Moose Summarizes My Day

After staying late on psych listening to some lady blabber at me about my health goals, I made the mistake of loading Moose into the car and taking him shopping. We drove up to Borders to pick up a little something for vacation and headed over to Petsmart. He walked inside and while I was looking for a way to transport the rabbit home this weekend, he peed on the floor. I cleaned up a lot of urine and we went home. I didn't even bother with Walmart...

Lazy Sundays

Sundays in this house are wonderful and somewhat downhearted. Moose and I enjoy our day of rest, happily laying in the sun or going on one of our famed neighborhood walks. But, like every day before it, Sundays too come to a close, signaling the end of the weekend, and typically the day Buddy goes home. Today is no different. I rounded on my eight tiny babies, went grocery shopping, climbed into my pjs, and settled into my sunny window seat on the couch. So did Moose.

I love waking up early on Sunday mornings and making some kind of yummy breakfast...my new favorite being blueberry almond baked oatmeal! I get to drink my yummy organic coffee from Mexico, then Moose curls up on the floor in the sun while I wash dishes and do laundry. Sometimes he lays under my feet while I read at the kitchen table, another favorite sunny spot.

A few years ago Buddy and I used to sit on the back porch in our bathrobes and fuzzy slippers in the spring and fall, one of us reading the newspaper, one of us studying. Still enjoying good coffee and home cooked breakfast.

Today Moose guarded the front lawn in the comfort of our living room while I watched TV, knitted (of course), and snacked.

Then there are the days I'm post call and stuck rounding, but that's next Sunday.

My furry helper

The M&M Adventure Series

I decided to restart my blog. Or Blahg as my mom pronounces it. Hopefully this lasts. Moose and I spend a tremendous amount of time together...an unhealthy amount of time together. I started residency and it's nice to have a warm snuggly buddy to come home to after all my patients make me nutty. This buddy happens to fart and burp on quite the regular basis so it would be nice if he kept a little more distance, but its always with love. Plus when he farts he looks at his butt, following the sound, which cracks me up every time. I suppose these ramblings are really merely stories told, through the course of an exciting year, from the point of a girl and her favorite furry companion.

Moose and I spent today cleaning. I washed dishes, he laid on the floor burping and whining in the sun. I cleaned the rabbit, he ate rabbit poop in the backyard, then rolled in it. I made dinner and he was trying to steal pasta and cheese out of the dish. I sat at the kitchen table to read an article for work and he curled underneath my feet, fast asleep. I ate and he ate, but after dragged his nose all around his bowl, cleaning his area. Now we're going to knit and he'll probably curl up right on the yarn.

Family Has Nothing to do with Blood

Today I said goodbye to my Rwandan mother, Christine. It was the third time I saw her and she made a special stop at the WE-ACTx house bearing gifts on her way to night school. In Rwanda it is customary to offer your guest something to drink immediately. This typically ends in a Fanta request and man, Christine likes her orange Fanta! I ran next door to get her a "soda" (clearly there is not enough Midwestern influence here...) and when I came back, she was seated with a present, wrapped in beautiful flowered paper and a peach bow, sitting next to her.

For you, she says as she hands me the box. I smile, murakoze chani, as I unwrap the carefully wrapped gift. I've seen people on the sidewalk gift wrapping to earn money, in the market, as I walk through the streets. Shiny ribbons, hand looped bows, glittery paper. Gifts, no matter how big or small, always come expertly wrapped in Rwanda.

I open the box and pull out a handmade quilted purse. Something I would not pick out for myself, but truly, the perfect present. It's small made with a brown and tan patterned fabric. I love it, Christine! Murakoze chani! It's great! She pulls her purse onto her lap and struggles with a much larger gift. As she hands it to me, she says, for your mother, Christine too. This gift is wrapped with the same special touch. A pink and white bow in place of the peach one.

This all started a month ago when Dr. JMV was running late. Christine walked into the room and introduced herself. All I had to say was, Christine is my mother's name. We are forever family now. She was on holiday, but happened to stop into the clinic that Thursday to finish some paperwork. Christine is in charge of ordering ARVs for the clinic. That's the magic of Africa that I look forward to every day. Chance. Luck. As I reflect on my nearly two months in Rwanda, I think of all the things I've seen, and done, the people I've met, the moments that flash through my memory. Almost all, completely from pure dumb luck. The man on the bus to Nyungwe. Laughs in the kitchen, shared with Seraphine. Hiking through brambles looking for giraffes with James. Seeing the sunrise over the misty hills of Rwanda. Watching the children walk to school. Seeing the rainforest before the sun rose. Being punked by a monkey. Helping Candida with her English homework. Making biscuits with her. Hearing Alice's story on a bus ride to the mosque.

We spent nearly two hours sitting in a room together, speaking broken English and even more broken Kinyarwanda. She told me of her children, that she was a widow, also a student. When Dr. JMV finally arrived, she returned to her office and continued her work. Every time she entered the room, she held my hand or slapped my cheek. Hugs and kisses. Then I didn't see for a very long time.

I asked about Dr. JMV after she hadn't returned to work. The words flowed so nonchalantly. Her family was killed in the genocide. She knew they died closed to her home. She was digging a new latrine for her house and finally found them, thirteen years later. Her family. The people she loved. Hacked up and thrown in a giant toilet. People with these stories are too common here. She took extra time off work to file paperwork with the government, have the bodies exhumed, and reburied in on of the many memorials spotting the country. Thirteen years later and the memorials are still left open. There are still fresh burials.

She began telling me about the day of St. Christine, July 24th. In Rwanda, a common first question is, what religion are you. She is catholic and as most catholics here, their saint namesake day is celebrated. That's what the extra gift is for.

This name connection has come up multiple times in the short while I've been here. Christine was not the first. I was looking at the shops in the craft market when my friends introduced me and the woman started hurriedly speaking excited French, hugging me and kissing me. Turns out her grandmother is also Melanie. She held my hand and showed me around her shop as she told all her friends about me. We are family she said as she hugged and kissed me for the final time. Um, nice to meet you too.

I now have a Rwandan mother, brother, and another family member...granddaughter? When you are called family, you are. Its that simple. You are welcome in their home. You are loved. What if we loved each other simply for sharing a name? What if at home we welcomed people into our lives simply for a coincidence? What if, we truly loved others, strangers, for no good reason? Love is a powerful thing.

The Best Plan Ever Hatched in the History of Plans...

Dad-
I need you to read this aloud to Mom. She already knows most of the story, but this is the true version of events in its entirety. Needless to say, when I describe certain things, you should lie, but act natural, and tell her something totally harmless so it doesn't seem like this was the dumbest thing I've ever done. (It was totally freakin' awesome and the coolest weekend I've ever had in truth.) If you don't help me with this one I'll end up with a series of never ending Mom lectures. Then I will file court papers to disown you. Think wisely and choose carefully my friend...
Love,
Mel

This all started with reading. I remember teachers, early in my life telling me how great ideas come from reading. Well, really bad ideas come from reading too and certainly, really risky ideas. And I love to read...and my mom says I'm often lacking in "better judgment/common sense". I was looking through the Rwanda guide book at the house and noticed that Rwanda happens to have the largest mountain rain forest in all of Africa. I'm in Rwanda. I've always wanted to see a rainforest. Hmm...

Friday morning I'm up and out the door at 5:30 with a backpack full of over overnight/rain forest essentials and trudge my way to the bus stop. That's right. Getting on the bus (well the first bus was sold out) for a five hour bus ride (remember those minibuses I was talking about...) setting out on my first solo adventure. [Ok Dad, instead of five hours away from Kigali, you say "45 minutes, in fact you can still see the city. Actually, it was right down the street from the American Embassy. And replace solo adventure with "group organized mediocre events". ]

On the road to Nyungwe National Forest, I hit a bit of a snag as I realize I will need to buy my return ticket in Cyangugu, an hour past my destination of Gisakuru Tea Estates. Travel between Cyangugu and Gisakuru is extremely limited, but lucky me, I'm sitting next to this awesome guy that has the bright idea to telephone the bus company in Cyangugu and have them bring me my return ticket as a bus departing from there passes our bus on it's way in. Great! Problem #1 solved. The other bus passed us up and our bus driver honked madly, waving his arms so fast, they might fly off, then got out of the bus and chased the other bus down. More trouble than I thought it would be, but I got my ticket and thanked the driver.

We also got pulled over by the Rwandan police and had our bus searched. [Again, Dad, you read, nothing eventful happened for the remainder of the ride.] This is actually pretty standard police procedure, seeing as most police are stationed as human road blocks, no cars, and pull people over to check their license and registration. Something wasn't right with the tags from the bus company, so our driver got a ticket. The man next to me said a ticket can cost about $100 USD and a driver is lucky to make $200 USD in a year. The Rwandan government is very good at math, and punishments.

Eventually I make it to the tea estates and walk into the parking lot of the lodge/ORTPN office. I was greeted by a few rangers who took me to the guest house to check in. I meet the man in charge of the inn and am informed they are completely booked. Uh, ok. After a few minutes he comes back to tell me there is an opening because a primate safari group didn't show up, but of course it was the most expensive room.

I moved my stuff in and returned to the office to set up my adventure for the next day. What are you planning to do today? Uh...what can I do today?

Twenty minutes later I'm walking down the main road on my way to a nearby tea estate to go looking for Colobus monkeys in a fragment forest. The whole trip took about four hours and of course, we didn't see the monkeys along the outside of the forest, so the guide decided to take me down a tiny trail into the middle of the forest. After walking down one side, up the other, around the back, down again, and halfway back up we finally spotted a group of them. They were unbelievably difficult to see at first because these monkeys are nearly all black and were hiding in an overgrown bush that was much taller than I am, with branches that hung to the ground. The shadows made it nearly impossible to find them. At first you only see one, then one more, then twenty, thirty. There were a few young ones in the bunch and I watched them for over an hour, jump fearlessly from tree to tree. Right over my head. One monkey came within three feet of me, walking out onto a branch and sat checking me out while he ate. He kept sticking his head out towards me and sniffing. I assure you it's because I smelled good.

After a while they moved on and my guide was off. Racing to keep up, I almost plowed right into the back of him as he stopped and looked into the tree tops. My gaze followed his and I watched as the troupe jumped from one branch to the next like the long jump skiers in the olympics. Arms back, head first. I heard a strange sound around me and thought the overcast sky and started to rain down. Nope, monkey pee as my guide stated so nonchalantly. Great. After walking back out of the forest, I checked myself and my bag...no pee so I'm ready to get back to the guest house.

One the way home we passed a school as the kids were getting out. After walking for a bit, I turned around to see who was making all the noise behind me. Twenty kids were following me. My guide told me they were arguing and daring each other to talk to me. So I said hello to them, Muraho. Amakuru? Twenty little voices yell Ni meza! and we all laugh. They followed me all the way back to the ORTPN office and stand at the driveway entrance waiving at me until the park rangers shooed them away.

I ate dinner. The best cream of something soup I've ever had! I climbed into bed exhausted and listened to an episode of Wait! Wait! Don't Tell Me! until I fell asleep...it'll be an early start the next morning.

4th of July means something very different here

The fourth of July is a day celebrated as one of the few national holidays in Rwanda. No fireworks, no BBQs. We all woke up very early and left the house around 7 am to hike the half hour to the bus stop. The buses were so crowded the five of us had to split up and we arrived a short time later at Amohoro Stadium for the day's festivities. We arrived along with the rest of Rwanda. To celebrate Liberation Day. The day the RPF took over Kigali, which led to the end of the genocide.

The sidewalks and streets were so covered with people we had a hard time finding a place to walk. The group I was with entered the stadium area and were faced with a mob scene, that rivaled Navy Pier on New Year's Eve for the turn of the Century. We walked from line to line looking for a place to enter and finally settled into a mob of people. The women were taken into their own line so we were all pushed to the front for our standard Rwandan pat downs. This security check would certainly have ended up with plenty of lawsuits if done in the U.S. Every person that entered, even children were patted down and all bags were searched before anyone was allowed to enter.

After about an hour of walking around to find an entrance, a line, and finally making our way to seats, we were inside and ready to watch the show around 8:30. The stadium hasn't been renovated since, I'm guessing the early '70s, judging by the decor. We sat on concreted slabs in the cheap seats section. The festivities didn't get started until around 10:30 when a tiny marching band entered the stadium.

This band was followed by the largest military showing I've ever seen in one place. This was the theme of the day. Liberation Day was about one thing and one thing only...step out of line again and the army will get you. The presidential marching band entered dressed all in blue. The people in the crowd cheered and rose to their feet as Paul Kagame entered. The RPF leader, the hero himself. Now, thirteen years later, the president of Rwanda enters the stadium to watch was turns out to be a military show.

After my time in Rwanda, I've begun to assume the national slogan is "Never again". Personally, being in the presence of enough firearms to level the state of California is more than a little chilling, but not so for Rwandans, the survivors. Members of the military lined the track in block formations while groups of four to ten soldiers displayed their hand to hand combat skills in staged battles. At one point three blocks of soldiers marched forward and put on a coordinated performance of a karate kada I had actually learned for green belt. The statium shook with their movements and their voices echoed in the silence. It was chilling.

The games continued with targets set up in the middle of the field. Soldiers came forward to demonstrate their weaponry skills beginning with knives and ending with machettes. The same weapon, thirteen years ago, that was used to lop off arms, legs, heads...no one seemed to notice the connection. The crowd cheered each hit and laughed at every miss.

The final event was by far my favorite. It very much depicted the situation of the genocide, with an alternate ending. It began with camouflaged soldiers pretending to be hidden. A man and a woman, nicely dressed, carrying a briefcase and purse respectively, walked into the area where the other men were hidden. They were jumped. Both the man and woman threw their belongings to the ground and dove right in to fighting with the attackers. At one point I sat there with my mouth hanging open watching a woman in high heeled shoes run up the side of a soldier, kick him in the face (not connect though) and hang, suspended vertical in the air at his face level. This was an unbelievable show of amazing skill and the entire stadium erupted as the two, seemingly ordinary Rwandan citizens walked off the field victorious. Never again.

The military acts were followed by traditional Rwandan dancers and singers, but they were performing with their backs to the crowd, facing instead, the president. The speeches and songs were difficult to hear because the stadium had some reverb problems and the acoustics were terrible.

After the formal celebration, there were to be two soccer games: the business men vs. some other old guy team and the match of the day: ATRACO, the city transportation system vs. the military, Paul Kagame's team. Margot and I peaced out before the games began because it was hot and we weren't really in the mood for soccer. Walking out of the stadium in the mob of people I thought a lot about the day. The message.

People here are still very much afraid, suffering from '94. The promises found in the Geneva Conventions were sadly,not found in Rwanda for the 100 days of extreme violence. The people are put somewhat at ease today by knowing that the leader of the RPF, the man responsible for leading the rebels to victory and thus ending the genocide, is in charge of Rwanda and it's armed forces. Many people I've worked with have commented often over the past month that Rwanda is an incredibly safe country, undoubtedly, the safest country in Africa. It is impossible to walk to the clinic and see under ten men with guns standing at various buildings or patrolling the streets. While their presence doesn't end the flashbacks of the WE-ACTx house cook, nor the stigma faced by the HIV+ receptionist at WE-ACTx, who by the way fought in the RPF and acted as a front line nurse, it gives citizens a sense of security that lets them know, with or without the support of the rest of the world, Rwanda will not let the genocide in. Never again.