“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.