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)
Monday, July 20, 2009
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.
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? ☺
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.
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.
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!
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!
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!
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