Checheka!

Checheka is the command form of guchecheka, which in Kinyarwanda means to be quiet. Checheka is what mothers say to their children when they cry. Checheka is what the battered woman told her beat up twelve year old daughter when they came into the health center at 3AM after a domestic dispute. Checheka is what my local leaders told an old man during Genocide Memorial Week when he began to name names during a community meeting. Checheka is what a coworker and friend told me after I finally lost it following a staff meeting during which, once again, personal interests and gripes of a few were put before poor, sick patients, most of them children.

As a Peace Corps Volunteer, it is very much not my job to be a whistle blower. In fact, when I have brought up corruption issues to my supervisors at Peace Corps they have specifically told me to stay away and essentially, checheka. This is of course, for my own safety and the safety of others in my community.

Lake Kivu

Those of you who know me (at all) know that it is not at all in my nature to checheka. My senior year of high school, I walked into the superintendent’s office to demand administrators give fewer, shorter speeches during graduation to allow for more student speakers. The request was denied, but brought up during said administrator’s long speech. After a Trustee dinner at Cornell, I walked up to University President and asked him why his table included only male students. The observation was noted, although I was not invited to the next dinner so I can’t tell you if it made any difference. I regret neither bold, unfruitful move. I am not shy about voicing my opinion. I have a blog after all, don’t I?

Rwandans, on the other hand, are extremely private and reserved. Keeping quiet about everything is very much part of the culture. “Rwandans, if they have something against you, they will take it to their grave!” a Burundi-raised Rwandan told a friend of mine. Besides being potentially dangerous, the probability of my foreign opinions making a difference on most larger issues here is very slim.

Still, I find myself extremely conflicted. Not only because checheka-ing goes completely against my very opinionated and vocal nature, but precisely because the culture of checheka-ing has caused literal devastation in Rwanda already.

Throughout April I am reminded how my countrymen sat by eighteen years ago and checheka-ed as almost one million people were slaughtered here.  There is no denying the horrendous role the United States and other European countries played (or didn’t play) during the 1994 Genocide. Yet, I also –quietly-- wonder how productive it is to be so critical about the silence of foreigners millions of miles away eighteen years ago, when right here in Rwanda, today, the culture remains one of silence and, at least outward, complacence.

April

April is Rwanda’s rainiest month. Eighteen years ago in April, the plane of Rwanda’s then Hutu President Juvenal Habyarimana was shot down as it landed in Kigali. In the one hundred days that followed, almost one million people were killed in Rwanda for being of the Tutsi ethnicity, or for sympathizing with Tutsi.

Every April, Rwanda commemorates the genocide that took place here in 1994. Between April 7 and April 14, business is put on hold each afternoon and communities gather to remember the events that destroyed the country. The following one hundred days are national days of mourning. No weddings or other public celebrations of any sort are held, it’s against the law. On national television, vivid images of the massacres are shown. The radio blasts what I can only describe as the exact opposite of Christmas songs: ballads dedicated to those who were lost, pleas of unity and peace. 

Yearound, discussing ethnicity in Rwanda can land you in prison for “inciting genocidal ideology”. No one has ever told me directly whether or not they are Hutu or Tutsi. Genocide survivors live alongside perpetrators. Everyone is Rwandan now. During April only, people mourn genocide victims publicly.

“Those people that killed my parents, they are free!” a friend told me. “Are you sure?” I asked. “Yes! I saw them kill my parents, my brothers, and my sisters when I was so small” he replied. “They are not in jail?” I replied, incredulous. “They served some small time, and now, they are my neighbors again” he said, shaking his head, laughing. “You are not scared? Angry?” I asked, trying to imagine the situation. “In Rwanda, we must move forward. Everyone! It is also the government program. It is not easy, but we must.” I cannot fathom being capable of forgiveness like this.

Meanwhile, the rains continue. The ominous dark clouds cast a permanent grey shadow that perfectly reflects the national mood. Water falls from above and lands like violent tear drops on the tin roofs, as if the skies were also mourning the dead, angrily. And then, when the rains fade, you notice a change: clarity in the air, like a window after it’s been washed with Windex. You realize the bean vines have become suddenly tall. Parents finally have food to feed their malnourished children. There is an abundance of water which brings relief to everyone. Maybe there is hope after all. 

Visiting a Memorial Site, connected to a secondary school, in the Western Province

On the Road

If you want to “experience culture” in Africa, take public transportation. If it’s your first time, maybe take a Zanex with you. Some of my best and worst experiences over the last eighteen months have involved public transportation.

Moto-taxi drivers in Rwanda wear helmets and carry them for passangers

After the fantastic safari with family, I headed south and reunited with a friend who had been in PC Niger and is currently a Tanzania PCV. Our original plan was to climb Mt Hanang, Tanzania’s fourth highest mountain, but rain kept us at lower altitudes. The following day, we set off further south en route to her site.  

The “seats” on our 6AM bus were the first two behind the driver, although there were plenty of people in between. The narrow space and surface area between the driver’s seat and the first row of passenger seats was occupied by five other Tanzanians. My friend sat next to the window, knees against the driver’s seat, a backpack between her legs and another on her lap. I sat next to her, another backpack on my lap, facing a fellow passenger sitting on a makeshift seat, our knees pressed against each other.

A few seconds after we got seated, someone ran off the bus. When others followed, I figured there must be another bus leaving at the same time. Suddenly my friend urged me “Get off the bus! It’s smoking!” I looked up and realized: less than two feet in front of me the mechanical mess next to the steering wheel was, in fact, full of smoke. 

Once out of the bus, we watched the driver and a couple ticket sellers fiddle with engine and then motion to the passengers it was safe to get back on. My friend and I looked at each other and shrugged: trying to switch itineraries at this point was too complicated. A little smoke never hurt anybody.

About two hours into our bumpy journey, a big pothole caused us to fly a few inches out of our seat, for the hundredth time. Then the bus jerked sharply to the right. My backpack went flying into the isle, and my body followed. I felt my friend’s arm trying to yank me back into the seat at the same time I felt other passengers falling on and around me. The sound of people screaming was mixed with the sound of large tree branches hitting the bus. We shook right and left, up and down, and then finally (after what was in reality probably less than ten seconds) the bus hit a tree, and stopped.

I got up, and along with everyone else, got out. A woman lay on the ground in front of the bus with her eyes closed and I feared the worst, but soon realized she was just napping—all the commotion must have worn her out.

We parked ourselves about twenty feet away from the bus. “How long do you think we should wait before we try to walk or take a motorcycle?” my friend asked. The road we had been traveling on was just a sandy dirt path and our surroundings were all farmland. Neither of us knew exactly how far we were from our destination, and none of the other stranded passengers seemed sure either. After a half hour or so, some women who had been waiting near us started to walk, and we followed. One of the women offered (and then insisted) on carrying one of my backpacks.

After walking about an hour, we ran into a small village. There, one of the women asked if we might get tea. A young man escorted us to what looked like someone’s living room and we were promptly offered water to wash our hands, delicious milk tea, and of course, fried dough. My friend and I shared our bananas and mangos as well. We sat, ate, and giggled with the women for what might have been my favorite hour in Tanzania. Just as we finished our tea, someone came running into the house to announce that the bus was fixed and ready to continue. A couple more close calls and a few hours later we arrived at our destination and praised Allah for the safe arrival.

Buses leaving Nyabigogo Bus Station in Kigali

This trip was a more extreme version of many, many journeys I’ve taken since my original flight to Niger. My transportation adventures, more than anything else, have made me realize that with a little patience and a sense of humor, in the end, things usually turn out alright.

Adventures of my Electronic Equipment, Part 874

So, I’ve told you about my iTouch and cell phone adventures (parts I and II). Now let me tell you about the adventures of my digital camera.

Leaning out of the vehicle to photograph a sleepy lioness

On Safari, I took lots of pictures (more on facebook, previous posts and the pictures page of this blog). Most of these, I took from a Land Cruiser that had pop up roof. While driving around the Serengeti, I stood on my seat with my head and arms outside the vehicle. When the vehicle stopped so we could observe animals or take in a pretty view, I lifted myself out of the car and sat on the roof. At some point during one of our morning drives, I sat on the roof, and my camera fell out of my pocket, onto the ground.

When our vehicle stopped for breakfast, I searched the car to make sure the camera hadn’t fallen into a seat crack. Our drivers also searched the car, to no avail. The reality sunk in deep: my careless ways had finally gotten the best of me. My camera was gone, lost forever on the plains of the Serengeti, a toy for the hyenas.

I was pretty sulky the rest of our morning drive-- thinking about all the beautiful scenes I was unable to capture on my camera: the lovely waterproof, dustproof, and shockproof Pentax that I call my “Africa-proof” camera. It had been so good to me since I first arrived in Niger last October.

With one of our drivers, who helped find my camera

After lunch at camp, our guide told me he was going to look for the camera before our afternoon drive. Embarrassed, I thanked him for the effort, although I realized the likelihood of finding the camera was small. Still, I couldn’t help but hope. By the time four o’clock rolled around I figured the search party must have had no luck. As I walked towards the group I saw our guide and shrugged, “No luck?”

“Here it is!” he said triumphantly handing over my camera. After three hours of searching the plains, they found it!

I’d like to say I have learned my lesson. But, I also thought I had learned my lesson after the iTouch incident, and the telephone incidents. The problem is, with the sort of luck I’m having, I think I’m becoming more careless.

Save the World: Take a vacation.

When people come for two or three week volunteer projects, they often don’t mention that in addition to a desire to help, there is a very strong desire to see.

The large number of NGOs  located in the most beautiful, touristic destinations should come as no surprise. Nor should you be surprised by the lack of NGOs work in places like Niger, where the need is great but the sites are few and the weather is tolerable only on the best of days. I’ve already written some thoughts about volunteer tourism, now I’d like to offer some thoughts on an alternative for those well intentioned humanitarian souls who want to see the world and also help: take a vacation.

There are incredible sights to see and fun things to do all over the continent. Through this blog, I hope I have been able to highlight (in addition to the difficulties) some of the wonders. I would argue you can help a developing country more by paying for a responsible and well researched vacation, than volunteering on a short well fundraised service trip.  

I have run into many "volunteers" around large African cities who have completed a humanitarian project and want to finish their trip with a nice vacation. Generally, these tourists lament on how little money they have left because of the airfare and volunteer ‘required donation’ costs they’ve already spent. Naturally, these groups take the cheapest options for their vacation. What these volunteer tourists don’t realize is that sometimes the companies or tour agents they go through are doing harm to the local population and natural resources they came to ‘save’.

Exhibit A-- While on safari, our group spotted a beautiful cheetah with four young cubs. The site was rather unusual: eight or so safari vehicles in the middle of the plain, with a mama cheetah and her cubs eating a recent kill under the shade of one of the vehicles. I chuckled at the site and then felt sorry for the people in the vehicle providing shade: they might have to stay through the hot afternoon if the cheetah didn’t move. Suddenly, the vehicle under which the cheetahs had sought shade started up. The cheetah and her cubs ran in terror, we gasped in disbelief.   

Safari cars approaching the cheetah

The irresponsibility displayed by the driver of the vehicle described surprised me and infuriated our safari guide, drivers, and many in the tourism industry who discussed the event over the following week. Several less dramatic but similar instances occur regularly in the Serengeti and other national parks across the continent, particularly where the national government does not enforce strict regulation.

As it was explained to me, several budget safari companies hire drivers and other workers with little to no experience, provide no training or benefits, and then set them loose. These budget safaris get too close to animals, impede natural activities needed for survival (such as hunting), and generally do not respect the environment they are in. They take their guests to tourist shops where the “handmade crafts” are made in China.

Here I would argue: if you do your research you can help a lot. There are many safari companies, guest camps, and lodges that, for a higher cost, can do a great amount of good. Reputable companies offer great training, jobs, and experience for lots of people. These jobs are *magic development word alert* sustainable. The local population is involved in serious income generating, and receive valuable, and relevant training in skills that are transferable—all without a paternalistic Western donor. The clients involved involved are paying real money for real services. Handouts are not involved: just simple business. 

I will be the first to admit (again) that I have been and in many ways, still am, a volunteer tourist, albeit my stay is longer. I must also confess that in the past I have always opted for the cheaper route, and would have probably done so again if it were not for my family’s generosity. I have now started to do research on tourism for future trips I am planning.

I have already conceded that my experiences as a Peace Corps Volunteer have turned me into a firm supporter of the free-market and capitalism; they might be turning into a Republican, although now I’m thinking more along the lines of a Libertarian. It’s possible that I am also becoming a cynic.This post is not meant to dissuade anyone from volunteering anywhere (particularly if you have a valuable skill to contribute), but I do hope to provide some food for thought before you start fundraising to build a schoolhouse in Guatemala.

I will conclude this blog by reminding you about my disclaimers, located on the upper right hand side of this blog. Also keep in mind that I did no research to write this note; that I am not a development expert; that I have never worked professionally in the hospitality industry (or any industry). You are free to scoff at these ramblings, and know, that you probably know better. 

Seen on Safari

For my zoologically curious friends, a list of the animals and some of the birds we saw on safari (thanks Charley, for passing on the list!): 

Rhino
Bush buck

Camel (this was a tourist trap)
Baboon (with babies)
Cheetah (with babies)
Bush baby (Lesser galago)
Leopard
Hippo (with baby)
Cape buffalo
Crocodile
Lion(ess) with cubs
Golden jackal
Warthog (with wartlet)
Elephant (and very young baby)
Topi
Vervet monkey
Colobus monkey
Stienbok

Black backed jackals
Golden jackal
Dwarf mongoose
Aardvark
Bat-eared foxes
Giraffe
Zebra (with baby)
African wild cat
African scrub Hare
Leopard Tortoise
Eland
Hartebeeste (Kongoni)

Spotted Hyena
Striped hyena
Wildebeest (white bearded Gnu, with baby)
Thompsons gazelle
Grants gazelle
Dik Dik
Impala
Water buck
Reedbok
Hyrax
Terrapin
Grass snake

Birds we identified:

Crown crane
Kori busterd
Cattle egret
Red capped lark
Rufus naped lark
Paradise whydah (very long tail only during mating season)
Black chested snake eagle
Black shouldered kite

Spoonbill
Lesser and greater Flamingo
Superb Starling
Hoopoe (woodpecker like bird)
Guinea fowl
Secretary bird
Ostrich
Vulture
Yellow throated long-claw bird
Fishers lovebird
Tawny eagle
Maribou stork

Tanzanian Safari

Flying over the new Lengai crate

After a fantastic whirlwind trip around Rwanda, my uncle and I headed east to Tanzania. In Arusha we met three of my cousins and two friends for a ten day safari. We began our trip by flying from Arusha to Nduara Camp, on the Serengeti plains just east of the National Park border. On our way, we flew over Ol Doinyo Lengai (which the Masai people refer to as “Mountain of God”) and saw its new crater, a result of the mountain’s volcanic eruption less than two years ago. 

Lengai

The plains at Nduara Camp were very dry due to delayed rainfalls and heavy usage by  Masai, who graze thousands of cattle on the plains. The first few days we were accompanied by what seemed like all the 450,000 gazelle living in the Serengeti; quite a few giraffe, many zebra and hyena, and a pride of elephants with babies. The most stunning part of Nduara for me was the sheer vastness of the plains. It was absolutely breathtaking, and a real change for my eyes which have seen nothing but rolling hills for the last year.  

Serengeti plains near Nduara Camp

After a few days at the Nduara Camp we drove west to Ndutu, a wetter area where we were able to observe more wildlife. Our first morning at the camp I woke up to catch a glimpse of two adult and one baby wildebeest running from a hyena less than fifty feet away from me. At Ndutu, we also had a chance to catch a view of more zebra, elephants, wildebeest, buffalo, flamingo, some cheetah with cubs, two lion prides, hippos, a leopard, and even a crocodile.

Most evenings ended with a beautiful sunset, equipped with fire, seats, and a drink

Our last safari stop was Ngorogoro Crater—an unbroken, unflooded volcanic caldera. It was formed when a giant volcano erupted over two million years ago. The crater is 2,000 feet deep and covers 100 square miles. Again, I was more impressed with the landscape than the animals. The fact that we were inside a volcano with so much life around us was something I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around.

Wildebeest blocking the road at Ngorogoro Crater

The Crater was fantastic, something I feel incredibly lucky to have seen and won’t ever forget. But, after over a week of working really hard to see animals on the plains, Ngorogoro felt a little9 bit like a petting zoo. The animals were completely habituated to the presence of large safari cars and did not move a bit. In fact, the wildebeest would not leave the road to let us pass! Here we saw (among other things) more hyena, buffalo, lions, hippo, and rhino.

Ngorogoro Crater

At the Ngorogoro Crater Lodge, I opened a National Geographic magazine in the bathroom. Expecting to read an article about the exotic place I was currently in (what else does the National Geographic write about, other than incredibly exceptional things?!), I was surprised to see an article about Central Pennsylvania. I guess exotic and interesting are terms open for interpretation.

After our Crater visit, I said goodbye to my uncle and cousins at the Kilimanjaro Airport, where they went on to catch international flights. I re-boarded the plane we had taken from outside the Crater and headed to the smaller Arusha airstrip close to town. Steve, the very friendly pilot, let me drive the plane back! That’s right: yours truly, who at sixteen couldn’t drive a golf cart in a straight line, maneuvered a plane in Africa. Fantastic trip.