It Begins - Memorial Week

Mass Graves, Gisozi

I think I broke myself...

~whispering~ hangover...

Friday night was nice. At first I was a little too stressed out by the past week to enjoy it, but my friend popped round to drop off some bags. She's got a new Rasta boyfriend across town (a radio DJ – very good-looking) and was off to his for the night.

D was feeling a bit better, I'd cooked him rice and fish earlier and then we went to La Planet for something more substantial: chips and goat brochettes. My friend had given me some chocolate as she ate half of my supply last time. I was sharing it with D. He walked into the garden, and when he came back the chocolate had gone. I was so mad at him! You ate it all? How could you do that!? I was really upset - chocolate is a precious commodity here. It was good stuff too, Cadbury's!

He shrugged and said he hadn't meant to. "How can you not mean to!?" I'm in top stroppy mood. *sigh* Fine. I followed him into the kitchen to get my bag - instead I'm met with a gentle kiss and my bar of chocolate back! The b*st*rd had been teasing me! I was madder for that than thinking he'd eaten it in the first place! So, I shared the last bit with him :op I never had him pegged as a tease before, but it was cute.

Eating out was really nice, but a bit eerie. Seems like it's already begun: Genocide Memorial Week. Loads of vols have skipped the country to avoid it. Karen's gone home and Antonia's in Ethiopia. It feels like you're floating towards this big black hole... unsettling. I first noticed it on Friday morning on my way to work. There were very few people about. Everywhere had that quiet feel of an unexpected public holiday... It was worse on the way home. As we were walking to the bar I asked D if he'd noticed, and he said it was the memorial week build-up. More of a 'memorial fortnight,' he said.

I'd never seen La Planet so deserted, it was creepy. I asked if he'd been to the memorial centre, and whether he'd like to, but he said 'no' and 'no'. There's a memorial service there on Monday morning which Paula is going to. I'm going to ask Augustin if it's okay for me to go, too. It's not an easy thing to ask, really. D doesn't understand why I'd want to go. I said I was curious. I try and think of a really honourable reason, but there isn't one. I find the whole thing fascinating: people, humanity - it tells you something about yourself, I guess.

*Augustin just texted saying Monday is a national holiday so it's fine for me to go.*

I think what I find most disturbing is that there's this week when everything stops. It's going to be bad. I've been warned by older volunteers that you don't want to be in Rwanda this time of year. Lots of crying in the streets. I guess the only thing I can equate it to is when Diana died and strangers would come up to you and sob on your shoulder, flowers everywhere. That's what I'm preparing myself for. But all of this, every year for one week... Where does it go the rest of the year? Where does all that grief and anger and guilt hide after the ritual is over?

D keeps making me laugh with Ugandan superstitions. It started when I told him that it always p!sses it down every time I hang my washing out. It can be beautiful sunshine, but peg out the laundry and it buckets down. Apparently, if you hang out your washing and it rains, it means a death in the family. I said 'at this rate, I won't have any family left!' Also, like banshees, when owls screech in the night it means the same. I haven't come across an owl here yet, so I think I'm safe ;)

It got really macabre at one point. I was discussing the mass graves at Gisozi, and how they looked just like the ones at Belsen - huge big slabs of concrete on the ground. I said I didn't like them much at all, it's horrible. I'd shown him some pictures of my family, including some of us at Ypres in Belgium, and Poelkapelle war cemetery which my great grandfather dug. I said the numbers of people were so many, but I prefer the crosses. At least it marks the fact that you were an individual. You lived. You were complete. I hate these mass concrete slabs under which everyone is anonymous, just another number amongst the 800,000. Doesn't seem right.

Anyway, we cheered up a bit after that. It was impossible not to notice the absence of people. I feel a bit guilty playing music in my house at the moment, it's so quiet outside. I'm keeping it low.

On the up-side though, I received a text from Heather at VSO on Saturday morning, telling me she has my passport and visa! Blimey, that were quick! Less than a week! After five months! I am now legal. I can go and get my green card and start planning a holiday! Yay! :)

Saturday started off quiet. I did a heap of housework. The water was running, so I did washing. D went out to do stuff for Steve and some friends. Then, late afternoon, my friend landed and dropped off some bags whilst she went swimming. She came back around half-seven and we went to Chez Lando for food and beer with Loona (not Luna – I nicknamed him Ukwezi), Drew, and some of Loona’s friends. A while later, D joined us. He’d been home, but thought I meant Stella and couldn’t find us. He arrived just as we were heading to Drew’s. Another volunteer was having a party at Republika but we chilled out with Drew and Etto, his dog. 

We got a lift there from one of Loona’s friends in a biiig 4x4 - 7 people! Another of his friends runs a graphic design company. I asked if they were hiring, and they were, so I got him and D talking. He’s got an interview on Tuesday morning! He’s a bit worried because he doesn’t have any samples of work to show them, it’s all in Uganda, but he could work on that this weekend if he wanted to.

Drew’s was fun. My friend and I drooled over his bed, which was just shipped out from America – disgusting! Then Loona, she and I decided to join the Republika crowd at Cadillac. D came with us to get a moto home. He hasn’t been well recently and was tired. To be fair, I felt pretty shattered too. I wasn’t sure I’d manage a night out, but once we got there I perked up pretty fast. We kept splitting bottles of waragi and I was getting preeeety tipsy. 

I hate Cadillac because it’s always waaay too hot. It needs air conditioning, and I find it’s too crowded. But it was fun despite the sweat, and the music was good. My friend and I left around 3am and took a taxi back. We stayed up drinking tea and eating peanut butter sandwiches for a while after we got back, then collapsed. D was in the spare room so we doubled-up in mine. I was soooo glad I’d washed the sheets lol The water’s off again today. It’s even harder with two in the house.

Woke up this morning feeling fragile. My friend left late morning and booked into a guesthouse over the road – she just texted to say she’s had a hot shower and washed her clothes. Bah humbug!

D’s gone out again, this time to see E’s mum. Things aren’t exactly swimming at the moment. Partly it’s cultural. I’ve been talking this over, and it’s the same with others. It's the time thing mostly. It drives me up the wall. It’s not just half an hour here or there, it’s 2-3 hours all the time. Drives me nuts. It’s also the social interaction thing. He’s painfully quiet, even around people he likes, like Drew, which I find difficult. I start to feel bad about being out in case it’s making him uncomfortable being surrounded by all these bods. Others say he’s just laid-back, so I dunno. He’s always going home early or leaving the conversation, yet he’s always got time to go sort out his mates seven days a week. Then there’s the expectation of what a relationship is here. I don’t know I can manage it. Back home, when you start a new relationship you’re all wrapped up in each other. You barely leave the bedroom for a week, you go out for meals, see movies, hang out with friends.

None of that happens here. Where to begin?

You don’t go out for meals unless you’re paying. So you don’t go out for many, because it’s expensive. But I’d rather pay than cook given my facilities. You don’t go to the movies or the theatre – there aren’t any. As for hanging out with mates – different worlds. Women aren’t welcome in his, he finds it hard to interact with mine. The crux of the matter is that, in Rwanda (and I have to be careful here because Uganda may be a bit different, but whilst we’re living in Rwanda let’s say it counts...), men and women don’t socialise in the way they do back home. I think I mentioned Regis before? Drew’s friend who cat-sat, then one day told me if I ever wanted babies he wanted to be the first to know. 

I thanked him for the offer, but told him I planned on doing the whole falling in love thing first. If that didn’t work, I’d give him a call... *rolls eyes* I since found out he’s had a girlfriend for the past five years. Only, he sees her for about two hours a week, a couple of days a week – he can’t take her for a drink, they can’t go see a film, she isn’t allowed to leave the house. Is it any wonder this young, fit bloke is climbing the walls?

Many men here see a mzungu woman and think ‘freedom, liberation!’ Especially where money and sex is concerned, hence you get marriage proposals on a regular basis. But marriage here is usually a strategic decision, rather than a matter of love. Not always, but a lot of the time. I asked my colleague how he felt about his impending marriage: "Are you excited?’ - "Well, what can you do? I’m not a young man anymore, we cannot avoid these things." Not exactly the response I was expecting, but a common one it would seem. Woman = babies, home, respectability. None of which I’m looking for in a relationship :o/

What flipped my lid – and I’m never sure if he’s joking – was a conversation about Baptism that D and I had this morning. "But if you’re not Baptised, what about your kids? They won’t have good parents." - errr... "Beg pardon? What about before Christianity then, was everyone a crap parent?"

Apparently so. Strange words for an ‘observer’. He's Muslim turned Adventist turned Born Again turned ‘observer’ of religions. Then came an attack on children out of wedlock. I bit my tongue so hard it almost bled. "No qualms about sex before marriage, then?" – sudden silence and a mumbled something about ‘conscience’ and ‘difficult’. 

I honestly thought he had to be joking. I’m still not sure he wasn’t... but perhaps that’s just my incredulity looking for a way out. So many times I’ve had conversations with self-professed ‘open minds’ here, only to discover you couldn’t see daylight for the blinkers. It’s actually quite chilling. 

My Rwandese friend Alexis made me laugh. I was being ‘oh so VSO’ about it when I first arrived, trying to brush it off as culture - a culture I didn’t understand. It was he who said "a culture of mental poverty." 

I was surprised at the vehemence of his attack on his own country, but he threw out a really rational argument along the lines of: lack of education = poverty of pocket, leading to poverty of mind, with the brainwashing of the Church replacing independent thinking. It was a long conversation, but it left me pondering. I haven’t quite come to a conclusion yet, but I’ll keep you posted.

Anyway, what I was saying was that many guys might like the idea of dating a mzungu, but the reality baffles them. Same as it baffles me trying to fathom him. With men here, everything’s a secret. Everything’s more mysterious than they can say – nothing is direct or obvious. Maybe it is with their mates, but not with their women. I hear mysef generalising, but let’s just flow with it for a moment – I know not every man is the same, but majority perception. That physical distance of holding hands extends to emotional distance. There’s a great big gap there. You don’t go out for meals with your girlfriend, you don’t spend Sundays cuddling up in bed, you don’t buy flowers (although chocolate, apples, and a bottle of coke came close ;) ), you don’t go to the movies, and your mates take priority. 

It’s a completely different ball game, and I don’t like it. It’s a lot to do with culture, but also personalities. I need someone who can match my energy levels, and Iggy Pop’s lust for life. I’d rather be single than waiting around for someone. I guess I’m just happy in my own skin. Selfish? Maybe. Or independent, but ~best nasal Caerdydd accent~ there we are then.

*sigh* Complicated, huh? ‘Dear Judy...’ If anyone has any relationship advice, I could do with a giggle ;)

We're out of water again. Not good after a sweaty night out. Going to wander over to see Paula later as Joe's in town and tomorrow's a national holiday. It's the start of a difficult week to come. Still, what can you do but do what you do?