Rwandan Ruminations

A smattering of notes, poems, and pictures from the Rwandan trip. When I use a picture that was not actually taken by me, I will credit the group. Many of the photos from the last post, including all of the dancing photos natch, are from the group. Also, the poems would ideally have indentations on various lines, but I don't feel like dealing with the formatting to figure that out.


Group photo.

First day of the trip entry:

A white cocoon envelops our group somewhat. Kigali is nicer than expected, more developed, more expensive. One drive through it was not enough to get a grasp for the city; it sprawls out along hills as if in a countryside. The city is green and red and gorgeous. I sat facing the east through twilight and felt a surge of awe rise through my guitar playing. After dusk with cicadas, lights dotting the hills, and the scent of mosquito repellent, Kigali returns to a natural state.

People have behaved on a spectrum from overly friendly to suspicious and sullen. Our customs officer asked me how I was and our young Rwandan aide is irrepressible to the poitn of obsequiousness. The man who opens the gate to our hostel waves excitedly at us when we enter or leave. People do seem to look at us whenever we pass with curiosity and either eagerness or distrust. Our waitress was polite but coldly so. Many were eager to accommodate us whenever an opportunity came up.



Chanted vocal music bubbles over to us on our hostel porch. Choral music rolls strong and spiritual, whether religious or traditional, harmonic monophony with flashes of call and response.

We must suspend our expectations for this trip. Processes are often slow, many things don't work, we will get sick or lost or sore or cranky. In flavor and degree, this will be a trip unlike any I have experienced for a long time, if ever.

24/09

Obviously, someone else took this, but on my camera. If that makes a difference.

The Visitor



Birds chirp all around me
a cock crow is what woke me
It is a multifabric blanket of sound rising from the hill
Coming to cover me until the sun reaches my part of the hill
A human voice, human labor,
Sometimes this thread emerges on the blanket
I await the blanket, Africa is colder than I thought
And I am a visitor in this land,
A group surrounds me, a white cocoon in the black land
Some know more, some less, some care not to know
Some are connected, some are plugged in
Some are digging, some are sleeping in
I know no more than anyone
And knowing is not a character trait that makes me better
The bird chirp blanket and the white cocoon and the air less than hot
But all I am is a visitor in this thought

Second day of the trip entry

Rwandan restaurant - the wait, the good goat meat, the Ugandan waragi (rubbing alcohol and gin), chapati in a back room of a side street with a smiling hostess Sara called sister (dada) in Swahili, the armed men on the streets. Habyarima's house with secret passageways and torture rooms and churches for Christianity and animist faiths, wreck of the plan, the desire to change the house into a museum. A tightening of the group. The glow of our trip in its absurdity and naive expectation in the face of trauma.

Group photo.

Nyabarongo River entries

He is six or seven years old, dark skinned in a dull brown t-shirt and darker brown pants. I say "mwarimutse" and "amakuru". He says "nimeza". He has a plastic water bottle one-fifth full with coins. He asks me something, uses the word "falanga". I smile and shrug, then say, "nitwa Daniel," using poor Kinyarwanda. I ask, "witwande?" He says "Tunezi Bevinda" or something similar. I ask him to repeat the second name, he does, I say "ndakwashimaye" tow or three times until I get it right. We stand. No words are shared. A minute later he moves, I wish him a "nimosi meza".

As I write this under a bridge, a man in a hat walks by. We talk about where I came from, about where we are, basic pleasantries, and then I see I have to go. I wish him well and begin to leave. He reminds me to take my camera. Very kind. He laughs at my sloppiness as I smile and walk away.



***

Imagining the river full of bodies, the strong current bogged down by the bloated flesh, well, it makes a lot of the heavier rock songs (I'm thinking "Bodies" by the Drowning Pool) sound ridiculous. Also makes most of life's problems seem absurdly insignificant. So it goes.



Weakness

I can be weak. I am weak. I will be weak.
This does not mean I should seek weakness.
Nor should I eschew my attempts to be strong.
It means that I will be weak even amidst my strengths.
Sometimes in familiar ways, sometimes in new ways.
Remember:
I am weak even as I am strong.
Even as I am right I will be wrong.
I shall seek even more strength, but not for power.
I shall seek rightness, not righteousness.
I shall accept myself and others
I will fail to accept both, but will try again.
Even as I am good, I am bad.
I will learn to understand that.

29/09



The Worst Moment


The worst moment of my life
I walk down the green walled hallway
I am late, too late, I came from too far away
And I see you coming out of the room, coming towards me
On your face the most twisted look
Your face is stuck
Your eyes perched on the edge of a waterfall
Your mouth fallen, your brow scrunched, your nose raised
You walk past me, unable to look in others' eyes
And I see Babushka hugging someone outside the door
I know she is gone, she is no more
I am too late
I am too late to say goodbye.
Too late to change anything.
Too late to feel.
All I can do is help put things together.
And really, I am too late for that.

And you are out driving, alone, where no one knows.

27/09