Tuesday, February 1, 2011

ZAZA

ZAZA

Last Wednesday after finishing up ten days of training in Kigali with our lovely and diverse group of new vols  I was collected by Damien, the principal of  TTC Zaza, in the school pickup and we were finally off to Zaza. About halfway here the road becomes unpaved packed red dirt and it winds through one little village after another.  We passed through several beautiful, lush little valleys with patchwork hand-cultivated plots and eventually climbed into the hills.  Most of the people are subsistence farmers growing bananas, pineapples, corn, sorghum, peanuts, potatoes, cassava, etc.    A hand lettered sign on a bridge we crossed said "Attention Because the Bridge is Broken".  Fortunately not so broken that we got wet. 
I was quite excited to get to my house and see where I'll be living for the next while.  It was obvious that much had been done recently to fix it up, and in fact work is ongoing.  Yesterday I arrived home in the dark to discover that there was a large iron gate with a "person door" in it, where before I had been quite exposed to everyone passing by on the road, and had been starting to feel like a public curiosity.   There are 4 rooms, and a shower and toilet each in separate rooms that you have to go out the back door to get to, though they are part of the house.  The shower is cold only, but to have one at all is a great luxury.  And the toilet is a real toilet, not a hole in the floor, so I really do feel lucky.  I'm sure you are all happy that I have chosen to share this information with you.
Water comes from a standpipe in the yard so I have buckets and washbasins and jerrycans because supply is intermittent and unpredictable and to make it drinkable involves a large water filter somewhat resembling a church supper coffee urn.  There's no kitchen but when the workmen get their stuff out of another little exterior room I think I'll set it up for cooking.  There is no sink, and for the moment I cook on an electric hotplate. I'm planning to get a charcoal stove or maybe kerosene because the electricity also can be unreliable.   Lately I find myself dreaming about refrigerators.  It is almost impossible to keep anything fresh, and the nearest market is only on Thursday.  Also, the nuns up the road keep cows and will sell milk, which would be lovely but only if I could keep it cold.  Zaza itself has no shops selling food.  It's time to start digging up the yard and planting a few veggies.
The yard is mainly bare at the moment but there is a small flower garden and several banana trees, two with bunches of green ones not yet ready to pick.  In front is a huge avocado tree which has lots of fruit on it and my neighbour Jean Baptiste tells me he'll send his house boy over in about two weeks to climb up and bring them down.  Also there is a mango tree with no visible sign of mangoes at the moment.
I can see two little gekkos, positioned right at the small holes in the screen, waiting for mosquitoes.  They're the closest thing I have to pets, and though they do not sleep on the end of my bed they are endearing in their own way.  The tiny babies are especially sweet.
The village of Zaza is on a hilltop and looks out over lovely green valleys and a couple of lakes in the near distance.  The weekly market is in the the next village of Karembo.  To get there you walk through some forested land and  smallholdings, little wattle and daub houses, peanuts drying on the ground, little kids staring, adults staring, young men with enormous loads of pineapples or bananas on bicycles, women carrying produce on their heads,  everyone going to market.  In the forest were several pairs of men making lumber by the old pit saw method, using only a crosscut saw. 
Just down the road there is a tree full of weaver bird nests and yesterday they were all fluttering around the nest openings, doing what I am not sure, but they are bright yellow and black and it was a beautiful sight…noisy, too.  At night there are lots of small bats, also eating mosquitoes, I presume. 
People are incredibly hospitable here,  stopping on the road to just greet me and ask where I am going.  This I am  able to do in Kinyarwanda  which often just cracks them up.   I went for a walk the other  evening in the gentle coolness and nearly everyone was either walking or on a bicycle, some were herding their cows home for the night, and everyone was wishing each other a good evening. 
Around 5 a.m. yesterday I could hear a guy coming up the road beating a drum and then yelling out something, then he'd get a little closer and repeat it.  I thought maybe he did that every day to wake the village up, but I asked someone who said that's how information is given out to the community, and sure enough yesterday afternoon there was a village meeting. 
 Yesterday was a special celebration of TTC Zaza'a patron Saint, John Bosco.  My attendance was requested so I dutifully stuffed myself into my very smart Rwandan dress and headed off, first to mass at ten, then lunch in the school, followed by what could best be described as an endurance test.  There were speeches (many, all in Kinyarwanda)  skits, song and dance until after six in the evening.  Have I also mentioned, it was hot?  The dancing made it all worthwhile, though.  Traditional Rwandan dance is absolutely beautiful and elegant and the students who danced are remarkable.  I have also been welcomed very warmly by the staff at school and am looking forward to getting better acquainted as I begin to work with them.
Sunday was an adventure day, traveling by moto most of the way to Nyamata to visit another newly installed vol.  We walked over to the Nyamata genocide memorial, a church where thousands were killed as they sought protection. There are simply no words for it, other than the often quoted "never again". 
The guy with the drum was by again around 5 a.m. today to inform the community that it is a national holiday, Heroes Day.  Dennis and Stella, bird-watching vols from Australia living in Kibungo, are planning to come by to visit today.  I'm afraid my reputation as a hostess will not get off to a very good start…all I could get yesterday was a pineapple and a cabbage….a somewhat challenging menu concept! 
All the best to everyone reading this.  Please feel free to share it with anyone you think might care to read it.
Til next time
 

7 comments:

  1. dear Jen,
    i was delighted to find Daphne had posted a link to your blog... how wonderful to be able to follow your journey in Rwanda.

    ps... if anyone can make a meal of cabbage and pineapple, it's you.

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  2. \It seems as though i'm having issues with the actual posting of comments, here I am trying to say something cool and intellectual, and the webpage just deletes it! Grr.
    At any rate, it seems to be working now so know that i can't stop thinking of you. - Jen

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  3. Hi Jennifer. I am so interested to hear of your adventures, and proud of you for putting yourself out into the world, as you are. I sent invitations out to some folks to look at the stories you share. It helps us to learn about things in the world. I will attend a reggae music festival here in California this "president's day" long weekend. Reggae music reminds us of rastafarians, who remind us of the belief that we humans are all connected to Mother Africa. The human experience is complex, but also simple. Let love rule,-I and I will be free.

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  4. Hi Jennifer - I've finally read both of your posts from Rwanda - I hope you keep them coming - I love reading about your experiences and look forward to reading more. Have you started school? How are your students? Details! Details! What is your access to the internet? Do you have a camera with you?
    By the way, there's a ConnChords reunion at the college on April 17th! I'm thinking about it. Margaret

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  5. Wow - your adventure continues. We have read and re-read your entries. Thank you for sharing this experience with us. We miss you and think of you often. Hugs and take care

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