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.