Dear...

Dear snack crackers in the yellow package: You taste like ritz crackers. (Yum.) You came all the way to Rwanda from Saudi Arabia. (Huh?) You only cost 60 cents. (My measly Peace Corps bank account thanks you.) You are amazing in every way. (Seriously.)

Dear driver: You continue to provide me with a constant source of entertainment, especially when you stop the car on random dirt roads to inquire about the prices of everything from fruit to shoes to goats. Then you got a portable dvd player, to pass the time while we’re on health center visits. Totally understandable, but I’ll never forget the time I came back to the car to find you watching an “artsy” film. And yes, you know exactly what I mean by “artsy”.

Dear Lake Kivu: Swimming in you was totally worth the shistosomiasis I may or may not get from swimming in you. And your beach wasn’t half bad either.

Dear PiliPili cat: I love you. But I love you most when you’re asleep on my lap. It’s the only time these days that you’re not crying/meowing at me.

Dear stupid bug: First, you scared the crap out of me by repeatedly launching yourself at my windows. Then you miraculously found your way under my door, only to fly around my living room randomly dive bombing my face while I was trying to enjoy Across the Universe. But I sincerely appreciate you allowing my cat to chase you around, providing her with amusement for a solid 20 minutes. Oh, and sorry again about Pili eating you.

Dear Shantaram: You are a fascinating, intriguing, thought provoking book. I am so sorry for ever putting you down and cheating on you with Eat, Pray, Love. It’s a mistake I shall never make again. Except for the fact that I just got The Girl Who Played with Fire. So…no hard feelings, k?

Dear Justin Bieber: I heard one of your songs finally. It was called Baby. Rwandans may love it, but I’m still not sure if I do. But I’m keeping an open mind, and I’ll continue to let Lucy put lyrics from your songs at the beginning of every email she sends me.

Dear various friends who have sneakily sent me alcohol from America: You all are geniuses. Inside a crayon box, pill bottle, Bank of America checkbox and toothpaste carton. What will you think of next? Regardless, just keep ‘em coming!

Dear Tigo: 3 francs per text, 10 francs a minute for calls, and 30 francs a minute to call America. Will you marry me?! (What, you heard that I’m still seeing MTN? Well, I have a dual sim phone, yes, but I put you in slot 1 and MTN in slot 2. Does that adequately demonstrate my allegiance?)

Dear dry season: I’m over you. I’m sick of not having water. I’m sick of being dirty. Go away please.

Dear rainy season: I know, I know, you’re scared that if you come I’ll be as mean to you as I was to dry season. But I promise that won’t happen. Well, as long as you don’t ruin my garden.

Dear neighborhood boy: Maybe I shouldn’t have commented about how “thug” you’ve become lately. I honestly didn’t think you even understood what the word “thug” meant. But you definitely proved me wrong when a few days later you greeted me at my front gate…wearing a dress.

Dear mefloquine: You’ve been replaced. I don’t even feel bad about it. And I’m looking forward to many nights without crazy dreams, hallucinations and anxiety attacks.

Dear Nyanza: So, after 3 months away, it turns out I actually had been missing you. I missed your market (with piles and piles of amazing clothing), cheap food and drink (I still haven’t seen a red cabbage elsewhere in Rwanda), bunk beds (ok, not really) and communal eating at the training center (the communal aspect, not the actual food). I’ll be back soon.

Dear electrical outlet in our office at the hospital: Holy crap. You were working perfectly and then suddenly started crackling and smoking right behind me. At least you didn’t catch on fire, but still, not cool. Oh, and I wonder if the smell of melting plastic will ever go away.

Dear garden: Jessica took such amazing care of you, I’m embarrassed beyond words that I ruined you. I promise I’ve tried to grow a green thumb and will attempt to rebuild you. Besides, I really really want sweet corn.

Dear Ruhengeri district hospital: Investing in a wireless router was one of the best decisions you’ve made. But could we work something out so that I don’t have to sit under a group of trees in order to get any signal whatsoever.

Dear random man who knocked on my gate that one day: I’m not a doctor. I don’t live with a doctor. I don’t’ want to be a doctor. Ok, I actually have no idea what you were saying to me because the only word I could distinguish was “umuganga” which means doctor. Ok, two words; I also know you said “ntakibazo” (it’s no problem) right before you turned and walked away. Hope you got that all figured out though!

Dear LCFs (Language and Cultural Facilitators): It was glorious to see some of you again at in-service training. I had so much fun studying, eating, laughing and sharing gossip magazines. And I once again became confident that I can actually speak Kinyarwanda. But could you explain to me why when I say something to the average Rwandan they look at me like I have 7 heads?

Dear carrot lady: I know you had a baby, but please come back! I miss you. Your food is there, but you are not, and the lady watching your stand totally overcharged me by 300 francs! Besides, I’m anxiously waiting to say to you “Ni uko, ni uko, and niyonkwe” (Congratulations and happy breastfeeding!)

Dear mouse that found its way into my house: Ok, I’ll admit it you were cute. But first you were in my bedroom and then you were in my bathroom. You really gave me no choice but to let Pili create a new game with you called Catch the Rodent. You won the battle, but I know she’ll win the war. Besides, escaping outside is kind of like cheating.

Dear Amber: I’m so glad you’re back. Rwanda’s not the same without you to stumble through it with me.

Dear Vision 2020: Yes, you win the award for “Best All-You-Can-Eat Rwandan Buffet”. Pasta, rice, fries, plantains, beans, cassava, vegetables, unidentifiable meat, sauce, and fruit. And all for less than $3. The Abba videos you constantly play are just an added bonus.

Dear Raychel: I cannot say thank you enough for all of the pedicure supplies you sent me. I used hot water, I used the nail brush, I used the pumice stone. My feet never looked so fresh and so clean! Until I walked outside…sigh.

Dear water spigot: You knew I had no clean clothes. You knew I had to do laundry. You knew I had just filled up a bucket with water and soap. So why when I had adequately soaked and washed my clothes did you feel the need to shut off and not work for days? My soapy clothes and I did not appreciate your attempt at a joke. PS. I’m thirsty too.

Dear photos I slaved over to tape to my wall: Why do you keep falling down? You know tape is an expensive commodity around here. So, I’ve decided to just not put you back up and create a little game called “Last Photo Standing”. So far it is a 5 way tie for first, who shall be the victor?

Dear magpies/crows/ugly black mongrel birds that have invaded my property: I seriously detest you. I hate when you “hunt” my cat. I hate when you attack my garden. I hate when you knock off branches of my avocado tree. But I hate you most when you frolic, fight and tap dance your way across my tin roof, repeatedly making me think that the world is ending…or at the least that my roof might be falling down.

Dear feet: Nope, still not tan. Still just really dirty. But I hear that rainy season is almost here, just imagine how wonderful you’ll look muddy!

Dear two neighborhood children: You’re a delight to have in my house when there are only two of you. Particularly when I introduce you to Play-Doh and we can sit and teach other Kinyarwanda and English by building animals and other random objects. Oh, and I’m REALLY glad that you finally declared that the odd shaped mold was a boat, and not something else…

Dear Steven Colbert: You and your Report are just as funny in Rwanda as you were in America. Keep it up. P.S. However, car commercials, you are still just as annoying.

Dear Rwandans: Living in a city as large as Musanze has forced me to make a decision to only greet people I make eye contact with, so that I’m not greeting every single person I pass on the street. Unfortunately, every single one of you stares at me as I pass, which means I’m pretty much still greeting every person I pass on the street. Let’s work on this, shall we?

Dear bra industry: I’m not sure if you either just don’t supply to Rwanda yet, or if your marketing campaign here just sucks. But either way, I see a demand in this country. Big demand. And I fully expect to get a share of the profits for pointing out this incredible business opportunity to you. Right?

Meeting Rwanda(ns), one greeting at a time

Greeting people in Rwanda is extremely important. It seems as though no conversation can continue without an adequate and complete greeting. First, there is an elaborate physical greeting, composed of a hug, with three cheek-to-cheek touches, followed by a handshake. The verbal greetings are just as elaborate. There is of course the usual “Mwaramutse” or “Mwiriwe” (Good morning, good afternoon/evening). This is usually followed by “Amakuru?” (What’s the news?) or “Bite?” (What’s up?) – Standard responses are “Ni meza” (It’s well) and “Ni byiza” (It’s good). Then comes “Umeza ute?” (How do you feel?), to which most people respond “Meza neza” (I’m feeling well). Often the next questions inquire about if you’ve been strong (Warakomeye?), how your family is doing, how work is going, where you are coming from, where you are going, etc. Yes, as you’re undoubtedly realizing, it can take several minutes to even begin an actual conversation.

At this point, I’ve got the greetings down. I am a greetings master. I greet my neighborhood children, my neighbors, the shop-owners I pass on my way to work, the staff at the hospital, all the market mamas, etc. But more importantly, I greet random strangers I pass as I walk anywhere. Now, I don’t greet everyone (if I did that I’d be saying good morning about every 1.8 seconds), but I’ll tell you who I do greet:

1) Those people who greet me first. Sometimes they greet me in English, sometimes in French, sometimes in Kinyarwanda; but no matter which they language they greet me in I always greet them back in Kinyarwanda. I figure if they’re going out of their way to speak my language, I can afford them the same courtesy.

2) Those people who make eye contact with me and smile. I can only imagine that they are wondering if they should greet me, and if so in what language they should do so in (or maybe they’re just inwardly laughing at how sunburned and dirty I am). But, it makes my day when I see the shock and excitement on their faces when I greet them in their own language.

3) Those people who are openly talking about me. It’s not difficult to hear the word “Muzungu”; I can hear it from miles away at this point. My Kinyarwanda is also progressing enough now that I can start to figure out what they’re saying about me (usually such mundane things as what I’m wearing, my hair, wondering where I’m going or if I speak Kinyarwanda). These are my favorite people to greet, as it downright floors them usually when I can speak even a little of their language. They exclaim “Ahhhh, she knows Kinyarwanda!!” and giggle up a fit. Then usually blabber away to me in Kinyarwanda that is too fast for me to ever decipher. So I usually throw around an “Ehhh” with an eyebrow raise (I’ll save “Rwandan communication strategies” for another blog post) or a Yego (yes) and attempt to walk faster.

Luckily, this greeting strategy has afforded me the opportunity to meet so many interesting people as I wander this country: people transporting every type of food or object on their head (imagine everything from baskets of tomatoes or corn, to bunches of plantains, to rice bags of potatoes, to tree limbs and eucalyptus tree branches, to bed frames, to their purse), numerous school girls and boys, a priest, a woman who runs an orphanage near my house, nurses, doctors, shopekeepers, a school headmaster, and so many others. Overall, though, it’s taught me the power of greetings, how they immediately brighten someone’s day and instantly begin to build relationships. So, if you need me, I’ll be here, greeting Rwanda, one Mwaramutse at a time.

OH, but I must add one final thing. With ALL of these elaborate greetings, do you know how people end their phone calls? With nothing. No “see you later” or “goodbye”. They just hang up. Usually with me still babbling to them to have a good day. Interesting, huh?