Of Weddings, Friends, and Social Blunders

Julio Villasenor

(Before you start, let me apologize, I inadvertently went overboard and now the blog is so ever slightly long)

… Ngarambe (JD) told me we were taking a taxi to Kigali. Imagine my surprise when I saw him standing next to a minivan, already packed with at least 20 people, and he told me to “find a seat.” My inner voice screamed “what do you mean find a seat?? Where?? On top of the old lady with the roll of blankets on top of her? Or next to the five guys seating already squished in the back seat!!!???.”  Thankfully some part of me understood that I was not in a position to negotiate and so I stepped into the car, smiled politely at the blank stares that greeted me and looked for a place to park my derriere. Luckily this did not last long as Ngarambe realized that there was no way that that car would have space for him and Emmy (who we were waiting for). And so, we left that “taxi” and started walking around town searching for another one which we soon did.

Now let me tell you something about public transport in Rwanda (or at least the taxi-vans from Ruli to Kigali). Unlike other places I have been to where people get on the medium of transportation and then pretend to be in their little space bubble, blissfully unaware of those around them, transport here is a community experience. The taxi hadn’t gone more than a couple hundred yards when a spirited discussion broke out (no idea what it was about) full of laughter, raised voices and assenting “mmhhhmmmm”s. Everyone partook of the conversation, it was as if, in the absence of radio, people on the car where conducting their own talk-show experiment.

This time we took a different road to Kigali. This road quickly went down the hills and followed a river into the city. I enjoyed noticing how the scenery subtly changed from the steep hilly slopes to the smaller more uniform valleys, all the while staying an intense green. I had a great view because I was lucky enough to get the window seat on the front row. What I hadn’t considered was that I was also very visible to all those we passed and so was slightly alarmed when a group of children coming out of school noticed me and after yelling “umusungu” started racing after the taxi-van. This happened in every town that we passed. As the taxi-van slowly navigated the many obstacles presented by dirt roads, children would notice me and after the initially “umusungu” warning to others (which at this point started to sound more like a war cry) would race after us shouting “giveamegiveamegiveamegiveame.” I have to admit that at first I was very entertained by this but any good feelings quickly turned sour as I began to dread that one of the children would be trampled by our taxi-van all because of the umusungu.

I guess this is a good time to tell you, dear reader or cyberspace void (which I think is more likely), about the unique feeling of being the token umusungu in my surroundings. In case you haven’t deciphered it by now, umusungu means white man (and to those of you who know me, I was also very surprised that it isn’t George Clooney lookalike). Before you get all worked up please realize that there is no racial connotation to umusungu, it is just another word to refer to something or someone; the same way banana refers to the delicious fruit I have been eating in unforetold quantities. Being the only person that looks like me around here I draw a certain kind of attention whether I want to or not. I fully realize that there is nothing special about me in particular and that a walking banana would evoke the same type of interest but nevertheless there is a unique feeling that comes from a distinct lack of anonymity.

I was pondering this the other night when I went out for a beer with two of the guys I work with. There is no public lighting in Ruli and at night there is a complete darkness which people navigate by the light of the moon and their cell phones’ screens. As I stood in the middle of the road enjoying the privacy that the darkness afforded me, a couple of boys passed me by. After a couple of steps one of them did a double take, shed some light on me and heartily exclaimed “good morning” before walking off into the night. I laughed and reflected that, for the time being, I like not being anonymous.

This is not something that I had to worry about however in the busy capital of Kigali where I had the opportunity to meet up with my good friend Shukun who is also doing a WDI internship in Rwanda. As far as I could tell from my limited time there, Kigali is a peaceful city nestled in a small valley and its surrounding hills.  Motorcycles are the main transport and I enjoyed a weekend of zooming by on the back of a speeding bikes as I got to know the place.

One of the places we went to was a small garden in the outskirts of the city where we were guests at a wedding. Ngarambe was nice enough to invite us. When I asked him if the bride and groom would be ok with us crashing their wedding he replied that he had been invited by his sister who had been invited by the groom, but not to worry, this is what weddings in Rwanda were like.  He also forgot to say that he was going to MC the ceremony.

You see, weddings here are a full day affair. From what I understood in the morning the bride and her cohort go to the groom’s house. Sometimes there is a dowry. Afterwards it is off to the church to be wed before the Lord. Lastly there is the wedding reception (the part that we showed up for), which I thought would be a feast and a lot of dancing. Wrong.

The reception here is a formal affair full of protocol. The groom’s party sits on one side and the bride’s party on the other. There is a formal introduction of the wedding party and the bride and groom cut a ribbon to inaugurate their reception. In this case there was a hired group of dancers and singers who performed traditional dances. There is a representative for the bride and another for the groom who are central to the whole event as they formally address one another before the whole congregation. Lastly the bride is given to the groom’s representative who then presents her to the groom. There is cake and soda for everyone, even for us wedding crashers.

After the reception Shukun and I were taken to a small house (I never did find out whose place it was) while Ngarambe changed out of his formal attire. As we were sitting there trying to make small talk various family members started coming into the small room. Unsure of what our place there was, we stood up to greet every person. One of the people to come in was an old lady who stretched out both her arms to greet us. I thought to myself “we’ve just been to a wedding, of course this is hug time” and embraced the old lady. As we broke of I noticed a flash of panic in her eyes followed by a decisive walk into the next room. When I asked Ngarambe later on, he said that people will touch each other’s shoulders and then lean forward while leaving space enough for a small person. Kind of what an awkward hug with the relatives that you never see and don’t really like would look like. Poor woman. She must have thought I was attacking her.

While in Kigali I also had the opportunity to go to the Genocide Memorial which was constructed in the burial site of 250,000 people who lost their lives in the 1994 tragedy. It now has a couple of terraced gardens and a white modern building that houses the museum. It is a very dignified memorial and I have to admit I had to hold back tears as I went through the various exhibitions. There is an exhibition on children which I found particularly hard. One thing that I liked about the memorial museum is that there is a wing dedicated to genocides that have occurred in other countries at different times.  I liked it because it felt like an outcry to visitors from all nationalities to realize that these tragedies have happened in our lifetime and to not let them happen again.

I feel completely inadequate writing about the genocide and will not do so here. Suffice it to say that it is hard to reconcile these smiling, friendly, and community minded people with their tragic history. What I can write about is the gigantic steps that Rwandans have made to overcome their past, learn from it and make peace with it. While I’ve been here the events of 1994 have come up in conversation and I have been humbled to notice that, though there is still sadness, there is a lack of anger or fault seeking. Genocide is taught in school and there are small memorial centers in every town, but the emphasis is always placed on the need to grow and come together as one people.

Another activity that takes place is Umuganda. This happens countrywide the last Saturday of every month and it is a time when people come together in their communities to embark in some form of public work. For me it meant that yesterday I was part of a group of around 70 people who helped cut the grass and weeds from a football (or soccer for all you gringos) field. Well, to be completely honest most of my time there was spent entertaining little kids who, after getting over their initial shyness, had no qualms about climbing on top of me, ruffling my hair and even looking under my shirt and pulling my chest hair to make sure it was attached to me (all of the seven hairs that grow there, but that’s beside the point). When I did get to cut some grass it felt more like a photo-op given the number of people that gathered around to see the umusungu do some actual work.

I realize that I have, yet again, rambled on without any specific mention to the work that I am doing here in Rwanda. However, I also realize this blog is starting to look more like a never-ending litany of my many misadventures, so I’ll stop here and leave writing about my work for a later blog.

If anyone is reading this, please do leave a comment. I will feel much less foolish if I feel I am actually talking to someone else.

Peace.

Coolness comes in all sizes

Clearing the football field

Me cutting the grass on the football field

Guests waiting at the wedding

The bride and groom cutting the ribbon