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.)
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