Rwanda Journal, Entry 49: Welcome to Amsterdam

I've landed in Amsterdam after a nine-hour flight from Kigali. It would have been shorter but for the hour the plane spent in Entebbe fixing a refueling problem. I'm not really sure whether I should consider that a visit to Uganda or not.

I was worried that after leaving Africa I'd be jaded and angry with the developed world. I came to Amsterdam hoping it would ease the blow and help me appreciate the West's potential. It has.

I am not angry with the world but excited by this city. I admire the character of it's people; friendly, warm and graciously concerned.
 
The city is a marvel of canals, bike paths and parks. There is such abundance and beauty in all directions that I am overwhelmed.

Holland has created what Rwanda aspires to, a peaceful, orderly and prosperous society.

I will spend the night at a youth hostel called StayOkay, I have friends here that I hope to meet this evening.

In the meantime, I am going to go get lost for a while.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 48: Leaving Kigali

This is my last dispatch from Kigali and I'm dealing with a huge range of emotion. The adventure is coming to an end and I'm sad to leave it behind.

I am also more excited than ever to return home. I am not the person I was when I left and when my feet touch the tarmac of Canada, I'm sure I will be seeing it for the first time.

I realize the number of posts I wrote fell off while I was here but there is a simple explanation for this. To understand a subject and write with certainty, its important to understand and be certain of yourself. I haven't been for quite sometime.

So many of my assumptions and views have been challenged; so many hangups and insecurities have been cleared, like plaque from my arteries; so many emotions have been stirred. There is simply no way to communicate these things without proper time and reflection. So, to anyone who's been annoyed at my irregular entries (Mom, et all) come here yourself and I promise you will understand. 

Speaking of my mom, I am more excited than I have ever been to see my family again. Throughout this trip, they've helped me account for the changes that have come over me and I know they'll do the same once I'm home. I really love you all and can't wait to see you again.

My excitement is tempered by a pronounced feeling of melancholy for the place I will leave behind.
 
Rwanda stands as a monument to the capacity of human beings to rebuild and move forward after tragedy. The scale and nature of Rwanda's tragedy revealed, for all of humanity to see, how prone to evil, indifference and hatred humans still are. Places like Rwanda call on human beings to examine who and what we truly are, because of what we have been.

Coming from a continent where taking time to consider the nature of things is devalued and "finding yourself" is seen as a diversion for people with trust funds, the country is sacred.     


Rwanda is a living Eden that became a living Hell.

The evil that swept across Rwanda couldn't have done so without the support and complicity of the rest of the world, it this place made hypocrites of us all. The human community once swore an oath to its children after World War II. Never again. But the human community failed to convey the importance of that oath and by the time the children grew it was mostly forgotten.


Rwanda was a country that paid for that failure.  

But as I hope I've been able to communicate, the story of Rwanda is less about the past than about the present and the future.  Rwanda was the devil's canvass once, but it has wrested the brush from his hands. Now it's theirs.

Everyday, Rwandans work to craft a brighter future for themselves and their country. Extremists' attempts to undermine this work is futile jealousy from a disgraced and defeated foe. Ordinary Rwandans have no time for such jealousy and continue their labour.

In the fields, the shops, the streets and elsewhere Rwandans work to makes ends meet. They do it because they must, but with each job done and every franc earned, Rwanda moves a little further from the past.

Speaking of jobs to do, I really must should go pack. This will be my last post from Kigali for a while but I'll probably keep the blog going until I feel confident I've been able to say all that I mean to.

In the meantime, all I'll say is I'm sad to be leaving but I know I'll be back.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 47: Liberation Day

In Rwanda, the fourth of July marks the day the RPF took control of the country and ended the genocide.

For obvious reasons it's seen as a fairly important date in the Rwandan calendar. The shops are mostly closed as Rwandans head to ceremonies and events for much of the day.

I'm planning to head to Amahoro Stadium some time today to listen to Paul Kagame speak.

I have a sneaking suspicion that I've missed his speech, even so I'd like to check out the city.

I'll likely post more later today or tomorrow, but in the meantime I'll just try to observe. More later.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 46: Happy Crwanada Day!

Today is Canada and Rwandan Independence day and I'll be conducting myself accordingly.

I am allergic to beer but I think I might add maple syrup to some banana gin as tribute to my home and native land.

A fellow intern from Canada brought the maple syrup as a gift I can buy banana gin (Waragi) around the corner. Waragi is cheap and powerful, one of Rwanda's most affordable routes to an evening of zany antics; and probably blindness if you over do it. But what better day to over do it than on July 1st.

Anyway, I bought some beautiful Congolese antiques for an extraordinarily good price today. Perhaps it doesn't seem as Canadian as finding creative ways to get drunk off maple syrup, but theres no better way to celebrate your own culture than by appreciating others, I say. These are what they look like:

By far the most interesting piece is the statue of the Belgian soldier from the colonial era. The statue is about a 18 inches tall and carved in either the 1950s or '60s. A certificate of authenticity for all the items will be delivered on Monday.

The other items are pretty interesting as well. The necklace (at the base of the statue's feet) which I thought was wood when I bought it is actually ivory, stained brown over more than 30 years. The vendor, a man named Iphrahim, tells me it was a necklace that belonged to or was made in honour of a Congolese king. I will ask for more details on Monday.

The final item, the brown stauette is a bit of a mystery to me. Iphrahim told that me it's some kind of good marriage charm or something like that. Charms of such kinds are useful things to have from what I'm told, but again I'll get more details after Crwanada Day weekend.
 

Which reminds me, I'd better run to the shops for that Waragi. I've tried chugging maple syrup without it and I'm not sure it'd be the same.

Cam out!

Rwanda Journal, Entry 45: Overwhelmed

It's been a struggle to reflect enough to put together a cohesive post in a while.

I'm overwhelmed with the amount to take in, the amount to experience and the amount to get done. I've started several entries only to find that so much had happened before I finished, it didn't seem worth it. After a few days it started to feel pointless even trying to keep up.

Despite interfering with my bloggin' the feeling isn't unpleasant. I've been immersing myself in the day to day frenzy of Rwanda's advertising and publishing industries, have soaking up the landscape and am dabbling in art sales.

All in all, it's time well spent. 

Besides, at the end of the day I am here to help Kigali Unplugged, a promising small business, grow and assert itself in a highly demanding market. I'm learning more than I can easily express now, but I have to submit a report for the Ontario Global Edge program later which will be detailing these things extensively.

I will also be doing some public speaking, where I will present the things I've learned. It would be worthwhile to host an event with food and drinks and a presentation and everything, we'll see though.

Anyway, I'm working on a few posts that will come out soon. In the meantime, I'll keep updates like this coming.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 44: The Amavubi Juniors

Like most countries outside North America, Rwanda is a football (soccer) nation.

The game is bred in the bone of thousands of the country's children. In the way Canadian kids skate and puck-handle, Rwandan kids learn to dribble and shoot.

Some weeks ago I posted pictures of kids and I playing soccer near my house. What the pictures don't really communicate is how much better the children were than me.

For young Rwandans, association football is a national past-time and there is a natural finesse that comes from exposure to the game.

In Rwanda, football is king and the youth are its loyal subjects. 

Without even having to account for differences in age and size, it is safe to say that a match between 11 me's and 11 randomly selected children from around Kigali would end with a score of 22-1 in favour of the children.     

Let me avoid gross generalizations. To say that every 5 and 6 year old Rwandan is naturally amazing at football would be untrue. The younger children struggle to find their targets as much as children anywhere else.

But as the years go by, skills supported by years of practice begin to show.  

On any given day in Kigali, you can find children playing some improvised brand of association football.

The cost of equipment is more than most children in Rwanda can easily afford and they make do with what they can.

Instead of turf, most play on dirt roads. Instead of an inflatable ball, most use crumpled plastic bags bound with nylon cord. Most have no cleats and play in sandals. 

But they worship the game and dedicate at least some of their time to it.For this reason, it is not surprising that Rwanda's national junior team, Amavubi Juniors, would have a large talent pool to draw from.

There are two interesting things to know about the Amavubi Juniors:  they are the first under-17 team to qualify for the junior World Cup in Rwanda’s history; they are also the first team since ’94 whose players have no memory of the genocide.

Anyway, the other night Rwanda squared off against Canada in the U-17 World Cup. In a strange twist of fate it was the first time either team had qualified for the tournament; and they were the ones to knock each other out of contention.

After a 0-0 game, in which both needed a win to advance, the teams were dropped. 

As I watched the game with Heritier, our night guard and gardener, I seriously struggled decide who I liked more. The scoreless game spared me from really have to make a judgment one way or the other.

As I Canadian, I felt some desire to see my country win. At the same time, the Amavubi Juniors played beautifully and with determination. The scoreless game did not diminish the spectacle of watching a team that so vividly embodies the potential of Rwanda’s youth.

In the shadows of a terrifying past, Rwanda’s national junior team has risen higher than any other before it.

In the same way the children around my neighbourhood refine and improve themselves through dedication to sport, the country seeks to refine itself by dedication to moving on.

Rwanda’s junior football team is part of the larger whole but draws from the same pool that shapes the rest of society. 

The youth bear the hopes and ambitions of the country Amavubi Juniors make it easy to understand what that means.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 43: The Mbo has Spoken

My buddy Mbo needs help with something. He's being pretty insistent.Not entirely sure what it is but I'm going to go sort it with him. As a result, the post I said would come today will come tomorrow. Totally his fault, not mine.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 42: The Mob Has Spoken

Dear Readers,

I've been approached by a delegation of concerned citizens. Included in the delegation was my mother, my girlfriend, a man trained in dealing with high explosives, several friends and, quite possibly, a group of disgruntled Canadian postal workers with nothing better to do these days.

The delagation has informed me that if I do not resume blogging again immediately, the consequences will be dire. The consequences ranged from the mild and clear ("a general loss of interest") to the spicy and hard to understand ("Me and my boys'll make a SPECIAL DELIVERY to your house... you understand me?)

Anyway, rather than face the wrath of my loved ones and a well-organized postal union, I've decided to return to my blogging ways.

It was a difficult decision, given how my days have been structured lately. Even so, I have a duty and a committment to my readers that I will continue to honour until the completion of this trip. I intend to deliver another exciting dispatch from Kigali by no later than Sunday, June 26th.

I regret that I've had to be reminded, but thank the delegation for reaching out with thoughtful encouragement and veiled threats.

Sursum corda,

Cam

Rwanda Journal, Entry 41: A Probably Avoidable Delay

I must apologize to anyone that reads the blog regularly and has been annoyed at how irregular my posts have been lately.

I fear that after my last post, people probably think I am in a state of catatonic despair, unable to write or communicate; the truth is I am just disorganized.

I've been working on a markegting proposal for the boys at Kigali Unplugged and it is absorbing most of my creative energies. I am looking to introduce social media marketing to the country and need to get this damned thing done before tomorrow morning.

I'd meant to finish it over the weekend but ended up going to Butare instead. I didn't get very much work done. Still, I had a wild and crazy time there so expect a post about it once I've finished this thing.

Don't worry world back home, I haven't forgotten you.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 40: Scars

Rwanda is a country with deep scars that only willful blindness or callous disregard can obscure.

Behind the beauty of the thousand rolling hills, and the people who walk over them, is a history of pain, hatred and bloodshed.

Many buildings, including the country's parliament, still bear bullet holes from the civil war in 1994. They are a monument to the closeness of the past in a country that has moved so far away from it.

A wall, dotted with bullet holes, in Gikondo district, Kigali.

Soldiers from the Rwandan Patriotic Front (now called the Rwandan Defence Forces), who ended the genocide and assumed control of Kigali in 1994, still patrol the streets to maintain security.

Their presence serves as a reminder of the past, but their role is more than symbolic. A series of grenade attacks, carried out by Hutu extremists,  demonstrates that even now hatred and violence linger in the shadows.    

The streets are filled with disabled beggars, many survivors of the civil war, who have lost arms, legs, fingers and hands.

I do not know how this man lost his leg.

When the source of the disability is uncertain, the mind drifts towards a terrifying explanation. If you can spare a few francs they offer sincere thanks and carry on with as much dignity as they can muster.

Like most Rwandans today, the disabled live their lives and try to avoid dwelling on the past. There is a time and place for reflecting on bygone days and it is better to look forward.

The government has made strides in modernizing the Rwandan economy and has presented its people with an ambitious vision of the future.

Vision 2020, a development program that aims to turn Rwanda into a prosperous middle-income country by the year 2020,  has given many Rwandans reason to hope for brighter, more prosperous times ahead.

Too many cannot.

The more than 800,000 Rwandans who were brutally murdered during the genocide, have no future. They can do nothing more than be mourned and remembered.

 

From April to July, Rwanda enters the 100 days of mourning. Millions of purple-clad mourners, many survivors themselves, gather at memorials around the country to grieve the deaths of their loved ones.

At the Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre, in the Gisozi district of the city, mourners assemble to remember friends, neighbours, colleagues and family members lost in a tsunami of murder and brutality.

Today, Rwandans lay flowers on the concrete slabs that conceal the bodies of 259,000 victims; some weep and tear at their clothes; others stand in silent contemplation of the lives snuffed out like candles.

It is a solemn and inescapably tragic thing to witness.  

From the outside, the memorial centre looks tidy and unexceptional, similar to many compounds owned by Rwanda's upper class.

The grounds are neatly-tended, a small pool and torch sit outside the front entrance.

An intricate series of lattices link the main building to a small garden set aside for reflection and meditation.

It is a still place where not even a bird disturbs the silence.

The peace outside only adds to the painful drama of the interior.

A swirl of emotion greets visitors of the memorial. The history of the Rwandan genocide is well known to anyone with an interest in it; but the poignancy of standing in Kigali, with the bodies of the victims so near, is more than any wikipedia entry could ever capture.  

From the history of Belgium's colonization and the introduction of an arbitrary system of ethnic identification to the creation of the Interahamwe and the atrocities that claimed close to a million lives, the events are recorded for posterity.

Grisly remnants of the genocide are displayed in glass cases: the skulls of children, once living and now dead; femurs, split at the hamstring to prevent victims fleeing; machetes and wooden clubs, still marked and dented; soiled and bloodied clothing; and the best-loved possessions people clung to as they died.

A special section in the memorial is dedicated to the children who were murdered. Plaques below the portraits of a few of them recount their favourite food, their favourite sport, their best friends, their last words.   

"Where can I run to mommy?"

A wall near the exit offers hooks where families have hung photos of the sons and daughters they lost.

These children explain the nature of Rwanda's scars.

For all the country's success at rebuilding and moving forward, an entire generation can never be a part of its future. Rwanda's material growth and success are extraordinary but they can never completely overshadow the pain that comes from being unable share it with the ones that are gone.

Like a parent is maimed by the death of their child, Rwanda will always bear the marks of its past and can never forget what happened.

To forget, would be a crime as vile as the genocide itself.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 39: An Unavoidable Delay

Yesterday I visited the Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre, a place where 259,000 people are buried in mass graves.

I will write about the experience soon, but need time to process my emotions before I can explain them properly.

All I can say now is that it was difficult, but I am glad to have seen it.

Re: The First Pangs

Sincerest thanks to everyone that wrote in with suggestions on how to beat the travel blues. After taking the weekend to reflect on your suggestions, I'm feeling a lot better about things. Special thanks to my buddy, Ron, for helping me realize that of all the bizarre places a body can go, the internet is by far the strangest. (This is the link he sent to cheer me up.)

To anyone I haven't singled out... you're welcome.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 38: Rwanda's Favourite Sport

I learned on Saturday night that Rwanda is a football (soccer) crazed nation and would give even the most dedicated European fans a run for their money.

There is one team in particular that Rwandans love above all others and I was surprised to learn which one it is.

Nearly every person in Kigali files into sports bars, friends houses and anywhere else with television whenever FC Barcelona lines up on the pitch.

The Spanish football club is a phenomenon and when they squared off against Manchester United in the UEFA Champions League final on Saturday,  no event was more watched.

An hour or so before the match, I was walking through the Union Trade Centre, Rwanda's largest mall, and noticed a crowd of at least 300 people gathered in the main lobby staring up at television screens. 

When FC Barcelona finally emerged as league champions, after 93 minutes of intense play, the city exploded into celebration.

From where I stood in Kimihurura, I heard the old football anthem "ole, ole, ole, ole,"drift in from the valley below; car horns sounded and people swung jerseys as walked home. It was an extraordinary scene to behold.

For my own part, I watched the game with the Rwanda Initiative's night guard, Heritier, who graciously asked if he could watch the game with me on television.

The usually soft-spoken African went wild anytime his team scored and I couldn't help but become a dedicated partisan too.

Despite having only a fleeting knowledge of international football, I'll make a point to pay closer attention to it while I'm here.

For the first time in it's history, Rwanda's under-17 team, known locally as Amavubi (Junior Wasps)  are competing in the U17 World Cup.

The event is taking place next month in Mexico and it'd be worthwhile to see how Rwandans react.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 37: First Pangs

I am grappling with the first pangs of culture shock and for all the preparation I've done, it has still managed to sneak up on me.

I expected something dramatic; a sudden, acute feeling of difference that would hit me at some kind of African drum circle or other cultural outing, but the feeling is very different from this.

Instead of shock, it's more a dull, slow sense of being out of place, an inability to connect with anything familiar because nothing really is.
  
It's similar to the feeling I had when school ended this year.  A crude transition from a regimented existence where I knew my place and function to an existence where I had no idea what to do with my days.   

I feel withdrawn and fatigued and don't want to do much except read, sit in the sun and sleep.

I'm doing the things recommended to me before leaving Canada (exercise, eating well, creature comforts, etc.) but if anyone has any other suggestions, I'll gladly entertain them.

I'm told this is a natural and inevitable part of traveling abroad and I'm sure others have had to deal with it too.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 36: The Kimironko Market

The Kimironko Market is located in the Kigali neighbourhood of Remera.

Walking through the main gates, past a narrow street where mototaxis wait for fares, Western eyes are confounded by more stalls, goods and vendors than they have ever seen.

Tote bags bearing the names and faces of reggae singers sit nestled between beaded belts and bracelets of green, yellow, red and black.

Merchants compete for customers with the intensity of piranhas jostling for the flesh of a water buffalo.  They are respectful enough when waved off but have learned to thrust their items into the faces of foreigners as a matter of survival.

Sneakers, handbags, imitation designer watches, sunglasses, suitcases, water jugs, children's toys, pots, pans; all are displayed and for sale.

Past the corridors where the vendors hustle watches and cookware lies the fresh food market.

The market rests inside a steel-framed warehouse that is open on all sides. Steel columns rise from the concrete floor every twenty or thirty feet.

Above them, an intricate series of girders support the roof. Open skylights, rather than fluorescent lights, illuminate the sea of food stands below.

The warehouse is as vast as a football stadium but filled to the brim.

Inside the structure, fruit and vegetable stands extend in every direction. Rwandans busily tend to their business of weighing produce, haggling with buyers, hauling crates, sacks and bunches of bananas.    

It is exhausting work and many, including children as young as ten, work 12 hours a day, seven days a week.

The market houses every of staple of the Rwandan diet and in extraordinary abundance.

Carrots, onions, eggplant, lettuce, potatoes, cucumbers, zucchinis, squash, avocados, mangoes, papaya, lemons, passion fruit and innumerable others are stacked high in the air.

It is a constant struggle to prevent decay and waste and without air-conditioning or refrigeration the fruit and vegetable vendors have only one real strategy: sell, as much as possible as quickly as possible.

The warehouse is filled with the noisy buzz of a thousand voices in perpetual negotiation.

An occasional word or sentence can be picked out of the gyre but without knowledge of Kinyarwanda or Swahili, it is like the ecstatic babble at a pentecostal church.

In every section of the warehouse buyers and sellers dicker over sums.  Few, if any, prices are marked and value is calculated differently in every interaction.  

An economist might see some kind of natural order in these interactions, but to anyone who has spent life buying groceries from a supermarket chain store, it is strange and disorienting.

Outside of the warehouse, rows of shops sell household items and other food stuffs.

Toilet paper, laundry detergent, diapers, fabric, bags of rice, meats, cheeses, poultry and fish are all sold from tiny stores with brightly coloured signs.

The shop owners proudly display their products and happily pose for pictures inside their shops.

Freezers and other conveniences give them more time than the merchants inside the warehouse to sit and wait for business.

The pace of life is slower and more deliberate. For many, the shops are family businesses they have owned and operated for years. There is little fear of failure or competitors. 

Even so, when a prospective customer approaches their shop they spring into action and quickly explain why their meat is sweeter than any of the other shops at Kimironko.

Always fresher and more delicious, always bigger and, for you, cheaper than anywhere else you could go.

The claims are made without dishonesty or hyperbole. To them, the meat is sweeter and more delicious, better than any other. It is theirs, and of all the meat they have ever had, there is none they prefer more.

In Kimironko, even the beggars have some manner of dignity and smile easily at passersby. It could be a guise affected to ease the tedium and insecurity of wage earning, but perhaps not.

In a continent and country so blighted by hardship and want, the presence of such extraordinary abundance, as at the Kimironko Market, is comforting.
 
Even if the formalities of ownership and legal title interfere, there is security in the knowledge that a hand extended will come to rest on something nourishing.

It is difficult for any contemporary North American–except maybe those who've been lost in the wilderness–to understand the terror and anguish of utter deprivation. In all but the most extreme situations, it is a threat that has been banished from our lands.

But in Africa, the grim spectre of mortality and starvation hovers just outside the door.

Even if it isn't obvious, as in the urban hub that is Kigali, awareness of devastating scarcity leaves a permanent mark on the minds of those it touches. The mark is invisible but gives clues to its presence.

At the Kimironko Market, located in the Kigali neighbourhood of Remera, the clue is very often gratitude.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 35: The First Real Week

Today marks the first day of my first real week at Kigali Unplugged.

Before it was introductions and pleasantries, now it's time to get behind the mule.

As I've said, I'm convinced the magazine has potential. It is free in a market where most publications cost more than many Rwandans can easily afford.

This creates a challenge however, in that we are dependent on advertisers in a market where the majority of marketing directors prefer billboards to paper. 

Despite this, we only need to convince a few people per month and tend our existing relationships to remain viable.

From that point, if we continue to refine the content to attract readers, boost our web presence for exposure and brand development, and generally keep the ship from keeling over, we will continue to grow. 

I'm a little intimidated but only because this is a new challenge in a place I am unfamiliar with.  Even so, I have a couple ideas that I will pitch to Douglas and the others tomorrow.
 
I'm hope they'll be well received.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 34: There On Time, There Too Early

After spending two of the last three days in frenzied preparation for the apocalypse, I must say I'm a little disappointed that nothing happened. I'd at least expected some kind of mass hysteria brought on by Harold Camping's doomsday prediction, especially in a devoutly religious country like Rwanda.

But as I emerge from my bunker to see the earth unscorched and the skies free of fire and brimstone I can't help but wonder what all the fuss was about. The bell at the Seventh-Day-Adventist church down the road still tolls like every Sunday, the hymns that pour out sound no more manic and I haven't noticed a single person gnashing their teeth. It's kind of too bad, I went to so much effort digging that tiger pit to keep out looters and zombies.

Anyway, now that the sky has cleared I guess I'll tell you all how the Salax Awards went; which is to say I'll try, because I'm still not really certain what happened.

I arrived at the Gikondo Expo grounds at around 5:30p.m., gently cursing because I was told the event started at 5:00.

"What a terrible start," I thought, "late for my first reporting assignment."

I'd been in communication with Douglas, my editor, who told me we'd meet in Gikondo, either at the expo or at the office. When I called him at 4:45 however he was nowhere near either of those places.

"I'm on the other side of Kimihurura," he said. "I'm going to wait for the rain to stop but I'll meet you there soon." 

"The rain?" I thought. "What kind of nonsense is this? We have a story to do." 

My editor's noncommittal attitude only added to my stress and convinced me that if this story was to be done right I'd need to get on the scene immediately.

"Professional is my middle name," I thought. "Douglas needs to understand that."

So after hanging up the phone I asked Mary Katherine, the Rwanda Initiative project coordinator, to call a moto for me.

"You're not going to be able to get a moto in this weather," she told me.

"Why not?" I asked.

"It's raining," she said.

Rwanda has two rainy seasons. A short one that lasts from October to November and a longer one that lasts from March to May. During these periods the vast majority of the country grinds to a halt. In North America rain is an annoyance but not a reason to skip work; this is not the case in Rwanda.

"If you need to go somewhere, I'll call you a cab," Mary Katherine told me. "It's a bit more expensive but they'll get you there."

"Alright, let's do it," I said.

Twenty minutes later the cab arrived and we were off. Thick sheets of water pounded the windshield of the cab as I checked my watch like the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland.

"I'm late," I thought, "nothing I can do about that now. At least I won't be that late."

When the cab arrived at the Gikondo expo, I threw the driver his money and leapt out of the car.

In the distance I could see a huge white tent and six or seven booths bearing the logo of the Rwandan phone company MTN, the main sponsor of the Salax Awards. I ran past the MTN booths and Rwandan police officers with AK 47s, toward the front of the enormous white tent where tickets were sold. I bought a ticket and made my way inside.
   
The place was deserted.

In past posts, I've mentioned what is often referred to as African Standard Time, a measurement of time widely used on this continent. To calculate AST, simply add two hours to Greenwich Mean Time, divide that by the distance (in feet) between you and the person you want to meet, add 15 minutes for every person they bump into on the way and then multiply the whole thing by about an hour.

It is a unit of measurement that pretty much guarantees you will never meet anyone at the time you plan to. Initially, I thought the measurement was only used by individuals, but this is not the case. AST is also used by companies, concert promoters and event organizers. I didn't realize this when I made my way to the Salax Awards.

If I had, I would have been less surprised when the ceremony started at 8:00 o'clock.

When the event did start it seemed to go pretty well. The rain stopped at around 7:00 and by 8:30 the entire tent was filled with at least 1500 desperately excited young Rwandans. The music was phenomenal and the dancing was some of the best I've seen.

I am still unsure of what actually happened, because the event was conducted almost entirely in Kinyarwanda and in my haste I forgot to arrange for a fixer that could translate. On the plus side, I was able to hire a boy to write down the names of most of the people who won an award that night.

I spoke to Douglas at 9:00 to see where he was. By this point, I was fairly certain he would not be coming.

"I'm just with some friends in Remera," he told me over the phone. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Several hours later he sent me a text apologizing for not being able to make it out to the ceremony. But to be honest, I really wasn't angry with him.

All the problems I had with my first reporting assignment, were of my own making. By trying to conduct myself as I would've at home, I made a mess of things.

I can only think that if I'd taken things a little less seriously and waited for the rain to stop myself, maybe things would have gone more smoothly.

In any case, it's about time I picked up my shovel and started filling in that tiger pit. Perhaps, the sense of metaphor and its connection to my troubles at the Salax Awards the other night will convince me, once and for all, not to get worked up about things.

I seriously doubt it though.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 33: Rain on the Hills

It is pouring rain and a dense fog has settled over the hills outside the balcony of the project compound. In about 30 minutes I am heading to my first reporting assignment for Kigali Unplugged.

I'll be covering the 3rd Annual Salax Awards, a celebration of Rwandan music, similar to the Grammys.

It is the first time the awards have been held in Kigali and while the events are well known in the country I'm a bit concerned the rain will drive down attendance.

Even so, it is exactly the type of event that Kigali Unplugged needs to be reporting on. It's a golden opportunity to hand out slightly soggy copies of the magazine and make contacts with industry insiders.

The decision to attend the event came after a morning discussing marketing strategies with Douglas and Benjamin. Before long we all arrived at the conclusion that a budding entertainment magazine could not really miss the largest music award ceremony in the country, regardless of the weather.

Apparently, the magazine doesn't have press credentials and we'll probably have to pay the 2000 Rwandan franc admittance fee out of pocket, just the cost of doing business I guess.

On the plus side, I do have a rain jacket, which probably won't do much to keep the rain off my pants on the mototaxi to Gikondo but it's better than nothing.

Anyway, it's time to go. With any luck I'll get a decent story despite the rain.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 32: Meet Kigali Unplugged

I met two of the minds behind Kigali Unplugged, the magazine I'll be interning at, today.

Douglas Mugerwa (left) and Benjamin Kagorola (right)

Douglas Mugerwa, the magazine editor, and Benjamin Kagorola, in charge of sales and marketing, launched Kigali Unplugged with some friends in January.

So far they've put out three copies of the magazine and are looking to expand.

From what I've seen so far, I am convinced that the magazine has potential. The main office is located in a densely populated area of town called Gikondo and shares space with a recording studio; which I think is pretty sweet.

Inside the studio at Kigali Unplugged

The magazine is not without its problems however. It is small and little known, the articles are not exactly grammatically correct and the software used to produce and format the magazine is dated by North American standards.

Even so, Douglas and his team have managed to secure advertisers and keep things organized enough to get the magazine out monthly, which is more impressive than it sounds.

They also have a fairly impressive social media presence, with over 1,200 friends on facebook after three months in print.

Tomorrow, I'm going to help Douglas deliver issues of the magazine around the city. I'm keen to see how it will be received.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 31: New Kid on the Block

I live in a neighbourhood called Kimihurura, in the centre of Kigali.  It's an upscale suburb that is home to foreign expatriates and wealthy Rwandans.

Lush flora of almost every shape and colour surround the red dirt roads that wind throughout the district.

Like most places in Rwanda, Kimihurura rests on a hilltop. It looks over a picturesque gully where roadworks, construction and billboards have taken the place of flowers and trees.

It is a place of heart-rending beauty.

Despite its splendour, it is poorer than any Canadian community I have ever lived in.

In the shadow of the ornate gates guarding the compounds of wealthy foreigners, children live in tin-roofed hovels. 

Despite sparse living conditions, the innumerable youngsters who fill the streets are friendly, playful and curious.

Just minutes from the Rwanda Initiative compound, children excitedly make do with whatever toys they can find.

A stick wrapped in string or a rubber band used as chewing gum is amusement enough for many of the neighbourhood children.

I was told in Canada that it's easy to make friends quickly if you're willing to plan ahead. So before leaving I made a trip to the sports section of my local Wal-Mart.

To most kids I know, a $5 soccer ball wouldn't mean much. When I was young, soccer balls were far less interesting than the 16-bit graphics of my Sega Genesis.  Here, children are far less spoiled than I was.

I'd like to make clear that I did not give the kids a soccer ball. I traded them one.

They let me take pictures for my blog and I gave them the ball in exchange.

As my friend Mbonisi told me earlier this evening, there are some places that are so poor the people only have their smile to give. I'm not sure if that's the case in Kimihurura but I thought the smiles of these children were worth something anyway.

After trading them the ball, we all played a short game of kick the ball, pick it up, run around in circles, then throw it. I'm still not familiar with the rules of the game, but I'm pretty sure we tied.

Anyway, if for $5 dollars I've been able to ingratiate myself into the neighbourhood and make some friends while I'm here, I'll consider it a profitable venture.

I had fun and hope the kids will let me join their crew.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 30: The Mzungo has Landed

FIRST NIGHT

I stepped off the plane at Kigali International Airport at 7:15pm (CAT). As my feet touched tarmac, the smell of woodsmoke, earth and low level ozone filled my nostrils. "So this is the smell of Africa," I thought.

It was dark when I arrived and as I made my way to the arrival gate I looked out at the landscape around the airport. On each side of me, the rolling hills were dotted with white and orange lights as though the night sky had settled on top of them.

With my naked eye I could make out the shapes of billboards and buildings in the distance; cars crawled like glowworms on the reddish-yellow roads beneath them.

After collecting my bags from the luggage carousel, I walked to the terminal. Julius Mugumya, the  logistics coordinator for the Rwanda Initiative, was there to greet me.

"Amakuru," he said. "Welcome to Kigali."

Julius and his friend, Bosco, carried my bags out to their car and we made off down the road.

The city of Kigali is densely populated, fast-paced and well ordered; even so, drivers in the city are crazed lunatics. Mototaxis duck and weave between cars, vans and the odd soldier-laden military jeep. In the case of each of these vehicles, the horn is used far more frequently than the brakes.

When we finally arrived at the Rwanda Initiative project house, after 20 minutes of white knuckle madness, my heart was pumping pure adrenaline. I didn't have much time to get settled before the other journalism interns from Canada appeared and invited me to dinner at a restaurant called Papyrus.

Had I been thinking rationally, I probably would have declined, unpacked my things and gone to bed. But by that point a mix of fatigue and nervous excitement left rational thinking out of the question. I joined my fellow interns at Papyrus, where I reconnected with Mbonisi and finally met Mary Katherine Keown, the Rwanda Initiative's project coordinator, whose job it is to keep me alive while in-country. I hope to make her job as easy as possible. 

When I finally returned home several hours later I settled in for a night of turbulent sleep.

FIRST DAY

I've been hounded by jet lag all day. I woke up at 7:00am and was unable to get back to sleep. So I opted to take photos of the project house at day break.

The compound is beautiful. It stands on a tall hill and the balcony in the front looks out over a stretch of highway that leads to the centre of town.  

Beautiful though it may be the place is also ruthlessly secure. Aside from barbed wire, the walls are lined with shards of broken glass, frightening for their crudeness.

FIRST MOTO RIDE

Despite my jet lag, I went downtown with Julius to exchange money and buy a phone earlier in the day. This meant taking my first motoride through some of Rwanda's less impressive roads.  

Instead of trying to describe the experience, I opted to record a short video that pretty much sums it up.

Motos are everywhere in Kigali and for 500-700 Rwandan Francs (around 1 Canadian dollar) they'll take you anywhere you need to go in the city. Everyone is obliged to wear a helmet, which I hope reassures my parents.

Even so, when the driver hits the gas and begins darting between moving cars you start to wonder if they couldn't give you something more.

Anyway, the jet lag is starting to bite hard and I think I'll wrap this post up for now. I'm planning to meet Douglas Mugerwa, the editor of Kigali Unplugged in the next day or so. I'll let you know how that goes.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 29: Packin' it in

I am cramming the next two months of my life into bags as I prepare to fly tomorrow afternoon.

So far I don't appear to have made much progress. 

Even so, I've managed to get pretty much everything done and will be finished packing well advance of my 2:45pm departure time.

Big thanks to my mom, who graciously drove me around the city today. We managed to get my passport, with a sparkling new Rwandan visa, back from the Rwanda High Commission.

I have exchanged my Canadian money for crisp new American dollars that can be turned into Rwandan Francs when I arrive in Kigali.

I've agreed to deliver a few packages for the Rwanda Initiative, which I am also packing away. Incidentally, if anyone is interested in knowing the character of Allan Thompson, the director of the program, I'll give you a hint.

He asked me to deliver a special laptop, equipped with speech recognition software and a braille printer, for blind Rwandans who want to study journalism.

I said yes.

Anyway, I really should get back to packing now. There is still more to do and I need to find space for things.

The next post I write will be from Kigali.

Rwanda Journal, Entry 28: Technical Difficulties

I am sorry to report that my computer hard drive has died.

I'd sat down to write a humourous and informative post about the day's events, when the monitor of my MacBook Pro began flickering blue.

Suddenly, a rainbow pinwheel replaced my cursor and it was all over. The computer was dead.

Fortunately, it happened this week and not next week when it would be very difficult to have repaired. I've been able to use my dad's Mac until mine comes back from Terra Consultants and should be up and running by Wednesday.

Terry Seguin (Aka "The Fonz") interviewed me on Information Morning Fredericton yesterday. I've posted the link to the audio here: http://www.cbc.ca/informationmorningfredericton/2011/05/journalism-student-to-rwanda.html

I think the interview went pretty well and I enjoyed meeting Seguin for the first time. He gives a good interview and I'm as convinced as ever that he's a total badass.

Seguin is the John McClane of Fredericton Radio.

He gave me seven minutes during drive time (7:30am-8:00am) which I thought was pretty generous.

Anyway, the interview is done and it's t-minus four days until I leave for Kigali.

I've started feeling anxious about the things I have to do before I leave. The computer crash doesn't reassure me.

I still need to pack, get back to Ottawa, collect my passport and visa from the Rwandan embassy and get to the airport on time. I know I'll get everything done but I can't help but be nervous.

For now, I am going to continue packing.