of the topography, we are able to make our retreat. Once we get out of the gate, I can't engage any gears since the clutch is annihilated. After a push from some people, I slip it into first and keep it there. The remaining two km pass dreadfully slowly and changing gear is out of the question since everything is steep uphill. Despite numerous children chasing us (most easily kept pace), we stumbled to the maintenance building to part with our burden. Never before have I been so thrilled to unload a ton of cement!
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Peace
This morning, I woke to the sound of silence, when the flittering of a moth could overpower a wildebeest stampede. Indeed, even now, the hum of a computer fan incessantly pounds my senses. Most mornings, the administration building hums with the daily tedium of accounting, printing, signing, and deciding. So why is today so serene? It's not entirely due to the soldiers I passed on my way to the hospital this morning. You may ask why soldiers armed with assault rifles patrol the streets on a national day of mourning. The answer to that query lies in the nature of our sadness. Today, we remember the genocide, and the soldiers stand their ground to ensure peace remains.
Two groups of people, the Hutus and the Tutsis, had vied for power for decades. After a civil war between the Tutsi-led RPF and the Hutu regime, the government decided to eliminate the Tutsis (who comprised of about 15% of the populous) and therefore eradicate the opposition. The atrocities began with the elimination of the Hutu president by his fellow Hutus. The assassins felt the president was trying to make peace with the Tutsis and couldn't accept this. Almost immediately extremist Hutus began to execute their plan, execute their countrymen. Many moderate Hutus were given a choice, kill their Tutsi neighbors or suffer the same fate. Finally, after three months, the tides turned and relative peace once again reigned.
Although this happened 17 years ago, the reminders still resonate today. Every day, I see a memorial to locals who lost their lives. Every time I travel to Kigali, I pass at least five monuments to the same tragedy. Like many Westerners, I still struggle to understand how hatred could motivate such actions. I fail to comprehend how those of us who claim to preserve life could have abandoned them and our peacekeeping mission. But I also see the efforts to overcome evil. The current president, Paul Kagame, has promoted peace despite being one of the tribe the Hutus tried to annihilate. I see integration of all people in all aspects of life. I see the respect everyone exhibits for the memorials commemorating those lost.
No longer are labels of Hutu or Tutsi applied. Whether tall or short, rich or poor, light-skinned or dark, we are Rwandans. Today, the towers of pine, mango, and eucalyptus bow their crowns in remembrance of the evils they witnessed yet utter not a word. The thunder roars and wails for its absent audience. The clouds weep their tears for the children who never jumped in the puddles. The rain washes away the auburn stains of the clay. Although we grieve tremendous loss, we can look forward. Why? Because today is a day of forgiveness.
Two groups of people, the Hutus and the Tutsis, had vied for power for decades. After a civil war between the Tutsi-led RPF and the Hutu regime, the government decided to eliminate the Tutsis (who comprised of about 15% of the populous) and therefore eradicate the opposition. The atrocities began with the elimination of the Hutu president by his fellow Hutus. The assassins felt the president was trying to make peace with the Tutsis and couldn't accept this. Almost immediately extremist Hutus began to execute their plan, execute their countrymen. Many moderate Hutus were given a choice, kill their Tutsi neighbors or suffer the same fate. Finally, after three months, the tides turned and relative peace once again reigned.
Although this happened 17 years ago, the reminders still resonate today. Every day, I see a memorial to locals who lost their lives. Every time I travel to Kigali, I pass at least five monuments to the same tragedy. Like many Westerners, I still struggle to understand how hatred could motivate such actions. I fail to comprehend how those of us who claim to preserve life could have abandoned them and our peacekeeping mission. But I also see the efforts to overcome evil. The current president, Paul Kagame, has promoted peace despite being one of the tribe the Hutus tried to annihilate. I see integration of all people in all aspects of life. I see the respect everyone exhibits for the memorials commemorating those lost.
No longer are labels of Hutu or Tutsi applied. Whether tall or short, rich or poor, light-skinned or dark, we are Rwandans. Today, the towers of pine, mango, and eucalyptus bow their crowns in remembrance of the evils they witnessed yet utter not a word. The thunder roars and wails for its absent audience. The clouds weep their tears for the children who never jumped in the puddles. The rain washes away the auburn stains of the clay. Although we grieve tremendous loss, we can look forward. Why? Because today is a day of forgiveness.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Living off the grid
Have you ever tried to live off the grid? Cooking, bathing, and working off grid? If "living off the grid" meant anything like "living off the land", you would deduce that almost everyone lives off the grid because almost everyone depends upon it for their daily activities. This being the English language, logic isn't applicable. In addition to my regular job, which I discussed last time, I have an array of side projects, which primarily work off the grid. Electricity heats my shower and boils my rice, and the hospital has power for my computer. But notice that washing clothes failed to make that list. Yep, washing clothes takes more than a toss into the machine and a turn of the dials, it's by the brawn of your biceps and the wringing of your radii. That goes for both myself and the hospital. You can imagine the amount of work required for an 80-bed hospital. The current laundry facilities are stretched to capacity and need some refurbishment. That's where I pop into the picture. Even though construction really isn't my cup of tea, as the most technical person around these parts, it falls to my lot. What's the design? It's a simple building with slightly more space and better planning. Washing, drying, folding; two rooms and a courtyard for the primary steps of laundry. This week, we hope to solicit some bids. In perhaps two or three weeks, we may have a contractor and yet another construction project happening here at Mugonero.
For all you parents out there, what is the biggest cost associated with children? Buying clothes? Food? School (if you sent them to private school)? What if you had over 100 kids? You understand the need for a significant source of income, but relying on donations is foolish because of unpredictability. At the orphanage, Victor is creating industries with the profits helping to pay for clothes, food, and education to reduce the dependency upon charity (no, the children are not working in the industries). The government is working with Victor to develop a nursery to sell fruit trees to the locals. During the dry season, these saplings will need water, which is why Victor likes having me at his disposal. Behind the orphanage is a ravine with a creek snaking it's way along the bottom. A couple years ago, a German built a dam and a pump house to pump water up to the orphanage. The pumps are driven by water wheels and require no electricity. However, due of poor design both by the German and the Brazilian pump manufacturer, I have a task - get them working, ideally before the end of the wet season. This water is too dirty to be used for drinking and would clog any filter. However, a little soil with the water is just fine for the plants.
Another cost associated with children is the electricity bill. The orphanage's electricity bill comprises of bottles of distilled water. They have solar panels and a battery bank (courtesy of the German government) to power Victor's computer, the UV water purifier, and two lights so the kids can do their homework after dark. You would think that living so close to the equator would mean plentiful sunshine. But clouds seriously diminish the sunshine available, particularly in the rainy season. Any true Washingtonian can appreciate rain, primarily because it supplies the majority of their electricity. Likewise, my final project is to complete a design that would modify the pump house to include a hydroelectric generator. Thus, whenever the rain renders the solar system incapable of meeting demand, the rain itself will provide electricity. This is certainly the most difficult and complex project, even more so than my actual job, but this is also the most interesting and my favorite.
What do I like doing here in Africa? I like doing what I am most capable of accomplishing. Pilots, doctors, and even translators are all needed in the far reaches of the world. Evangelists and preachers have their calling. But someone decided not to bestow such abilities upon me. Instead, He created me to tackle those non-functional water pumps, a dog-chewed piano dehumidifier, those haphazard sketches of hospital buildings, a leak-prone hospital water system, and numerous other imperfect creations of man. With a passion for such, how can I say no?
For all you parents out there, what is the biggest cost associated with children? Buying clothes? Food? School (if you sent them to private school)? What if you had over 100 kids? You understand the need for a significant source of income, but relying on donations is foolish because of unpredictability. At the orphanage, Victor is creating industries with the profits helping to pay for clothes, food, and education to reduce the dependency upon charity (no, the children are not working in the industries). The government is working with Victor to develop a nursery to sell fruit trees to the locals. During the dry season, these saplings will need water, which is why Victor likes having me at his disposal. Behind the orphanage is a ravine with a creek snaking it's way along the bottom. A couple years ago, a German built a dam and a pump house to pump water up to the orphanage. The pumps are driven by water wheels and require no electricity. However, due of poor design both by the German and the Brazilian pump manufacturer, I have a task - get them working, ideally before the end of the wet season. This water is too dirty to be used for drinking and would clog any filter. However, a little soil with the water is just fine for the plants.
Another cost associated with children is the electricity bill. The orphanage's electricity bill comprises of bottles of distilled water. They have solar panels and a battery bank (courtesy of the German government) to power Victor's computer, the UV water purifier, and two lights so the kids can do their homework after dark. You would think that living so close to the equator would mean plentiful sunshine. But clouds seriously diminish the sunshine available, particularly in the rainy season. Any true Washingtonian can appreciate rain, primarily because it supplies the majority of their electricity. Likewise, my final project is to complete a design that would modify the pump house to include a hydroelectric generator. Thus, whenever the rain renders the solar system incapable of meeting demand, the rain itself will provide electricity. This is certainly the most difficult and complex project, even more so than my actual job, but this is also the most interesting and my favorite.
What do I like doing here in Africa? I like doing what I am most capable of accomplishing. Pilots, doctors, and even translators are all needed in the far reaches of the world. Evangelists and preachers have their calling. But someone decided not to bestow such abilities upon me. Instead, He created me to tackle those non-functional water pumps, a dog-chewed piano dehumidifier, those haphazard sketches of hospital buildings, a leak-prone hospital water system, and numerous other imperfect creations of man. With a passion for such, how can I say no?
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