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.

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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