http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/23/world/23nation.html
When to Step In to Stop War Crimes Causes Fissures
By NEIL MacFARQUHAR
UNITED NATIONS — On the face of it, a commitment by all United Nations member states to reach an understanding on how the world body should intervene to stop genocide, war crimes, crimes against humanity and ethnic cleansing would not seem like a major stretch.
But the debate scheduled in the General Assembly for Thursday over the concept, known as “the responsibility to protect,” is producing rancor before it even begins. So much, in fact, that instead of figuring out how to enforce the doctrine, the General Assembly could end up debating the policy’s validity all over again, even though about 150 world leaders already endorsed it in 2005.
Ban Ki-moon, the secretary general, tried to set the tone with a speech on Tuesday. Citing his visits to the memorials for 800,000 dead in Rwanda, Mr. Ban said the United Nations had the unique ability to save lives by intervening to stop mass civilian deaths.
“It is high time to turn the promise of the responsibility to protect into practice,” Mr. Ban said, warning against those seeking to reopen the entire debate. “Resist those who try to change the subject or turn our common effort to curb the worst atrocities in human history into a struggle over ideology, geography or economics,” Mr. Ban added. “What do they offer to the victims of mass violence? Rancor instead of substance, rhetoric instead of policy, despair instead of hope.”
Mr. Ban may not have singled anyone out, but it seemed a not-so-subtle reference to the Rev. Miguel D’Escoto Brockmann, the Nicaraguan president of the General Assembly and a Catholic priest, who issued a position paper last week that created an uproar.
His “Concept Note” suggested that responsibility to protect was redecorated colonialism, and that the true means to eliminate genocide and similar scourges included world financial reform, Security Council reform and drawing a lesson from Jesus.
“Jesus’ emphasis on redistribution of wealth to the poor and on nonviolence reinforces the right perspective on responsibility to protect,” his note said.
Father D’Escoto scheduled a panel discussion before the General Assembly debate featuring speakers like Noam Chomsky, the American academic whose critique of “humanitarian imperialism” discussed the doctrine. Much of the opposition to the doctrine on Thursday is expected to come from traditional opponents of American foreign policy like Cuba, Venezuela and Iran.
While Father D’Escoto has supporters, many delegations reacted with the usual combination of outrage and derision that Father D’Escoto, a former Sandinista foreign minister, has a habit of provoking. The ambassador of one Latin American state said it was shocking that a priest was putting ideological and political visions ahead of human suffering. Peter Maurer, the Swiss ambassador, put it more bluntly, saying, “A priest should know that certain things are better kept to your heart.”
Father D’Escoto’s spokesman, Enrique Yeves, said the president was being unfairly criticized. “The only thing he is doing is calling for a debate on this issue, which is very pertinent,” Mr. Yeves said.
Even without the General Assembly president, the topic — shortened in United Nations-speak to “R2P” — was a hard-fought one. Many developing countries harbor suspicions that the doctrine is merely a Trojan horse for foreign meddling in their domestic affairs. Attempts to slap the label on various crises only deepened those suspicions. As prime minister of Britain, Tony Blair briefly used it as retroactive justification for invading Iraq. France tried to deploy it as the prescription for forcibly delivering aid to Cyclone Nargis victims in Myanmar in 2008. Russia cited it as its tanks rolled into South Ossetia last summer.
Edward C. Luck, whom Mr. Ban appointed his special adviser on the topic but the General Assembly refused to pay, wrote a report this year that divided the concept into three pillars: that all states must protect their populations from atrocities; that the United Nations and other institutions can help countries failing in this duty; and that the international community must react in a series of steps when a large number of civilians are at risk, with military intervention the final response. The fight swirls around that last point, when military intervention might be justified and whether that can be codified into law. “The problem with all of this is the one-dimensional perception that R2P is only about military coercion,” said Gareth Evans, a former Australian foreign minister.
Delegates from African organizations have come to argue that R2P is not just a Western tool. Other proponents hope the debate will inch the discussion toward practical steps on how R2P can be made operational. But some worry that the more it is debated, the less consensus will emerge.
The Bush administration disliked the doctrine on the ground that it might tie American hands in foreign policy decisions, but President Obama basically supports it.
Susan Rice, the American ambassador to the United Nations, often speaks about how the failure to intercede in Rwanda while she was a top Clinton administration official in Africa is a low point in American foreign policy and her personal career. In a speech last month in Vienna, Ms. Rice acknowledged that the doctrine had been abused in conflicts like Iraq, but argued for the responsibility “to respond to the worst outrages.”
“We know there will be more perpetrators,” she said. “We know there will be more victims. But we must work to ensure that there will also be more justice and fewer and fewer bystanders.”
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Know a True Patriot?
July 4, 2009 - American Independence Day and Rwandan Liberation Day
For clarification, Rwandan Liberation Day need not be confused with Rwandan Independence Day (July 1st). Liberation Day marks the end of the 1994 genocide. According to a some of my co-workers, now it is also celebrated/remembered as a continuing unified struggle for wealth creation, health, greater political strength through unity and reconciliation, etc. Therefore, it was a day of wide celebration in Rwanda - everyone could find cause to celebrate somehow.
For me, it was somewhat of a strange day - one of my nation's greatest holidays celebrated in a foreign country at the US embassy with the largest single crowd of muzungus I have seen in a long while (excluding perhaps Quita Izina). While this could perhaps be said of 4th of July celebrations in general, the embassy event made the forced sense of patriotism seem more cheesy. I was far less intoxicated by the whole environment than I ordinarily am. I am not sure whether that is a result of generally impatience with such (generally) insincere gestures, environmental factors (both recent and academic) making me think more critically about America, or something else entirely. I certainly would not call myself anti-America, but I am also not "Woo , yay USA! We're the best!"
Having been here for some time, I actually knew a fair number of people at the event, which was refreshing, as opposed to being a newcomer and stranger. Also, the sight of the Tennessee flag brought an unexpectedly high amount of joy. I actually shouted with glee - all my friends thought I was mental - but I guess I was just happy to have a tangible reminder of home. To people here, Tennessee is such an obscure place. Where is Tennessee? Memphis? Elvis does not even ring any bells. I feel like an alien sometimes. Therefore, seeing my flag proudly waving on the embassy's lawn somehow was a justification of the legitimacy and significance of my roots. Strange but true. I felt more homesick looking at the flag than I think I had the entire trip.
However, some reminders of America were not so pleasant. At the bar (not free), one woman, probably mid-fifties, was trying to get the marine/bartender's attention - he was Latino. She tapped her hand on the bar a few times and said, "Mi amigo favorito," and ten turned to me and said "He can't even hear me," when he had not responded to her. I thought to myself (though probably should have said), "No, he is just ignoring you on account of your ignorant and derogatory remark."
The ambassador made an appearance, looking the very most textbook definition of a politician: kind of tan, greased-back hair, great smile, somewhat pudgey, etc. He read a speech no doubt published to all embassies or something of the sort. It was intended to be inspirational and "Oh the great American spirit," but it was just blah cheesy (which I guessI should expect and not concern myself with), particularly because he read it and more particularly considering the overly dramatic way in which he read it.
Noting all of the above, I am glad I went to the event and somehow celebrated the 4th in Rwanda. It was a very interesting experience to have catalogued in this life.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Crimson Tide Comrade
My "partner in crime" Sarah Stern arrived in town to spend her last weekend in Rwanda in Kigali with me. Of course we spent the time doing her favorite things in our favorite places and had a fabulous time in the process. A few interesting things to note during her visit:
- Moto rides from hell - Generally speaking, I have become very comfortable with the motos (motorcycle taxis) and enjoy them frequently as a means of transportation; however, Sarah and I had two particularly negative experiences.
1) I have seen motos zip in and out of traffic, zooming by with little regard to present cars, but I have never personally experienced such a horror...until now. I really thought I was going to die but was unsure of the best way to handle the situation. Tapping or yelling at the driver may distract him and cause him to wreck, so I simply occasionally screamed an expletive that carried no meaning to the driver but brought me some relief until the ride concluded.
2) On the way home from the Neon Lounge - as we call it - at about 11 p.m., it was very chilly and sprinkling. Neither Sarah nor I had jackets. My moto driver did not even provide me a helmet. Therefore, by the time I arrived at the house, my clothes were soaked, I was thoroughly shivering, and I had been "crying" on myself all the way home on account of the cold wind on my face.
- One of Sarah's final responsibilities at Sonrise School was leading a "girls' talk" about relationships with the secondary school girls. She was nervous about doing so, since apparently rumors had been circulating about the school that she was pregnant (her stomach was somewhat distended as a result of an infection or something). But Sarah told me the talk was quite a success, with the girls appreciating any sort of emotional guidance. Many are orphans, and the others rarely see their parents. They asked simple, reasonable questions:
Is kissing a sin? Is my boyfriend cheating on me? How do I know if I am being unreasonably jealous?
It was endearing to hear such sincere, honest questions yet frustrating that they had no model to already have taught them about relationships.
- Here, as in Ghana, begging is frowned upon. Yet, I have encountered it much more frequently here, though perhaps only because of the places and ways that I travel (spending much time downtown and walking frequently). During the day but especially at night, children and the disabled come out and patrol the sidewalk asking people for money. I have become completely callous to this now, ignoring their efforts or firming telling them, "No," without the slightest pause or guilt. No Rwandan seems to take pity on them (President Kagame certainly does not). Instead, they are working in some way to provide for themselves. Why should I feed an insatiable appetite?
- According to Sarah, connection to Bishop John Rucyahana provides a cloack of protection - regardless of the distance of the connection. According to locals, her affiliation with Sonrise prevented anyone from considering robbing the B2R house, cheating her in bargaining, etc. Bishop John is that revered and respected as both a community and national leader. People think it would shame them and their families to wrong Bishop John and those connected to him. It is interesting to note the degree of admiration for this man's work, altering behavior so clearly to reflect such.
1) I have seen motos zip in and out of traffic, zooming by with little regard to present cars, but I have never personally experienced such a horror...until now. I really thought I was going to die but was unsure of the best way to handle the situation. Tapping or yelling at the driver may distract him and cause him to wreck, so I simply occasionally screamed an expletive that carried no meaning to the driver but brought me some relief until the ride concluded.
2) On the way home from the Neon Lounge - as we call it - at about 11 p.m., it was very chilly and sprinkling. Neither Sarah nor I had jackets. My moto driver did not even provide me a helmet. Therefore, by the time I arrived at the house, my clothes were soaked, I was thoroughly shivering, and I had been "crying" on myself all the way home on account of the cold wind on my face.
- One of Sarah's final responsibilities at Sonrise School was leading a "girls' talk" about relationships with the secondary school girls. She was nervous about doing so, since apparently rumors had been circulating about the school that she was pregnant (her stomach was somewhat distended as a result of an infection or something). But Sarah told me the talk was quite a success, with the girls appreciating any sort of emotional guidance. Many are orphans, and the others rarely see their parents. They asked simple, reasonable questions:
Is kissing a sin? Is my boyfriend cheating on me? How do I know if I am being unreasonably jealous?
It was endearing to hear such sincere, honest questions yet frustrating that they had no model to already have taught them about relationships.
- Here, as in Ghana, begging is frowned upon. Yet, I have encountered it much more frequently here, though perhaps only because of the places and ways that I travel (spending much time downtown and walking frequently). During the day but especially at night, children and the disabled come out and patrol the sidewalk asking people for money. I have become completely callous to this now, ignoring their efforts or firming telling them, "No," without the slightest pause or guilt. No Rwandan seems to take pity on them (President Kagame certainly does not). Instead, they are working in some way to provide for themselves. Why should I feed an insatiable appetite?
- According to Sarah, connection to Bishop John Rucyahana provides a cloack of protection - regardless of the distance of the connection. According to locals, her affiliation with Sonrise prevented anyone from considering robbing the B2R house, cheating her in bargaining, etc. Bishop John is that revered and respected as both a community and national leader. People think it would shame them and their families to wrong Bishop John and those connected to him. It is interesting to note the degree of admiration for this man's work, altering behavior so clearly to reflect such.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Briefing on Venezuela
Venezuela tells oil workers: join socialist groups
http://www.reuters.com/article/worldNews/idUSTRE56D7ER20090714
Chavez opponents to meet with OAS chief
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5iVJIehVY5iuGJq_RpSoqYgyIh1DQD99DUCNO0
http://www.reuters.com/article/worldNews/idUSTRE56D7ER20090714
Chavez opponents to meet with OAS chief
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5iVJIehVY5iuGJq_RpSoqYgyIh1DQD99DUCNO0
Monday, July 13, 2009
a little milk
So many of you who actually read this with some diligence and attention have asked me about my new blog site name - as opposed to the very original jaclyn714barnhart name. Allow me to explain.
1. Here in Rwanda, as I would imagine elsewhere in the developing world, milk is common enough, but anything other than whole milk is a rare commodity. While some of you out there enjoy this almost straight-from-the-animal fluid, I am not among you. I prefer skim milk. In truth, I am not much of a milk fan - I was allergic to milk when I was born. But in Rwanda, there are various things with milk in them that I thoroughly enjoy, such as African tea: tea (generally Rwandan black tea) milk, ginger, perhaps a bit of nutmeg, and a lot of deliciousness. So I have been consuming a ton of whole milk in my tea and coffee, not to the pleasure of my stomach of waistline.
2. This second reason requires a bit of foundation. On one of my favorite television shows, there is a memorable conversation between a main character and her current boyfriend. They come from different cultures - she is American; he is Russian. She has just discovered that her bestfriend has been diagnosed with cancer, and he, trying to be empathetic, says his friend died of cancer. Obviously, he comes off like an insensitive jerk. They argue until they realize they are simply suffering from a communication barrier due to a cultural misunderstanding. She then says, "I guess I just need to take my relationship with a little milk," meaning sometimes you need something to soften the blows; otherwise the harshness and bitterness of it all may be a little too much.
Such an idea seemed very fitting for me (and for everyone). Life is hard. Sometimes at the end of the day, you feel tired and defeated and wonder why we're here and what your struggles are worth. You need a little milk to temper it all and let you know you can and it's worth it. So two questions - what's your milk, and what's its origin?
Milk can have a number of consistencies - from very light to heavy. For me, milk can be both an activity that makes me feel most like myself or an idea to fully support, regardless of the idealist nature of it. For example, in Rwanda some of the things that have highlighed my time here are milk things:
- attending the Rwanda Film Festival
- salsa dancing at Pasadena
- discovering that I deemed valuable at UOB, regardless of what I view my niche to be
The Rwanda Film Festival featured a number of engaging, provocative documentaries in a number of languages about a variety of topics. Often the filmmaker was present to answer questions afterwards. Those of you who know me well know I have no qualms about attending movies alone - and so I did. I resolutely wanted to watch these movies with or without company and had a great time alone. One of the films was about albinism in East Africa - What is albinism? How do others perceive albinos and their condition? Do albinos consider themselves disadvantaged or disabled? What do they consider their identity? It was fascinating. I met the filmmaker and bought the dvd - awesome souvenir.
Since I discovered Pasadena, I have made a deliberate effort to go salsa dancing every week. I have established myself there as a "really good dancer" regardless of my muzungu appearance. I dance as much as possible and love every minute of it, completely unaware of the damage I am doing to my feet. Not expecting such dance opportunities here (and packing under tight restrictions), I did not bring my dance shoes to Africa but was forced to buy some cheap though surprisingly cute shoes when the chance arose. They are not ideal by any means, but they are shoes. I can dance in them. Side note on shoe shopping here: Shoes are not available row after row. While the store may have a rather wide selection of models, they only have a few sizes available in each model. You may want a smaller size, but too bad. That's all they have.
At Pasadena, there is a small dance floor in the middle of a bar/restaurant which is illuminated with a few spotlights. Everyone in the restaurant sits around with their chairs directed toward the dance floor to watch the dancing. Ordinarily, I would be far too nervous to dance under these conditions, but I hadn't danced in over a month. And again, those of you who know me at all know that dancing is milk to me. A light milk, but milk in any form can impart significant changes on one's life. Dancing here is remarkable to me because I let go of my worries about what others may think of my dancing and of my technique to an extent - and simply have fun. I hope this continues upon my return. Of course I have my favorite partners - Crazy Jimmy from Congo and Cesar from Venezuela. Not only are they good leaders with awesome moves, but they also want you to have fun and are really into whatever they are doing.
Like a Barnhart, I enjoy being busy and knowing that what I am doing has a meaningful purpose. Therefore, I am happiest at UOB when I know this is the case. Regardless of whether what I am doing seems earth-shattering to me, I have realized the work I am doing is very meaningful to others at UOB who sincerely appreciate my efforts. That is perhaps cream.
But all these thoughts about my sources of milk got me thinking about hope in general? I would generally consider myself an optimist for better or worse. I was talking to Cesar, another optimist, the other night about the state of affairs in the world. We both decided that we prefer to be optimists, though much of the time we cannot account for why we are such. Why do I have hope? Perhaps it's only because I cannot imagine living without it. Life must have milk. Why question its bountiful production?
1. Here in Rwanda, as I would imagine elsewhere in the developing world, milk is common enough, but anything other than whole milk is a rare commodity. While some of you out there enjoy this almost straight-from-the-animal fluid, I am not among you. I prefer skim milk. In truth, I am not much of a milk fan - I was allergic to milk when I was born. But in Rwanda, there are various things with milk in them that I thoroughly enjoy, such as African tea: tea (generally Rwandan black tea) milk, ginger, perhaps a bit of nutmeg, and a lot of deliciousness. So I have been consuming a ton of whole milk in my tea and coffee, not to the pleasure of my stomach of waistline.
2. This second reason requires a bit of foundation. On one of my favorite television shows, there is a memorable conversation between a main character and her current boyfriend. They come from different cultures - she is American; he is Russian. She has just discovered that her bestfriend has been diagnosed with cancer, and he, trying to be empathetic, says his friend died of cancer. Obviously, he comes off like an insensitive jerk. They argue until they realize they are simply suffering from a communication barrier due to a cultural misunderstanding. She then says, "I guess I just need to take my relationship with a little milk," meaning sometimes you need something to soften the blows; otherwise the harshness and bitterness of it all may be a little too much.
Such an idea seemed very fitting for me (and for everyone). Life is hard. Sometimes at the end of the day, you feel tired and defeated and wonder why we're here and what your struggles are worth. You need a little milk to temper it all and let you know you can and it's worth it. So two questions - what's your milk, and what's its origin?
Milk can have a number of consistencies - from very light to heavy. For me, milk can be both an activity that makes me feel most like myself or an idea to fully support, regardless of the idealist nature of it. For example, in Rwanda some of the things that have highlighed my time here are milk things:
- attending the Rwanda Film Festival
- salsa dancing at Pasadena
- discovering that I deemed valuable at UOB, regardless of what I view my niche to be
The Rwanda Film Festival featured a number of engaging, provocative documentaries in a number of languages about a variety of topics. Often the filmmaker was present to answer questions afterwards. Those of you who know me well know I have no qualms about attending movies alone - and so I did. I resolutely wanted to watch these movies with or without company and had a great time alone. One of the films was about albinism in East Africa - What is albinism? How do others perceive albinos and their condition? Do albinos consider themselves disadvantaged or disabled? What do they consider their identity? It was fascinating. I met the filmmaker and bought the dvd - awesome souvenir.
Since I discovered Pasadena, I have made a deliberate effort to go salsa dancing every week. I have established myself there as a "really good dancer" regardless of my muzungu appearance. I dance as much as possible and love every minute of it, completely unaware of the damage I am doing to my feet. Not expecting such dance opportunities here (and packing under tight restrictions), I did not bring my dance shoes to Africa but was forced to buy some cheap though surprisingly cute shoes when the chance arose. They are not ideal by any means, but they are shoes. I can dance in them. Side note on shoe shopping here: Shoes are not available row after row. While the store may have a rather wide selection of models, they only have a few sizes available in each model. You may want a smaller size, but too bad. That's all they have.
At Pasadena, there is a small dance floor in the middle of a bar/restaurant which is illuminated with a few spotlights. Everyone in the restaurant sits around with their chairs directed toward the dance floor to watch the dancing. Ordinarily, I would be far too nervous to dance under these conditions, but I hadn't danced in over a month. And again, those of you who know me at all know that dancing is milk to me. A light milk, but milk in any form can impart significant changes on one's life. Dancing here is remarkable to me because I let go of my worries about what others may think of my dancing and of my technique to an extent - and simply have fun. I hope this continues upon my return. Of course I have my favorite partners - Crazy Jimmy from Congo and Cesar from Venezuela. Not only are they good leaders with awesome moves, but they also want you to have fun and are really into whatever they are doing.
Like a Barnhart, I enjoy being busy and knowing that what I am doing has a meaningful purpose. Therefore, I am happiest at UOB when I know this is the case. Regardless of whether what I am doing seems earth-shattering to me, I have realized the work I am doing is very meaningful to others at UOB who sincerely appreciate my efforts. That is perhaps cream.
But all these thoughts about my sources of milk got me thinking about hope in general? I would generally consider myself an optimist for better or worse. I was talking to Cesar, another optimist, the other night about the state of affairs in the world. We both decided that we prefer to be optimists, though much of the time we cannot account for why we are such. Why do I have hope? Perhaps it's only because I cannot imagine living without it. Life must have milk. Why question its bountiful production?
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you these urgent messages...
Sorry to break the flow of our Rwanda journal adventure, but I must relate this to you. I have regretted my sorry degree of news-awareness and thirst for news for some time and have sought to remedy this. In in effort to do so (and to appeal to my largely news-hungry audience), I posted a news-feed corresponding to some of my areas of interest. This has encouraged me to read up frequently - especially as work has been slow lately (that is something I will explain later). So, to the point. Please read the following stories - they are generally short but extremely interesting and thought-provoking.
UK plans new powers on genocide:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/politics/8139045.stm
Clashes in China shed light on ethnic divide:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/08/world/asia/08china.html?_r=1&ref=world
Team monitoring diamond trade rebukes Zimbabwe:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/08/world/africa/08zimbabwe.html?ref=world
Rwanda leader urges G8 to consult poor nations more:
http://af.reuters.com/article/topNews/idAFJOE5650G920090706
Bolivia: President denounces Obama over trade:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/02/world/americas/02briefs-boliviatrade.html?_r=2&ref=americas
Mull those over, and get back to me.
UK plans new powers on genocide:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/politics/8139045.stm
Clashes in China shed light on ethnic divide:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/08/world/asia/08china.html?_r=1&ref=world
Team monitoring diamond trade rebukes Zimbabwe:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/08/world/africa/08zimbabwe.html?ref=world
Rwanda leader urges G8 to consult poor nations more:
http://af.reuters.com/article/topNews/idAFJOE5650G920090706
Bolivia: President denounces Obama over trade:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/02/world/americas/02briefs-boliviatrade.html?_r=2&ref=americas
Mull those over, and get back to me.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Proudly Earned Stains
June 27, 2009 - Umuganda
Umuganda is mandatory, nation-wide community service that occurs once a month on the last Saturday of each month, starting at 8 a.m. Following the few hours of service, everyone listens to a lecture of sorts on the chosen theme of that month's umuganda (e.g. May's theme: customer care). Literally everyone (even the president) is required to participate - if you are caught out of your house not working, you can be fined or even jailed.
Umuganda is mandatory, nation-wide community service that occurs once a month on the last Saturday of each month, starting at 8 a.m. Following the few hours of service, everyone listens to a lecture of sorts on the chosen theme of that month's umuganda (e.g. May's theme: customer care). Literally everyone (even the president) is required to participate - if you are caught out of your house not working, you can be fined or even jailed.
World System Manifest at Quita Izina
Quita Izina - one of the largest, most star-studded celebrations in Rwanda. Quita Izina is the annual gorilla naming ceremony, with those distinguished with the honor of naming a gorilla generally having somehow contributed to conservation - donors, investors, advocates, etc. However, others unaffiliated with conservation, such as "Rwanda's Best Student - Primary and Secondary", can also be selected.
I was thrilled to be able to attend this event, having heard so much about it. Yet again, life seems to be about the connections you make, as I was able to go solely because I knew one of the organizers. She got our names on the list - I felt so posh, for better or worse.
Upon arriving at the event grounds, it became clear that this event celebrating Rwanda's gorillas, their conservation, and ultimately the benefits the gorilla tourism industry has had on the state had a primary audience - the well-to-do and influential - and a secondary audience - everyone else. These audiences were geographically segregated and received differing attention in entertainment and refreshment. The former sat beneath a white tent in chairs, were provided with a several complimentary breakfast options from local sponsors' booths, and were later provided with a complimentary lunch (including alcoholic beverages). On the other hand, the latter group stood in the sun, physically contained behind fences manned by police.
The ceremony was full of a variety performances -singing (including the von Trapps singing the national anthem), dancing, theatrics - most of which I thoroughly enjoyed (I recorded many clips with the flipcam I borrowed from Blayne Sharp). However, only one performer particularly played to the local crowd - a rapper who apparently is very famous here. A few of us muzungus even danced (generally awkwardly) to his bumpin' music.
Eventually, the awaited naming occurred. Those happy few made their way to the stage in their shining robes, introduced themselves, and explained their chosen name - perhaps in context of their particular gorilla. The selection of names was generally inspirational and all in Kinyarwanda, I think. I will upload video clips soon if possible.
Once lunch arrived, evryone made a mad dash for the lunch tent, skipping and pushing to be nearest the buffet line. I found the distant end of the line, which proceeded to remain at an absolute standstill for probably 20 minutes. Many people skipped me, a young, unimposing musungu girl, but I was hesitant to say anything about this on account of my relative social position and the message my doing so might send - not only on my behalf but Americans' and muzungus' more generally.
The man behind me, a student, persistently though (I believe) inadvertently bumped into me, alerting me to my unknown personal boundary sensitivity. I tried to find a balance between leaving a bit of space between the person in front of me and myself and conveying my resolve in not being skipped further. Eventually, the student behind me leaned forward and asked me, "Do you talk?" and we, along with some of his fellow students, struck up a conversation. They suggested I skip to the front of the line, but I was very uneasy about this recommendation. I told them that I did not appreciate being skipped, so why would I do that to all these poeple who have been waiting like I have? They nodded as if they understood and appreciated my reasoning.
After a lunch that may actually have been worth the wait - free and delicious - Tom, Kelly, and I made our way to Tom's car. On the way, we were accosted by a group of probably 30 primary school age children. They asked us about ourselves and persistently but sweetly requested we give them things - money, pens, a football, a French-English dictionary, etc. I truly thought they might swarm the car when we began to open the doors. Somehow three boys even managed to bargain a lift from Tom. Tom, Kelly, and I suspected though that they simply wanted to have the experience of riding in an automobile and that we may have driven them away rather than toward their homes. When they entered the car, they were all smiles and excitement, but when they left, they looked a bit weary and overwhelmed, perhaps thinking, "Was that a good idea? How much farther must I walk now!"
Upon arriving back at the house, I found everyone in such a flurry in preparations for a dinner party of grand proportions. Sarah had gone to great lengths to make this shindig a success:
- She had made tortillas from scratch for the fajitas.
- She had woken up very early this morning to go to the market to purchase cuts of beef for the fajitas; however, she had to return several times, as the cow had not yet been slaughtered. After buying the beef, she trimmed and prepared the meat alongwith rice, guacamole, two cakes (chocolate and yellow), and baked chips from chapatti bread.
- She was cooking and baking all day, sacrificing her opportunity to attend Quita Izina to provide this meal for us.
But it was successful - quite the meal - with lively guests and conversation. Among the guests were two Rwandese sisters and genocide survivors. They told us some of their story and their opinions on international issues - so glad to have met them. They live and work in Kigali, so I hope to hang out with them frequently.
Monday, July 6, 2009
What is normal?
June 18, 2007 After quite a build-up of anticipation, I finally visited Sonrise School - both primary and secondary - along with a large party, including the von Trapps, the Ritcheys, Jack Hannah and his family, Kelly (a temporary guest from Tanzania), and of course Tom. While the rest were taking a brief tour of the grounds, I played with the primary kids. The kids were so friendly - and as strange as this sounds - normal. Despite the horrors they have endured in their childhoods, they are playful, mischievous, inquisitive, bashful, and incredibly hard-working.
At Primary, I met a 13-year-old girl named Alive. She invited me to play a circle game of volleyball with her and her classmates. Of course I joined in the game and played with them for about half an hour. Each cheered on the other and giggled at mistakes made. It was just like a flashback to my days on the playground at recess. Secondary was much the same - with the artistic and musical kids hanging out together, rocking out, and the athletic kids - both giants and short, agile fellows - out on the courts. You would never know that these are orphans of genocide - orphans from both groups.
Of course, we all have our own demons that haunt us. It seems an integral part of the human condition to carry a burden but to desperately try not to let that burden visibly alter our external appearance and behavior. What we have experienced may be dramatically different, and one may say, "Oh, I cannot imagine enduring what you have." Perhaps the heart and the mind can only absorb so much horror and pain until they simply stop processing it. How else can we continue surviving? How else can these kids, the Rwandese by large, manage to not only live but live with peace?
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The Land of a Thousand Hills Meets the Land of a Thousand Opportunities
June 17, 2009
I told Tom Allen yesterday afternoon that I was willing to assist with the visa crisis the Rwanda Presidential Scholars were facing. The Rwanda Presidential Scholars, selected based upon national test scores and interviews, are considered Rwanda's brightest and most promising students; on account of partnerships established with a consortium of US academic institutions, they will study in the US for four years (mathematics, sciences, engineering, etc.) and then return to Rwanda to contribute their acquired knowledge and skills to the country's development. Most of the scholars were just issued passports (a few still lack passports), and they were to depart for US in about 10 days. Crisis to say the least, particularly considering the nature of the US visa application process.
Last night I told Tupo about the work I would be doing - my lack of excitement about such tedious work but my commitment to serve as needed. She said, "You're not just filling out forms. You're building their futures. You're building Rwanda's future." I realized I sort of was enabling Rwanda's brightest to achieve great things. I was a link in the potentially very significant chain. Suddenly, I felt very nervous about filling out forms. My mistake could destroy a future.
I notified those leading the team that I could help but received no word of where to be when until 5 a.m. today - fabulous. I rushed to get ready to be there on time, skipping a much needed shower. I took a moto to the location - Christ's Church Rwanda/Kigali International Community School (KICS) in Quasse Socialle. I have decided the most dangerous thing about motos is not what one might expect - the way the drivers weave in and out of traffic or speed and slow suddenly (their generally method of driving) - but rather their feigning knowledge in terms of locations. You tell a driver where you want to go, he says he knows where that is, but really he is not at all confident or has no idea. This particular ride was quite the adventure with several misunderstandings and misdirections - oh, the language barrier. Why did I not study French?
Finally, I arrive at the proper place, actually still a few minutes early thanks to my planning. The other leaders are not there yet - a sign of the way things were headed. It took about an hour to get organized - rooms and computers setup, forms passed out and explained, etc. Then a sort of assembly line procedure began, so I simply helped students complete the same form over and over and over again. The day was certainly about maximum efficiency. Both workers and students went without desired food and beverages. The staff ate and drank meagerly periodically, but I am not sure the students had anything but what they managed to take from us. It was interesting to note the differences in attitude and demeanor among the students - some were clearly diligent in this process and excited to study in US; others appeared very nervous; others seemed like this was something their parents were compelling them to do.
I told Tom Allen yesterday afternoon that I was willing to assist with the visa crisis the Rwanda Presidential Scholars were facing. The Rwanda Presidential Scholars, selected based upon national test scores and interviews, are considered Rwanda's brightest and most promising students; on account of partnerships established with a consortium of US academic institutions, they will study in the US for four years (mathematics, sciences, engineering, etc.) and then return to Rwanda to contribute their acquired knowledge and skills to the country's development. Most of the scholars were just issued passports (a few still lack passports), and they were to depart for US in about 10 days. Crisis to say the least, particularly considering the nature of the US visa application process.
Last night I told Tupo about the work I would be doing - my lack of excitement about such tedious work but my commitment to serve as needed. She said, "You're not just filling out forms. You're building their futures. You're building Rwanda's future." I realized I sort of was enabling Rwanda's brightest to achieve great things. I was a link in the potentially very significant chain. Suddenly, I felt very nervous about filling out forms. My mistake could destroy a future.
I notified those leading the team that I could help but received no word of where to be when until 5 a.m. today - fabulous. I rushed to get ready to be there on time, skipping a much needed shower. I took a moto to the location - Christ's Church Rwanda/Kigali International Community School (KICS) in Quasse Socialle. I have decided the most dangerous thing about motos is not what one might expect - the way the drivers weave in and out of traffic or speed and slow suddenly (their generally method of driving) - but rather their feigning knowledge in terms of locations. You tell a driver where you want to go, he says he knows where that is, but really he is not at all confident or has no idea. This particular ride was quite the adventure with several misunderstandings and misdirections - oh, the language barrier. Why did I not study French?
Finally, I arrive at the proper place, actually still a few minutes early thanks to my planning. The other leaders are not there yet - a sign of the way things were headed. It took about an hour to get organized - rooms and computers setup, forms passed out and explained, etc. Then a sort of assembly line procedure began, so I simply helped students complete the same form over and over and over again. The day was certainly about maximum efficiency. Both workers and students went without desired food and beverages. The staff ate and drank meagerly periodically, but I am not sure the students had anything but what they managed to take from us. It was interesting to note the differences in attitude and demeanor among the students - some were clearly diligent in this process and excited to study in US; others appeared very nervous; others seemed like this was something their parents were compelling them to do.
The Road to Recovery and the People on It
I am so glad that I called Tom about tagging along with him and the von Trapps to the Nyamata Memorials. We actually visited two memorials - both in churches - and the perspective that the visits lent added much to my appreciation of what happened in the 1994 genocide. The Kigali Memorial was very informational and powerful, but these memorials largely maintained the physical scene, allowing one to better imagine and appreciate what actually occurred. For example, the blood-stained clothes of the victims are still strewn about the church, covering the floor in great heaps. It makes you wonder how this number of people possibly crowded into the vicinity (10,000 in church and 5,000 in the other - and both small churches). Tom was particularly familiar with some of the horrific stories pertaining to one of the sites and relayed them to us:
The doors of the church were barred. The killers, as they were collectively called since they included members of the army, militia, and ordinary men who decided to participate, were outside demanding entry from a group of relative leadership in a locked room within the church. Once the killers broke inside, they brutally killed the people within the locked room, dismembering them, and then threatened the remaining people with their limbs. They tossed their heads into the church and menacingly waved their arms at them, taunting them.
There was mass rape and murder committed on the altar. Generally, the militiamen were responsible for this - kill the Tutsis with as little effort and force (and therefore spending as few bullets) as possible - use machetes, beatings, latrines, etc. Infants were thrown against walls and crushed. One man is reported to have looked at Mary's statue, said that she appeared Tutsi, and shot the statue.
There were a few survivors, one of whom we spoke to - Charles Mugabe. His mother was one of those in the locked room and dismembered. His brother was macheted badly and told him to lie in his blood so as to appear dead and escape the brutality. He laid in his brother's blood while his brother was dying for two days. A man named Patrice, a Hutu unaffiliated with the killers, was helping children (including Charles), giving them food, etc. The killers asked him where the children were hiding, but Patrice would not betray them. The killers macheted him, and Charles helped Patrice crawl to a hiding spot to die. His body was largely eaten by dogs, but when the genocide ended, Charles identified his remains. In the collection of skulls displayed in the memorial, one has the name Patrice written across it - that is this Patrice. Charles wrote the name himself. When these events occurred, Charles was eight years old.
Obviously, following such, we all wondered once again how such inhumanity could occur - how can people hate like that but also commit such evil? Tom responded by saying the only explanation was a most intense spiritual warfare that had broken through the veil of consciousness. He talked about Bishop John's account of unimaginable incidents - primary school children who had gone to school together for years killing one another and then playing soccer with the dead children's heads. It is simply unthinkable. I really do not know how to account for what happened here in Rwanda - not just in 1994 but throughout the twentieth century.
I spoke to Tom about my discussion the previous evening concerning the parallels between the Rwandan genocide and the Holocaust. He informed me of yet another parallel. Prior to the 1994 genocide, the Tutsis were largely geographically segregated into the most undesirable area of land: swampy land that was problematic for cattle raising (Tutsis were largely cattle-raisers) due to the prevalence of the tsetse fly and problematic for health due to the unusually high prevalence of mosquitoes (malaria). When the genocide began, it proved all the easier to annihilate the Tutsis with them gathered together in a concentrated area. --> ghettos, concentration camps
Following visiting the memorials, Tom was feeling adventurous and decided to continue down the road to see where it led. His curiosity proved invaluable, as we drove through rural villages set deep in the Rwandan hills. The people stared at this large SUV-full of muzungus (a word which they often shouted) with both awe and confusion. Some, mostly young children, waved excitedly. Eventually, we truly reached the end of the road and were forced to turn around on the shore of a river winding through the hills. On the return trip, the von Trapps and two of the Ritchie kids (Anthony and Thomas) belted out the Rwandan national anthem in Kinyarwanda. Again, we received looks of awe and confusion. Some truly seemed appreciative of our gesture and effort. In any case, I think our adventure into the hills of Rwanda was somehow a step forward for cultural understanding and dialogue.
Evolution, or lack thereof
June 13, 2009
This evening Shirley has some acquaintances over, primarily from her Center for Gender, Culture, and Development - all women. I felt obliged to join their company, if only briefly, but I became interested in their discussion of strategies to bolster the center and gauge public interest. This somehow turned to a comparative analysis of the 1994 genocide and the Holocaust, considering parallels and the strengths of such.
- strategic planning - YES
- propaganda - YES
- scapegoating of the "other" - YES
- "overt differences" in the target groups - NO
- institutionalization and participation - NO
One of the visiting professors working with Shirley is researching Umuganda, a community work day which falls the last Saturday of each month. She is interested in the evolution of its history and the international influence upon the local activity taken (e.g. theme of May Umuganda was "customer care" - largely influenced by Joe Ritchie, American businessman). With changed use throughout history, cultural perception has also changed. For example, during the genocides, umuganda was used as a collective call to participate in the killings. Now the state is trying to shift the purpose and the perception to a nationalist, unifying call to better and progress Rwanda. However, for those targeted in the genocide, each Umuganda might be simply a reminder of organized mass murder.
This evening Shirley has some acquaintances over, primarily from her Center for Gender, Culture, and Development - all women. I felt obliged to join their company, if only briefly, but I became interested in their discussion of strategies to bolster the center and gauge public interest. This somehow turned to a comparative analysis of the 1994 genocide and the Holocaust, considering parallels and the strengths of such.
- strategic planning - YES
- propaganda - YES
- scapegoating of the "other" - YES
- "overt differences" in the target groups - NO
- institutionalization and participation - NO
One of the visiting professors working with Shirley is researching Umuganda, a community work day which falls the last Saturday of each month. She is interested in the evolution of its history and the international influence upon the local activity taken (e.g. theme of May Umuganda was "customer care" - largely influenced by Joe Ritchie, American businessman). With changed use throughout history, cultural perception has also changed. For example, during the genocides, umuganda was used as a collective call to participate in the killings. Now the state is trying to shift the purpose and the perception to a nationalist, unifying call to better and progress Rwanda. However, for those targeted in the genocide, each Umuganda might be simply a reminder of organized mass murder.
Pampers are for babies
After a conversation with Sarah about the way in which her every action is critically observed - not necessarily to find fault but to observe her strange muzungu ways (as a model or simply a object of comparison) and to determine her attitude toward the Rwandese, I was conscious of all I did (in a good way) and of the way others perceived and treated me. Sarah explained that she was always conscious to never take more than one piece of pineapple at lunch at Sonrise; otherwise, she may be sending the message that muzungu thinks she is entitled to more pineapple than everyone else. There are countless examples of simply trying to act as Rwandese do - distinction, in this sense, can be avoided and should be when possible. We, ex-pats in general, should be communicating to the Rwandese that we do not think ourselves superior in any way, and the greatest way to do that is through our actions, particularly the small, everyday behaviors.
Therefore, I have been particularly sensitive to any seemingly special treatment that I receive at UOB. Some examples for your consideration:
- In preparation for a branch opening, my boss asked me and all other interns to arrive at 7:30 a.m. so that we may leave by 8:00. I arrived on time, having skipped breakfast in order to do so. No other interns arrived for at least 15 minutes. My boss gave me a white UOB polo shirt and also, on account of my punctuality, and UOB hat. I was excited to have some UOB gear, especially some that looked so professional, but when the other interns arrived, they all received different shirts - grey t-shirts. I began to feel uneasy about my distinctive attire - which happened to be the same as my boss and other executives. Why should I, the young muzungu, resemble the management? Additionally, when we prepared to leave, I as a very small person was ready to sit in the very back seat, but my boss Laurent seemed shocked at such an insupportable idea. I assured him it was no problem, but he remained a bit confused and surprised. Jim Crow bus law revisited - but in his attitude? It is as if he has encountered so many muzungus who are not content if they are not in the front seat, least scrunched, in the path of the air-conditioning, etc. that he cannot imagine a different scenario. This same front seat/back seat confusion has become rather routine.
- There are a number of local interns, who rotate periodically from department to department, and two international interns, including myself. The internationals are more stationary, simply having projects assigned to them from the higher ups. This in and of itself makes me a little uneasy, although I understand the purpose in having our internships designed differently. However, the setup seems to highlight UOB's diverging purposes in granting internships: generally, the local interns gain greater knowledge and experience in their respective fields (extract), and internationals contribute valuable, needed knowledge and experience gained through university study (input). Recently, this setup has slightly changed in a way that alarmed me: Laurent assigned one of the local interns to be my assistant. I told him several times that I do not need an assistant, though I appreciate his consideration and know that Harriet is very competent, but that I do not want to interrupt Harriet's internship - she certainly has more important things to be doing than helping me. Yet he assured me that it was no bother - if ever I needed something translated or some help with a project, I could go to Harriet for help.
I do not know if my race, gender, perceived knowledge, or some other thing is the cause for these actions, but I am severely concerned that Laurent's intentions to convenience me are having detrimental effects on my relationships with the local interns (and perhaps other Rwandese in the office), despite my repeated refusal of his pampering.
Therefore, I have been particularly sensitive to any seemingly special treatment that I receive at UOB. Some examples for your consideration:
- In preparation for a branch opening, my boss asked me and all other interns to arrive at 7:30 a.m. so that we may leave by 8:00. I arrived on time, having skipped breakfast in order to do so. No other interns arrived for at least 15 minutes. My boss gave me a white UOB polo shirt and also, on account of my punctuality, and UOB hat. I was excited to have some UOB gear, especially some that looked so professional, but when the other interns arrived, they all received different shirts - grey t-shirts. I began to feel uneasy about my distinctive attire - which happened to be the same as my boss and other executives. Why should I, the young muzungu, resemble the management? Additionally, when we prepared to leave, I as a very small person was ready to sit in the very back seat, but my boss Laurent seemed shocked at such an insupportable idea. I assured him it was no problem, but he remained a bit confused and surprised. Jim Crow bus law revisited - but in his attitude? It is as if he has encountered so many muzungus who are not content if they are not in the front seat, least scrunched, in the path of the air-conditioning, etc. that he cannot imagine a different scenario. This same front seat/back seat confusion has become rather routine.
- There are a number of local interns, who rotate periodically from department to department, and two international interns, including myself. The internationals are more stationary, simply having projects assigned to them from the higher ups. This in and of itself makes me a little uneasy, although I understand the purpose in having our internships designed differently. However, the setup seems to highlight UOB's diverging purposes in granting internships: generally, the local interns gain greater knowledge and experience in their respective fields (extract), and internationals contribute valuable, needed knowledge and experience gained through university study (input). Recently, this setup has slightly changed in a way that alarmed me: Laurent assigned one of the local interns to be my assistant. I told him several times that I do not need an assistant, though I appreciate his consideration and know that Harriet is very competent, but that I do not want to interrupt Harriet's internship - she certainly has more important things to be doing than helping me. Yet he assured me that it was no bother - if ever I needed something translated or some help with a project, I could go to Harriet for help.
I do not know if my race, gender, perceived knowledge, or some other thing is the cause for these actions, but I am severely concerned that Laurent's intentions to convenience me are having detrimental effects on my relationships with the local interns (and perhaps other Rwandese in the office), despite my repeated refusal of his pampering.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Where does the good go?
June 11, 2009
This morning I went to my travel wallet to get a couple more bills and was shocked and confused at what I saw. The brown enveloped that help all my Rwandan francs (from having exchanged $400) was not in the wallet. I certainly had not moved it. Next, I opened the pocket to check for my American cash - all fresh, crisp, new $100 bills - GONE.
At first, I did not know what to do. I literally stood there, trying to sort through the situation in my mind. I knew I should notify someone, so I went to tell Shirley right away. She of course was deeply grieved and began asking me several questions. Once Yolande, our housekeeper, arrived, they together sought to determine how this happened.
The emotion of the loss and the violation hit me in waves intermittently. I was determined not to let this disrupt the great day I had planned visiting the International Justice Mission (IJM), but it was difficult to see how it would not, as I was in and out of tears.
The journey to IJM itself was an adventure. I was to go to the Ministry of Justice and walk a bit from there. I got a moto and began the ride; however, it soon becae clear that my driver was not sure where the Ministry was located. We stopped a number of times to discuss its locations with other locals and finally stumbled upon it. I reluctantly gave him 800 francs. I had mixed feelings about it.
1) These were all the 100s I had left.
2) He did not know where he was going and therefore inconvenienced me.
3) He did try very hard to get me to the Ministry.
4) 800 francs is less than $2.
Upon finding IJM (after first knocking on the wrong door), we had a morning prayer, and I was then given an office tour briefly. Everyone in the office seems so friendly and driven. I then accompanied Bridgette to the field (to the Jali sector) to visit a cooperative and some clients.
A mother and daughter who cultivate crops together on limited land explained their position of constant vulnerability, as male relatives take everything of value from them: money, harvests, chickens, etc. They are simply trying to figure out how to survive and become independent of these men who continually exploit them. The more I considered their story, the sadder I became, for this situation is probably not uncommon. Evidence that womenare the poorest of the poor.
I thoroughly enjoyed seeing IJM and the work they do - truly considering a similar placement in the future. Hadley said they are hoping to build more partnerships with other NGOs, as their purposes and visions overlap. I think that is key, as many organizations address similar issues and similar target groups but in an isolated way. A more consolidated effort to solve the very same problem would obviously be more effective.
Another consideration - in speaking to people at IJM, they each had different timelines for entering this type of work. Some came straight out of college, and others made themselves a financial cushion working in large corporate legal firms before entering their field of true interest. I cannot decide which is better, if there really is a better path. In time, I will have to decide myself.
Upon returning home, I began to try to settle my money issues more completely and learned of the extensive efforts being made by various people, particularly Shirley and Yolande. They went to the police station after having spoken to people in the neighborhoos (other guards, etc.) and learning that Deo, our gardener, had left yesterday morning unusually with a large bag, saying that Shirley had given him leave. Shirley and Yolande spent several hours at the station, and subsequently, Yolande went with Claude, a former guard of ours, to Deo's home. Tom Allen has also been very concerned and helped me find the best way to receive additional money with Bridge2Rwanda's help. I hate to have caused so much stress and inconconvenience to so many people - it truly is amazing the waves this has caused.
For Shirley, she has lost a trusted staff member. Deo has worked for her for two years.He is like a son. She had rarely doubted him. Now she must witness and undergo this horrible situation and try to find someone trustworthy to replace him.
For Deo, his life is potentially ruined. He has a wife with possible health problems and three sons. If he is caught, he will certainly be arrested, beaten, imprisoned, raped, and infected with HIV. According to Shirley, such is the Rwandan criminal processing procedure.
For me, it is an unfortunate, confusing situation that has taught me to be alert, aware, cautious, safe at all time; however, I am still learning how to separate that from a resentful, bitter, cynical attitude, expecting the worst. Also, I found myself confused at having all my money stolen from my travel wallet inside my backpack while my camera and my ipod remained - both were in plain sight.
In discussing the matter with the other ladies of the house, some unexpected issues arose (at least unexpected to me). Shirley is planning to hire a private investigator but worries this will upset Yolande, as she thinks Yolande will want to handle the matter herself. Tupo brought up the Hutu/Tutsi issue: the PI is a Tutsi; Yolande, Claude, and Deo are Hutu. Tupo said, "Well, the Tutsis are the ones running the country. A Tutsi will be the one to solve this problem. Not a Hutu." - using code names the whole time ("H" / "T"). It seems odd to me that those identities remain so politically charged in social dynamics, but I suppose change take time, particularly when it comes to attitudes toward identity (others' and one's own).
This morning I went to my travel wallet to get a couple more bills and was shocked and confused at what I saw. The brown enveloped that help all my Rwandan francs (from having exchanged $400) was not in the wallet. I certainly had not moved it. Next, I opened the pocket to check for my American cash - all fresh, crisp, new $100 bills - GONE.
At first, I did not know what to do. I literally stood there, trying to sort through the situation in my mind. I knew I should notify someone, so I went to tell Shirley right away. She of course was deeply grieved and began asking me several questions. Once Yolande, our housekeeper, arrived, they together sought to determine how this happened.
The emotion of the loss and the violation hit me in waves intermittently. I was determined not to let this disrupt the great day I had planned visiting the International Justice Mission (IJM), but it was difficult to see how it would not, as I was in and out of tears.
The journey to IJM itself was an adventure. I was to go to the Ministry of Justice and walk a bit from there. I got a moto and began the ride; however, it soon becae clear that my driver was not sure where the Ministry was located. We stopped a number of times to discuss its locations with other locals and finally stumbled upon it. I reluctantly gave him 800 francs. I had mixed feelings about it.
1) These were all the 100s I had left.
2) He did not know where he was going and therefore inconvenienced me.
3) He did try very hard to get me to the Ministry.
4) 800 francs is less than $2.
Upon finding IJM (after first knocking on the wrong door), we had a morning prayer, and I was then given an office tour briefly. Everyone in the office seems so friendly and driven. I then accompanied Bridgette to the field (to the Jali sector) to visit a cooperative and some clients.
A mother and daughter who cultivate crops together on limited land explained their position of constant vulnerability, as male relatives take everything of value from them: money, harvests, chickens, etc. They are simply trying to figure out how to survive and become independent of these men who continually exploit them. The more I considered their story, the sadder I became, for this situation is probably not uncommon. Evidence that womenare the poorest of the poor.
I thoroughly enjoyed seeing IJM and the work they do - truly considering a similar placement in the future. Hadley said they are hoping to build more partnerships with other NGOs, as their purposes and visions overlap. I think that is key, as many organizations address similar issues and similar target groups but in an isolated way. A more consolidated effort to solve the very same problem would obviously be more effective.
Another consideration - in speaking to people at IJM, they each had different timelines for entering this type of work. Some came straight out of college, and others made themselves a financial cushion working in large corporate legal firms before entering their field of true interest. I cannot decide which is better, if there really is a better path. In time, I will have to decide myself.
Upon returning home, I began to try to settle my money issues more completely and learned of the extensive efforts being made by various people, particularly Shirley and Yolande. They went to the police station after having spoken to people in the neighborhoos (other guards, etc.) and learning that Deo, our gardener, had left yesterday morning unusually with a large bag, saying that Shirley had given him leave. Shirley and Yolande spent several hours at the station, and subsequently, Yolande went with Claude, a former guard of ours, to Deo's home. Tom Allen has also been very concerned and helped me find the best way to receive additional money with Bridge2Rwanda's help. I hate to have caused so much stress and inconconvenience to so many people - it truly is amazing the waves this has caused.
For Shirley, she has lost a trusted staff member. Deo has worked for her for two years.He is like a son. She had rarely doubted him. Now she must witness and undergo this horrible situation and try to find someone trustworthy to replace him.
For Deo, his life is potentially ruined. He has a wife with possible health problems and three sons. If he is caught, he will certainly be arrested, beaten, imprisoned, raped, and infected with HIV. According to Shirley, such is the Rwandan criminal processing procedure.
For me, it is an unfortunate, confusing situation that has taught me to be alert, aware, cautious, safe at all time; however, I am still learning how to separate that from a resentful, bitter, cynical attitude, expecting the worst. Also, I found myself confused at having all my money stolen from my travel wallet inside my backpack while my camera and my ipod remained - both were in plain sight.
In discussing the matter with the other ladies of the house, some unexpected issues arose (at least unexpected to me). Shirley is planning to hire a private investigator but worries this will upset Yolande, as she thinks Yolande will want to handle the matter herself. Tupo brought up the Hutu/Tutsi issue: the PI is a Tutsi; Yolande, Claude, and Deo are Hutu. Tupo said, "Well, the Tutsis are the ones running the country. A Tutsi will be the one to solve this problem. Not a Hutu." - using code names the whole time ("H" / "T"). It seems odd to me that those identities remain so politically charged in social dynamics, but I suppose change take time, particularly when it comes to attitudes toward identity (others' and one's own).
Confessions of the Religious Devout, Conservative Rwandese Youth
President Paul Kagame's photo hangs solemnly, authoritatively, and dignified in nearly every Rwandan business I have entered. I began to wonder why. Does the population love and revere him and his mission for developing and renewing Rwanda? Is this a political tactic to instill allegiance and commitment to the rule of law? So I asked some local interns at UOB - Do you love him or fear him? Do you agree with his mission or fear the repercussions of noncompliance?
Their responses reflected much about the quality of democracy in Rwanda and attitudes toward such. Kagame is leader and therefore demands respect, but he was democratically elected. One of his greatest platforms is anti-corruption, demonstrating equality under the law. The people believe it and expect it, expecting judicial actions for a violation regardless of class, social connections, etc. (respect for rule of law). It is promising for development here if one respects institutions' credibility absolutely.
President Kagame, and the nation in general, in an effort to further make progress, says, "Never again!" in reference to the 1994 genocide. However, I have wondered at the population's commitment to this sentiment broadly. Openly no one can identify as Hutu or Tutsi, but inwardly do they still? Do they still harbor feelings of resentment and bitterness, drawing lines of distinction in this minds?
Two anecdotes for your consideration:
1) Various programs boast a spirit of cooperation and reconciliation, not at all recognizing former divisions and wrongs. Instead, all work together as Rwandans toward progress and a better future (e.g. Sonrise School)
2) An acquaintance of Tom's (a local) said she could certainly tell which group a person belonged to. Tom was intrigued by this statement and asked her to prove it - pointing to a random person on the street. She could not determine their classification and said that in that particular case it was difficult to say. This process was repeated a few times with the same results. However, her belief that she could definitively classify persons in her mind (and therefore does) is telling and frightening.
I am not sure which attitude is more sincere and more representative of the population. I certainly hope the former, though as previously deliberated - attitudes are difficult to change, and the tendency to assign labels to people is natural though not necessarily excusable for that reason.
According to Sarah, the Rwandese do not like Obama (in great contrast to Ghanaians). I of course must do my own field research. She said that on account of the influence of religion here, Rwandan culture is so conservative, and Rwandese consider aspects of Obama's liberal leadership immoral, such as the promotion of gay rights. It is illegal to be homosexual in Rwanda.
Their responses reflected much about the quality of democracy in Rwanda and attitudes toward such. Kagame is leader and therefore demands respect, but he was democratically elected. One of his greatest platforms is anti-corruption, demonstrating equality under the law. The people believe it and expect it, expecting judicial actions for a violation regardless of class, social connections, etc. (respect for rule of law). It is promising for development here if one respects institutions' credibility absolutely.
President Kagame, and the nation in general, in an effort to further make progress, says, "Never again!" in reference to the 1994 genocide. However, I have wondered at the population's commitment to this sentiment broadly. Openly no one can identify as Hutu or Tutsi, but inwardly do they still? Do they still harbor feelings of resentment and bitterness, drawing lines of distinction in this minds?
Two anecdotes for your consideration:
1) Various programs boast a spirit of cooperation and reconciliation, not at all recognizing former divisions and wrongs. Instead, all work together as Rwandans toward progress and a better future (e.g. Sonrise School)
2) An acquaintance of Tom's (a local) said she could certainly tell which group a person belonged to. Tom was intrigued by this statement and asked her to prove it - pointing to a random person on the street. She could not determine their classification and said that in that particular case it was difficult to say. This process was repeated a few times with the same results. However, her belief that she could definitively classify persons in her mind (and therefore does) is telling and frightening.
I am not sure which attitude is more sincere and more representative of the population. I certainly hope the former, though as previously deliberated - attitudes are difficult to change, and the tendency to assign labels to people is natural though not necessarily excusable for that reason.
According to Sarah, the Rwandese do not like Obama (in great contrast to Ghanaians). I of course must do my own field research. She said that on account of the influence of religion here, Rwandan culture is so conservative, and Rwandese consider aspects of Obama's liberal leadership immoral, such as the promotion of gay rights. It is illegal to be homosexual in Rwanda.
The Rules of the Road
I am still trying to decide the value in walking to work. It is about a 30- to 35-minute walk at a brisk pace, largely uphill (and steeply). By the time I arrive at the office, I feel I have gotten somewhat of a workout and am glistening [glisten - to begin to sweat slightly so that one's skin reflects light and shines ever so slightly and is somewhat moist and slippery to the touch] - not ideal for going to work in the morning though a good counterbalance to some of the food I have been eating. It is nice to walk outside in such nice temperature, but the traffic and pollution is quite another story. Cars and motos (i.e. motorcycle taxis) have little regard for pedestrians. I almost got run over a couple times today in my determination to continue uphill or cross a street. I obviously have not adjusted to traffic etiquette or lack thereof here. I must lose my "I rule the road as a university student pedestrian" attitude and quickly or I will surely die.
Did I miss the memo?
June 3, 2009
First day of work - Jeffrey Lee (CEO ofUrwego Opportunity Bank) and I met this morning, and he explained his intended placements for me - marketing research and editing. When I met the guys I would be working with in marketing, they were preparing to leave soon for a branch office to assess strategies for improvement and change - I tagged along. We took the public bus system - comparable to the Ghanaiantro-tro - with bodies squashed in for maximum efficiency. The crammed bodies, the smells, the inexplicable touching made me comfortable, though I tried not to dwell on it and attempted to shake my seemingly snobby attitude. Two things on the ride though particularly bothered me:
1. The girl next to me was vomiting throughout the ride and leaning on me (even while vomiting) - her head, her arms, etc. I was not sure what was making her sick, and therefore her proximity to me made me nervous. I hoped she was just car-sick.
2. My boss may or may not be a pervert. I was nodding off during the ride, and he urged me to lean into him, put his arm around me to brace me, etc. (Mind you, this is like an hour after I met him for the first time). I refused, but he insisted. ALERT. A few minutes later in my pseudo-slumber, I noticed a somewhat firm grip of both his hands on both of my shoulders with his fingers moving individually occasionally. I was not sure whether to stop it immediately or whether I was jumping to conclusions too quickly. Either way, I was uncomfortable, so when an opportunity presented itself, I "woke up." [I later asked my Malawian housemateTupo who has lived here for about two years about this incident and about personal boundaries/touch in general. She said Rwandans are rather affectionate - friends hold hands, etc. - but this incident seemed very strange to her.]
Luckily, one thing redeemed the ride - the scenery. Continuous lush, green hills terraced with agriculture and sprinkled with the occasional house or town. Unfortunately, I had not expected a road trip on my first day of work, so I failed to bring my camera. Lesson: carry my camera at all times.
In the Karongi region (our destination), I received much attention. People in this rural village had rarely, if ever, seen a white person. So children and adults alike would stare at me, some obviously intrigued, others confused or frightened. One little boy came right up to me, held my hand, smiled, and ran a short distance away to play, looking over and smiling at me intermittently.
First day of work - Jeffrey Lee (CEO ofUrwego Opportunity Bank) and I met this morning, and he explained his intended placements for me - marketing research and editing. When I met the guys I would be working with in marketing, they were preparing to leave soon for a branch office to assess strategies for improvement and change - I tagged along. We took the public bus system - comparable to the Ghanaiantro-tro - with bodies squashed in for maximum efficiency. The crammed bodies, the smells, the inexplicable touching made me comfortable, though I tried not to dwell on it and attempted to shake my seemingly snobby attitude. Two things on the ride though particularly bothered me:
1. The girl next to me was vomiting throughout the ride and leaning on me (even while vomiting) - her head, her arms, etc. I was not sure what was making her sick, and therefore her proximity to me made me nervous. I hoped she was just car-sick.
2. My boss may or may not be a pervert. I was nodding off during the ride, and he urged me to lean into him, put his arm around me to brace me, etc. (Mind you, this is like an hour after I met him for the first time). I refused, but he insisted. ALERT. A few minutes later in my pseudo-slumber, I noticed a somewhat firm grip of both his hands on both of my shoulders with his fingers moving individually occasionally. I was not sure whether to stop it immediately or whether I was jumping to conclusions too quickly. Either way, I was uncomfortable, so when an opportunity presented itself, I "woke up." [I later asked my Malawian housemateTupo who has lived here for about two years about this incident and about personal boundaries/touch in general. She said Rwandans are rather affectionate - friends hold hands, etc. - but this incident seemed very strange to her.]
Luckily, one thing redeemed the ride - the scenery. Continuous lush, green hills terraced with agriculture and sprinkled with the occasional house or town. Unfortunately, I had not expected a road trip on my first day of work, so I failed to bring my camera. Lesson: carry my camera at all times.
In the Karongi region (our destination), I received much attention. People in this rural village had rarely, if ever, seen a white person. So children and adults alike would stare at me, some obviously intrigued, others confused or frightened. One little boy came right up to me, held my hand, smiled, and ran a short distance away to play, looking over and smiling at me intermittently.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
How does THIS history repeat itself?
June 1, 2009
I have been in Rwanda for a few days now but do not start my internship for a few more days. My boss and "host" thought having a few days to settle in and get to know Kigali would be helpful and favorable to me. I agreed, initially, but not I am getting restless to begin working. Relaxation is nice, but I feel like a bum. I must develop a demanding schedule soon - yes, I am definitely a Barnhart.
This morning I went to the Kigali Memorial Centre. The memorial was so extensive with panel after panel of information about the history of, data concerning, and implications of the genocide. I obviously learned a lot.
Key point #1 - For clarification, Tutsi v. Hutu = economic division rather than ethnic. These groups spoke the same language, practiced the same religion, intermarried regularly, etc. This was instead an imposed identity conflict, imposed through colonization to more effectively govern through indirect rule --> manipulating existing social dynamics takes less effort and fewer resources than cultural assimilation.
Key point #2 - Genocides require planning. This was not a spontaneous act of violence but rather something that was rehearsed and planned over the course of decades.
I have been in Rwanda for a few days now but do not start my internship for a few more days. My boss and "host" thought having a few days to settle in and get to know Kigali would be helpful and favorable to me. I agreed, initially, but not I am getting restless to begin working. Relaxation is nice, but I feel like a bum. I must develop a demanding schedule soon - yes, I am definitely a Barnhart.
This morning I went to the Kigali Memorial Centre. The memorial was so extensive with panel after panel of information about the history of, data concerning, and implications of the genocide. I obviously learned a lot.
Key point #1 - For clarification, Tutsi v. Hutu = economic division rather than ethnic. These groups spoke the same language, practiced the same religion, intermarried regularly, etc. This was instead an imposed identity conflict, imposed through colonization to more effectively govern through indirect rule --> manipulating existing social dynamics takes less effort and fewer resources than cultural assimilation.
Key point #2 - Genocides require planning. This was not a spontaneous act of violence but rather something that was rehearsed and planned over the course of decades.
The memorial has a segment on other genocides - historical, international. I found this extremely interesting and informative, educating me about those I was far less familiar with and allowing me to draw connections between them all.
-Armenia
- Namibia
- Holocaust
- Cambodia
- Balkans
Unfortunately, the list does go on.
-Armenia
- Namibia
- Holocaust
- Cambodia
- Balkans
Unfortunately, the list does go on.
Tom said to take my time, so I did. I probably spent two hours in the memorial. While in the exhibits, I experienced a variety of emotions in waves: confusion, sadness, anger, frustration, disbelief. I cannot understand how human beings can continue to treat each other with such brutality. It is as if we cannot live without differentiating ourselves and others with labels, precipitating an us v. them mentality.
How could an imposed difference between the Rwandese persist and escalate like it did?
Where is the boundary between protection of state sovereignty/autonomy and the pursuit of justice in cases like the 1994 genocide? At what point is intervention appropriate?
Needless to say, it got me thinking...
How could an imposed difference between the Rwandese persist and escalate like it did?
Where is the boundary between protection of state sovereignty/autonomy and the pursuit of justice in cases like the 1994 genocide? At what point is intervention appropriate?
Needless to say, it got me thinking...
As Tom and I spent basically the whole day together, one of my worries was realized. Yesterday, I was talking with Tupo about my anxiety in meeting and dealing with all sorts of people familiar with my family, as I know there are high expectations for my character, behavior, attitudes, etc. I do not want to disappoint and reflect badly upon my family. To the point - Tom and others have been asking about my parents, and I am reluctant to tell them the whole story because I do not want any judgment to fall, but the more I say, the more I must explain, as Tom has persistent and penetrating questions. Insert foot in mouth.
Tonight at Torero I met a Rwandese fellow who works at the National Democratic Institute. We had an engaging conversation about the quality of Rwandan democracy based on party competition, setup of the proportional representation system, respect for the rule of law, protection of civil liberties, and legal revisions of the constitution (particularly concerning electoral procedures).
RPF - by far the largest, strongest party
women guaranteed about 30% of seats
post-conflict reforms --> progress
I hope to speak wit him more/drop by his office - I got his card.
Tonight at Torero I met a Rwandese fellow who works at the National Democratic Institute. We had an engaging conversation about the quality of Rwandan democracy based on party competition, setup of the proportional representation system, respect for the rule of law, protection of civil liberties, and legal revisions of the constitution (particularly concerning electoral procedures).
RPF - by far the largest, strongest party
women guaranteed about 30% of seats
post-conflict reforms --> progress
I hope to speak wit him more/drop by his office - I got his card.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Whoo
Community service at the Methodist primary school Pan Tang - Upon our arrival, the kids were so excited, surrounding our bus and waving, anxious to have their photos taken. First, we met the headmaster and visited the classrooms of various aged students. I spent the most time with class 6, aged 10-15. We talked about their hobbies, career aspirations, opinions of President Obama and his upcoming visit, etc. Some students performed for us the talents they develop in their spare time - rapping and dancing - quite entertaining. Finally,we got to work, mixing mortar and moving cement blocks. Then we helped continue construction on the school library walls. Unfortunately, I was of little help in this process. Applying cement to bricks - mortaring - is a skill I do no possess. Period.
Some kids helped us work and then wanted to play and joke, all the while loving to have their photos taken. One asked for my gloves, and I learnt it was to in order to play goalie in soccer. I gave them to him unhesitatingly, and he immediately became the most popular kid among his comrades. We taught each other some songs and games; for example, we taught them to sing "Rocky Top." They particularly liked the "whoo" and would giggle excitedly each time we got to that part of the song. I felt so happy to have touched the lives of such happy, friendly children, even in the smallest way.
With time comes wisdom (hopefully)
I am so glad that Mark and Judy are here. Their age, knowledge, experience, and beliefs contribute so much to our group's perspective both in terms of the changes and continuities within Ghana and beyond and of comparative, analytical insights - modern slavery, the respectability and acceptability of some cultural traditions, the relative value of education, and the list goes on. Their presence truly is a testament to the wisdom of elders and the veneration of them in African cultures. In addition, Mark and Judy have received such respect - as Judy said - due to their race. At least such was the case in our contact with the judge. It is rather surprising, considering Ghana's colonial history and strong nationalist movements spurring and following independence.
I thoroughly enjoyed the drive to and from our excursion. The scenery was so lush and mountainous. Majestic. I could not take enough photos and certainly could not capture the scope and beauty of the scene. It is sights like that one that reaffirm my belief in God and His incomprehensible power and creativity.
Tonight, we finished our discussion of Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. I was so pleased at the lively and informed discussion overall - highly participatory. The one major snag in the discussion was a single comment made by a generally controversial person - she declared the culture of Umuofia evil, without merit, etc. Fortunately, everyone seemed to bristle at her remarks, characterized by cultural insensitivity and closed-mindedness.
Central theme of the novel - retelling African history from an African perspective (as opposed to the victory writes history)
Tonight, we finished our discussion of Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. I was so pleased at the lively and informed discussion overall - highly participatory. The one major snag in the discussion was a single comment made by a generally controversial person - she declared the culture of Umuofia evil, without merit, etc. Fortunately, everyone seemed to bristle at her remarks, characterized by cultural insensitivity and closed-mindedness.
Central theme of the novel - retelling African history from an African perspective (as opposed to the victory writes history)
Earlier today we visited a monkey sanctuary, an excursion which everyone had been highly anticipating. I thoroughly enjoyed hand-feeding monkeys, but the history of the site somewhat frustrated me. Today there are only aout 400 monkeys in the park. I would have expected far more, as it is after all a monkey sanctuary. Previously, when the locals here widely practiced the traditional religions, the monkeys were associated with such, but with the conversion to Christianity, the locals began killing the monkeys. In the mid-1990s, a Canadian researcher came and persuaded the locals to begin this park as a means of ecotourism. While I understand the pragmatism of economically gainig when possible, I wish the people had a desire to protect the monkeys of their volition. But protection is protection.
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