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.
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