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.
Monday 30 May 2011
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.
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.
Saturday 28 May 2011
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.
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.
Thursday 26 May 2011
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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 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.
Monday 23 May 2011
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.
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.
Sunday 22 May 2011
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.
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.
Friday 20 May 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday 18 May 2011
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, 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.
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.
 |
| Douglas Mugerwa (left) and Benjamin Kagorola (right) |
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 |
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.
Tuesday 17 May 2011
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.
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.
Just minutes from the Rwanda Initiative compound, children excitedly make do with whatever toys they can find.
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.
They let me take pictures for my blog and I gave them the ball in exchange.
I had fun and hope the kids will let me join their crew.
Monday 16 May 2011
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.
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.
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.
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.
Friday 13 May 2011
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.
So far I don't appear to have made much progress.
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.
Tuesday 10 May 2011
Rwanda Journal, Entry 28: Technical Difficulties
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.
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. |
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.
Sunday 8 May 2011
Rwanda Journal, Entry 27: Peace to all Momkind
Warmest regards to mothers all over the world (especially mine) on this most cherished of commercial holidays!
I hope your sons and daughters got you all the right bath soap.
I hope your gift certificates were for the spa you like and not that other one.
I hope Lulu Lemon has some kind of a sale if they haven't already.
But most of all, I hope people take a moment to reflect on the women in their lives and the contributions they've made to it.
We wouldn't be here without you, and it'd be harder if you weren't. Respect.
Anyway, from Canada to Rwanda to the rest of the world, happy birthday momkind.
-Cam
P.S. We didn't get flooded out.
I hope your sons and daughters got you all the right bath soap.
I hope your gift certificates were for the spa you like and not that other one.
I hope Lulu Lemon has some kind of a sale if they haven't already.
But most of all, I hope people take a moment to reflect on the women in their lives and the contributions they've made to it.
We wouldn't be here without you, and it'd be harder if you weren't. Respect.
Anyway, from Canada to Rwanda to the rest of the world, happy birthday momkind.
-Cam
P.S. We didn't get flooded out.
Thursday 5 May 2011
SPECIAL REPORT: Flood Watch on the Saint John River
Environment Canada issued a heavy rainfall warning for the Fredericton York-Sunbury area at 10:41 a.m. this morning.
Meteorologists predict between 20 to 50 milimetres of rain will hit the region by early tomorrow morning. The province has forecast flooding in Fredericton.
I have taken up flood watch at my father's house. He lives about 20 feet from the banks of the river and will be at high risk if it breaches the banks.
My dad tells me water levels are supposed rise to 7.3 metres by tomorrow, which is up to the front door.
My dad tells me water levels are supposed rise to 7.3 metres by tomorrow, which is up to the front door.
There are sandbags at the ready and I'm waiting for word from the landlord to put them out.
New Brunswick River Watch Program
St. John River Two-Day Forecast
Wednesday 4 May 2011
Rwanda Journal, Entry 26: A Short Break
I have arrived in Fredericton and I'm going to take a day or so off to rest up and visit family. I'll upload photos if there are any to share and I'll try to twitter the internet once and a while too.
Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it.
Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it.
Monday 2 May 2011
Rwanda Journal, Entry 25: May 2nd, 2011
I bought my ticket for Rwanda today and formally applied for a Rwandan visa.
I'll leave Canada from Montréal on May 14, and should get the visa a few days before then, (it takes about 7 business days.)
I also packed my clothes and travel items into a duffle bag and gave my apartment keys to the subletter. It's weird leaving my apartment behind and it was exhausting getting everything packed up.
Even so, I got out to vote because it's important to do that.
I'll spend the night at my mother's house in Alta Vista and board a bus to New Brunswick at 7:00pm tomorrow evening. The bus trip is 14 and a half hours long, and I'll arrive in Fredericton at 10:30am the next day (May 4th.)
There are still a few things I have to do before I arrive in Rwanda, but for now I'm going to bed.
I hope Harper doesn't have a majority when I wake up.
I'll leave Canada from Montréal on May 14, and should get the visa a few days before then, (it takes about 7 business days.)
I also packed my clothes and travel items into a duffle bag and gave my apartment keys to the subletter. It's weird leaving my apartment behind and it was exhausting getting everything packed up.
Even so, I got out to vote because it's important to do that.
I'll spend the night at my mother's house in Alta Vista and board a bus to New Brunswick at 7:00pm tomorrow evening. The bus trip is 14 and a half hours long, and I'll arrive in Fredericton at 10:30am the next day (May 4th.)
There are still a few things I have to do before I arrive in Rwanda, but for now I'm going to bed.
I hope Harper doesn't have a majority when I wake up.
Sunday 1 May 2011
Rwanda Journal, Entry 24: The Legacies of Nyerere
Julius Nyrere was an unconventional leader who forged consensus among Tanzania's ethnic and political factions in the first days of the country's independence.
Understanding Nyrere's rule and its influence on Tanzanian society was the goal of the Legacies of Nyrere conference, hosted by the Institute of African Studies earlier this year.
The event brought together keen observers of African politics including the former speaker of the East African Legislative Assembly, Abdulrahman Kinana.
"First and foremost, (Nyrere) was a great African statesman and a man of international standing," Kinana said. "He was a man who provided a good example of leadership. Leadership, in terms of integrity; leadership, in terms of vision; leadership, in terms of eloquence and intelligence."
Kinana said Nyrere's greatest achievement was the unification of his country's more than 120 ethnic groups into a single people.
"He molded Tanzania as we know it today," Kinana said. "He united the whole country together and made one country. He broke down the tribal differences, the religious differences and he created one Tanzania."
After becoming independent Tanzania's first president in 1962, Nyrere implemented a sweeping series of economic reforms aimed at collectivizing the country's agricultural sector.
He also set about the project of pan-African unification and, along with fellow African leaders, established the Organization for African Unity in 1963.
Despite the geo-political climate of his day, Nyrere maintained a policy of non-alignment during the Cold War and maintained friendly relations with politicians in the East and West.
James Milner, professor of political science at Carleton University, said Nyrere's ability to resist the influence of the Cold War powers and maintain his country's economic and political independence was extraordinary.
"He was able to take a desperately poor country, surrounded by countries in conflict, and chart an independent path for Tanzanians," Milner said.
Tanzanians both loved and loathed Nyrere for his firm, even autocratic presidency, but none can deny his enormous role in the country's development.
Understanding Nyrere's rule and its influence on Tanzanian society was the goal of the Legacies of Nyrere conference, hosted by the Institute of African Studies earlier this year.
The event brought together keen observers of African politics including the former speaker of the East African Legislative Assembly, Abdulrahman Kinana.
"First and foremost, (Nyrere) was a great African statesman and a man of international standing," Kinana said. "He was a man who provided a good example of leadership. Leadership, in terms of integrity; leadership, in terms of vision; leadership, in terms of eloquence and intelligence."
Kinana said Nyrere's greatest achievement was the unification of his country's more than 120 ethnic groups into a single people.
"He molded Tanzania as we know it today," Kinana said. "He united the whole country together and made one country. He broke down the tribal differences, the religious differences and he created one Tanzania."
When Nyrere died in October of 1999, Tanzanians were left to consider the life and work of their first president, a man renowned for his integrity, conviction and commitment to his people.
After becoming independent Tanzania's first president in 1962, Nyrere implemented a sweeping series of economic reforms aimed at collectivizing the country's agricultural sector.
He also set about the project of pan-African unification and, along with fellow African leaders, established the Organization for African Unity in 1963.
Despite the geo-political climate of his day, Nyrere maintained a policy of non-alignment during the Cold War and maintained friendly relations with politicians in the East and West.
James Milner, professor of political science at Carleton University, said Nyrere's ability to resist the influence of the Cold War powers and maintain his country's economic and political independence was extraordinary.
"He was able to take a desperately poor country, surrounded by countries in conflict, and chart an independent path for Tanzanians," Milner said.
Milner argues that Nyrere's time as president holds important lessons for Canadian leaders that wish to understand Canada's place in the world.
"Often in Canada we say we don't have control of our own destiny," Milner said. "We're tied into the American economy, the forces of globalization. What we learn from Julius Nyrere is that it is possible for a leader to begin their approach to leadership from principles."
The Legacies of Nyrere conference was held at Carleton University but was broadcast live over the Internet for scholars and students around the world.
Blair Rutherford, director of the Institute of African Studies and organizer of the conference, said the event was a great success.
"I'm really happy with the way things have gone," Rutherford said. "I feel like we've looked closely at the life and work of an exceptional African leader, a man whose impact and legacy are still relevant today," Rutherford said.
"I think everyone has come out with a more refined view of Julius Nyrere."
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