Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Ordinary People, Extraordinary Times (Last Day in Kigali!)

My time in Kigali is coming to an end. People ask me whether I feel like I have achieved a lot while I was here. Personally, I have learned a lot, not just in a sense of personal growth and overall life-lessons, but even about my own topic. I think I am leaving with a pretty good sense of how things are around here, and what kind of delicate situation survivors are dealing with, both politically and emotionally. I was influenced, heavily, by people who have quite critical position regarding government policies and the current state of survivor organizations (forgive my taciturnity, as long as I am here, I have to exercise the discretion of a Rwandan). But the more I learn about what kind of obstacles they were facing, my position has mellowed—a lot. Things that are wrong are wrong, but sometimes the choice is not between right and wrong, but better or worse. It is too easy to sit on the pedestal of distance and say, you can have it so much better, when here, it is hard to be so optimistic. Let me correct myself—optimistic, yes, but dramatically so, no.



Reconciliation programs here are very controversial—some think Rwanda’s ingenious program of gacaca, or community-based justice, is the new-best-thing in terms of transitional justice in impossible situations, while others think, indiscreetly put, a big sham. My research is not directly on this topic—I am most positive that I will have nothing new to say on this over beaten subject—but inevitably the conversations wander to this territory. Whatever my interviewee’s political position, or temperament, the soft spoken answer I get is, despite everything one could point out that is wrong about the program, it is still a compromise that they could live with. Or have to live with.



This sobering view, especially on the question of justice after genocide, is, often surprisingly, coming from a lot of the survivors themselves. Of course, not everyone agrees with this—I am sure still quite a few people want all killers locked up and out of sight. And even those who quietly and reluctantly agree to the compromise situation of today, where justice is slow and often incomplete, deep down inside they would want, well, unbridled vengeance.



One of the past presidents that I interviewed gave an almost hopeless sense of resignation as he said, perhaps the only thing that can ‘solve’ the situation is time. However cleverly designed the policy, he said, without the necessary objectivity and ability to abstract oneself and criticize to execute it sufficiently, the policy becomes hollow. How could we, he asked, in the 1990’s, just a few years after seeing our parents, siblings and friends slaughtered, sit back and say, okay let’s think this through. We tried, he said, but we were too much involved in it, too deep in the thick of the event, and taking a step back to think would have been betrayal to ourselves. His words had the danger of sounding self-apologetic, especially as a leader of the survivors who may feel like he has not squarely met the challenges of the position. But what does ring true is, even if he is just spewing out self justifications, is that this in it of itself is reality—the combination of an extra-ordinary situation with ordinary self interest. Even in an apocalyptic time, could the success of a policy rest on the exceptional devotion and heroism?

Friday, August 7, 2009

Fiztgerald over African Tea

I think I drove home the point that I have a lot of alone time in this town. Lol. Although it would have been absolutely pragmatic of me to study for the LSATs, pragmatism is far less alluring than wallowing in self pity, and spicing it up with the absolutely romantic activity of reading people like Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Garcia. Just finished This Side of Paradise and wanted to share a few insights:



A)For anyone who is contemplating the absurdity and complexity of the social scene at Harvard, with its archaic divisions and bizarre insularity, read the chapter ‘Spires and Gargoyles’; Amory Blaine’s (protagonist) first two years at Princeton. His dreams to ‘make it’ and ultimately get a bid (punch, tap, rush, whatever the right terminology is) from one of the more prestigious ‘eating clubs’ made me slap my knee with laughter, ironic laughter—so little has changed (for some people, though) since the 1910’s. For heavens.


B)“[…] These quarter-educated, stale-minded men such as your friend here, who think they think. Every question that comes up, you’ll find his type in the usual ghastly muddle One minute it’s the ‘brutality and inhumanity of these Prussians’—the next it’s ‘we ought to exterminate the whole German people.’ They always believe that ‘things are in a bad way now,’ but they ‘haven’t any faith in these idealists.’ One minute they call Wilson ‘just a dreamer, not practical’—a year later they rail at him for making his dream realities. They haven’t clear logical ideas on one single subject except a sturdy, solid opposition to all change. They don’t think uneducated people should be highly paid, but they won’t see that if they don’t pay the uneducated people their children are going to be uneducated too, and we’re going round and round in a circle. That—is the great middle class!” - pg 255
The second quote tickled my fancy in so many different ways. First, in my defense, I am not as quite as sardonically elitist as the Amory Blaine who uttered those words. Or so I hope. In fact, my fear is that I am, unwittingly and clearly unwillingly, becoming one of the quarter-educated, stale-minded (wo)men in the aforementioned quote. I do not see myself as someone who instinctively goes against change, but I do see myself falling into a vicious cycle of criticism-for-the-sake-of criticism. Criticism, warranted or not, is the easiest way to earn distinction, and prove cleverness, albeit shallow. It is hard to get recognized by agreeing. Simple example: in section, how many times have I criticized the author, simply for something intelligent sounding to get through the day? Intelligent in the sense of intellectually gimmicky, definitely not wise.


But what is so wrong about being the great middle class. I mean, nothing, if you are asking me about being part of the middle class, income-wise. Hell, that is still a pretty good life, especially in a country like America. But what is personally unacceptable for me is resulting in a ‘stale-minded’ person after the sort of education I was fortunate enough to fall upon. My scholarship pays me around 50,000 dollars a year (…I think that’s about right) to go to Harvard. That would probably be enough money to help irrigation in the dry Eastern Province in Rwanda, and therefore help children get three full meals a day. The trauma counselor/psychiatrist in Bugesera District would finally be able to prescribe the medicine she wants to, and make all the housecalls she needs to for thousands in her area who suffer from acute PTSD till this day with that money—for years. When your education alone costs more than the money people require to simply function as an individual, whether it be physically or psychologically, it is hard not to wonder, if you are turning out to be your money’s worth. If the invisible hand of, well, the universe, had a way of redirecting resources to something more lucrative, would I still be a good investment?



The struggle to not end one’s story, with the exclamation: “I know myself, but that is all—“

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Overheard in Kigali

Actually, more like a collection of hilarious T-Shirts I saw in Kigali.

"My Wife Stinks"
Marital bliss all the way.

"Go TROJANS" (in all orange)
I mean, no one was really rooting for lifestyles...

"Will be Single for a Long Time"
This is the new-age chastity ring.


"I'm Popular"
Good to know.

"Jesus"
..I'm not sure he was trying to say that he likes Jesus, he is Jesus, or just a
random exclamation (Jesus!)

Nature Call(ed)

Oh hay, so I had a few first-in-my-life experiences yesterday.



One would be, well, I had my first moto ride. Moto being the motorcycle taxi that is ubiquitous in Kigali. I know, I know, how they HELL did I manage to stay in Kigali for so long without taking a moto? That’s like saying I walked without legs. Or swam without water. Answer is: the analogy is both and poor and apt, because you CAN walk without legs (per se) and swim without water (per se). There are only a few neighborhoods I need to go to on a regular basis in Kigali—one would be downtown (ville, or mumugi), which I usually walk to, the IBUKA office, which is a little too far to take a moto (in my experience, as I don’t really want to show up to an interview covered in red dust), some neighborhoods where my friend’s live (like Nyamirambo and Kimihurura) where I either take the bus to (which is pretty cool too), or need to take a taxi because I don’t know exactly know how to get there, and thus can’t really explain to the moto driver (this mostly applies to Nyamirambo. Since I usually end up going there for dinner, I have no idea how to get anywhere in that area, so a taxi driver who speaks English/understands my broken French is essential). So yeah, bottom line is I never really needed to. On top of that, I am not so good with speed, and hills, so combined, it was rather scary. So unless it was absolutely necessary, I was going to stay away from it for the time being – besides, NOT riding a motorcycle was part of my grant contract anyways. Law-abiding citizen at your service.



But yesterday, covered in dust, tired, sweating like a pig, I started to walk and three steps after, I was like, eff this. I am not moving another step. So I hopped on a moto, and somehow decided I had picked up enough kinyarwanda to haggle the price in kinyarwanda (oh fatigue inspired delirium!), and miraculously did. Hilariously, the driver was delightfully mislead to believe that I understood kinyarwanda, so he proceeded to talk to me non-stop throughout the drive, and I just politely laughed when I thought appropriate and chimed in a few ‘yego’(yes) here and there. I’m not sure if he totally bought the act, but he kept on patting my back like ‘good job’ after I got off, so at least he enjoyed my fake-fluency.



Did I love it? I can see how I would enjoy such a ride after a long day. But I definitely do not want to show up to a senators office with matted hair from the helmet and dust all over my shirt. And I had visions of somersaulting over the driver every time he hit the breaks abruptly. (For the record, I’ve been taking them quite frequently after the experience, but mostly POST interviews where I don’t have to see anyone. Still really not into the slightly-coated-in-dust look. Does not work for me).



The other first-time experience: Safari. Rwanda is not known as a safari hot-spot, because well, it is not a safari hot spot. Mountain gorillas, yes, but this tiny country can’t compete with the vast, diverse beauty of Tanzania or Kenya (not that I’ve been, but so I’ve been told). But considering the last time I saw animals, save a few pigeons, cats and dogs, was say, when I was about 10 (you all know how much I love nature. I revel in the wilderness of the cities, and homo sapiens are totally my favorite species.) it was super exciting for me.


The Akagera National Park is about 2 hours away from Kigali, so totally do-able as a day trip (especially the kind that you kind of hop on after getting a call from a friend of a friend you’ve never met in person). It is a not-so-vast expanse of dry savannah (is that even the correct term? Matt Bird I need your help) with acacia trees, populated with antelopes, bush bucks(?), fish eagles, hippos, baboons, monkeys of different sorts, zebras, warthogs and lots of giraffes. Oh the giraffes. I loved the funny looking creatures too much I think, and I got to see them up THIS close (‘this’ being like 30 cm distance. NO JOKE.) I had the constant urge to narrate the event in the National Geographic channel-esque voice, but considering I had never met any of my safari-friends in person before the trip, I kept the narration internal.



After a few super super hot, arid hours of safari-ing, I returned to my reality that is Kigali. I have actually not been able to eat much since my minor bout of food poisoning (I am all better now), so the Indian food I had for dinner was pretty much heaven. Well fed, well entertained, and finally NOT tearing my head apart because I have no idea what I am doing in terms of research, I had a pretty good nights sleep. Thanks for the diversion, pumba & co.

Friday, July 31, 2009

Yet another introspective rambling, but I have few friends here.

July 30th, 2009

Dates kind of evade me now, as I sort of live by the day. But some interesting things, to say the least, have happened in the past few days. Interviews have been going relatively well, I still have my freak-out moments of WTF am I exactly doing and am I doing enough and holy crap is this ever going to materialize into a thesis, but I mean, I figure this is all part of the process. I better get a grip of myself when I get back to school, otherwise I would be rather insufferable. Don’t worry, working on it. New goal in life: write a thesis while still being chipper. I refuse to let my undergraduate thesis turn me into a train-wreck. Now if this is my PhD disseration…


I always thought the moment of violence was the rare moment of clarity. To kill or not to kill, regardless of all the motivations one may consider in retrospect, is an absolute decision—you can’t half ass it or compromise with the situation. Morally, maiming a person with the initial intention of killing him is as reprehensible as killing someone. You either agree with it or you don’t.


More and more I am realizing, perhaps this is not the clarity of the violent moment, but simply a reflection of the way I think—as much as I like to talk and think about the gray area of life, I feel like I am a quite straightforward person. I go for it or I don’t. To me the split second decision to commit is a decision nonetheless, and I have very little patience for people who oscillate visibly or retract their decision. Retracting it does not undo the decision; you are simply making another one—shouldn’t one just own up to the first (mistaken) decision, and take responsibility of it? (Maybe that’s why I used to firmly believe in the moment of clarity that comes with violence—you can’t hurt a person and be like, whoops, my bad, I take that back. It doesn’t come with a return policy, like that exorbitantly expensive BCBG dress or unnecessary extra spatula. You do it or you don’t.)



Violence, here at least, seems to leave behind a trail of complicated emotions—no moment of clarity here. What is always the most difficult to come into terms with is when normally ‘good’ emotions or results are intermingled with the ‘bad’ ones. For example, forgiveness out of indignation. Peace through restraint. Or, reconstructing one’s life as vengeance.



“Survivors have to succeed. Do you know why? Because the best revenge to the person who tried to kill you is to be more successful than them, and then help them. Being in a position to help your killer, that is the best revenge a survivor can do.”



I’m still baffled when I hear things like this. What do you say to that? Good luck, keep it up? Glad you are channeling your anger to something constructive? Hope you get your revenge? I am left speechless and clueless. You know, when I tell people that I am studying about Rwanda, many are quick to ask: “so I guess they are not all about forgiving and moving on?” or “I guess they haven’t really gotten over it yet, right?” I want to introduce Paul (the author of the aforementioned quote) to all of them. How do you ‘get over’ the death of one’s parents, loved ones? The metaphor of a wound is insufficient here—wounds heal, and often without a trace, so it’s hard to figure out where that childhood boo boo was and how much it used to hurt. But regardless of how much time had passed, people who died will still be dead, and till a certain point, people who are alive will still be alive alone. You don’t ‘get over’ such events, you simply transform it into something else. Like how you can transform vengeance into success. A new chapter in life, but not without reference to the one before that.



Researching in Rwanda, I feel like I have more (too many) opportunities to think about what the death of my own father has meant to me in my life. It was something that was part of my reality for a long time, the girl without a dad, but it wasn’t something I thought of consciously that much. I rarely mentioned the fact that my dad died when I was young to my friends, even just a few years ago, not necessarily because it was too painful or I was somehow ashamed of it, but because I just didn’t really feel the need to. What’s the point if all it’s going to do is kill the dinner table mood? Besides, it was a long time ago, I had ‘gotten over’ it. But my encounter with Rwanda has made me more vocal about my life as well. I don’t ask for sympathy, I had a pretty good life that wound me up at Harvard, and other wonderful places in the world, so I don’t feel like I am some damsel in distress of a tragedy. It is just I think, a realization, listening to people who lost everything in a short 100 days, that we don’t really get ‘over’ it, un-touched and un-scathed, but we simply get ‘through’ it, transforming what we are and what we do to fit the shape of the wound. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.



Research, someone once told me, is ultimately about oneself. I think that is the most accurate thing I have heard. Despite our alleged objective distance, understanding others often end up being more of understanding oneself. So forgive me if this blog turns into an internal dialogue – pretty much every time. ☺

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

A Belated Kudos, or Missing the Ugandan Vegan

So the days go on, and I almost feel pressed for time as more and more interviews come in. I'm still not 100% sure what I am exactly doing, but you know, that seems to be the theme of my life. I'm really good at whipping shit into shape (Ivy league education= improvise with style) (or just weird vanity) (both sound about right) but anyways, I guess the more I learn here the more I will be able to write about once I get back. Bueno!



I just wanted to leave a short post (for the few that still read this silly ramble) about my friend's blog. My friend is the Ugandan Vegan, or Robbie Jay Ross, or the crazy person that used to live upstairs and also was in Rwanda with me last year. Robbie's blog chronicles his adventures and misadventures in Uganda last year and the year before that, and I have always found insights and advice from his posts. For example, as I half accidentally happen upon his blog today, I am confronted with the question: is everything really here with a purpose? Even if I don't know it? Maybe that's the only answer I can give myself, when (which is everyday) I am sitting alone in my bedroom at the Okapi, thinking, what am I doing here? What place does a Korean have in Kigali?



I always admired Robbie's ability to laugh and bring humor into the most dire situations. Believe me, we've seen shit together, we've been in shit together, all
in the short span of 2 weeks in Rwanda (and the subsequent year we spent on top of each other). But Robbie always managed to finnagle a joke somewhere or anywhere. I think I was falling into the trap of thinking too much, and thus digging deeper into the pit of sarcasm and melancholy - maybe everything does have a time and purpose, and perhaps there was a reason why I decided to re-open the ugandanvegan today.



Miss you, bro! And for the others, check this out: www.ugandanvegan.blogspot.com

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Everything goes right 'round?

July 26th, 2009
Yesterday was umuganda- I’m not entirely sure how to translate it accurately into English (now I sound like I am fluent in Kinyarwanda or something, but actually I have absolutely no clue what’s going on beyond “how are you” “I’m fine”. So even if I am NOT fine, I’m doomed to this single answer), but in any case it is something like a community service day. Last Saturdays of each month, everyone has to contribute to some community project, like cleaning the roads, weeding public grounds, etc. By everyone I mean everyone who is Rwandan. Or, if this was 2008, everyone who is doing research in local communities with a professor who wanted everyone on his team to show respect to community by participating in umuganda would also be included. (This is how there are multiple photos of me wielding a large hoe and sometimes a machete on facebook. Yeah, I know, WTF).


I had never experienced umuganda in a city before, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect – are there going to be hoards of people cleaning up the streets downtown? Perhaps that was the case in the morning, which I pretty much conveniently missed by sleeping in. But in any case, when I finally got out of my room around 11, the city was a ghost town. No one was moving along the streets, and most of the stores were closed. No buses, no taxis, just a few motos in the streets.


Technically, everyone is supposed to participate in umuganda, so until a few years ago, I believe you would get in trouble if you were meandering around, ie, not where you were supposed be working, that is of course, if you were Rwandan. I don’t think the law changed recently, but I have heard the regulations were getting a bit more lax, hence the few brave motos driving around. But in general, when I arrived at Bourbon café to get breakfast and internet, the café was ENTIRELY muzungu. In fact, anyone moving in the city was muzungu (or the occasional Rwandan-looking person I would stare with suspicion. Are you just ballsy, or are there loopholes in the system?)


Even if I try to avoid generalization, or the instinctive tendency to draw parallels with one’s own experience, it is hard to miss the correlation between Korea’s past and Rwanda’s present. During the 60’s and 70’s, as we were experiencing the height of both economic development and military dictatorship, Korea had a similar project called the ‘new village movement’ (and it sounds as silly as it does in Korean as it does in translation). I used to hear stories from school, from older relatives, about how people used to participate in this from time to time, doing their bit to help the country ‘modernize.’ (and modernize we did from rubble to one of the most wired countries in the world.) I’m not sure if I heard this from my mother or just from school, but I distinctly remember hearing about how the government encouraged/forced all households to switch from the thatched roofs to tin roofs for the sake of sanitation and fire safety. This all happened within the framework of the ‘new village movement’ (although I’m not sure if the actual villagers were asked to do the work themselves). And last year, when I was roaming the countryside in a 4x4, I remember seeing mud huts, which should have thatched roofs with shiny tin roofs. Government decree, someone told me. Coupled with the umuganda-imposed silence of the city, I felt like I was walking back into the past, reliving my parent’s childhood bit by bit.



History, perhaps, repeats itself. Or, whatever your tradition, culture, or skin color, options given to humanity are limited – there are more similarities to be found than differences. But if history does repeat itself, the trajectory of development here is troubling – South Korea, for a long time, suffered from the inadequacies of rapid development, and is still suffering from the lack of maturity in the political system. Will Rwanda end up in the same place if it chooses the same past? Even if it does, should we tell it to stop, think, and reconsider? Because in the end of the day, how does one explain to a person who is barely avoiding starvation and generally swamped in abject poverty that despite the glittering sky scrapers, mind boggling speed of fiber optic technology and the 11th largest economy in the world (all contained in a tiny country the size of a New England state, if lucky a little bigger), life isn’t so good after all?


Maybe we all worry too much. Maybe we are just indulging in the privilege of self criticism without even knowing it. Or, maybe, I should just focus on my research and stop day dreaming. But that is waaaay too difficult ☺

Friday, July 24, 2009

Seeking: Role Models

So it’s both an amazing and weird feeling to know that people I do not expect (and sometimes I don’t even know!) are reading this blog. I mean, technically, I guess it is a public space but I kind of thought of it as a mass email to people that would be (personally) interested in what I am doing and thinking + personal diary that I would probably appreciate years down when I read it again. But this silly blog has proved to be an opportunity for me to get in touch with people I haven’t talked to in a while, or complete strangers with similar experiences, so thanks for that. It means a world to get emails of encouragement at this place.


I feel like my tone has become unnecessarily morose the past few days. It’s not like my days are continuously bad, I just like to open my lap top and just write when I am in an exceptionally bad mood. It is therapeutic. And once I kind of manage to put everything in a (more or less) cohesive narrative, I get insights that I missed myself. Mid-writing I will usually have an ah-hah, right! moment, and go back and rewrite parts of it. So yeah, knowing how much I used to enjoy writing (especially when it does not have footnotes or does not have to be 40 pages) is at least one thing I will get out of this trip.



Another amazing thing about travelling in this type of place, with my kind of objective (well I guess I simply mean is the non-touristy type) is that you get to meet a lot of people that are simply inspiring. Maybe it’s just the economy, but its hard to find encouraging messages when you are trying to live an unconventional life. I don’t try to be exceptional, or make some kind of a statement through my life (after all, my life is not a symbolism, it is my life, and I have to live it every day, whether I like it or not), but more than often I find myself in an out-of-ordinary circumstance. Like, well, right now, sitting in an internet café in Kigali. WTF. I’m not particularly ‘bad ass’ or brave, if I am anything I am a bit spontaneous and reckless, but somehow, I find myself to be surrounded by no one (quite literally right now haha) and on my own. What happened?


But coming to places like this, I am refreshed to know that the only thing that happened is that I had just become myopic and impatient, perhaps wrapped in a false sense of martyrdom that my life choices are so different. People do still take risks. It’s not always about the money and the superficial fame. People do want to learn, look at the big picture, whether it contributes directly to ‘success’ or not, and do crazy things like travel 40 countries in one summer to just enlighten themselves about the diversity and commonality of the world. People do care, people still do things that they are passionate about, and take time to think about what they are passionate about instead of trudging on the given path – even if it means it takes two career changes and lonely months in a country where the local language has 19 noun cases. And with realistic achievements like getting married, getting a life, a salary etc. Just because I’m not going to be a corporate lawyer does not mean I am going to perish in glorious poverty (yeah, of course I’m not going to be as wealthy as I could be if I did, but let’s be real) It’s a great feeling to feel like there are role models out there I can look up to.



I feel like people who knew me when I was younger (I think they often forget that I am still quite young lol), like friends from childhood and family, are worried that I am losing ‘focus.’ Why all this silly research about a genocide that never affected me personally, if I am not going to stay in the academia? Why all the time spent trying to work on a magazine when I’m not really interested in journalism, or becoming a professor in international relations? Why all this meandering, learning Spanish, traveling, learning art, when I’m not going to make a career out of it? Well, birds of a feather flock together, and I like positive reinforcement, so maybe I just seek out people that I find great, and just reinforce my inherently biased approach to life, but I somehow feel like this impatience in life to find some direct autobahn to a settled lifestyle is a myopic arrogance that overlooks the privilege most of us are born with. Face it, very few people around me worry about where the next meal is coming from. And although we might not all get our dream jobs, dream houses, and send our kids to dream schools, very few of us will suffer the abject poverty and desperation people here (or elsewhere in the world) face on an everyday basis. This is a privilege – a privilege that allows us to think, to learn to explore. Not to insinuate that people who are less well off can’t do this too, but for a lot of us, this process of learning, I think, becomes an obligation – I think we often too easily forget that a privilege and a right is a responsibility. Maybe we should just stop acting like the world is going to fall apart the moment we walk aside the beaten path.



Alas, I end up being all philosophical and didactic, when I started off to write about what I did yesterday. Oh well. It was the same ‘ol anyways – lunch with someone I met here, interview, dinner typing notes, some TV and relaxation, sleep, and interview again in the morning, and obviously, typing away in the afternoon. I should really type those notes up. It’s just that I really don’t like hearing my own voice…do I usually sound that nasal? I swear I don’t whine.



Ah, update: there was a grenade attack at the memorial I frequent (to work with the people there). I was there the day the attack happened, but 7 hours earlier. So yeah, I’m fine, shaken, yes, but what can you do. No one was hurt. Wake up call to a false sense of security? Hope it doesn’t mean anything too dramatic.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

The art of (respectfully) disagreeing

There is probably nothing more terrifying than presenting your work in front of a panel of experts. (Aside from massacres, ebola, famine, hate crimes, Nazis, etc, but somewhere up there with swine flu and corruption) Not just any old experts, but experts who also have the legitimacy to claim that it is their field – artists who are now art theorists, historians of their own country, and, in this particular case, Rwandans studying the genocide. It is already quite difficult to present a compelling reason to many Rwandans why an [insert ethnicity/skin color/ nationality here] would be studying the genocide. Some, of course, are encouraging and supportive, appreciating the outside interest in their tragedy and our effort to make it a tragedy of humanity, not just a small African country most famous for its gorillas. But it is hard to avoid the suspicion that we are engaging with their tortured past with a nefarious purpose (the dirty ‘d’ word of denial perhaps) – after all, it was the ‘international community’ that turned a blind eye to the 100 days of massacre.



It is not hard to see where this distrust comes from – even if we disregard the hyper-generalized guilt/accusation towards the ‘international community’ or ‘West’ (whatever that means….I always wonder where I stand in terms of the ‘West.’ I am a minority in the ‘West’, but here, that doesn’t really seem to matter.), objectivity in social sciences is easily under attack. It is like discussing colonization, post-war politics or the likes in Korea with Japanese – regardless of the soundness of their method, it is easy for Koreans to criticize the Japanese of approaching the topic with an ‘agenda’ in mind. Of course, it is impossible to completely discard inherent prejudices. Prejudices are more often than not subconscious, so yes, even the best researcher comes in with their own world view intact. Hell, I probably have some racist tendencies I don’t even know of. But in the end, I am still an idealist (like many people in the academia) in that I still do believe that if we do apply methodology with rigor, research with a conscience as an academic first, and national citizen second, we will reach a universal dialogue, if not consensus. But the ability to disagree with grace is not one of our innate abilities, and often, in sensitive subjects such as genocide in a place like Rwanda, it is easier said than done. (Of course, I may say this with the subconscious confidence of a student of a ‘Western’ academic tradition – even a minority within the top of the hegemony still belongs, more or less, to the dominant forces – because I know in the end what my academia produces is what really ‘matters’. And I just used air-quotes there, and also rolled my eyes. But now I sound like a dusty professor who can’t make up her mind. Moving on.)


I had the good fortune to attend a presentation by Omar Mcdoom (double check), who I had heard of on numerous occasions through different people.
Omar (I think) was a fellow at the Belfer Center (or something of the likes) at Harvard, and I had heard about his work through other people studying Rwanda. In fact, Omar was how we (by we I mean the people I came to Rwanda with last summer) got to know Moses, our translator (and my repeated savior in my clumsy attempts to adjust here). He also is the director of the Child Is Innocent organization, where my amigo Robbie (shout out, love/miss your crazy self) used to work/ was part of. Long story short, it was someone I sort of knew by association, and was planning on meeting while I was in Kigali, just for inspiration’s sake. I actually had a morning appointment with a respected academic/journalist/political figure nearby, but he (my interviewee) suggested we end the interview early and go there together. I was curious as to what Omar’s research was actually about, and the interview wasn’t going too well anyways, so I decided to go.



Omar’s topic was about, broadly speaking, why people chose to kill. (I missed a good half of the talk so I might have gotten it wrong, but this was the topic of the second half I managed to catch). He pointed out some unique characteristics of the Rwandan states that created a necessary condition for a genocide, or ethnic conflict more broadly speaking, to happen. I didn’t take good notes, so I can’t be 100% sure, but it ran along the lines of political reach of the state, the fact that an internal revolution (rather than an independence struggle vis-à-vis the white rulers) that triggered independence, geographic continuity, population density and the likes. But what actually mobilized the population? So all these conditions were in place, but why did Rwanda’s Joe sixpack pick up his machete, and kill his neighboring hockey mom? Omar pointed to the dominant role of local coercion and authority, which was often accompanied by material threats (taking away livestock, destroying crops, etc), and threats to power for the lower-level local authorities. I am really in no position to adequately defend or criticize his thesis, as far as my untrained eye can tell it sounded pretty well grounded methodologically (there were a few blind spots, but they were realistically understandable considering the circumstances of a PhD student), and his conclusions raised a few subtle points that was beyond the common discourse, which I think was enlightening. Especially his point about how different regions were mobilized in a different manner, (some had less latent hatred, hence there was an initial power struggle between the center and local authorities, and a great deal of threat was needed to make the local authorities call for violence) seemed interesting and significant in terms of today’s Rwandan society – perhaps the narrative of the genocide is different in those regions, hence the process of reconciliation should also be adjusted.



The response of the Rwandan audience (I was the only foreigner save Omar) was explosive to say the least. Every time Omar mentioned the past (hutu) presidents, his opinion on ethnic hatred, and the hate media, there was an audible murmur among the audience, shaking their heads and given each other knowing smiles. Once the talk was over, hands shot up everywhere in the small room, and comments and questions overflowed.



What was interesting about the comments, was the general desire to magnify the role of the Belgian colonialists and the role of the central government. Furthermore, everyone was eager to point out that the violence of 1994 was not an isolated incident, but a continuation (a ‘climax’) of the prolonged ethnic oppression/violence starting from the 1950’s. Their comments, (‘they’ being the Rwandan politicians and academics sitting in the room) collectively achieved the following, in my opinion:
First, it diverted the bulk of the guilt away from themselves, or “Africans” and placed it on the West. This, I believe, has the interesting consequence of creating a hopeful message- the genocide was created by the West, or Belgians, and we Africans have less blame, hence, the future made by just Africans have the potential to be different. The killers were colonial Africans, hence, the new, independent, modern Africans can be different.
Second, the bulk of the guilt was associated with the (hutu) central government, as opposed to the local power structures or local residents themselves. This probably has a lot of implications that involves sensitive politics or today, but it also creates the reverse logic that if violent ethnic division was created by the central government, it can also be erased by the central government. (I may be giving them too much credit in saying this)
Third, by emphasizing the continuity…so I had an amazing point about this, but I forgot while trying to get myself an iced latte. It is a struggle…..hahah



But regardless, my point is this: the general atmosphere suggested that whatever nuance Omar was trying to bring to the more straightforward picture Rwandans were painting, it was dismissed as ‘overlooking history’, not understanding the ‘complications’ or simply wrong. The fact that there is a controversy should be an indication that the answer is not simple or intuitive. Yet, the disagreement here sounded more like a struggle to convey the real ‘truth’ to the hapless outsiders who are in the habit of misreading what is evident. The truth is only in Rwanda, and as Rwandans they had privileged access to it. The dialogue was not two-way, but a didactic one.



I don’t know that many post-colonial, post-conflict, post-authoritarian societies intimately, so I can only reliably draw upon my 10+ years living in South Korea, and 22 years living as a Korean, but it seems to me that this kind of defensive attitude (especially among the academia) is common in such societies, at least between Korea and Rwanda. To an extent (the favorite qualifying phrase of paper-writers), I think the defensive paranoia is justified. It is true (whatever that means at this point), that the perspective of the colonized was largely ignored. And it is true that the Western colonizing academia was complicit in their research to subjugate the…non-West colonial subjects. But that doesn’t make the subsequent generation’s non-Western view neutral or truthful. This does not erase the inherent interest or bias of the ‘local’ perspective – the fact that you are the victim does not make you innocent or neutral. This is something I find terribly difficult in conducting interviews – when you know the tortured past of the individual, you want to believe whatever they tell you. But does that make them tell you the truth and only the truth? Is there a totally objective perspective in any case? Knowing how many people lay dead in this country, and knowing how many friends and family people in that room lost, I want to say, yeah, forget what that guy is talking about, you are right. You deserve to be right. But the fact is, no one deserves to be right – the only thing that is deserved is the right to be respectfully contested. Now, try teaching that, Miss Manners.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Internet Fail, I Fail.

July 17, 2009

Both the annoying and interesting thing about this type of work is that you are not sure when you will have work, what will lead to the next level. You show up at a fancy looking office with important people running around, only to realize that they either don’t have anything helpful to offer, or are unwilling to help you at all. Sometimes you go off to a relaxing dinner with a friend, and one thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, you are sitting across from someone who knows just about everyone and everything you need. It’s exciting in a way, it’s kind of like a wild goose chase, but it is also, well, a wild goose chase.



The past two days have been kind of slow, which probably contributed to my mini-melancholia. I guess I had an overall good time, meeting the rest of the Koreans here (I’m slightly afraid I may have come off as intrusive and rude, but I totally did not mean it and am looking for ways to make up for this…) But today (Saturday) was a surprisingly good day. Started out with a huge dose of frustration as the two people I was supposed to meet decided to go MIA the morning of our appointment – frantic calls in between showering, dressing, grabbing a bite, and going through notes. And of course, internet decided to betray me as well, so I had to run to the UTC, order the first thing on the menu to get the internet code at Bourbon café. And of course, when I finally resigned myself to not meeting these people today, and started to type up some notes, I get a phone call. Could you come by Sole Luna in 40 minutes? Of course (damn you.)
(FYI: UTC is short for Union Trade Center, a big white building that is in the middle of town, with a 24 hour super market, upscale shops, travel agencies and of course, Bourbon café. Rumored to be run by the first lady, Bourbon offers better-than-Starbucks Rwandan coffee, Americanized food, chic interior, every muzungus in town, and of course, semi-reliable internet hotspot. Sole Luna is an Italian restaurant next to Beausejour, a bit far from downtown, closer to the airport. Frequented by NGO types, foreign travelers, rich Rwandans, and the likes.)


The meeting was amazing. I sat there thinking, why did I not meet this person before? I scrapped my plans to wander around town to take pictures (it was getting too hot to walk uphill anyways), and rushed back to my hotel to grab some food (I had forgotten to eat all day), and go over my notes from the meeting so I can think of follow up questions, or questions to cross check.



I ordered myself a tilapia, a self celebratory bottle of beer, and sat watching the sun set over Kigali. I even reached for one of the books I had brought to read (Hemingway’s Fiesta: The Sun Also Rises) It was strange to read about American expatriates in Paris during the 1920s, headed off to Spain for sordid adventure, self doubt, and heart wrenching love stories will I was sitting in my hotel restaurant. You know, the similarities between the expat community here and in Paris, circa 1920, are quite surprising. The healthy mix of literature fueled curiosity and adoration (like Cohen’s blind desire to go to South America after reading a piece of literature ), opportunism, a desire to both mingle with the ‘locals’ and stay afloat above them by sticking to the comfort zone of the expat community… Maybe the difference is that in Paris 1920, the hip job for an American was to be a writer or a journalist. Here, it is a NGO worker. “The problem is, Jake,” and here I quote Hemingway, “is that you are an expat. Look at you, you sit in cafes, and talk. You are an expat.” Americans in Paris flocked to cafes for company and absinthe, Americans here flock to cafes for company and internet. Flipping through Hemingway in between bites of Tilapia and sips of Primus , I felt like I was flipping through the roaring twenties in Europe and the new era of hope in Africa.










July 18th, 2009



According to the trauma counseling team staying at my hotel, July 19th is the official end to the 100 day genocide in certain regions of Rwanda. The official end is 14th of June, 1994.



Today is also the 40th anniversary of the mankind’s giant leap towards outer space.



It has also been 64 years since the word “genocide” came into being, thanks to Raphael Lempkin.
[WHAT HAPPENED IN KOREA?]



And today is also the day I realized I forgot my mom’s birthday, 8 days ago. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.






The shoddy quality of these post could the attributed to the fact that I was watching House while I was writing them. I LOVE House. I also stopped watching TV for the past three years (okay I started watching Gossip Girl but only on my computer. Different)

Sunday, July 19, 2009

New Camera, Old Skillz

So buying a camera does not make you a better photographer. Learning that through trial and error. Hopefully I will improve a bit? Haha.I also tried to upload the photos here,
but some how that was not easy. So I'm posting a facebook link, let me know if you can't see it.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2237518&id=34210&l=21c5b61d81


Forgive the terrible photography. Yena please don't yell at me.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Dose of Melancholia, Dose of Philosophia (or something like that)

First of all, thank you so much for reading/staying with me so far – I have received kind messages from a lot of you guys, saying that you have been keeping up with my (frequently unguided and verbose) thoughts and mini-adventures so far, and even enjoyed my posts! I feel like halfway into writing, I sort of forget that I am writing for an audience, but I still appreciate friends being interested in what I have to say.



I actually had a bad day, kind of in a morose mood – it has been 6 days since I got here, but part of me feels like a lifetime has passed. If someone knocked me unconscious, erased part of my memory and told me I had been living in Kigali for my entire life, I would have believed him. But at the same time, when I try to think what I have achieved in the past six days, I really am not sure. Almost nothing. I met some people, looked at some documents, but what came out of it? The central problem is that I am not sure what I am exactly looking for – I feel like a hapless detective thrown into a case where no one wants to tell you anything. I have a general hunch, unsubstantiated by anything, that something worth writing about is near me, but I can’t really pin point what. Every time I enter an interview, the first question is “what are you looking for?” and all I really want to say is, I was hoping you could tell me? And that seems to be something a “researcher” should not be saying.



To do research was not the only purpose, perhaps not even the main purpose, of my second visit to Rwanda. But part of me is impatient and restless, if I don’t get this right real soon, I am in (sort of) big trouble. Damn. I’m trying not to be too hard on myself. Even if I don’t end up with some amazing product of any sort, the past six days, I’ve learned as much as I learn in a semester, and that’s supposed to be great, right? But realistically, it is a little scary to think, I might not have anything material to show how I spent my days here.



Hopefully I will get over this funk soon.



But aside from my brief melancholy, being confronted with yet another crop of muzungus, completely opposite from my kind, has been both the most interesting and frustrating experience. I refrain from naming who I have met, for I feel like I am developing a lot of conflicting, but generally negative feelings about our encounters. But what is shocking to see is the degree of ignorance or disinterest regarding the genocide and the aftermath of the genocide among these people, who are purely interested in “developmental” issues. I obviously come from a very biased perspective, but considering a lot of the tension prior to the genocide, and the disastrous poverty (which they came to “fix” or at least alleviate) was almost directly caused by the incidents of 1994. Surrounded by relatively recent expatriates from Uganda, etc, who themselves have ambivalent relationships with direct survivors, I feel like a lot of said group of foreigners have a very limited understanding of the scope of violence that transpired here. Part of me understands Emmanuel. As much as I appreciate their sincerity and dedication to the country and their ability to bring to Rwanda the excellent skills that they possess, part of me wants to push them into the rooms of Murambi, Kibeho, take them to the stadium in Kibuye, the still bloody room in Kiyovu. The people dead in those places did not legitimize some of the things that are done incorrectly in this country. But it may help them see why forgiveness is such a controversial word here, and why everyone tends to speak in the gray zone.



I understand I am being vague – but I don’t want to offend anyone. I know it is difficult sometimes for people to parcel out the difference between criticizing an aspect and criticizing a person. Maybe there isn’t. But in my head there is.



Which brings me to the topic that had been plaguing my head all throughout dinner- in evaluating actions of entities that were created without explicit moral intent, should we always expect perfectly moral intention in their actions? For example, if a company starts a philanthropic project for simply the sake of increasing their reputation (and not by any pure intent of social justice), should this act be condemned? If a country decides to intervene in a humanitarian situation that is clearly despicable in every moral standard, but in the hope that indirectly it will have a stake in the post-conflict nation, should we stop this from happening as an immoral act? Do entities beyond the individual have a morality, or is it enough to ask for the individuals in the entities to be moral?



And, is it more detestable that a country explicitly states its willingness to ground itself in high ideals of morality, but often fails to live up to their words, or is it worse that some countries don't even try (but technically never holds a "double standard" because it never promised anything beyond its own survival and a very minimal level of decency in the international realm?)



At times I laugh at my own philosophizing. But there is something so much more satisfying about writing down silly thoughts, as opposed to simply having them in my head – don’t you think? ☺

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Ay, Steppenwolf (or: Korean and the Finn)

Traveling alone usually brings together the weirdest bunch of people. My general observation is that a lot of people like to say that they like to travel alone, but few people actually enjoy solitude per se. It is a different kind of solitude that lone travelers, for whatever reason, are seeking for - it is more of an escape from yourself as you know so well in your everyday surroundings. For my own philosophical vanity,let us call this "solitude from oneself." (Debate me. You know I love it)



Which is why, however seasoned a lone wolf you are, the moment you meet yet another lone wolf like yourself reading his/her travel book, novel, local paper in some semi-local restaurant over a glass of cheap local beer (because god forbid, you may commit the ultimately un-chic crime of ordering American or whatever import they have), you jump on the opportunity with a casual: “nice weather, huh?”



These kinds of encounters have the bizarre charm of shit getting real real fast – and not in the (well, I guess for some people, sometimes this is true) amorous sense, but in the sense of human-to-human relationship. The delicate balance between shallowness and politeness we try to keep up as both a measure of decency (because public nudity is a crime) and self defense (because unless you are spiritually Giselle Bunchen, nudity of that type makes everyone vulnerable) is quickly discarded, and conversation swerves to the real stuff. Especially in place like this, where EVERYTHING is tinged with the heaviness of genocide, weather and local beer as a topic quickly wears out. Who are you? What do you do? Why do you do what you do? What do you think about the reconciliation projects? What are your thoughts on forgiveness? Why are you here, what is your place here?



Of course, there is always the question of veracity – are we really speaking the truth, and only the truth? But then the question arises: how much does that really matter? Would what I say be less true if I actually did not go to Harvard? Would his observations on Tuol Sleng and Cambodia be less vivid if he was not really Finnish nor a journalist? There is a sense of boldness to the conversation; instead of coming for the target in circles, we now take the plunge. So who are you?



The other day I met a Korean lady at the famous muzungu-laden café, Café Bourbon at the Union Trade Center (seriously, little America right there) – and I took the first plunge. I had seen her around the other time I was there too, but I was meeting with a Rwandan friend and didn’t have an opportunity to ask, what her deal was in Kigali (undermining my status as the only Korean female down town lol). But this time, I caught her alone, and I was alone too, killing some time in between meetings, so I marched up, extended my hand and asked: Are you Korean? Because I am!



Eventually, we ended up sharing a table and talking about everything related to Rwanda politics and society. It was refreshing to discuss such things in public, even some subjects considered inappropriate or sensitive, because we were speaking in Korean the whole time. If some random Rwandan spoke Korean, well I guess he would’ve thought we were really bold or stupid muzungus, but oh well. (how far from the truth is that? Lol) What was interesting about her perspective was how much of her concerns regarding the Rwandan society was shaped by her contemporary concerns on Korean society – corruption, accountability, drawbacks of total free market neo-liberal economic policies – and by, and only by, her 5 month experience in Kigali. It was actually, in an interesting way, eye opening for me to realize that a lot of people here are not aware of the more theoretical, less visible issues of justice and reconciliation. It is easy to think that the level of awareness is equal everywhere when all you hear are questions of justice, rule-of-law and memory. Issues like these are not without reasons called “theoretical” or “underlying” challenges of society. But am I naïve, or self righteous in saying that because it is often underlooked, it is often the first to fester…something like an ill-treated wound developing gangrene?



After moving to my luxury condo, I flounced (the only accurate verb to describe how I walk downstairs with a little bit too much limb movement) downstairs to have dinner. With dinner came the complementary Finnish journalist/speech consultant. I mean, everyone needs to meet one of those, right? Everyone should know a Finn, especially if he grew up in New Zealand, discovered himself in Israel, self styled himself as a war or atrocity journalist, and now runs a speech consultant firm while working as a freelance travel writer, mostly going to conflict or poverty stricken countries. What was interesting was his observation that it was inaccurate to compare the Holocaust and the Rwandan genocide, not because the Rwandan genocide was in any way less or vice versa- but because there is a sense of finality and closure to the Holocaust, while there is something utterly empty about the remnants of 1994. The world has become aware of the poison of anti-Semitism and fascist politics by the Holocaust—Israel was born out of it (whether one likes it or not), idealistic organizations like the UN was born out of it (I mean, kind of), etc, etc…but according to the Finn, the Rwandan genocide was more like the Cambodian genocide—what came out of it was self destruction, and that was that. There is still the smell of blood in Tuol Sleng, he said, and the ‘exhibition’ is more like a court evidence exhibition: this is this, and we did this to people using it. It is not a ‘display’ as even Auschwitz had become over the years, but still an empty torture chamber. Similar to Rwanda. Most memorials are not really just a place of memory, but a literally place of burial – a mass grave.



Perhaps. But something will come of it – maybe one can even say something ‘good’ (in the perverse sense of the word) came of 1994. Would Save Darfur have existed the way it is now without 1994, Dallaire (French names are hard to spell) and perhaps, Bill Clinton(I understand I sound rather morbid here, but the world has its perverse logic sometimes)? And perhaps – the small country that can, Rwanda, is being born out of the ashes? Is 15 years too early to tell?



The sun is mellowing over Kigali, and through the yellow dust of the dry season I can make out the outline of the new gated community being built, fully equipped with a golf course. Maybe the new Kigali is robust enough to combat the festering wound. Tal vez, tal vez.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

“What is Fall?,” “My car needs to drink now” and how I’m finding myself in translation

Saturday night, I managed to call my friend Moses (via Skype…I feel so technologically up to date), and we went out for a lovely dinner at this Italian place down the street, where the menu includes wonderful things like “Pizza Diavola” (spicy sausage) and the receipt is in Italian while the entire staff speaks French. Talk about lost in translation…and talk about how fitting of a place for a Rwandan-Ugandan friend and a Korean-American(ish) who both speak about 20 words of French combined. This could be easily developed into a metaphor of my life, but that would be too cliché, no? Post dinner, I went home, promptly fell asleep, and woke up literally, 20 hours later. The voyage here was quite strenuous, yes, but I had been (somehow) drenched in fatigue all throughout late June till I left, so my body/consciousness sort of took an impromptu leave of absence. So, it seems like I kind of skipped jet lag that way. And the complementary breakfast, of course.

Before I arrived here, I had read (during my daily ritual at work to peruse different news sources, including AllAfrica.com(hyperlink),) that Rwanda was experiencing a pretty bad drought. So I was pretty much prepared to shower every other…many days and live by a yellow-let-it-mellow kind of deal. Articles have said that in some provinces, water was being rationed out, and even in Kigali people were being cautioned to not use that much water. Turns out, false alarm. Perhaps it is a little worse in the provinces, but according to friends who live here, it seems that the water situation in Kigali was no worse than it had been during any other dry season, and the rationing policy was simply a response to a long-standing problem of water shortage that had been plaguing the drier provinces. It also seems that the rationing is not necessarily totally limiting the water supply, but was an effort to create some ‘buffer’ water reservoir for the height of the dry season, which is around August. It is funny how, too often for comfort, we tend to see the misfortune of others only in the most extreme perspectives—it is dire, or it does not exist. Especially if the “other” is most famous for horrendous images like famine stricken children, or machete-hacked bodies by the road. The idea that normalcy can exist after, or even during such out-of-this-world events never really hits us. Not every news coming out of Africa is a story of tragedy – shockingly, it may even be just an everyday piece of news, like how people try to find ways of getting around the dry season.

Ironically, friends here are more worried about me and Korea – North Korea even to them are a country of relentless evil and danger. Is your hometown safe? Do you think they are going to launch a nuclear weapon? Do you think they will attack you? Maybe – I haven’t been home in a while, so I have no first hand account of the climate there, and given that everything seems so much more dramatic on American headlines, it may not be an accurate description of how Koreans feel nowadays. I mean, I am worried, and I’m sure people in Korea are even more worried than I am, but not to the extent that normal life is disrupted. I’m sure people still go to work, do their 9-5, worry about paying the bills, their kids in school – and somewhere in the back of their heads is a constant but subtle worry of “are we going to blow up soon.”

I mean, I feel like that kind of constant, but often unnoticeable caution is in the back of the heads of people from countries that have had experience of wars, oppression, etc – which, sadly, applies to just about every country on the planet, save…well, maybe the US (I’m sure a lot of people will debate me on this). To be fare, how many people in America grow up thinking war is an actual possibility? For South Koreans, less and less so as the generations go on, but there is always a pang of guilt every time I think “it’s not possible in this day and age”, as I get reminded of my grandparent’s stories, or even when I see yet another one of my good guy friends (just another hapless college kid, who likes a beer with his frat boys or something) go off to the military. Your life has this undertone of caution when your elementary school textbooks are dominated by stories of battles, only 50 years ago, people hiding from execution by the invading army (and your grandfather was one of the lucky ones that survived the ordeal of hiding and starvation) Or a simple comment like “Oh, I got my malaria pills today” ends up in a story of how your grandmother was a refugee on a boat and contracted malaria, and had nothing to eat but a fistful of rice everyday, if lucky. (Given all this, one can only imagine the subconscious caution and distrust Rwandans have, most of whom who had experience the genocide and war first hand.) Alas, I ramble again.

My friend Moses (the one who saved me last time) and I were sharing stories as such (more to come) back and forth, and eventually landed on the topic of Boston. With my newfound love of the city, I was going on and on about how wonderful Boston was, and how much character it had, and how pretty it was especially during the fall….when my friend stopped me, raised and eyebrow and asked “What is Fall?”

Oh , the things you take for granted! Suddenly, I was tongue tied. What IS fall? It is a season in between summer and winter, I started, and leaves turn color and fall… “Leaves what?” I mean, they fall, you know? And its pretty….fruits and grains ripen, harvest time, and its also when the school year starts in the US (but not in Korea). Ay, what IS fall? Lost in translation indeed.

I had also taken it for granted that Rwanda last year would be something like Rwanda this year – oh no, how wrong I am. Often times when I am in Seoul, I feel like the city grows under my feet, and every time I return from school I feel like a foreigner approaching the ever-evolving spirit of Seoul. Kigali, the street erupts under your feet. The general gist of things, yes, are similar, so I do know my way around pretty well, but so much construction had happened in the past year that I could not stop myself from gaping at the new shiny buildings that lined Boulevard L’umuganda. Oh, and how many of the smaller roads are now paved! I walked into the MTN store (cell phone provider), thinking I had about three options to choose from…only to be confronted by about 20 types of cell phones, including 3 different types of Blackberries. The employee suggested the Blackberry Curve, very popular, very good. That would be my phone in America, thank you very much. I sheepishly bought the cheapest option, a Chinese-made phone that will probably give me brain tumor if I use it for more than a month. As the MTN guy bustled around trying to set up my phone, slightly peeved that this muzungu chick won’t spend any more money (I should really get some less ostentatious sun glasses, they always make me look richer than I am), I peeked in the office to see rows of desks devoted to wireless internet solutions. WTF. Maybe the Koreans I met last year made some progress with their WiFi project.

This gave me the idea that maybe I could find a better place to stay, in terms of electricity and internet service. I had just resigned myself to sporadic service (mostly due to the frequent blackouts my guesthouse has been having), and having to trek to the lobby from the (quite shitty) back room they gave me (seriously, it is a room right next to the washing machines and the cleaning supply closet WAAAY in the back.). BUT I figured – if price of phones and such went down, maybe internet became more readily available too! With this genius idea, I called my friend Moses again, and asked him if he could help me go room hunting.

A few hours later, we were on the road, looking at different hotels and guesthouses. I had two objectives: find a place with stable internet, and that is closer to Kigali town (and not out in the ‘burbs like I am right now). The second criteria was more of a vanity point than anything else; where I will be working (hopefully) is far from both my current location and town (translation: downtown), so its not so much easier for that – but I would be near, you know, life, such as a 24 hour market (um, don’t bother to pack anything if you are coming to Kigali, they have EVERYTHING, and affordable too), tons of restaurants, the bank, post office, and tourist center in case I want to go gorilla watching. We went to one place, and literally, it was love at first sight – wifi in the rooms, central location, next to a Chinese and Indian restaurant (the concierge kindly told me “We even have Chinese food next doors!” and when I kindly told him back that I am Korean, he looked very puzzled and responded “….well, there is also an Indian place?” lol), and a FRIDGE in the room. WTF. I could buy food and keep it cold. And pack lunches. Drink cold water. WTF.

The price was, well, over what I intended to pay. But I wanted that crib, yo. So I asked for the manager, and decided to haggle. I am no good at bargaining in real life outside of Rwanda – I just quietly pay what I am asked. I guess I REALLY wanted to stay at that place (I kept on day dreaming about that fridge as I waited for the manager to come out) so when the lady came out, I was a soldier on a mission. My initial plan was to let Moses do it for me in Kinyarwanda, but I just pounced on her and asked for a discount. Listen, I am here for a month, and I need a place to stay. If you give me a good price, I stay here for a long time, if not, I have other places that want to give me a discount. (total lie). She laughed at first, but I meant business. Eventually I got the price down to just 10 dollars more expensive than where I am staying, PLUS an even better room than I eventually bargained for. From tomorrow on, I will have a room with WiFi and a FRIDGE. Welcome to my luxury condo, bitches.

I was slightly worried still, as I walked away, about the increase in price…I AM on a tight budget. I might have to move back to the backroom I am here now, but oh well. Moses kindly offered the extra bedroom in his house he shares with his cousin (a graduate from American Univeristy! Holla hometown! Yay!), and I would just pay my share of rent (which is not much at all). Definitely an option I am considering – I realize it sounds super sketchy when I say I will be roommates with two grown Rwandan men, but I’m here already, might as well try. (I’m sure mom will be thrilled….i’m thinking about it! This is not a plan yet! Freak out later!) But for now, at least for the next week, I am going to be staying with my sick ass FRIDGE and WIFI and view over Kigali. Oh, and a hotel bar. It kind of breaks my heart to tell the lovely staff of this guesthouse that I am leaving, so I will probably lie to them and say I am going to the province for a week, but oh well. The things you will do for electronic appliances.

After a well-earned glass of cold latte with my friend, we parted ways and I looked for a cab to take me (soon-to-be-abandoned) home. Again, last year, I was happy to pay the overcharged price, just so that I avoid the unhappy situation of annoying the driver and somehow having a hard time getting back from town to my guesthouse. With my newfound confidence in bargaining, I put my foot down, hands on hips, I told my cab driver I would have none of this muzungu pricing. Eventually, I got it down to almost my target price and jumped in the cab…slightly nervous that the cab driver will give me a hard time and take a longer route, change his mind about the price, or something like that. So I literally jumped out of my skin when he mumbled something about his car and swerved the wrong direction. Given the number of one-way streets around here, there were very few alternative routes to where I am staying. SHIT. Hubris brings me down….until I realized what he was trying to say. “My car needs a drink.” To translate “I need more gas.” I almost burst out laughing at my unfounded fears, and also his ingenious word choice. Yep, I’m okay with that. Everyone needs a drink once in a while…even a beat-up Toyotas that made its way to middle of Africa.

Wish me luck on my first day trying my hand at this research thing…I’ll be calling up people, hoping they will have time for me. Oh, and I will probably go visit old friends at the memorial center, to relay some messages from the Prof, or just for old times sake.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Oh HAAAY Kigali, and how I have the best friends in the world

Hello from Kigali, Rwanda! Central African Time 2pm, finally back at lovely Beausejour
in a quaint little room. Finally, after traveling since.......forever ago, showered and changed
and looking like a functioning human being again. Still phoneless, but hopefully this will
change in a few minutes, but what's important is that Beausejour still has amazing wifi
(albeit in a really limited corner of the guesthouse, but still impressive) and now I am writing this for all of you.

I just have to say, I have the best bunch of amigos in the world. Seriously. I left the country
for a month in Africa, and I had the BEST sendoff, as if I was some kind of revolutionary
fighter off to save the world or something. I was so so touched. Where to even begin?
All the emails I got from people I didn't get to see before I left - thank you so much!
Hope I get to see you guys (especially those who graduated) soon enough :)
And for ze boyz (Jimmy, Mike, Shu, Ben, Sam) for dropping by....epic beerpong.
We ALWAYS do it the hard way. I cannot wait for more nights like that at GZ.
Matt Bird for being Matt Bird. Please exist in the world outside Opera, Trowbridge street
and your cubicle even when I am gone. Liz for being such an adorable, wonderful summer
roommate - those cookies will come in handy. One can eat only so many bananas.
Kelley Humbert you are way too adorable - I devoured the ELLE.....and the fruit loops.
Much better than airplane food. (Speaking of which, Ethiopian Air food wasn't too bad, they
just served very small portions. It was a mile-high diet) And what's funnier was that I was there
when you bought that care package, but didn't even think twice...of course everyone
needs copious amounts of junk food and travel size tissues around, why not?
And for the gentlemen and gentleladies of Phi Kappa Sigma, aka the Skullhouse, thank you
very much. It was great seeing everyone before I hopped on my 3:30 taxi of doom....and
I'm not sure if you guys planned it (I'm just going to pretend you did, so don't correct me)
but it was great to see you alumnae.....have a great life (cliche! touche!) and hope to see you
again. Apologizes for the not-very-dramatic goodbyes I had, you know, beer pong and 2am emotionally stunts me. Kyle, I know I will see you. Go back to New York or something.

Enough shout outs - if I missed someone, blame it on the alc...I meant jetlag. I was so bored
I wrote another whole blog post on my ipod somewhere inbetween the Mediterranian and northern Sudan, so I'll post that...post nap.

Love you all!

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Here and There and Back Again

So I am going back.

Sometimes I would say I wasn't ready to go back. Maybe in two years, maybe in three.
Maybe when I am writing my PhD dissertation (ah, life plan changes!). I mean, to be
fair, 6 months after I returned from the bizarre world that is Rwanda, I was still
waking up at night thinking I heard the metal doors of Murambi opening again, and I had to
confront those endless rooms again. I climbed up the stairs to my room, thinking I was
entering a church I had totally pushed out of my memory - only to realize that the figure I saw
on my futon was not the ghoulish white body of a nameless Rwandan victim, but my roommate's
jacket, thrown carelessly on the seat. I hated a lot of things - hated myself for going, hated people around me for not "getting it", hated my extracurricular (once my pride and joy in life) and its dramatic politics. Most of all, I hated being out of control of what I felt - I am, unlike the state of my room, a very OCD person when it comes to my emotions, and enjoy when my head rules my heart. But for the first time in a very, very long time, I had to give up. I wasn't going to
"get over it" and was not "on top of it", I was a mess, and yes, I was (sort of) okay with it.

So I became "that kid" who reevaluated how she lived after going to [insert third world/war torn/difficult country here]. (We all, at least I, struggle to be something that everyone is not - but often times what we end up with is adopting a slightly less common cliche. Shout out: Kundera's Eternity.) I am not sure all of my changes were apparent, but they were quite real to me - I am now pretty okay with limbo, "I don't know" is an acceptable answer, and being under control of something bigger than myself is natural. How does one really know what it means to lose everyone you knew, everyone? How does one really "get over" the fact that tens and thousands of people are lying there, dead, silent, deformed - waiting for someone to give them significance? In total anonymity? I don't know - and I don't have to feel pressured to put everything in a neat little box of logic. It's chaotic, and I'm lost, and that's okay. Same with my life. I'll eventually figure it out as it goes, and all I can do is, stop running away, face it, and embrace it. Despite what all the cynics love to say, effort does count, and the process is as meaningful as the end goal. Even if I am unsure of what everything will mean in the "very end", I am happy with doing what I feel is right, what is good, what is the best I can do in the situation. Hey, the universe is only real in this second. So I decided not to simply agonize and turn away, and lose myself somewhere between guilt and normalcy, but dip my whole self back into the thick of everything that threw my life astray, and see what comes of it.

[Dramatic pause]

So I'm going back. And I know it's going to be awesome.

My ostensible reason for going back is to do thesis research- given that my thesis topic changed
till the very last minute, how efficient I will be is quite questionable. There will be a lot of fumbling around, bothering a lot of people with a lot of questions, etc. But I'm excited - the general area I am researching on is something that I was always curious about, I am excited to see Emmanuel's new kid, I am excited to see Moses (Yay!), Godfrey, Fulgence, Yves (and his ridiculous red Volkswagan), Freddy (and his big smile and big hugs)....I can't wait to kick back with a book and a canned (YES canned wtf) Hoegaarden (rare treat) or Primus (Yeah African beer!). I mean, duh, I'm freaked out like none other and need constant affirmation that I won't mentally collapse again, but in the end I know it's going to be good.

So, if you were curious, I am researching about the evolution of the victims organization IBUKA as an (relatively) independent voice in civil society. How did IBUKA maintain, more or less, its position as an independent citizen voice? How has its objectives and strategies changed? What is its relationship with the government, and how does its "narrow" definition of genocide victims fit into the overarching program of reconciliation and creation of unified "Rwandan" identity? Etc, etc. Yep, I kind of have no clue. But I'll figure it out, right? Only a child can be inspired, blank slate be drawn on. (DRAMATIC. Call me out, I'm slightly bashful myself)

My flight leaves Friday, 6am. Boston-DC-Addis Ababa-Kigali. Unlike last year, I am not living next doors to my boss, so I don't have to work 7-midnight every day, so hopefully this blog won't die after four posts. AND I got a new camera, so hopefully I'll have some visuals to aid you :)

Whoever is reading this, if I know you, chances are I will miss you. Please email/leave comments. Tell me what you ate for lunch, dinner, what you said to your annoying roommate, what you saw on your dailly run, what happened when you were high, you know, the whole shebang.

Next time - talk to you all in Kigali, Rwanda!