26 June 2013

25 Kamena 2013—Abaantu Batagírâ Amajwi


Today I did something that I had been wanting to do for awhile. I mentioned that there were a lot of homeless people in Kigali; I wanted to talk to one of them.

I live near Manhattan and I study in Harvard Square, two places where there are a lot of people living on the street. I know the feeling that the average pedestrian has in those places: at-least-subconscious sympathy, but also a sense that there is always somewhere to go, something to do. I have felt that here too: I brought my New Yorker’s perspective with me, to an extent, and though I often give something I also often apologetically keep walking. Just not having a home is hard enough, but to be constantly ignored—or, if lucky, acknowledged with a smile and coin or two—has to be really trying.

So I was already feeling conflicted, as I often do in an urban area. What occurred to me, though, was that the major reasons I came here were to talk to people and to get to know the city. There are other things to see, yes: stores and markets to shop in, museums and memorials to visit, new neighborhoods to explore. But I want to really understand Kigali, and Rwanda, and that probably means not shying away from parts that are uncomfortable to acknowledge.

I had a person in mind, actually: a sweet-looking elderly woman whom I had seen not far from the center of town. She had a nice, quiet, shady spot on the sidewalk. So I gave her some money, sat down and introduced myself. She was really pleasant. I did my best to make small-talk, though I was hesitant to ask a lot of the questions I normally would: what kind of family she had, where she lived, etc. I did ask how much money she was able to get in a day, just out of curiosity (“not much”), and I tried to explain how a lot of people want to give more but feel like they can’t give to everyone. I think she understood.

I ran short of conversation, so I asked her to teach me a new word. She started running through greetings and partings. Most of these I knew, but there were a couple of new ones: usually words with which I was familiar, but idiomatically used in a new way. I liked talking to her because she spoke very clearly, perhaps because of her age; even though she sometimes spoke quickly, I almost always understood what she said.

People kept walking by and looking over. They would look at a white person anyway, but this was especially unusual. Most of them smiled; some of them gave money.

I told her I would come back and visit her. She seemed happy. I hope I wasn’t annoying her; I just can’t imagine she is able to talk to many people on a daily basis, except asking for help and thanking people who give it.


After, I was off to Kacyiru, another area of Kigali; I wanted to visit the U.S. embassy—I don’t know, just to say hello or something, and tell them I was here.

I think I got off the taxi at the wrong place; it didn’t take the turn I thought it would, so I got off at the next stop. In retrospect, I think it was going to go to Nyarutarama and then back around to Kacyiru. Oh well. I got off and walked for about a mile or two to the embassy, past some really nice landscapes and a bamboo plantation. It was a good walk.

The American embassy is a fortress: a huge, hulking concrete building surrounded by compulsively maintained grounds and imposing, 20-foot-tall iron fences. On the wall by the door is mounted a very large State Department logo moulded out of iron. So unnecessary!

As it turned out, I couldn’t even go in. I put my bag on the conveyor belt and the security guard asked me where I was going. Turns out I need to make an appointment. I kind of thought that being a citizen would be enough to let me into my own embassy, but maybe that’s standard practice.

Much more inviting was the recently opened National Library of Rwanda. It was only about two blocks away, so I went over and looked in. It is a very nice building, all shiny and glassy and modern, and it looks like a library. The shelves were kind of spare: most of its books, I think, come as donations, and in general they were a little bit old. Still and all, it’s pretty cool that Rwanda even has a public library, right? People were using it, too: many were using the free Wi-Fi, and some were reading. I hope it will continue to grow.

After that I took a pretty long walk from the library to Nyarutarama, known for being very wealthy. I didn’t see much of Nyarutarama; I was interested in the in-between area of Kacyiru, which has a whole bunch of government ministries and other embassies. These actually weren’t as interesting as I had been hoping: the ministries were just office-buildings, and the embassies were often very nice but always behind large gates and walls. Again, though, it was a good walk.

At the end of the road there was a bookstore; there aren’t many bookstores here, so I had to look in. It was a lot like the other one, except nonreligious. I did see a Kinyarwanda–French dictionary, though, which I have seen in the Harvard Library but not anywhere else. It is not the greatest work: the tones are marked in an unusual way (though still a lot better than not at all), and it was made by a European priest, so it probably has a bunch of mistakes. Still, it cost less than $4 so I snapped it up.

Afterward, I caught a taxi back to town; it was getting on toward evening. My night did not end there—I now have some friends who are soldiers, and am also very impressed with the professionalism of Rwanda’s security forces. Maybe you’ll hear that story at some point, but I think now is not the time.

New Vocabulary Words for the Day

  1. (m)úrôte ímáana: “May you dream of god”; a nighttime farewell
  2. amáhôro y’íímáana: peace of god; a greeting of farewell

24 Kamena 2013—Gukosoorwa


This will be a short post, I think. I spent a little bit of time in the afternoon walking around town going about some things I had wanted to do: I convinced several more foreign exchange bureaux that I was crazy (but got two new bills from Burundi and one from Uganda out of it), mailed some postcards and went back to the bookstore, where I bought a book called Isokomurage y’Ururimi rw’Ikinyarwanda.

I cannot completely translate the title: the first word is a problematic compound, the first part of which means “source” or “fountain” and the other part of which I don’t know. I think it is a book about idiomatic usage of Kinyarwanda: there is a section of proverbs from old Kinyarwanda and rural dialects, then a dictionary-ish section that appears to focus on idioms, then a section on vocabulary relating to animal-husbandry. This last section includes a fantastic image of 36 body-parts illustrated on a cow.

(Cows are big in Rwandan culture. When Tutsi pastoralists migrated into the Great Lakes Region several centuries ago—so the accepted history goes—they brought with them cows from Ethiopia, which quickly became the main symbols of wealth in Rwanda relative to which the values of other commodities were measured. As a result, Kinyarwanda has developed an extensive vocabulary relating to husbandry. There are lots of words for different kinds of cows, and a whole set of color words that can only apply to cows. One polite Kinyarwanda greeting translates as “Have cows!”, and an exclamation akin to “Jesus Christ!” more directly means “He gave me a cow!”)

But I digress. The other interesting thing that happened that afternoon was that I saw a guy wearing a polyester Harvard jacket, speaking Kinyarwanda to a friend. I asked him whether he went to Harvard; “I don’t know,” he responded. I explained, in a bit more detail, that I studied at this university in the United States. “Oh,” he said, “I just bought it at the market.” Admittedly he did not look like he was from the Class of 1947.

I also took a walk in the morning; there is a side-street, unpaved, that departs from the street I live on and goes uphill from there; it is not on any roadmap I have seen, so I decided to check it out. This road quickly stopped looking anything like a road: grass started appearing, and rocks, and it kept getting thinner. I thought it would have to end soon, so I kept going, and kept being amazed at the ability of this path to keep devolving: I must have walked about a quarter-mile. It got to a point where it was only about 3 feet across, between corrugated metal walls, and paved with sandbags—and then it opened out abruptly onto another paved road.

I saw some interesting things on the way. First, really modest dwellings. On my street, the houses aren’t mansions by any means: most of them are single-story, and not much larger than the two-bedroom apartment where I live in the U.S. They do, however, all have walls or hedges surrounding their property, and they are built in a way that reminds me of a house. Getting farther from the paved road, though, I started seeing houses closer in size to my dorm-room last year, some improvised from sheet-metal, some of clay that was cracking in the dry weather. The pleasantness of the people I saw was a constant, but the living situations really did change. One cluster of houses I saw had a plot of cassava growing outside of it; it was actually kind of beautiful, in a secluded kind of way.

Also, I saw a few kids playing by a church at the end of the road. “Good morning!”, they all shouted pleasantly. “How are you?” I have taken to responding in Kinyarwanda whenever I feel comfortable, so I answered “Ni meêza!” Then they corrected me: “Oya, vuga ngo, ‘I’m fine!’ ” I must admit that caught me off-guard.

Well, so much for a short post. I guess things did happen today!

23 June 2013

23 Kamena 2013—Observations


I don’t know whether this will be the only post for today, but it occurred to me that there were a bunch of observations I had made about Kigali that I had not recorded anywhere. Here are some of them.

Update: Yes, this will be the only post for the day: I spent all of the afternoon studying a grammar of Kinyarwanda, trying to understand the placement of dummy vowels in loanwords. I think I understand it, and I think the interpretation I came up with makes more sense than what the author said. I would write more, but I do not think many people are interested and typesetting phonological rules well is really hard!

Unpaved Roads

Main roads are paved throughout the city. In the city center, and in upscale areas like Kacyiru and Remera, most of the rest are too. In Nyamirambo and in Nyakabanda, where I am living, it is only the main roads. The rest are clear of grass and stuff, but are covered with a kind of reddish dirt that I have only otherwise seen in Arizona. I think this is because of high iron content, a feature of soils in many parts of Africa that hinders agricultural potential but is very distinctive. The unpaved roads vary from pretty flat to exceedingly uneven, often seeming like they are just rock-formations smoothed only by human feet.

This really takes a toll on motor vehicles, which are often old and usually look even older. I was talking to a guy about cars, and he agreed that Toyotas were really reliable, but he was shocked to hear that my family had one that still functioned after ten years!

Birds

They are everywhere, and they are beautiful. There are some that are the size of hawks, though differently colored (black and white), called ibisiiga. There are cranes, called imisaâmbi, that are really majestic in the way they fly: legs splayed out, body undulating with each beat of their wings, with the legs swinging forward to grasp branches as they land—and with a wingspan of about 3 feet. There are birds that look like sparrows, except a bit larger and with bright orange beaks; I think these are called intaâshya.

Rwanda is apparently a birdwatching hotspot, with hundreds of uncommon species, but what amazes me is the sheer prevalence of just a few very large, very attractive ones in an urban area. The irony is that the songs of these birds each sound like a different part of a very old car: a screeching brake, an engine struggling to start from a failing ignition, a horn that can no longer hold a constant pitch. I think it’s worth it, though!

Beggars

There are a lot of them; it might be comparable to the number of homeless people in Midtown, Manhattan, but it tends to be sadder. First, in the U.S. there is at least a pretty well-developed infrastructure of food pantries, shelters and programs to provide the homeless with basic needs, as well as a government that can offer certain public goods that do not exist in Rwanda. Second, the proportion of these people who are somehow maimed—missing limbs, physically disfigured or visibly injured—is shocking. This, in addition to the proportion of women and especially single mothers living on the street, makes more sense (though is no less sad) in light of this country’s recent history. Foreigners and well dressed Rwandans especially get asked for money a lot; it is hard to say no, and also much easier to give a small amount that can go a long way.

Clothing

The range of clothing one sees walking around Kigali is fascinating. Probably a majority of people, especially men, wear standard Western clothes: T-shirts and jeans (never shorts). I get the feeling that many of the shirts, especially, are sold second-hand via American thrift shops. (These are exceedingly questionable, by the way: clothing is one thing Africans have always had, and flooding the market with cheap, trashy hand-me-downs has served to profit Americans and destroy local textile industries.) The shirts often have English writing on them, perhaps a sports-team’s logo, maybe a sarcastic comment: the most awkward I have seen said “I ♥ FEMALE ORGASMS.”

There are also a fair number of people who wear Western business attire, especially in the city center. Traditional-looking African textiles are all but nonexistent among men, and somewhat uncommon but still prominent among women. Characterized by bright colors and beautiful patterns, I see them much more away from the urban part of the city, and still much more among older women. On the opposite end, one sometimes sees a foreigner wearing foreigner-clothes: tank-tops, shorts, whatever. Finally, there is a small but visible Muslim population, especially in Nyamirambo, and people of both genders wearing religious attire are not uncommon.

People With Stuff on Their Heads

You know the stereotype. This one is true. It is really impressive. In commercial areas, it is very common to see women, especially, carrying baskets or cartons on their head, with far too much in them to appear safe—and they somehow manage to maneuver themselves through crowded areas and uneven terrain. I have never seen one lose her balance, and even using a hand to help balance is uncommon.

The small number of men that do this would still be really notable in the U.S. The most impressive feat I have seen, actually, was a guy who jogged down the a hill carrying eleven twin mattresses on his head (I counted), turned a sharp corner and did not lose a single one.

Telephones

The way cell phones work here is interesting, and very different from what I am used to. At least for a majority of people, there are no contracts or monthly plans. You buy a phone, which has a SIM card (simakadi) in it from one of the three main carriers (MTN, Airtel and Tigo) in it. You then load money onto the SIM card by finding a person on the street wearing a vest for your carrier, who will sell you a little paper tab that represents the amount of money requested. (These people are on almost every block, and many have cards of multiple carriers.) There is a scratch-off code on the back of the card that you dial into your phone; after dialing, a confirmation message comes confirming that the money has been loaded.

Everything, from my experience, is dirt-cheap: I can send text messages for less than 2 cents each, and make international calls for something like a dollar every fifteen minutes. Calling and texting between phones on the same carrier, though, is even cheaper, and most phones have multiple SIM card slots. This leads to many people putting two or even three SIM cards in their phones, and being careful only to call numbers on their own networks. It is fascinating how this system has arisen that so accommodates an information-hungry but still cash-poor society.

Foreigners

Rwanda has a large expatriate population for an African country, for a number of reasons. First, and maybe most importantly, there are many foreign humanitarian workers who came on the wave of international penance following the Genocide. Second, because of the economic progress the country has made, there are a decent number of foreigners who have come here for business purposes, to staff branches of international corporations or to fill spots at Rwandan companies for which there are not yet enough qualified Rwandans. Finally, for both of the above reasons and also the lovely climate and welcoming people, there is a significant population of foreigners who come for adventure or novelty, to stay for some time and then move on.

One interesting consequence of this is that white people in Kigali are disproportionately young, educated, socially conscious and upper-middle-class, or else well-off businesspeople. This does not exactly give Rwandans the nuanced perspective they would get by actually visiting, say, America, and understandably contributes to the perspective that all bazuûngu are rich.

Still, foreigners are a small minority; there are some places one can go and find lots (e.g. hotels, or Bourbon Coffee with its free Wi-Fi), but walking around central Kigali for several hours last week I think I saw four. In rich areas, probably more; in Nyamirambo and Nyakabanda, next to none.

Possibly more common than Euro-Americans, at least in the contexts in which average Rwandans will see them, are people who come from India and the Middle East to open businesses. There are lots of shops, foreign exchange bureaux and food stores owned by Indians or Arabs, sometimes Kinyarwanda-speaking, sometimes not. Uncommon but increasingly prominent are East Asians, especially those coming to work on or oversee one of several high-profile Chinese-funded construction projects in the city.

Security

In all of the residential areas I have been to (admittedly not a representative sample of the whole city), it is customary for properties to be walled and gated. The gates are usually of thin sheet-metal, and the walls vary widely from semi-improvised bamboo fences to very solid brick walls. In my experience, this is out of concern for security; perhaps it is also Genocide-related, I do not know. In a way, it reminds me of the disturbing paranoia I saw in Houghton Estates, Killarney and other rich, insular suburbs of Johannesburg (where every house is surrounded by fortress-like walls with electric fences, advanced security systems and 24-hour guards). There are some key differences, though: those South African communities have paved roads and well-funded police forces, and given the extent to which they invested in their security they probably don’t actually have too much to be concerned about. Here, there is real poverty, and police presence (during the day, at least) is nonexistent. That said, the security is also a lot less rigid: the walls are smaller, the gates are often open and there are lots of people who walk freely on the street without concern.

In the central business district of Kigali, policemen are very visible; they look very official, well-groomed with nicely ironed uniforms. They are kind of like policemen in the U.S., except they patrol on foot and carry assault rifles. It’s funny that that does actually make me feel safer: maybe not the rifle itself, but the visibility of someone whose job it is to make sure nothing goes wrong. At night, they are supplemented by soldiers, who patrol on foot, even in the more removed places near where I live. It is the kind of security one sees around September 11 in the U.S., or at large public events. Again, it actually does make me feel safer.

The more modern shopping centers, banks and supermarkets usually have metal-detectors and security guards at the entrances, kind of like very small-scale airport security. It kind of mystifies me: generally, one puts his bag in a little basket next to the metal-detector but does not empty his pockets, then walks through, picks up the bag and moves on. I have set off every single one I have walked through; sometimes a guy takes a handheld device and confirms that I do indeed have metal things in both of my pockets; sometimes he doesn’t. Either way, they all just smile and take it on faith that it’s a camera and a cell phone. It is, of course, but they never check, and they don’t even look in the bag. I suppose the appearance of security is still meaningful to people, but it seems like an awfully expensive placebo and I wonder whether it has ever actually foiled anything.

Insects and Other Vermin

They are not as much of a problem as I had thought they would be. There are mosquitos, yes, and sleeping under a net is a responsible thing to do given the possibility of malaria. At least at this time of year, though (which is admittedly the dry season), the quantities of mosquitos we see are really tame in comparison with upstate New York.

There are also flies, which might be bigger than American ones but don’t seem to do much differently. And I saw bees at the market yesterday, which looked a lot like American honeybees. In Nyamata, outside the city, I did see a couple of frighteningly large beetles or wasps or something, but they didn’t try anything. And I have seen a few spiders, though not really scary ones. There are also butterflies, which are nice.

It’s an urban area. I am sure they must have rats and cockroaches, but for whatever reason I have not seen any. I have seen a couple of lizards, or geckos, or something: 6-inch-long reptiles that like to climb on walls. Somehow I am not as concerned about them as I would be about rodents or arthropods; in any case I have only seen one in the house, which seemed content to rest behind a picture-frame in the living-room until I stopped paying attention.

23 Kamena 2013—Amagaambo Níibagíwê


Vocabulary words from the past two days—how could I have forgotten?

Friday

  1. umutegetsi: legal authority of some kind (encompasses presidents, government ministers, policemen and I believe any public employee abstractly involved with enforcing laws)
  2. kúzîrikana: to remember constantly and never let out of one’s mind
  3. gútéesha umwaânya: to waste time
  4. gúsíingiza: to praise, to worship
  5. ítóorero: congregation
  6. umúsíinzi: drunk
  7. ikime: dew
  8. umútáambyi: one who dances to music
  9. umuseeso: early morning
  10. kwíiriingira: to wish
  11. iseengeesho: prayer

Saturday

  1. umujuura: thief, especially at night
  2. kurema: to create
  3. kwíiharira: to have or do something alone in which others could have shared
  4. urumuri: light
  5. ururabyo: flower
  6. ínyênyeérî: star

Vowels with an acute accent (e.g. á) have a phonetic high tone. Vowels with a circumflex (e.g. â) have a phonetic falling tone. Vowels with no accent have a low tone. Vowels that are doubled are long.

22 June 2013

22 Kamena 2013—Ifu y’Imyuumbati


Again, I did three things today. Except this time all of them were at least a little bit new.

I went into town after lunch, and went to check out the Librairie Caritas, which appears to be the only bookstore in the neighborhood. The guidebook said it would be closed on a Saturday afternoon, but it wasn’t so I went in.

Yesterday in church, it occurred to me that it would be really helpful to have a Bible in Kinyarwanda, because I have one in English (at home as a book, and wherever I happen to be as an app). Reading extended texts in Kinyarwanda is something I really want to work on, and it is difficult to do without someone bilingual present because translation resources are so paltry. With the Bible, though, I will have a direct translation available, with each verse being indexed the same way.

I also think a Kinyarwanda Bible is just a cool thing to have, and if reading it familiarizes me with the Bible more, then all the better.

So I bought a Bible, for something like $10. I also bought Umutekano mu Muhanda, an illustrated book about traffic laws produced by a private publisher in conjunction with the Rwandan National Police. It’s actually kind of helpful to me because it has explanations of all their unintuitive street signs, but I bought it mainly for the novelty.

This store is pretty cool. It is somehow faith-based, but they are well-stocked with non-religious things too. They have a good collection of books about East African, and especially Rwandan, history, and a lot especially about the Genocide. It also must be one of only a few stores anywhere that stocks substantial numbers of books in Kinyarwanda.

I had fun just looking around for awhile, and marveling at the contrast between Kinyarwanda Christian motivational books on one shelf and Principles of Organic Chemistry on the next. They also had their fair share of sappy-looking American romance novels and outdated technology guides (Switching to Macintosh by David Pogue, ironic both because it looks about a decade old and also because I do not think you can buy Macs in this country).


After, I took a bus to Kicukiro, a district in the southern part of the city. It was a lengthy bus-ride to get there—about a half-hour, and a very expensive 200 francs. Upon arrival, I did not see much at first: kind of a standard assortment of shops, a bank, a soccer field and some government offices.

It only took a few hundred yards of walking, though, to find a market. That was interesting. I don’t want to pigeonhole it as what people think of as an “African market’; I even hesitate to call it a market for fear of inducing chief/hut/village/tribe syndrome, but I don’t think there is (a) a better way of describing it or (b) any really negative connotation of the term.

It was open-air: there was a roof, supported by wooden poles, but no walls. The construction looked kind of impromptu, but it was separated from the street by a solid wall and clearly had a space that it occupied pretty permanently. I would estimate that the roofed area’s proportions were about 100 yards by 700 yards, though you could find it on Google Maps (a search for “market near Kicukiro Center, Kigali, Rwanda” would probably do the trick) and get a better idea of its size.

It was broken into sections. What was I believe the western end had no furniture at all and appeared to be reserved for people with really big piles of plantains or bananas. Moving inward, about a third was devoted to selling all kinds of food. On one side, people set out their produce on counters, perhaps shelling their peas or pounding their cassava as they sat. On the other, there were rows of shelves set up that were intermittently occupied by salespeople with canned goods and various kinds of non-produce food.

The whole market was split down the middle, widthwise, by an aisle flanked by people tending to huge piles of powder: cassava, millet, corn, whatever else you can make powder out of. These piles started at about my rib-level and towered over my head; I was also surprised (and a little intimidated) to see that there were hundreds of bees hovering and crawling over the powder. I did not see a hive anywhere, and I would not have thought that there was much in cassava powder for a bee to be attracted to, but clearly there was something.

The eastern end of the complex was all divided into rows of shelves, in which people sold a staggering range of goods: some with very nice-looking selections of shoes, some with bags, some with canned foods, some with clothing, some sitting at sewing machines doing repairs.

I guess I shouldn’t be amazed at the range of things being sold, having been to an American supermarket before, but this was really something else. Somehow I trusted the produce I saw a lot more than I would have in a store. I felt like I was seeing a lot more of its life cycle than I would have otherwise. And the environment was so wonderfully entropic-yet-functional. I kept my hand on my wallet the whole time, not wanting to be too careful, but no one tried anything.

After wandering around for a bit, I said hello to a woman selling cassava-powder. I ended up talking to her and one of her colleagues for about a half-hour. She was Congolese, and because of where she was born (Bukavu?) she fluently spoke Kinyarwanda, Mashi, Kibembe, Lingala and Congolese Swahili. (My first thought was, “Wow, that must have been a really cool place to grow up!” It probably was, actually, but then I remembered the downsides.)

They wanted to know (in addition to the usual questions) about Congolese refugees in the United States, whether there were a lot of them, how they were doing economically, whether they wanted to return home. I answered as best I could; hopefully I didn’t give them too much misinformation.

That was a lot of fun. I might have liked to stay longer, but I left to get home before the sun went down. I might have liked to buy something (though I admittedly don’t know what I would have done with cassava powder), but I had spent most of my pocket-money on books. I’ll have to go back, say hello, take some pictures: my friends assure me that it’s O.K. to do that.


In the evening, we read Bible stories. Not from the Bible I bought, but from a book of children’s Bible stories, in English. A. was over and we were trying to teach the 3-year-old some of it, but that didn’t work. So we read together: A. would read a sentence; I would help her with pronunciation, and then try to translate the sentence into Kinyarwanda, and she would help with that. It was really helpful to both of us, I think. We got through the first story, about the creation of the world and stuff. Tomorrow, on to the Garden of Eden!

21 Kamena 2013—Ibiintu Bishaje, ku Nshuro ya Kabiri


I essentially did three things today; none of them was something new, but each of them was fun the second time around.

I took walk in the morning, around the neighborhood. I wanted to make sure I knew my way around, so I walked to the church and back. The route looks a lot different in the morning: I passed a lot of people and shops that had been closed in the evening last week. There was a lot of commerce happening, and some people were busily beating cassava in one open-air vegetable market.

I did stand out. I didn’t see a single foreigner the whole time. A lot of people waved, smiled or said hello. A couple asked me where I was going, not in an aggressive way, just to be helpful. Some did make jokes, thinking I didn’t understand; I didn’t, completely, but my ears have been well trained to hear muzuûngu by now. If I turned around and smiled, so would they. I don’t want to say it felt secure—there was a certain feeling of entropy—but it did feel safe and friendly.

After returning from the church, I started the details of my mapping project. I walked very slowly up the street on which the house I am staying in is located and, pocket notebook in hand, drew out every building on street until the page ran out. Here, some people did look at me a bit strangely, and I don’t especially blame them. Smiling and saying hello always seems to dissipate confusion, though, and I accomplished what I wanted to. It’s a modest start (about one block); perhaps I’ll post a picture later on, when it is a bit more substantial.


In the afternoon, I went into town again. I met another American student for lunch, and hungrily consumed (in addition to lunch) the free Wi-Fi that apparently exists at Bourbon Coffee in the Union Trade Center. It was fun.

Afterward, I did not do a whole lot: I went to a different foreign exchange place (the people at the last one must think I’m weird by now) and got a Ugandan 2,000-shilling note (actually another one for 1,000 shillings too) for my 1,000 francs. I bought some postcards. I bought more chocolate. The guy who sells maps and flags on the street by U.T.C. knows me by name now; I guess I talked to him yesterday. Maybe I’ll end up buying something from him eventually.


I also went to church again in the evening. The experience was similar to last week’s, except that I felt like I understood a little bit more. The pastor, and another guy who got up to talk frequently, both spoke very clearly and, if I tried really hard, I could hear almost all of the words they said. I was still not able to put those words together into sentences, or even necessarily understand all of them, but I felt like it was progress.

I had decided I wanted to write down all the words I saw or heard there that I didn’t understand. I kicked myself for forgetting my notebook, so instead I wrote them in draft text-messages on my phone. I hope I didn’t look rude; we were sitting in the back corner and I always made sure to cover over the light of the screen.

The power went out a few times during the service; being after sunset, this could have been a problem. But a guy got out an electric lantern and handed it to the pastor, who just raised his voice and kept on going. People took out their cell phones to illuminate their bibles and orders of worship. The lights soon came back on, but the speaker system didn’t, so we sang the last hymn unaccompanied. It was an interesting experience.

After the service, once again, lots of people came to say hello. Some I recognized from last week, and there were many new faces too. I met some friends of friends, who started grilling me with really stressful questions in Kinyarwanda: “How old are you?” “What do you study” “Where do you live?” “Are you a Jehovah’s Witness?” “Is this your first time in Rwanda?” “How do you like it?”

Straining to understand the service had been hard work enough. After I was finished answering those questions, I was legitimately really tired. My friends helped me translate some of the words I didn’t know during the car ride home. I think I went to bed soon after.


I stand corrected: I underreported SUNY tuition by 80%, rather giving a figure accurate in the late ’70s. Where did I get that idea?

21 June 2013

20 Kamena 2013—Kugeendageenda mu Mujyi


The guy at the foreign exchange bureau looked at me a little strangely. Apparently my request was unusual.

I had put on the desk two Rwandan 500-franc notes (each worth about 75 cents), and asked him to convert one of them to Burundian francs and the other to Ugandan shillings.

I admit that there are not many plausible situations in which this request would have been useful to anyone. Perhaps I could now go to Burundi or Uganda (or both!) and buy a candy bar or something. Given the nature of foreign exchange bureaux, perhaps not even.

See, I collect foreign currency—not fanatically, but it is something I have put quite a bit of effort into over the years, and if I am ever in an interesting place I try to augment my collection. African currency is often really hard to track down in the United States, so as long as I am here I want to capitalize on, say, the presence of Burundian francs at exchange bureaux. I bet the exchange rate I got was pretty bad, but I do not really care: the 1000-shilling and (Burundian) 2000-franc notes that came out of the exchange are probably both new for me, and I am quite certain that they would have cost me quite a bit more than 75 cents closer to home.

Collectively, I think that the things I bought in Kigali this morning describe me pretty well: the two notes mentioned above, four chocolate bars from weird Middle Eastern brands, four packs of tissues, four eyedroppers-full of Akabanga, ten postcards, two newspapers and a bottle of water. When a cashier didn’t have optimal change, I also scored a 20-franc and a 10-franc coin, which almost completes my collection of Rwandan currency to bring home (see above).


Today was my first time being in town unaccompanied. I got a ride from my host on his way to work, and then got out and just wandered around from about 8:00 a.m. until 12:30 p.m. This allowed me to do a lot of things I had been wanting to do, which made me happy.

I am really grateful for the companionship of everyone who has come with me everywhere, but when I am in a place I will always want to get to know it on my own terms: walk around semi-aimlessly, looking at a map every now and then to find my way around; stop unpredictably to look into a store (or exchange bureau, as it were); stop to take a panorama of the hillside view or a video of the traffic; just stand around for a bit taking in my surroundings. If I were with someone who did these things, I would probably get kind of annoyed; therefore, I really like having the opportunity to do it on my own.

Also, when I am on my own, my own patience, hunger and stamina are the only limits on how much I do and how far I go. Ergo, in my four-and-a-half hours I criss-crossed the city center several times, getting lost and finding myself again, never really sitting down and sustaining myself for the whole time on a chocolate bar and a bottle of water.

At the end of it all, I came out with, in addition to the items listed above, a pretty good idea of how to get around and a number of good pictures that I spent the afternoon editing. Success!


One of the places I went was the Camp Kigali Memorial, the site of the murder of 10 Belgian U.N. peacekeepers on the second day of the Genocide in 1994. They were protecting Rwanda’s moderate prime minister, Agathe Uwilingiyimana, but surrendered, outgunned, to a troop of Rwandan soldiers, who took them to a military camp and brutally killed them. It was one of the first high-profile acts of the Genocide (the prime minister was also killed), and was important in that it prompted Belgium to withdraw its 450 peacekeepers, the backbone of the U.N. force. The peacekeepers subsequently had no choice but to contract further, and were powerless between their numbers and their mandate to effectively combat the violence.

This memorial, funded by the Belgian government and now situated on the campus of the Kigali Institute of Science and Technology, is primarily to those ten peacekeepers. It is less ambitious and, I believe, smaller than some other memorials, but it is still quite moving. The building in which the events took place has been deliberately maintained in its bullet-ridden state; there are shrapnel marks on the inside walls and an indentation from a grenade explosion in the corner. Outside there is a stone pillar for each of the dead, with notches representing their ages (none older than 34).

The woman tending to the memorial figured out that I spoke some Kinyarwanda, so she told what happened in Kinyarwanda; I knew the story, so it was O.K. that I did not understand all of what she said—there was some vocabulary used that is not usually in beginners’ curricula—though I was happy with how much I did get. She said she was very happy to see that I was understanding her; given that she probably doesn’t have the most cheerful of jobs, that made me happy too.

I do not think I am being disrespectful by saying that the ten to whom this memorial is dedicated are of limited importance relative to the almost 1 million other victims. Their story is tragic and indicative of the carnage that engulfed Rwanda in 1994, but in most ways does not stand out from thousands of others that occurred in the same period. So the most troubling, affecting part of being there for me was not remembering their specific fates—though feel for them I certainly did—but seeing this pockmarked building and being reminded that 19 years ago the ground on which I was standing was a war zone where stories like theirs unfolded every day. That was hard to believe and, given some thought, hard to handle.


New Vocabulary Words for the Day

  1. urúbûga: forum (I think), section
  2. uburezi: education
  3. uburozi: poison
  4. gútêgeka: to rule, to govern (source of amátêgeko “laws”)
  5. úrwíibutso: memorial (from kwíiruka “to remember”)
  6. umuzize: victim

Vowels with an acute accent (e.g. á) have a phonetic high tone. Vowels with a circumflex (e.g. â) have a phonetic falling tone. Vowels with no accent have a low tone. Vowels that are doubled are long.

P.S. Thoughts on the horizontal lines? I realize these posts get kind of long, and I thought it might be helpful to break them up a bit. I may experiment with headings in the coming days as well.

19 June 2013

19 Kamena 2013—Kinyarwanda Pronunciation Guide


This is a post I have been wanting to write for awhile now. Kinyarwanda words often look fairly easy to pronounce the way they are written, but if you are unfamiliar with the language, just trust me: you will say them wrong. Rwandans will still appreciate your effort, but they might have to strain to understand you. Moreover, I have seen other written efforts to explain pronunciation, and outside of linguistic studies everyone does it wrong.

I am not myself Rwandan, but I have studied both Kinyarwanda and linguistics for the past two years now, and I feel like the pronunciation is one thing that I have got down pretty well. Perhaps I am flattering myself by thinking that this will be useful to students or expats, but if any were to find it I think it would be.

My apologies to readers who enjoy reading posts about what I am doing in Rwanda; the major thing that I did today was write this pronunciation guide! Feel free to skip or skim it, or maybe just read the conclusion. Unless you are actually interested in Kinyarwanda, you might find it pretty boring.

Vowels

Kinyarwanda has five vowels: a, e, i, o and u. They are pronounced approximately as they would be in Castilian (standard) Spanish. In American English terms:

  • a is like the a in “father,” or the o in Standard American English (henceforth S.A.E.) “hot.” It is not pronounced like in “hat” or “hate.”
  • e is a lot like the ea in S.A.E. “pear.” It is not like the ee in “meet.” It is also not like the a in S.A.E. “hate”; it is similar, but listen closely and you will notice that that vowel actually ends with an ee-ish sound. You want only the first part; it is closer to the e in S.A.E. “pet,” and sometimes does sound like that, but your best bet is imitating that vowel in “pear.”
  • i is pronounced like the ee in “meet.” It also sometimes sounds like the i in “pit.” It is not pronounced like the i in “mine.”
  • o is a lot like the o in S.A.E. “pore.” It is not like the o in “pot.” It is also not like the oa in S.A.E. “coat”; it is close, but listen closely and you will notice that that vowel actually ends with an oo-ish sound. You want only the first part; it is closer to the aw in Northeastern U.S. English “paw,” and sometimes does sound like that, but your best bet is imitating that vowel in “pore.”
  • u is pronounced like the oo in S.A.E. “pool.” It also sometimes sounds like the u in “put.” It is not pronounced like the u in “cut” or, if it sounds different to you, the ew in “new.” If you are from California, you probably have an unusual u; find a friend from somewhere else and imitate the way they say it.
  • y is always a consonant and never a vowel.

In linguistic terms, Kinyarwanda has a very standard five-vowel system, consisting of sounds that the International Phonetic Alphabet (henceforth I.P.A.) represents as [i], [e], [ɑ], [o] and [u].

It is also useful for English-speakers to note that Kinyarwanda is written in such a way that there is no such thing as a silent vowel: every vowel is pronounced the same way everywhere. Vowels can also be short or long, or have high or low tones; these are not written, which is annoying. More on that later, if you are interested.

Consonants

I will try to break these down in a way that still makes sense to someone not familiar with linguistics (though I will categorize them using linguistic terms):

Voiced Stops*

  • b is not like English b, though Rwandans will understand if you pronounce it that way. Really, it is a voiced bilabial fricative, I.P.A. [β]. In terms of sound, this sounds like a mixture between a b, a w and a v. If that is not enough, make a v sound, and notice that you pronounce it with your bottom lip against your upper teeth; to make a [β], make the same sound but with both lips rather than lips and teeth. (It might not be easy.) Note that after m, or before w or y, b is pronounced exactly as in English.
  • d is pronounced like in English.
  • jy has a range of different pronunciations, depending on where you are in the country. The easiest for English-speakers to pronounce is like the j in “juice,” I.P.A. [d͡ʒ]. The most standard, however, is harder: a voiced palatal stop, I.P.A. [ʝ]. To imitate this without taking a phonetics course, try pronouncing a hard g with a y. Say “gya” a few times and notice that where your tongue touches your mouth; then move that spot forward, so that you are kind of flattening your tongue against the roof of your mouth (the palate) and then releasing; you could also try it by starting with a j + y and moving backward. (This is also hard.)
  • g is pronounced like a hard English g (as in “go”), usually. When followed by a, o or u, it always is. When followed by e or i, pronunciation varies; in some regions, people still pronounce it like in “go,” but not usually. The most common sound, I think, under these circumstances, is [ʝ] as described above, though you will also hear a hard English j and everything in between.
  • m and n are pronounced as expected, as is ny. (It might be worth noting here that ny, I.P.A. [ɲ], is pronounced with your tongue against the roof of your mouth, unlike n; you probably do this without thinking.)

* Kinyarwanda b is not actually a stop, but rather a fricative. This looks like a recent development, though, and the consonant inventory as a whole still makes more sense if it is considered a stop.

Voiceless Stops

  • p is pronounced like in English “pot,” I.P.A. [pʰ]. (In the north, you will hear people say it like English b, but don’t worry too much about that.)
  • t is pronounced like in English “top,” I.P.A. [tʰ].
  • cy is like jy, except voiceless—that is, a voiceless palatal fricative, I.P.A. [cʰ]. Follow the instructions for jy above, except use English ch instead of j, and k instead of g.
  • k is pronounced like English k, usually (I.P.A. [kʰ]), but shows the same alternations as g. In other words, it is sometimes pronounced like cy or c before e and i. See instructions for g above.

Note that, when they follow m or n, all of these sounds change and basically sound like h; see the “diphthongs” section below.

Affricates

  • pf is basically pronounced like a p with an f; more accurately, it is like German pf, as in Kampf, I.P.A. [p͡ɸʰ].
  • ts is basically pronounced like a t with an s, I.P.A. [t͡sʰ], though it may be useful for you to think of it like German z, as it is used to begin syllables.
  • c is pronounced like the ch in English “chop,” I.P.A. [t͡ʃʰ]. It is not pronounced like the c’s in “cot” or “brace.”

Note that, when they follow m or n, these sounds might change; see the “diphthongs” section below.

Fricatives

  • f and v are pronounced as in English.
  • s and z are pronounced as in English. (Note that s is always pronounced as in “sock,” never as in “raise.”)
  • sh is pronounced as in English.
  • j is pronounced like the s in “treasure.” It is not pronounced like the j in “joke.”
  • shy is kind of hard. It is a voiceless palatal fricative, I.P.A. [ç]. To get it, try saying shya a few times, then hya a few times, and then find the common place in the middle. You should end with your tongue almost flat against your palate: shy is pronounced in the same place as cy and jy. (If you do it right, you might hear a bit of a whistle.)
  • h is pronounced as in English.

Approximants and Unused Letters

  • w is pronounced as in English.
  • r is tapped, like the r in Spanish pero, I.P.A. [ɾ]. If you have trouble pronouncing this (as many people do), try saying a phrase like “prince of Prussia” or “How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” but replace your r’s with d’s (i.e. “pdince of Pdussia,” etc.) and say them really fast a few times. You might notice that the d seems to get weaker, and eventually you are just tapping your tongue against your mouth. That is the sound you want. Kinyarwanda r is not pronounced like English r; if you cannot get the tap, you will be understood with your native r, you’ll just sound like a foreigner. A speaker might occasionally trill his r, like in Spanish perro (I.P.A. [r]), but this is nonstandard.
  • y is always a consonant and never a vowel. It is pronounced as in English “young.”

l is not used in standard Kinyarwanda. Under older writing standards, r was written as l before i and e, because someone thought the sound was different, but it generally is not. In some cases, most notably Kigali, the old spelling of a place-name was considered too entrenched to change, and has been kept. Also, in loanwords, l is still written, e.g. ubupolitiki “politics,” and pilipili “chili-pepper” (from Swahili), though it is pronounced like r. If you see l under other circumstances, however, it is nonstandard and should, in any case, be pronounced as r.

q and x are not used in Kinyarwanda.

Diphthongs

Prenasalized Sounds

Prenasalized sounds are consonants preceded by m or n.

  • mb is pronounced as in English “thimble,” not as in “thumb” and not with a normal Kinyarwanda b (see above).
  • nd, njy and ng are pronounced as you would expect: the nasal consonant before the stop described above. Note that ng is pronounced as in “single,” not as in “sing.”
  • mp, nt and nk (ncy does not occur) are not pronounced as you would expect. The standard pronunciation sounds as though the second sound in each is turned to h, though you might still hear a shadow of it. (Phonetically, my interpretation is that these are actually nasally released stops, though this is debatable.) So they are, respectively, pronounced kind of like mh, nh and ngh. Sometimes, you may even hear the h drop, and the first sound lengthen to compensate, but that is nonstandard.
  • mpf, nts and nc are often pronounced as expected, given the descriptions above. Regionally, however, many people drop the middle sound, leaving mf, ns and nsh, respectively, which are pronounced intuitively.
  • mf, mv, ns, nz, nsh, nj and nshy are pronounced as expected, given the descriptions above. (nh does not occur.)
  • See subsequent sections for mw, nw, nyw and nny. mm, nn and nr do not occur.

You will often see words beginning with a nasal consonant cluster (e.g. nshaka, mpa). These are not typos, and there is no vowel between them or before them. Those two example words are considered to have two and one syllables, respectively. If you have trouble, try holding out the first consonant (e.g. mmmmmmm) and then pronouncing the rest of the word; say it a few times, shortening the first sound each time until it is not longer than what comes after it.

Labialized Sounds

Labialized sounds are consonants followed by w.

  • bw is pronounced as bg. It’s weird (as is everything in this section and the next), but that is what happens. Try to pronounce them kind of at the same time; there should be a very small gap, but really not much. (vw does not occur.)
  • dw, zw, jw and rw are pronounced with a g between the two sounds, so dgw, zgw, jgw and rgw.
  • gw is pronounced as expected; jyw, if it ever occurs, is very rare.
  • pw and fw are pronounced as pk and fk. Some people pronounce fw as just f, and pfw does not occur.
  • tw, sw, tsw, cw and hw are pronounced with a k between the two sounds, so tkw, skw, tskw, ckw and hkw.
  • kw is pronounced as expected; cyw and shyw are rare and hard to pronounce, but if they occur they would be pronounced as expected.
  • mw is pronounced as mng (I.P.A. [mŋ]). umwana is kind of pronounced um-nga-na, with ng being the last consonant in “thing.”
  • nw is pronounced as expected.
  • nyw is pronounced as ngw, again with ng as in “thing,” so kunywa is kind of pronounced as kung-wa.

Consonant clusters that are both prenasalized and labialized, e.g. ntw and mbw, are mostly pronounced by adding a nasal consonant before the above pronunciations. For sounds in this category with voiceless stops (in this case p, t and k), also pronounce the middle sound as an h. So nkw is pronounced as nghw—thus, inkweto is kind of pronounced as ing-hwe-to.

Palatalized Sounds

Labialized sounds are consonants followed by y.

  • Palatalized voiced sounds (by, dy, vy and ry) are made by inserting a jy (or, if you prefer, a g) between the two sounds. They come out sounding like bjy, djy, vjy and rjy, with each component sound pronounced as discussed above. ry is probably the hardest Kinyarwanda sound for a foreigner to produce, and it may be best to just hear it from a native speaker. ry and dy often sound the same, and sometimes even both come out as jy, but neither of these is standard. gy and zy do not occur.
  • Palatalized voiceless sounds (py, ty and sy) are made by inserting a cy (or, if you prefer, a k) between the two sounds. They come out sounding like pcy, tcy and scy, with each component sound pronounced as discussed above. ky does not occur.
  • my is basically pronounced my, though it is really more like mny.
  • nny is really unusual: it is an n, followed after a very brief pause by ny. So kunnya is kind of pronounced ku-n(e)-nya, though it can sound like ku-n(e)ng-ya also. This sound is very hard to produce and also not common.

Consonant clusters that are both prenasalized and palatalized, e.g. nty and mby, are mostly pronounced by adding a nasal consonant before the above pronunciations.

Unwritten Things

Kinyarwanda’s orthography (writing system) is actually pretty good: it mostly reflects the way people think of sounds in their heads, and there is perfect consistency in representation: pronunciations of consonants, for example, do not change unpredictably as they do in languages like English (where spelling makes much more sense in terms of what things sounded like several centuries ago).

It is not, however, ideal. The problem with it is that Kinyarwanda vowels can be long or short, and also either high or low; these distinctions are critically important to being able to speak the language, and yet the standard orthography does not mark them at all. The only real way to understand and properly produce these is to make a point of learning about the language (difficult) or to get a good dictionary (probably harder—to my knowledge, all dictionaries in print are pretty bad).

It is possible, however, to make some educated guesses, as there are patterns present. In the following sections, I will briefly describe tone and length in Kinyarwanda, and give some tips on how a foreigner can try to imitate and predict them. For starters, note that I will write words a slightly different way here than the standard: long vowels will be doubled (e.g. aa), and vowels with high tones will have acute accents (e.g. á). I’ll explain more as I go along.

Length

In English, we have a weird concept of vowel length: we think of the a in “hate” as long, and the a in “hat” as short, even though they take about the same amount of time to pronounce. Moreover, phonetically, those two vowels are not really even related. (This is because older English did actually have vowels with different lengths, but then the long ones turned into different vowels and eventually shortened. Look up the “Great English Vowel Shift” for more.)

Anyway, to the extent that you can, scrap that idea. In Kinyarwanda—and, frankly, in almost every language where it is important—a long vowel is one that is held out for a longer time than its short counterpart. The two are otherwise identical. In fast, spoken Kinyarwanda, the difference is sometimes diminished, but it is still usually audible.

In Kinyarwanda, length is an important way of distinguishing words: urutoke (all short) means “finger,” but urutooke (with a long o) means “banana-plantation.” Those two words, however, are both written as urutoke. A word written as gusura might be gusuura “to visit,” or it might be gusura “to fart.” If you speak Kinyarwanda natively, it is not hard to distinguish them based on context, but for learners it is maddening.

In cases like the two above, in which basic forms of words are identical except for length, the only way of knowing the difference is to know each specific case. In the rest of the language, however—where, even if it is not the only important feature, the length of the vowel is about as important as whether it is an e or an o—there are some patterns that can make it a little bit easier:

  • The last syllable of a word is always short.
  • The first syllable of a word, if it begins with a vowel, is always short.
  • A syllable that begins with a consonant and either y or w is always long (unless it is the last syllable of a word). Thus, syllables beginning with shw, kw, bw, py, ry, etc. will be long. (Note that ny and shy are thought of as units, and therefore this rule does not apply to them; syllables starting with these sounds might be long, but you cannot know for sure.)
  • A syllable is always long if the next syllable begins with m or n and another consonant. (I phrase it that way because in Kinyarwanda every syllable ends with a vowel—thus impwempwe “chest-hair” is divided as i.mpwe.mpwe.) Thus, vowels coming before mb, nkw, nd, nshy, mpy, etc. will be long unless they are the first sound in the word. (Here again, the rule does not apply to ny, which is thought of as one sound.)
  • In general, most syllables are short. When in doubt, just assume they all are and wait for someone to correct you.
  • Certain suffixes recur frequently, and are always either long or short. For example, many verbs end will -iisha or -eesha, which is long (though written short); similarly, -ira, -era, -ora, -ura, -ika and -eka as verbal suffixes are short, as is the common prefix -ra-/-da (unless the fourth rule here applies to it). Get to know these and you will have an easier time.

Tones

If you are not familiar with linguistic tone, here is a quick summary. Many languages in the world, especially concentrated in East Asia, sub-Saharan Africa and South America, use tone—like higher and lower musical pitch—as a meaningful part of their speech. If you only speak English or another European language, this is hard to wrap your mind around and especially hard to train yourself to hear. Think of how saying “no” in English with different intonation can communicate kind of different moods: you can convey despair (all high), curiosity (middle rising), disbelief (high falling), sarcasm (low falling), resignedness (all low) and others. This is like that, except a lot more explicit: like, a word that sounds the same to an American might have completely different meanings depending on its tone. For example, in Kinyarwanda, inda means “stomach,” but índa (with a high first syllable) means “louse.” umuryaango means “family,” but umúryáango means “doorway.”

Some languages have lots of different tones: standard Mandarin has five, and Cantonese has eight. Kinyarwanda is simpler in that respect—it only has two, high and low—but it is more complex in that the tones are a critical part of grammar (verb tenses, clause distinctions, etc.) as well as distinguishing words.

The rules governing tones are pretty complicated; here is a brief and simplified summary:

  • The default tone is low. High tones are common, but form a minority of syllables.
  • There is an important, predictable difference between the way the tones of a word appear abstractly (in a person’s head) and the way they come out of the mouth. This is a general linguistic idea that applies to other things also: we always think of the plural marker in English as -s, but without thinking we pronounce it as -z in words like “words” and “ribs.” The next few rules describe this difference as it applies to tones.
  • High tones “anticipate”; that is, if people think of a word as having a high tone on one vowel, they say it with a high tone on the previous vowel as well. So isakú “high tone” is pronounced as isákú; umuryáango “doorway” is pronounced as umúryáango; daatá “my father” is pronounced as daátá; and igikóokó “large animal” is pronounced as igíkóókó.
  • There is an exception to the previous rule: if a high tone comes on the second half of a long vowel, it is not anticipated. Therefore, ubutiínde “vowel-length” is pronounced as ubutiínde, not ubutíínde.
  • There is a tone-falling rule also, by which the original high tone is actually pronounced as a short falling tone, kind of to form a bridge between high and low. Here, I will indicate falling tone with a circumflex, e.g. â. There is an exception, though: if a high tone appears on the first half of a long vowel, it does not fall. Therefore, the examples above are actually pronounced as isákû, umúryáango, daátâ, igíkóókô and ubutiînde.
  • There are more rules about tone-spreading and -neutralization that are very complicated and interact with grammar and morphology in such a way that they are far beyond the scope of this guide, and also not necessary unless you really want to learn the language in detail and from a linguistic perspective.

Tones are very hard to hear in conversation. They are incorporated into the overall melody of the sentence that contains them, and especially on short syllables they are almost inaudible in fast speech. On one level, this is really annoying and makes learning them exceedingly difficult. On the other hand, it also means that the short tones are not as important to imitate properly, especially as a beginner or well-meaning expat.

Long tones, however, are usually still audible, even in normal speech if you listen hard. Given the rules above, it is possible for long syllables to have five different tone patterns:

  • They can be low and flat, as in ishyaamba “forest.” A low, flat tone is at the baseline pitch of your speech, perhaps a little bit lower. Given the rules above, this kind of syllable may be followed by a high or low tone; it may be preceded by a low or falling tone.
  • They can be high and flat, as in áméézâ “table.” This tone is somewhat, noticeably higher than the baseline, but not so much that you have to strain. Given the rules above, this kind of syllable must result from an “abstract” high tone on the first part of the long vowel, and also on the following syllable. Therefore, it is almost always preceded by a high tone (which is a little bit lower than the one on the long syllable), and almost always followed by a falling tone.
  • They can be high and low (falling), as in úmwáana “child.” This results from an abstract high tone on the first part of the long vowel. Therefore, this kind of syllable always occurs after a high tone and before a low tone. The preceding high tone is not as high as the one on the long syllable, which starts at a peak and then slides downward for its duration, ending at the baseline.
  • They can be low and high (rising), as in umúsôroórô, some kind of tree. This is probably the least common tone combination, for whatever reason, and results from an abstract high tone on the following syllable. It starts low and steadily rises until it peaks at the end. This kind of syllable may follow either a low or falling tone, and will almost always be followed by a falling tone.
  • They can be low and then falling (peaking), as in umuhuûngu “boy.” This results from an abstract high tone on the second part of the long syllable, which subsequently falls. This kind of syllable starts low and rises a bit half way through, but falls before it reaches the level of a high tone. This syllable will usually appear between two low syllables, though the preceding vowel may be falling and the following vowel may be high.

Tones are very difficult, if even possible, to predict without knowing, as they can generally appear anywhere in a root. The exceptions are verbs, which may have an abstract high tone on the first vowel of their root (or not), but nowhere else. (These verbs may acquire other grammatical high tones to indicate tense and aspect, however.) The far past marker, -á-; the reflexive marker, -íi-; and the subjunctive marker, , have high tones. All noun-class prefixes and the standard subject and object verb affixes carry a low tone unless one is anticipated onto them from the following syllable. Verbs beginning with the negator nti-, or containing the future marker -zaa- or the recent past marker -a- will not have high tones anywhere. In reduplicated stems and nouns derived from verbs, there are also rules about where high tones may be placed, and in general the language has rules governing “tone rhythms.” These are complex, though, and require background knowledge of the language to be useful.

Having observed for awhile, I sometimes think I notice patterns: it seems, for example, like syllables beginning with mw, cy and a couple of other sounds are likely to have a high-low tone on their long vowel. It also seems like long vowels before ng or nk usually have low-falling tones. There are counter-examples to all of these perceived patterns, however, and in the end you probably just have to know the words.

Stress

One of the reasons tone and length are so difficult for English-speaking learners of Kinyarwanda—and other Bantu languages, I am sure—is that English and most other Indo-European languages have neither as important parts of their grammar. What those languages have instead is stress.

You probably have an idea of what stress (or accent) is: one syllable in each English word seems to be emphasized more than all the rest (“probably,” “idea,” “accent”…). Phonetically, stressed syllables are louder than others, but also—and this is why it’s confusing—tend to be longer, and have a higher pitch.

Generally, languages have either stress or tone. There are a couple of key differences between the two: (a) syllables can only be either stressed or unstressed, whereas there can be several different kinds of tones, and (b) one syllable in a stressed language is always more stressed than all the others, whereas a language like Kinyarwanda can have as many high tones as it wants in a single word (or none at all).

So Kinyarwanda does not have stress, at least not in a way that is important to its speakers. Tone and vowel-length are important in different ways, and it is hard for learners to get used to the fact that high tones and long vowels do not correlate with stress, nor are they accompanied by noticeably higher volume.

All that being said, some syllables are still pronounced more loudly than others (stressed, if you’d like). In general, though I have not made a study of it, the first syllable of the stem of a verb seems to come out louder, and otherwise usually the second-to-last syllable. It is not an important part of speech, however. My advice to learners would be to try to minimize stress as much as they can, then listen to native speakers talk and try to fit your speech into the rhythm you hear from them.

Normal Speech

Kinyarwanda, as spoken normally, is very hard to understand, for a variety of reasons. On one level, fluent speakers of this as any other language just speak really fast, and that is hard enough. Also, because of the kind of language Kinyarwanda is, it contains a lot of really long words with many small parts that are very difficult to parse as a learner.

Another feature that makes comprehension difficult is one that can be imitated as a learner. Kinyarwanda is a language that does not allow words to end in consonants, so it is ironic that the last vowel in a word is almost never fully articulated. In single words, a speaker will often start to say it very briefly, but swallow it or trail off. (Phonetically, I think they devoice it, making it all but inaudible.).

In full sentences, if one word ends with a vowel and the next begins with a vowel, only the second is pronounced (except in very careful speech). Vowels, and tones also, are elided together in such a way that the words come out very fluidly and, if you stop trying to understand and just listen, sound very nice.

Conclusion

Kinyarwanda is a hard language; it has many sounds and phonetic features that are very unusual to speakers of English and related languages, and that does not even take into account all of the complex grammar. I guess that is why this guide came out to be so much longer than I intended it to be.

Rwandans often ask me why I choose to study Kinyarwanda. They point out that it is a language only spoken by a few million people, and not used internationally in the way the English and French are. They point out that it is really hard, and will likely not be terribly useful professionally. These are both fair points. I usually explain that I study linguistics, and it helps me to study the structure of Kinyarwanda to see the concepts I learn about abstractly being put to concrete use in a real language. This is true. I actually started learning it on a whim, but then I liked it so much that I kept going with it.

The things I get out of studying and speaking this language, though, are often less tangible and mostly unrelated. First, Rwandans are legitimately surprised and pleased to see a foreigner making an effort to learn their language; they are willing to tolerate my mistakes and they encourage me, and that is really rewarding. Second, I like it as a mental exercise: understanding the workings of another language, learning about the rules that govern it and the history that brought it to where it is now, and challenging myself to find ways to say new things are all really stimulating. Puzzling through these things is one of the better ways I can find to make my mind grow, often in unexpected ways.

On top of that, Kinyarwanda is a beautiful language, and knowing about it brings with it a wealth of cultural knowledge and sometimes a new way of thinking. Both of these are inestimably valuable, and I would not have had access to them any other way.

What I have just written does not only apply to this language: two years of studying linguistics has taught me that every language is equally intricate and complex, and is often intimately attached to the culture of its speakers. But this is a response to those who question the use of learning a “minor” language: in a nutshell, it is the experience of learning that I think provides the most benefit, and the fact that people do not expect my knowledge of it makes their gratitude that much more rewarding.

So, if you are an expatriate living in Rwanda or even a tourist just passing through, I would encourage you to try to learn a little bit of the mother tongue of your adopted home. If, for whatever reason, you find yourself as a guest in a place where the language spoken is not your own, give it a try, out of appreciation for your hosts. Even if you have never left your home country in your whole life and never plan to, I am very much in favor of language-learning as a way to strengthen your brain and expand your horizons. And I might add that this one is pretty cool.

18 Kamena 2013—Ibiryo, Inzaandiko na Internet


Every time I think there cannot possibly be more people in my hosts’ family, I meet somebody new. It turns out that the father just has six siblings, of whom I have now met at least four. This time it was another sister, who has been studying in France for several years now and I think is just coming home.

It is always nice to meet someone new, and as a young person who has spent time in Europe she is an interesting mix of backgrounds: definitely Rwandan, but with different clothing, much more French infused in her speech and the only MacBook I have seen here apart from my own. I was delighted to hear that she wants to use her graduate degree to work in Rwanda and help her country; so many people would have jumped at the opportunity to live abroad.

She (J., let’s say) agreed to take me into town, at first on the pretense that we would go eat hamburgers somewhere because I probably miss them. (I hadn’t really thought of that, actually, but that doesn’t mean I would say no to a hamburger!) As it happened, we went to a place that served hamburgers, but ate other things there.

The place is called La Galette; located not too far from the city center, it is a grocery store with an attached café area; it is also, at least formerly, owned by Germans, and serves some more international foods that the guide says make it popular with expats. I do not know whether they see the irony in happily advertising their “German Butchery”; or maybe I’m the only one who finds it funny. I just don’t think you would see many American stores with that slogan on their bags.

The German and otherwise international part is just a part, though, and it generally caters to a local audience with the food it stocks and serves. I tried two new-ish Rwandan foods there: First, I have certainly had samosas back home, but these have become a local specialty (Rwandized as amásáambusa). Really, they tasted about the same as all the other samosas I have ever had, except they were cheaper. Second, I had a donut. Well, not a donut, though that is how I have seen íríindaâzi translated. Ámáandaâzi (the plural) are kind of balls of fried dough; I realize that sounds a lot like a donut. The difference is that they are ball-shaped and can get big (the one we split was the size of a grapefruit), with less sugar and heavier dough, and look like they might be cooked before frying as well. Maybe. I have only ever seen one.

Both of these were really good. There was also a little ball of seasoned beef that I had; I don’t know whether this was Rwandan, German, Indian or something else. It may also have just been a little ball of seasoned beef. Somehow all of these were a little bit more appealing than a hamburger, especially before lunchtime.

We also made our way to the Post Office, where I had to buy stamps and mail postcards. For the central post office of the country, it was very unassuming. In fact, it was tiny. Situated as a block of outlets in what looked a lot like the shopping centers on either side of it, I think there were about seven windows, and four boxes to put letters in: Kigali, national, international and unknown (unknown?), as well as another section with P.O. boxes that I did not see. From what I saw, it is probably the smallest post office I have ever been to, smaller than the ones in Harvard Square and Scarsdale. It is probably also responsible for serving more people than any I have been to, as it is one of only about 20 in either the city of 1 million or the country of 12 million. (I forget; I read that somewhere.) Either way, that number falls for short of the recommended international standard of one post office per 18,000 people (or was it 9,000?).

Given those two superlatives, it didn’t seem to be especially busy. I think only one of the windows was staffed, and I waited until the one person being served was finished. I bought my stamps (giving the National Post some good business) and spent some time affixing them to their envelopes before another person showed up and I moved out of the way to the next, unstaffed, window.

Rwanda does not have door-to-door mail delivery. As I think I have mentioned before, until recently most of its streets were not named and most of its dwellings not numbered. So everyone who wants mail gets a post office box, and anyone who wants to send things goes to the Post Office. (I also have not seen any mailboxes around Kigali.) The fact that it is so not-busy is a little bit surprising, but a little bit not.

I can actually think of two possible reasons: First, mail has never been part of the culture here and the average citizen doesn’t have much use for it. (A. did not know what a stamp was.) Second, this might be an example of a rapidly developing country skipping a step in its development. A definite example of that, as cited by Al Gore, is the rapid proliferation of cell phones here, even though there has never been much of a landline infrastructure. Here too, a majority of the use that people got out of mail delivery, whether for communication or advertising, has gone straight to e-mail.

It might not be a perfect comparison: there will, for the foreseeable future, be a use for postal services: to deliver things that cannot be sent by e-mail, like packages and postcards. It will be on a smaller scale, though, and though I would not be surprised if Rwanda’s postal service did try to implement the capacity to deliver mail in the future, it is not expanding faster because there does not appear to be a demand for it.

Afterward, we came back homeward where we went to an Internet café for an hour; in the afternoon, we went to visit A. and then followed her to school, again with the intent of getting online. That turned into an extended volleyball game with some people there, and then J. found some old friends, and by sunset I had just finished checking my e-mail.

New Vocabulary Words for the Day

  1. umúcyáari: urban person
  2. kwíiraata: to talk or act like you are better than someone. (Turns out I wasn’t the only one who had this impression of French people!)

17 Kamena 2013—Akabanga


Today was kind of a slow day. I spent most of it inside reading and writing. I usually spend my mornings here either reading through Kinyarwanda grammar books or writing blog posts or e-mails, to be posted and sent the next time I have a connection. Today, my usual companions were busy so I did more of the same in the afternoon.

In the evening I did get out for a bit. A. took me to meet a friend of hers, who lives nearby and goes to school with her; we talked at his place for awhile before returning home. I was very impressed with his English; he was impressed with my Kinyarwanda, though I think less justifiably so. It is coming up on exam season for them, so they are spending a lot of time studying—which is why they were busy until nighttime.

We talked about a variety of things. They were amazed that Harvard charges $50,000 a year for tuition, and a little bit comforted that not everyone who goes there pays that much. The university they go to costs about $2,500 or $3,000 a year, depending on courses and not including room and board. Most students just live at home to avoid those costs; so what I think is a normal Rwandan private university costs something like what an American public university might. I don’t have the numbers available to me now, but I think most of the SUNY schools are between $3,000 and $4,000 for in-state students, all-inclusive.

They were also surprised hear that more Americans don’t take gap years between high school and college. It is something that I think the guy said was fairly standard for Rwandans, whether to do cultural things, save up money or just live in the world a bit. He had a Kinyarwanda word for it, that I don’t remember exactly and can’t find in the dictionary. I get the feeling it is uncommon for Rwandans to graduate with a four-year degree when they are 22, as Americans do, or even 23, though they still finish high school at 18.

A., her friend and his family were also confused when I told them that some Americans have the opportunity to go to school but choose not to. Admittedly, these people might be more studious than the average people anywhere, but I do think that if Rwandans do not go to university the major reason is because they do not see themselves as having the opportunity (a problem in the United States as well, actually).

A lot of my stories here involve sitting on the porch or in a living room talking to people. I shouldn’t be surprised; I want to immerse myself in this country and get better at speaking its language, and talking to people is an integral part of that. They almost always have interesting things to say, and I enjoy it; I just hope my readership doesn’t mind! (Also, once I start work on my research, I will be traveling a lot more and doing plenty of things that are not just conversing.)

Anyway, I had been waiting for a slow day so I could talk about Akabanga. Akabanga is a brand of Rwandan hot-sauce that has become wildly popular here and is slowly gaining some international recognition. I heard about it back home, and it was one of the first things I asked about upon arrival; my hosts bought some, and I kind of put it on everything for the first few days.

Akabanga is sold in eyedropper containers. (Look up a picture; it shouldn’t be too hard to find.) Packaging it like medicine is, I think, a sarcastic choice, but also a functional one: you really don’t need a lot of it at a time. You can clearly taste one drop mixed around in 2 or 3 ounces of spaghetti. Three drops make the same serving pretty darn hot, and five will drown out the flavor of any sauce you might have put on it. Unless you have a very high tolerance for spice or just enjoy pain, putting it directly on your tongue is probably a bad idea; licking it off your fingers isn’t even too smart unless you have water on hand.

There are two ingredients: 80% yellow pepper oil, and 20% vegetable oil. It is really simple, which makes me wonder why it is so good! It is not just the heat (though that certainly contributes); there is another flavor—which, given the nutrition facts, can only be the peppers. I guess there is something about this specific cultivar, or the soil in Nyirangarama, Rwanda, where they are harvested. I no longer put it on everything—the beans really don’t need it—but it is great on meat or pasta or vegetables, whether to supplement the flavor of another sauce or just to be on its own. Also, if there were something that tasted bad on the table, I could always count on the Akabanga to completely obliterate its flavor! My Rwandan friends seem to like it as well, and our first eyedropper was used up in about ten days.

There is something cool about the production of Akabanga, also: the company is headed by a guy, Gérard Sina, whom I have seen referred to as a self-made millionaire (whatever that means here—a million Rwandan francs is about U.S. $1,500). I believe he grew up with modest means in this small town, Nyirangarama, and started his business on a very small scale. He and his company are now very successful, and produces a number of other food products (jelly, syrup, etc.). Through it all, though, he has kept his whole operation in the countryside, showing a commitment to employing the local people and putting money into the rural economy.

Akabanga is a common feature on Rwandan dinner tables, and restaurants now stock it as well. I believe one can find it at certain African markets in the United States, though I am not sure. To be safe, I am going to have to stock up on it before I go home!

New Vocabulary Words for the Day

  • ínshyúushyû: milk like what comes straight out of a cow; the kind sold in America
  • ikivuguto: milk that is left out for a few days before consumption, so that it thickens a bit. (This is how the process was described to me; kind of halfway to yogurt, but not churned and not treated with bacteria. Now that I think about it, the stuff looked a lot like kefir.)

18 June 2013

18 Kamena 2013—Ibisobaanuro


I will publish other posts about what happened yesterday, and what has happened (and will happen) today, by the way. I just have not yet written those, so I am posting what I have.

As requested, now, I can give translations of the previous post-titles. In order:

  1. 5 Kamena 2013—Mu Ndege, Hagati ya Amerika n’u Buholande: “On the Airplane, Between the U.S. and the Netherlands”
  2. 6 Kamena 2013—Mu Rugo!: “At Home!”
  3. 7 Kamena 2013—Umuûnsi w’Ibiintu Bishya: “A Day of New Things”
  4. 8 Kamena 2013—Ibibazo by’Ururimi: “Language Problems”
  5. 8 Kamena 2013—Mu Mujyi: “In Town”
  6. 9 Kamena 2013—Ubupolitiki bw’Ururimi: “The Politics of Language”
  7. 10 Kamena 2013—Ibiganiro, mu Rugo no mu Mujyi: “Conversations, at Home and in the City”
  8. 11 Kamena 2013—Gushaaka no Kwíibuka: “Searching and Remembering”
  9. 12 Kamena 2013—Imbuto Nshya n’Ahaantu Hashya: “New Fruits and New Places”
  10. 13 Kamena 2013—Amagaambo Meênshi: “Lots of Words”
  11. 14 Kamena 2013—Mu Ruseengero: “At Church”
  12. 15 Kamena 2013—Aha Ntihabura Uruunturuuntu: “This Place Does Not Lack Humanity”
  13. 16 Kamena 2013—Umwe wa Yáá Miînsi: “One of Those Days”
  14. 18 Kamena 2013—Muri Internet Café: “At an Internet Café
  15. 18 Kamena 2013—Ibisobaanuro: “Translations”

18 Kamena 2013—Muri Internet Café


I am at an Internet café in Nyamirambo now, and they charge by the hour (not by the megabyte, like the modem I have been using at home), so I don’t feel too bad about posting pictures here! I have not edited all of my photos, but these are some of the best from my first week or so.

From the plane between Amsterdam and Kigali. We are over Sudan at the moment. See that faint red glow? It’s the Sahara Desert! (I was actually hoping it would be a little more dramatic, but it was cloudy and my seat looked out on the wing.)

From the back porch of the house in Nyakabanda, we can see in the distance the small-but-growing cluster of tall-ish buildings that make up the City Center.

This is the view from the back porch; the house that takes up most of the frame is the neighbors’, on the same property. You can see clotheslines, banana-trees and fences—not terribly exciting, I suppose, but this is where I am living!

Shortly after I took this picture (from the back row of a “full” minibus taxi), seven more people got on.

A view walking into town; in the foreground, on the left, is the main office of the Bank of Kigali, and behind that is what will be a very nice-looking office space or convention center or something when construction finishes.

Taking nighttime photos freehand with a point-and-shoot camera always produces interesting results, and stitching them together as a panorama does especially. I think, though, that this still communicates the kinds of dramatic landscape views that one seems to get all over the place in this city, set as it is on so many hills.

Got one!

Breakfast that day, with the fruits. In the back, the red tomato-ish thing is a tree-tomato (ikínómoro); in the middle on the right is what I have since confirmed is a passionfruit; and in front is an orange (a greenish one, sure, but still an orange).

A picture from my morning walk in the neighborhood. This is a very nice house in Nyakabanda, on a main road and with Mont Kigali in the background.

Also from my walk. You can see Mont Kigali on the right, and houses (all walled) in the foreground. If the picture were a little bigger (sorry about the resolution) you could also see the buildings of the city-center in the distance at the center-right.