Monday, December 22, 2008

Mzungu!

This is my fifth time in East Africa, and I am still not used to the diverse and outrageous reactions to my whiteness.

Every morning as I leave my house and begin the twenty-minute walk to the Millennium Village office, I am immediately greeted with a loud chorus of "mzungu!!!" that follows me non-stop for the rest of the walk.  Until I reach the main paved road that runs from Kigali, these cries come mainly from very small children.  

I am thoroughly convinced that the first word you learn as a baby in East Africa is mzungu, the Swahili word for white person.  It usually takes me all of about ten seconds to gather a small parade of children, most of them trying to hold my hand, rub my skin to see if the color will come off, or play with the forest of blonde hair growing on my arms.  

Often, I am greeted with "give me money," "how are you?", "give me water", or "good morning", which is especially peculiar when said over and over as the sun is setting on my way home (here in francophone Rwanda, an interesting mix of "bonjour" and "comment ca va?" enters the equation).  I am almost positive that not a single one of these children actually wants or expects water and money, but rather to satisfy themselves and impress their friends with the ability to speak English to a white person.

The best is when one of these phrases, almost always "mzungu" or "how are you?", grows slowly into a rhythmic chant that is well rehearsed and has specific choreography, namely jumping up and down and flailing one's arms around as much as possible.  As soon as this chant starts to materialize, kids come out of nowhere to join in, as parents look on with amusement or glance up for only a moment before continuing their work.  Often, a kid will face plant while trying to outdo his/her buddy then miraculously spring right back up and join back in as if nothing has happened. 

This all may sound very cute and endearing.  For the first week or so, it certainly can be.  However, after awhile, I choose to either ignore these pursuits or answer their questions in their own language with "ni meza" (I am fine) or "muraho" (Hello).  

By the way, speaking Kinyarwanda as a white person always gets a reaction, no matter how many words are spoken or to what age group.  The most common reaction is to laugh and chatter to a friend or group of friends while pointing at me.  Sometimes the person will answer normally, then do a double take and realize it's a white person talking, often leading to uncontrollable giggling or running away, or both.  

Somewhere in the back of my mind, it bothers me a lot that a single word of their language uttered from the mouth of a mzungu is somehow an act of God, while they are expected to speak four languages by the time they graduate high school.  The "African Studies major" part of my brain dives into the inevitable and inexhaustible questions about how we developed a global system where disparities such as this could exist, and what, if anything can be done about them (or for that matter, should or should not be done about them).

Turning on to the main road brings its own fun times.  First of all, let me try to describe to you the phenomenon of being stared at by literally everyone.  Imagine a time you have been in a crowded place and done something that drew attention to yourself, such as blow an air horn, trip flat on your face, or accidentally yell "BANG!!"  

Try and access that feeling of being completely exposed for that single moment when every eye is on you, curious as to what caused the disruption.  

Now imagine that happening ALL THE TIME.  

Anytime I am in public in rural East Africa, every single eye, without exception, is locked on me.  If I choose to look at anyone, they are, without a single doubt, already looking at me.  Granted, the feeling I described gets less intense as time wears on, but I do not believe it is possible for it to go away completely.

Then there are the hagglers, and all of those people running local businesses on the side of the road who desperately want the money--money that is surely flowing out of your white body faster than you can keep it in--to land in their hands in exchange for their bananas, phone cards, rides on backs of bicycles, tacky calendars full of smiling white babies, inspirational posters, or knock-off Gucci sunglasses (a pair of which I admittedly bought from a street hawker in Nairobi once, then lost in a drunken float trip down the Illinois River at the end of my senior year of college).  

Or, they have no legs and want money to buy food, alcohol or drugs.  Or they are scrawny street kids who beg for money to bring across the street to the man they work for.  

To be fair, this specific kind of solicitation has only happened in Rwanda a few times thus far.

This, my friends, is the definition of culture shock.  Some days are worse than others.  Sometimes I actually stop and attempt to carry on conversations with people using the ten Kinywaranda words I know, or in broken Swahili.  And sometimes I look straight ahead, walking as quickly as my long, gangly legs will take me.

The best method of dealing with these feelings is to acknowledge that they will never go away, and that it's okay to feel frustrated sometimes with the realization that no matter how hard I try, my tall, white, lanky, goofy, big-toothed mzungu self will never ever completely fit in :)

Saturday, December 20, 2008

A Gun and a Camera

I love those moments of clarity where I remember why I am here and why my work is important.

Last weekend, I was at a club in Kigali with Amir.  We were meeting a few of his friends and one of them turned out to be a former soldier.  After ordering a beer, I ended up talking with this guy for at least an hour.

For his privacy, I will simply refer to him as John.  

John was born in a Burundi refugee camp to Rwandan parents and joined the Rwandan military at a relatively young age.  When the genocide happened in 1994, he was one of the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) soldiers who eventually stopped the massacre and took back the country.

Now, John leads tours in various parts of the country (such as mountain gorilla trekking, which I absolutely will do before I leave this country) and works as a freelance journalist.  He often acts as a guide when international journalists come to the country looking for a way to travel to the DRC, where violence and instability provide just the kinds of stories that Westerners crave.  

During our conversation, I was describing a recent article I read in the New York Times which I felt portrayed Rwanda's involvement in the DRC as incredibly one-sided, and he recognized the name of the reporter.  It turns out that John had been his escort, but had not yet read the article.  He was infuriated by my description, telling me that he had worked hard to provide balanced sources from both sides in order to tell the closest thing to the truth.

You see, John has an interesting perspective having been a soldier.  He explained that he has used a gun before, and even killed people.  But now his weapon is a camera.

A gun and a camera are very similar.  You point them at people and shoot, and they both capture a person's humanity in different ways.  However, only the camera can tell the truth.  And the truth is what makes the biggest difference in the end.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Bagosora

As I was importing footage from the Kigali Memorial Center yesterday, the main perpetrator of the 1994 genocide, General Theoneste Bagosora, received a life sentence from the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) for plotting the massacre of Tutsis and moderate Hutus.

This represents a huge success for the international community in pursuing justice for crimes against humanity, and for many Rwandans, this was an emotional day.

However, we must not forget that the events of yesterday would not even be necessary if not for our gross inadequacy to prevent the genocide in the first place.  Not to mention that this event comes fourteen years after the slaughter of at least one million people in the span of only 100 days.  

The baby step we take on a global level today can not even be compared to the reconciliation process that Rwandans are pursuing in their own country every single day.

Today, I attended a sector-wide forum to discuss the implications of tourism and how it does or does not directly benefit the community.  Hundreds of people attended and the event was held at Igiti Cy'umuyumu, a town in the Millennium Villages project with a fascinating recent history.

In this short clip from an interview, Delphin from MVP explains the incredible demographics of Igiti Cy'umuvumu, demonstrating how moving forward in Rwanda means so much more than convicting and sentencing one of the genocide's engineers.  

This lesson of forgiveness and acceptance should inspire us in this holiday season where we reflect on the past year and confront the brokenness of our own country, seeking to move forward with open hearts and open minds.









Wednesday, December 17, 2008

The Millennium Village Project and Theatre for Education and Development





Today I spent some quality time (yet again!) with a group of youth who are choosing to spend their holiday break singing, dancing, and performing together, and to use these activities to teach about HIV/AIDS prevention.


One of the MVP's initiatives in Rwanda addresses MDG 6 to combat HIV/AIDS, malaria, tuberculosis, and other diseases by using theater as a powerful tool to educate and promote behavior change.  Similar to the roots of Haba na Haba (a performing group in Kenya with whom I studied and filmed last summer), this project uses football matches as opportunities to convey messages to a wide audience.


This morning, I sat with MVP's coordinator of evaluation and documentation as we went through several hours of footage they shot recently with various sectors of the program.  We imported footage of beekeeping training and practice, an initiative to teach farmers how to grow mushrooms, the recent utilization of farm equipment to increase productivity, and various shots to encourage the increasing cultivation of drought-resistant crops.  

This program gets more interesting every day, and it will be a HUGE challenge to get a comprehensive understanding, while still being able to portray it in a concise way.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Plenty to Do

I have discovered that I will have no lack of things to do here.

Here are the current video projects I have lined up:

1.  A short, five minute collection of testimonials set to music and various clips for Millennium Villages to send to Millennium Congregation to have immediately available for fundraising and gaining support (both for my project and the organization as a whole)

2.  Vignettes of personal stories for Rwanda Community Works that will act as a similar support-raising mechanism

3.  A film for Miracle Corners of the World based on the footage I shot at their groundbreaking ceremony last week (see previous post)

4.  A film geared at donors about the Aegis Trust's new education program to discourage genocide ideology in Rwanda.  I filmed at their training session today.

5.  A short, fun video about Moto Polo, the crazy sport invented by ex-pats in Kigali where they play polo on the backs of motorcycles driven by actual moto taxi drivers in the city.

6.  A video that tells the story of the main genocide memorials throughout the entire country of Rwanda.  I will be collaborating with several Rwandans to select those that represent a diversity of experiences in order to try and tell as comprehensive a story as possible.

7.  A series of "How To..." videos for Millennium Villages.  These will not need to be translated from Kinyarwanda to English because the audience is local citizens, which makes the work much easier.  These will basically be instructional videos for things like applying fertilizer, understanding and signing a contract, artificial insemination of cattle (yay!), and handicrafts.

8.  Public Service Announcements for Millennium Villages.  These will be things like someone washing their hands at the new hand-washing posts at schools, and not getting sick.  Or encouraging menstruating girls not to miss school when they are having their period...don't ask me how that one will work.

9.  A full-length documentary on the Millennium Village Project in Rwanda.  Or possibly some combination of medium films about their different programs.  TBD.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Miracle Corners of the World

Here is my first post of video material.  Keep in mind that this is simply clips of raw footage, and that the quality is less than desirable since I am in the middle of rural Africa using a portable USB modem.  Also, for the moment, I will have to upload to YouTube and post the links because Blogger does not have the capacity to upload large files with this connection.  Enjoy!

A group of youth dancing at an event for Miracle Corners of the World (MCW), a non-profit promoting local change and global exchange, a community driven process. This clip is from a groundbreaking ceremony for a site that will include a preschool, a radio station for Bugesera District, and other educational and gender empowering initiatives.



Kids at the MCW groundbreaking, marveling at my LCD screen, which is reversable and can reveal the live video to the subjects.  Kids love seeing themselves on live video.



The full moon last night as seen from Kayumba, Nyamata, Bugesera District, East Province, Rwanda, Africa, Earth.  I was just testing out my zoom, but I thought this would be a nifty little clip.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Nyamata

*Warning: this post contains explicit content that may not be suitable for some readers.

Thirty minutes outside of Kigali on the pothole-free, paved road, smoother by far than most roads back home, the town of Nyamata is bustling with activity.  Here, I was acutely reminded that I am working in a country with an enormous tragedy in its near past.

Nyamata was the site of one of the most brutal massacres of the genocide in 1994.  One church saw 10,000 people murdered within its walls in just two days.  This church is now the site for a memorial to the victims of the genocide and their families.

As you enter the church, light streams through holes blasted in the tin roof by guns and grenades.  The brick and concrete in the entranceway have chunks missing as well.  As you walk through the church, you are surrounded by pews strewn carefully with the actual clothes of the victims.  Many pews have planks of wood missing where people pried them up in vain attempts to defend themselves.  The altar at the front of the church is adorned with the original altar cloth, which is stained with blood.  On the altar is a machete, a panga, and a rosary blessed by Pope John Paul II.  

As you continue past the bullet-ridden baptismal font, a small, slightly raised section is covered with more clothes: shoes, trousers, the shorts of a small child.  Here, attackers threw infants against the wall one after another to expedite the killing process.  

Descend a staircase, you enter a new tiled room that mirrors two others just like it behind the church building.  Here, lines of shelves on both sides hold row after row of human skulls, over 40,000 in all including the many remains brought to this place from all over the region, even to this day.  Many are disfigured or contain clues to the cause of the person's death: a widened eye socket, a bullet hole in the temple, a cracked forehead, or a cranium caved in beyond recognition.  Shelves above and below hold femurs, clavicles, and other bones.  Currently, all that separates you from these morbid artifacts is the musty air, heavy with the most deafening silence I have ever encountered.  The enormity of the situation is utterly incomprehensible.

Walking around Nyamata today, you would never guess such a tragic event lies in the past of such beautiful and gracious people.  The town is bustling with business and development agencies, looking ahead with hope, yet not forgetting the past.  

As of today, I call Nyamata home.

The Millennium Village office is in the heart of Nyamata and the house I found is a five minute walk away.  A few days ago, I met the staff and everyone seemed genuinely happy and excited that I am here to document their work and the stories of their friends and families.  On Monday we are having a meeting to discuss the best way for me to go about my work, and to make a tentative schedule to maximize my time.

My roommates are amazing.  Amir is a mid-twenties rastafarian-type who is incredibly easy going and really into photography, and Karen is a lovely eternally happy woman who exudes positive energy and seems to be emitting light.  Both are from the U.S. and I foresee many long nights of talking and laughing ahead.  At the moment, I am accessing the internet with a wireless EVDO USB modem I bought in Kigali and it is working surprisingly well.  I am consistently amazed at technology.

More to come soon, including pictures of the area and hopefully some video.  I have decided to post a short video clip every day or every few days that gives a small window into the area and the people.  It won't even necessarily have music or be edited, just a short little clip from the filming of that day.  I hope I can make that work.  More to come soon... 

Sunday, December 07, 2008

Getting Acquainted

My entry for the Episcopalians for Global Reconciliation (EGR) blog was due today and here is what I wrote:

"I got off a plane in Kigali yesterday after a trip that took 35 hours including layovers. Driving through the city, one of the first things I noticed was the remarkable lack of trash. I believe this can be largely attributed to the Rwandan government's decision to ban plastic bags from the country.

In many parts of nearby Kenya, especially informal settlements and slums, one of the most striking images is streets lined with plastic bags, strewn across roads like carpets whose designs are the art of the nation's waste. Now, Kenya too has banned plastic bags.

Several weeks ago, I watched an independent documentary about an area the size of Texas in the Pacific Ocean known as the "Great Pacific Garbage Patch." Here, plastic floats freely and collects in large, ice berg-type chunks the size of a small car. Gutting a fish or an albatross reveals stomachs lined with plastic bags, wrappers, cellophane, and bits of plastic jugs. The biggest problem, however, is more subtle. Because plastic is non biodegradable, it breaks down smaller and smaller, literally changing the composition of the sea water and poisoning everything with which it has contact.

Perhaps our country too should consider banning plastic in as many forms as possible and use our political clout to encourage others to do the same. As with many issues I have noticed and studied, perhaps we should focus less on what we have to teach Africa and more on what Africa has to teach us."

On a less serious note, I am staying in one of the nicer housing setups I have encountered.  We are just down the street from the President’s house, which provides for a very safe and lovely area.  There are several hired staff whose names escape me: at least three security guards, a housekeeper/cook, and someone who does laundry at least twice a week. The gardens surrounding the house are beautiful, we have French press coffee, a refrigerator, a water filter to filter boiled water, mosquito nets, a free Vonage phone for international calls, wireless internet, tiled floors that resemble hardwood, beautiful exotic trees, and a glimpse of the rest of the city across the valley.

I have jumped right in with film work and will be editing some existing footage from several villages as soon as we have it translated from Kinyarwanda to English.  The language barriers here are multi-fold for me.  English is the third most spoken language next to Kinyarwanda and French, and I have already encountered a few situations where I wish I knew French.  However, this has not been a significant hindrance and I do not expect it to become one.  I did have an exciting encounter in which I began,

"Do you speak English?"  A shake of the head.
"Parlez-vous Francais?"  A surprising second shake of the head.  And then, on a whim,
"Unasema Kiswahili?"  A moment of recognition and a response!

We proceeded to speak for a few minutes and she offered me tea, which I accepted.  This has been one of only a handful of opportunities to speak Swahili, but it seems like I will have more.

Yesterday, I attended and filmed a Moto Polo match.  Moto Polo is polo using motorcycles.  It was pretty ridiculous and I am hoping to post a short video about it within the week.  The whole occasion had a strange, slightly uncomfortable colonial feel to it because the players were mostly white ex-pats riding on the back of motorcycles maneuvered by Rwandan moto taxi drivers.  However, they did pay the drivers and the drivers seemed to be enjoying the whole event just as much as the ex-pats.  Regardless, I think it's going to make a pretty hilarious video.

Otherwise, I am doing great and super excited for the upcoming adventure!  More to come soon, especially when the internet is fixed at the house.

Love for all,
Reynolds

P.S. My blogspot account seems to be really wacky and difficult to use, especially with posting pictures.  I have compared it to the account of some friends and it appears as if I have the earlier version.  I am confused as to why it did not automatically update, but if anyone has any suggestions, I would love to hear them.  If not, I may make a new blog and direct this one to the new one.



The parking lot just inside the compound on the way to the house

The front porch, the view from one of my bedroom windows

My bedroom

My little bed

Neat art things where we put our shoes in the entryway