Border Patrol

Rusumo Falls

Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman living in the Eastern Province of Rwanda. She had many friends and family, and was undoubtedly the most eligible bachelorette in the village. She had many offers (both sexual and matrimonial), and was promised dowries of amashongore {many female cows} as well as a life of eating nothing but avocadoes and donuts. Needless to say it was quite a shock for everyone when she finally accepted an offer of marriage, not from a Rwandan, but from someone living across the border. Not only that, but the man was very poor (and from what I hear, definitely lacking in the looks department). Nevertheless she was entranced and before her friends and family could figure out what was really going on, she had moved to Tanzania and was living a life of wedded bliss. Of course, everything was not perfect. Her husband was cruel and treated her badly. She was forbidden from visiting loved ones in Rwanda and forced to spend all day inside her small mud hut. It was almost as if she was entranced in a spell, and, fearing for her safety, some of her family snuck over to her house one evening to confront her. Upon seeing her kin come to rescue her, the spell was broken instantly. She realized the man had used black magic to seduce her and make her love him. She was angry and packed her few things and began to flee with her family. However, these things are never that easy and as soon as she begins to leave, her husband shows up, and, suffice to say he’s pissed. He threatens that if she leaves him he will place a curse on her and her entire family. The family manages to escape his grasps and returns the young woman back to the safety of her homeland. She is happy and content and wakes up the next morning and dies. She just…drops dead. Now, this same day people witnessed a rather strange phenomenon, crocodiles began walking across the border, and despite the pokes and kicks from villagers, they continued on their path. Apparently, one could walk up and touch the crocodile without anything happening, because, you see, these crocs were on a mission. They walked all the way down to the girl’s village and ate her family. Maybe some friends too.

So, this was my introduction to my new home. Apparently around these parts there’s a lot of witchcraft. So I’ve been warned not to piss anyone off. We’ve also been warned not to shake hands with anyone, especially old ladies. When you ask why you get a simple one-word response: poison. Now, I don’t really buy any of it, but my roommate informs me that he was also skeptical; having grown up in the city, and it wasn’t until he began living out East that he saw this black magic with his own two eyes. I’ve definitely heard some crazy stories over the past week and as much as I’d like to share them all on my blog, it’s probably not the best thing for me to do, this being available for pretty much anyone to read.

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I had my own interesting experience at the border this past weekend. After surviving our first week at site, some of us decided to celebrate by getting together on Saturday for some much needed R&R. My good friend Miranda was also celebrating a birthday, and so it was decided that we would be going to her house. Of course, after only living in the house for a week it was still relatively empty, and seeing as my living quarters are fully furnished, we decided to do the shindig at my place. Much of the weekend involved sharing good stories, cooking good meals, and drinking good pretty shitty wine. Now, wine here is way expensive, often ranging from $20-30 for just a bottle. I had mentioned to my roommate once that I really like wine. I had also mentioned that I would like to take my friends over to see the border. Now apparently, in Tanzania the wine is way cheaper than what is sold here in Rwanda, and so my roommate suggested paying a border hopper to go buy us some cheap wine in Tanzania and bring it back to us. Before long we were in his car heading towards Tanzania.

The ride out east is a beautiful one. The mountains here are more like hills, and from what I hear; they make for amazing picnic spots. Driving around with my roommate this past week has been an interesting experience because it has allowed me to see parts of Rwanda that the public buses don’t go and places Peace Corps certainly would never take me. Right behind my house, for example, is a long road that heads to the border, in America we would most likely refer to it as the ‘backroad’ route, but here it is also a very important road that connects several villages. The thing about it is that you can walk for almost a mile and not see another person. It seems I’ve found the one place in Rwanda without any people, and considering that I’m currently living in the most densely populated country in all of Africa, that’s quite a feat. Another place I wouldn’t normally get to: the border.

Sketchy border crossing.

Now, my notions of what the border would look like before moving to Rusumo were a lot different. I pictured a pretty, grassy plain with a large ‘Welcome to Tanzania!’ sign. Instead, you drive to a sketchy town that makes Tijuana look like Monaco. All around are dozens of semi trucks and truck drivers speaking different languages from all over Africa. Walking around the streets are women wearing short skirts and tons of makeup, and though I don’t want to assume (for all I know they are truck drivers too, or border guards), I’m pretty sure they are ladies of the night. If you catch my drift. There’s also a few hotels but I think they tend to pair up with said ladies of the night. The border between Tanzania and Rwanda is actually a river, and the bridge connecting the two countries travels over Rusumo Falls. The waterfall was actually very beautiful, though dirty of course (Rwanda is just so damn dusty!). Convincing the guard that we just wanted to see the waterfall and weren’t planning on actually crossing over was a little bit of a feat, but before we know it we were walking across the bridge. Of course, somewhere along the line we may or may not have slipped some money to a man who returned almost an hour later (I was getting worried there for a bit!) with a 5 liter box of incredibly delicious cheap white wine. To thank my roommate for bringing us to the waterfall we all wanted to take him to a bar and buy him a drink. After doing some convincing he said he knew of one close by that was wheelchair accessible. The bar had a nice back courtyard where we enjoyed some cold Primus and akabenzi {pork} skewers. Seeing as this was the first time that I have eaten pork in almost three months, well, I was incredibly happy. Being the always gracious host, my roommate had invited our borderhoppin’ friend. While we were ordering beers he ordered himself a bottle of cognac and then drank the entire bottle over the two hours we were there. So there was that.

Soon after we piled back into my roommate’s car and began racing through the Eastern Mountains. It was probably one of the scarier moments of my time here so far and the fact that my friend kept whispering to me from the backseat that ‘car accidents are the leading cause of death amongst Peace Corps Volunteers!’ really didn’t help. Turns out we had to take our borderhoppin’ friend back to my market town, about 15 minutes away from where I live. To make a long story short, we almost hit several people and were also involved in a minor fender bender. Luckily we made it back home safe and sound, just in time to make a delicious supper and enjoy each other’s company.

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My backyard.

I’ve been at site for almost two weeks now and though I’m enjoying being here, it has also proved to be quite a challenge. Rusumo is an endemic area when it comes to malaria, and after a few nights of mosquito blitzes I’m able to see why. Even though I sleep with a net, they still find their way in and my body is completely covered in bites. In the morning they line the walls of my shower room and so I have to spend a minutes beating the walls with my towel to get them to buzz off…literally. Of course they usually come back rather quickly. Mosquitoes aside, my living situation is really good. I moved into a fully furnished apartment, thanks to my roommate. If anyone out there is thinking that I’m ‘roughing it’ in a hut somewhere then you’re mistaken, the fact is we even have a TV here (granted it nearly electrocuted me when I tried to turn it on once so I don’t really touch it now). Last week I had ordered some furniture from the local carpenter, well actually I had my roommate do it so that I could get a deal and not the muzungu price. The quoted 50,000Rwf and he managed to talk them down to 30,000Rwf (around $55). I got a desk, a chair, and a large wooden bookshelf to keep all my stuff on. When it came time to pick up the stuff I waited until my friends came so that they could help me to carry it over to my house. Due to all of our adventures at the border, we weren’t available to head over to the carpenter until late at night, after giving him a call around 9PM he said it wouldn’t be able a problem. After climbing up the hill and wading through a graveyard of furniture lit only by moonlight we stumbled upon three men sitting on a bench. Now, I’m not really sure if any of them actually worked there but they showed me the stuff and we argued prices for a bit and then we all realized that while my friends and I were slightly buzzed from a few Primus these men were trashed out of their minds. Insults were thrown in Kinyarwanda, and soon two of them men were fist-fighting while the other one screamed at them (the only thing I managed to understand was the one thing he was shouting over and over again: inzoga {alcohol!}. I handed the man the money and we made a dash for it. Now the furniture is safe and sound in my newly decorated bedroom, which gives the whole place a homier feel (which, trust me, was badly needed).

Living here has its other challenges. Despite scoring high on my Language Proficiency Interview, I still only understand 20% of what people are saying to me. Add to that the fact that people here are very shy, and half the time they’re speaking to me in either French or some kind of Swahili. Most days end with me popping a few Ibuprofen because I have such a bad headache. The sun here is killer, and a smart man would wear the sunscreen that Peace Corps provided. I usually abstain because it feels like rubbing castor oil on my skin and never really seems to dry. Also, we’re currently in the dry season, which means the sun is high in the sky, there are water shortages all across the Eastern Province, and the dust is everywhere. When I blow my nose it’s usually red, not from chronic bloody noses but simply because I spend the whole day breathing in dirt. Also, according to my teacher back in Kamonyi, the dry season often times makes people go mad, and tie that in with all the witchcraft going on around me, and I would say it’s quite the time to be here!

But the past weeks have had their ups as well. I can finally work on my own schedule, and after the grueling three months of training, this has definitely been a welcome change. Now that my room is looking more like a room, I enjoy spending time in there and it has proven to be a nice little sanctuary when I am feeling down. The community I am living in is great; the people here are incredibly friendly and eager to talk to me when I go for walks. The staff at the Health Center is also really great, and though I still feel like I have a long way to go in terms of integration, I’m taking it day by day. The view from my window of the sun setting is incredible. The cool night air is relaxing. The cell phone reception here is superb (believe me, it’s a big deal!) Peace Corps service is a series of ups and downs, and so far I’m riding the wave and enjoying the experience.

Now if I could just find some candy…