Evan and I greeted our visitors in town Friday evening at the oddly named Nelson Mandela Bar (everyone seemed to be Rwandese save for us, no South Africans in sight) directly adjacent to the taxi-bus park, and we strolled downhill to Nyagatare’s main strip. Past the Umwembe Supermarket and the tall Bank of Kigali building sits City Centre Restaurant. City Centre has quickly become our preferred dining establishment because it’s cheap, filling, and regularly has the best flavor. It also serves the best mug of African tea in town. A mounded plate of mixed food, including rice, fried potatoes, a bowl of smooth tomato soup with stewed beef, and a random mixture of beans, cabbage, green beans, carrots, mashed green bananas, ugali, boiled white sweet potato, and spaghetti, plus African tea comes to 900 RWF – roughly $1.60.
After a filling dinner we returned to the Nelson Mandela Bar for a few drinks and some stimulating conversation (which is almost always in short supply with our colleagues and students). We then sped through town and up the hill to school on motorcycle taxis, much to the delight of our colleagues. After some more stimulating conversation and (polite!) disagreement, we retired. I was exhausted from the week, Friday especially, Evan was tired from preparing the house all day, and our fellow volunteers needed to recover from a marathon trip out of Kigali northwards to Nyagatare.
Most of us woke at the crack of dawn because early mornings for school united with a bright equatorial sun rising promptly at 5:30AM daily and a full orchestra of bugs, birds, cows, and small children fetching water from our enormous rain barrel adjacent to the house. We lounged around the house before scarfing down some hot tea and corn cakes with blueberry jam and waxy cheese. Then we set off for town under modestly threatening clouds and the lightest of sprinkles. We walked with a bounce in our step, glad for the company and the beautiful scenery. Within five minutes it became abundantly clear that the rain was just arriving, and before we could make a decision to return or continue, the heavens opened and drenched us.
Now, four white foreigners traipsing through Nyagatare is already a sight in and of itself (more like a sighting, but I won’t go there). Four white foreigners walking to town in soaking wet clothes clinging to our pale bodies and long matted wet hair was an out-of-body experience for many of our neighbors. The twilight zone come to Eastern Province. They obviously thought we were crazy, but we couldn’t have cared less. It felt right, no glorious, to let the heavy, slanting rain douse us thoroughly all the way to town.
It slackened slightly as we approached town, and many Rwandese began to hurriedly seek shelter in more desirable locations. Children screamed excitedly as we past, including a toddler with a spot-on Mr. T personage: cut-off t-shirt, high cut Mohawk, and a large hoop earring in each ear (tragically they were silver, not gold). Adults simply stared incredulously, occasionally blinking furiously to adjust their eyes. No, they were not dreaming. We did, in fact, on the sixth of March, 2010 march through sheets of heavy rain for more than four kilometers on our way to Nyagatare proper.
Following a brief jaunt to the Bank of Kigali for a replenishment of funds and an unsuccessful side trip to an overly expensive restaurant, we enjoyed another scrumptious meal at City Centre and just the right amount of body-warming African tea. Then we hustled into the still thick rain to the supermarket for a bit of shopping. However, the supermarket was but a short respite, and we faced an unenviable decision: remain soaking wet for at least another hour as we walked home in the rain; or, brave a couple of motos two-by-two back up to school. We chose the motos.
Looking back, we probably made a silly decision, but we were soaked to the bone, shivering, and I for one could not stomach a tedious uphill slog through thick, oozing red clay mud. Our moto drivers hustled us on board, me sandwiched between him and Evan, who was clinging perilously to the very back edge of the seat and miniscule seat rack. I managed to wack my kneecap painfully on the seat rack as I climbed aboard, nearly dismounting the driver and tipping his bike into a mire of mud and garbage. Evan donned my heavily laden backpack and dangled his legs uncomfortably off the side of the moto as we scooted off the curb. As we pulled away from town, the moto driver unskillfully navigated a series of water filled potholes and our eyes stung from the rain drops pelting our faces.
Down the rutted dirt road pockmarked with lurking, cloudy puddles we zipped past carpenters' workshops and a half-built open-sided church. Church-goers sheltering from the rain and reveling in a mid-afternoon concert were interrupted by the impromptu shout of Abazungu! from the loudspeakers. Geez, we can't escape it! Splashing through puddles was also unavoidable, and very soon our lower bodies were caked in a layer of watery mud and reconstituted cow patties. The rain continued to pour on us all the way home, Evan’s position became increasingly excruciating as his tail bone rested on a hard metal rack, and my knee throbbed mercilessly. Thankfully, and most importantly, we all arrived home in one piece.
We towel dried vigorously, donned dry clothes, and piled onto a mattress on our living room floor to watch a movie and wait the rain out. As dusk approached the rain cleared and magnificent rays of sunshine beamed from behind heavy clouds hugging the high Ugandan mountains to the north and northwest. We made our way down to the Akagera River, which flanks Nyagatare before flowing into Akagera National Park to the east. In the early evening monkeys are supposed to mingle in the tall, flat-topped trees lining the muddy river, and we hoped to give our guests a view of the local wildlife (well some of it anyway, crocodiles are also not completely unheard of in the Akagera...we decided to live dangerously).
The river had overrun its banks, bleeding out into the cow path leading downhill from school. We cautiously picked our way through and around massive puddles and stood on high ground next to the river. Directly across from our resting spot, a single, solitary monkey sat quietly in a high branch, apparently unconcerned about our presence across the unnaturally broad river. After watching for several minutes, the monkey suddenly bolted and darkness began to creep in over the hills. We quickly climbed back to school, making sure to scrub our lower legs clean with anti-bacterial soap (infections are a terrible thing to get here and can be even harder to kick). We had a delicious dinner – spaghetti with olive oil, garlic, and basil – before more movies and early retirement.
It’s amazing how energizing a little crazy fun, interesting conversation, and more than enough good humor can be. I felt ready to tackle another monster week and glad to have enjoyed the good company of my fellow volunteers. If only we could sing in the rain every weekend.
Cheers, Zach.
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