My oh my, so many thoughts

So where even to begin.

Whether it is a combination of being alone for long stretches of time, and thus with lots and lots of time for contemplation, or it is the surreal environment of Kigali, I’m not too sure – but every time I sat down to write this entry, I became simply overwhelmed by a strong urge to write everything and anything. What I thought as I talked to my fellow hotel-mate, Anna. What I thought as I had dinner with some Korean expats here.What I felt watching some school kids at the Genocide Memorial, or how I really want to react when some cocky guy on a motorcycle zooms by, yelling “muzungu!” (hint: it is illegal in every country). So every time I turn my lap top on, I shut it back down, simply because I don’t know where to begin.

Maybe I will try with last night’s dinner: I had dinner with a couple of Korean IT guys, here in Kigali as part of Rwanda’s lets-go-high-tech plan. The loneliness, especially aggravated by the extreme language barrier (the guys don’t really speak English, neither does most of the Rwandans, and let’s face it, none of them are even trying to learn kinyarwandan) pulls people together – honestly, what are the chances that we would meet in Korea under normal circumstances? 5 30-ish tech dudes with wives and children, and one 20 something college student. Some might say, smells sketchy. But here, we are all buddies, bonding over some poorly made kimchi and a sad attempt at some other Korean staples. Nationality is a funny thing – I always want to be the post-modern child, keenly aware that national identity is yet another constructed label – but find myself giggling away at their geeky jokes, sitting in a room full of strangers in total ease, just because we are Korean. Perhaps hypocritical on my part? Or inevitable? More like, convenient?

And shall we progress on to my afternoon of frustration? Trying to contact some people at the British Embassy and Television Rwandais, I experienced the pitfalls of mad bureaucracy. No miss, this is not my responsibility, let me refer you to my colleague, Robin. Well I just came from Robin. Oh, then Dave. Damn you all. Is your boss in? Let me check, nope, his car is not in the parking lot. Do you know when he gets back? Nope. Do you know anything about your boss’s schedule, given that you are his secretary? Pardon? Never mind. Au revoir. (Damn you). Some of the kids near I live shout out: why so busy? Why hurry muzungu? When I speed by them, en route to a meeting or just to grab some fanta orange from the supermarket. Maybe my ‘normal’ speed of life is not really ‘normal’, and perhaps I should enjoy the slow, simple life – but you know, there is something to be said of getting things done. Waiting is just, goddamn boring.

Now seems to be a good time to let out my rage when cheeky guys of all age yell out “muzungu!”: not that I am particularly angry at people calling me muzungu, I guess I am around here – but hey, if you think its indecent to call out after a Rwandan girl like she is some cute dog, its indecent to do that to a foreigner too. A simple bonjour, ca va, you do to your countrymen would suffice for the muzungu too. (I am also a very dangerous person. Seriously.)

Anyone a big fan of order and discipline? Because I’m not: My day started with an early morning meeting at the Memorial Center, which ended up being a late morning meeting, as meetings often do around here. I stretched out on a bench in the gardens, to write a blog entry and perhaps go over some questions I had before starting the meeting. Sooner or later, I realized I was sitting amidst a prong of Rwandans – solemn, sullen, and frighteningly silent. A group of thirty something Rwandans in their Sunday best and often with a purple scarf around their neck, was standing in stoic silence, two by two, in front of the front door of the memorial. No one had asked them to stand in line, but there was no moving, no chit chat, nothing. Like soldiers bowing to an unseen authority, they all stood in the morning heat in silence. ‘Order’ is, indeed, an interesting thing. People often associate chaos with pain and suffering, and order with peace and stability – however, the equation is often not that simple. I always get this weird feeling in my stomach when I see ‘order’ of that sort – it always seems more like a calm before a storm. Peace, in my opinion, should be a orderly chaos, the freedom of mind to ask your friend how he felt about the exhibit, or sit down in the shade when the sun is blazing down. I asked Emmanuel and Honoré, two guides I have befriended of what is going on. They answered it was a group of ‘locals’, perhaps from the same village or school district, gathered for a tour of the center to sensitize themselves to what is genocide, and how it can be prevented, etc. Noble attempt. But there was something of their silence that bothered me throughout – what is under that silence? Forgiveness, strength to cope, or just simmering hatred?

And finally, never did I think I would be inspired by a man named James Smith: After meeting a handful of people at the documentation center, I bounded up the stairs to where the enigmatic ‘James Smith’ was meeting, hoping I could get a quick five minutes with him. What I got out of my prolonged five minutes (turned out to be more than 20) was nothing I had bargained for, but nonetheless still a fresh shock and fresh inspiration. He showed exasperated resignation almost when I told him the purpose of the trip – Rwanda doesn’t need any more critiques, academic endeavors, etc. Rwanda needs solutions. Rwanda needs answers, ways out. Stop doing things that will get on the next issue of some Oxford University press magazine – do something that will actually change the Murambi memorial. What Rwanda needs is the stability, integrity and expertise of your institution. I had to argue back, for the sake of my ‘institution’- what we are doing is yes, academic, but that is not because we are blind or complacent. Maybe sometimes. But things are a bit more complicated – we are, after all, an academic institution. Each institution speaks in its own language – and in order for Harvard to be in Rwanda, be the Harvard Rwanda wants it to be, it must first persuade itself in its own language; the language of the academia. You have to rally your own troops before you charge forward. Perhaps he bought it, perhaps he didn’t. He has a point – but I do think I had one too. But in the end, I emerged from this impromptu meeting a little overwhelmed, a little ashamed, and a whole lot inspired. Some people, indeed, do make things happen. This post did not do James Smith justice - perhaps I will return to our conversation, once I got his points all processed and internalized.

Whew. My oh my, what an odd place I am at.