There are some ways in which I don’t like embarrassing myself, but in some I don’t mind too much. Luckily, playing soccer with a bunch of people I don’t know is in the latter category.
Every Sunday morning, my host-father and a pretty sizable group of his friends go to a field in Nyamirambo and play soccer. They get pretty into it: they all played together as kids, and they have just kept doing it since. They have enough for two whole teams, and then some. They have invested some money in getting equipment, and also they must reserve the field for some time every week.
Asked whether I wanted to come, I assented in full recognition of the fact that I was not doing so to show off my athletic abilities. It would be a new experience and an opportunity to meet some new people, and those are kind of the reasons I am here.
It actually was not as bad as I thought it would be, at first. The exercises we did beforehand were not extremely strenuous by outside standards—your average high-school soccer team would do much worse every day. Still, it was the most tiring workout I have had in quite awhile, and I would have looked extremely out-of-shape had my company been anything other than a group of middle-aged office-workers! Maybe I shouldn’t be proud of my ability to only keep up with them—I do actually need to exercise more—but I was satisfied at least that I did not look like a total wimp.
I did, however, demonstrate for all to see that I do not actually know how to play soccer. I am mostly aware of the rules, and if I watch a match I can tell what is going on, but the mechanics of the game are basically lost on me. They very charitably let me play and tried passing me the ball a few times; twice I fumbled it (if that is a soccer term) and once I kind of got it and then passed it to someone else, maybe. I am pretty sure that the places I was running, trying to make myself open, were not really all that helpful either. I subbed out after fifteen minutes or so, and did not go back in; rather, I stood on the sidelines talking to the other people who weren’t playing at the moment, which I was much more comfortable doing anyway.
Today was also the first day I got out of the city. My host-father had a brief job to do in Nyamata, a quickly growing town in Bugesera District (excellent name, I think), Eastern Province, about a half-hour drive outside of Kigali; I came along for the ride.
Bugesera bills itself on at least one road sign as “The Home of the Papyrus Gonolek”; I understand from the guidebook that this is actually an uncommon and somehow extraordinary species of bird, but it doesn’t quite have the same ring as, say, “The Empire State.” In any case, the region is known for its diversity of endemic bird species. I did see some birds out the window, and they were very attractive; then again, I often think the same thing about the birds I see in Kigali (which I should talk about at some point).
What really caught me were the landscapes. The road went up and down several hills, and it seemed like the peak of every one provided some dramatic view of hills and valleys off in the distance, shrouded in mist, dotted with houses and banana trees. The border between Kigali and the Eastern province is, I think, formed by the Nyabarongo River, which is kind of extraordinary looking. It winds its way through acres of misty papyrus swamps, punctuated by very interesting-looking stands of acacia trees. I have a panorama of it that I have to stitch together; I will post that at some point, along with other pictures.
We stopped along the way to meet a coworker of my host-father’s, who was building himself a new house in Bugesera. It was in a fairly undeveloped area, and therefore easy to get a plot of land; it had what I thought was a beautiful view of the Nyabarongo basin; and it was still within easy driving distance of the city. The friend came to join us, and I talked to him for awhile while my host was working; nice guy, who had interesting things to say about English and Americans and American entertainment and transportation and a bunch of other things. I also appreciated that he tried to speak Kinyarwanda to me, and was tolerant when I didn’t understand all of it. I found a sheet of paper with a list of fines for different traffic violations, and he very patiently helped me work through translating it.
We had lunch afterward: brochettes again, this time chicken. The meat was familiar and the seasoning was very good, though I could not tell what part of the chicken I was eating from the shape of the bones, which was weird. Here I was told of another Rwandan cultural idea: that the youngest person at the table should get the largest portion of food, to help him grow. That makes sense to me (though I still wish they had let me pay for some of it…).
There are two Genocide memorials in Bugesera, at Nyamata and Ntarama, commemorating the sites of two especially horrific massacres. We did not see them today, as it admittedly would have ruined the mood of a relaxed Sunday afternoon, but I think I will want to come back at some point. Places like those are a pretty important part of being here, I think, and especially given the work I have done on the topic not one I want to miss.
It was late afternoon by the time we got back. I took a much-needed nap (we left to play soccer at 6:40 a.m.) and then settled in to write postcards for much of the evening.
New Vocabulary Words for the Day
- umufuundi: repairman
- kugoonga: to collide with
- kwéemera: to allow
- indáangarurúmâjwi: siren
- ikínyâbízîga: vehicle
- gusuuzumiisha: to test
- ubúsíinzi: drunkenness
- umúvûduko: speed
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