Living and breathing in Rwanda

Editor's note -- Katelyn Baldwin, a Colony High School student, recently traveled to Africa for five weeks with her family. Starting today and continuing in the next two Sunday editions, she'll take us with her as she sees a world few get to visit.

It's remarkable how my outlook on life was altered when I suddenly became the ethnic minority. Being white in Kigali, the capital of a tiny eastern African country named Rwanda, definitely put me into the minority. Crossing into a fresh reality 12 time zones away was inconceivable.

Every day in Rwanda brought new exposure and self-realizations. This "real" world was so different from what I had been exposed to. Here are millions of people with neither comprehension of, nor the desire for, material possessions. In such a poor culture there is absolutely no money for more than the basic necessities of surviving the week.

Rwanda is different from some other African countries because its people have survived a miserable nightmare. The mass genocide that occurred in 1994 is still affecting the lives of every citizen there, forging uneasiness and distrust among the people.

In the spring of 1994, two tribal groups brought their conflict to a violent climax. The Hutus overtook the government and attempted to exterminate all Tutsis from the country. The extreme conflict resulted in close to one million deaths of mostly Tutsis. Bitterness throughout the country is still quite evident.

Hearing various accounts of personal genocide experiences from the locals was depressing yet heartening. Throughout a single day in one man's life, his wife gave birth to their first son, his house was bombed to pieces and he witnessed his grandmother's murder.

Rwanda is a densely populated, rapidly-growing country roughly the size of Vermont, but with approximately eight million people. Everybody speaks at least French and Kinyarwanda, the second most common language throughout Africa besides Swahili. Driving into Kigali from Nairobi International Airport, the first thing I noticed was a gigantic billboard reading "Sex Thrills, Aids Kills, Beware." Rwanda has recently taken a more active role, such as using public advertising, in trying to minimize the continental AIDS crisis.

Living among the Africans for five weeks I learned to stop once in a while, and enjoy the simple gratification of merely being able to breathe in the fresh air. The people of Rwanda are strong-willed and determined to survive. Having been through a greater tragedy than any of us could possibly even begin to imagine, they still wake up each morning ready to live another day.

My parents and I lived in the house of my father's climbing buddy from high school, Doug Teschner. Teschner is a New Hampshire legislator who accepted a job to live in Rwanda for a few years to lend a hand in establishing an effective democratic government. During his term in Kigali, Teschner made the acquaintance of a local young man named Vianney. When my family came to visit, Vianney became our eager and willing guide of sorts.

Regardless of coming from two entirely different worlds figuratively speaking, Vianney and I formed a strong camaraderie throughout my stay. He explained to me how "crazy Africans," as he fondly referred to them, would do anything to make money. Young boys would frequently run up behind a car in the process of parking and proceed to guide it into place. They would "watch and protect" it until the driver returned, where upon they would ask for a tip.

Rwandans thrive on making connections in the USA, and dream of coming to our diverse and racially tolerant country. Unfortunately, that dream rarely becomes a reality because most Rwandans are dreadfully poor.

Vianney and I made a habit of quenching our thirst every afternoon by grabbing a bottle of Citron Fanta from a local vendor for 100 francs (20 cents). It was quite impossible to stroll down the dusty side roads without a chain of at least 20 gawking spectators following eagerly behind.

A common sight was dozens of barefoot children chasing after me, dirtying their tattered Western clothing, all the while shouting "Mzungu!" meaning "white person" in Swahili and Kinyarwanda. In the beginning, the children would beg -- their automatic response to encountering a white person. It was quite disheartening, considering how a few children over the age of nine were missing a limb or permanently scarred due to the work of machetes in the 1994 genocide. When it became obvious I would not succumb to begging, the children chose to accompany me in my daily activities by trailing closely behind.

Rwanda, being not exactly what one would call a tourist attraction, doesn't receive many foreigners. During the first week of August, Vianney took me to the Exposition. The "Expo" is a huge yearly market which draws a massive crowd of locals. The first thing Vianney told me upon arrival was to watch my pockets because there were a lot of the thieves. Within five minutes I felt myself being thrust into a feisty crowd at the gate entrance. Hands brushed up against my pants pockets, but fortunately I managed to make it out safely and keep hold of my ragged Rwandan bills.

We ended up waiting 90 minutes for a lunch of chicken and chips, the African term for potato fries. Similar to my earlier experiences in Tanzania and Kenya, all dining facilities in Africa take a ridiculous amount of time to cook and serve food. The chicken we munched was tough as a rock because African chickens must work hard to graze for their food, resulting in tough muscles and very yellow yolks. Comparably, the American cows and chicken are somewhat lazy and have relatively soft muscle tissue. Rwanda supposedly has the best roads in all of eastern Africa. With two narrow lanes and a dotted white line down the middle, they don't even compare to Alaska's highways. The majority of people walk, but there are taxis and a few enormous Jaguar buses for cross-country travel. When motor transportation is deemed necessary, the locals choose to take a wild and adventurous ride in the infamous matatu.

AIDS definitely isn't the only thing that kills around Kigali. A lot of deaths throughout Africa are due to motor vehicle accidents. The emergency response system is virtually nonexistent. In Swahili, the word for "problem" is matata. When the name of the most widely used transportation vehicle throughout Africa stands for "problem" those who board one have been forewarned that they are in for a wild adventure. Matatus are similar to our minivans, only a good 20 years older and known for their frequent breakdowns. They are found in every urban area throughout Africa. Equipped with foldable jump seats at the end of each row next to the sliding door, the object is to cram in as many people as possible to make as much money as possible. Logically, 14 people would occupy every empty seat.

But Africa, unfortunately, doesn't concern itself with safety regulations related to the maximum occupancy of a designated area. At one point in time, for two hours I was crammed into the back row of a matatu with 22 other people, traveling 120 kilometers per hour down the side of a mountain. Matatu drivers are precariously daring. They press their horn down 50 percent of the time and constantly speed. The roads of approaching towns and villages were literally desolate, because the people know to clear out for any incoming public transportation vehicles.

The majority of eastern Africa's roads are narrow and tightly wind around mountain sides, with a huge drop-off to one edge. Add a corner-cutting matatu into the equation and it spells a recipe for disaster. Even so, the lure of relatively inexpensive fares in a poor country usually overrides the death factor and attracts passengers.

One weekend, my mother and I took some friends down to Lake Kivu in Kibuye. Lake Kivu is a tranquil paradise, with beaches covered in white sand and safe swimming water. By day I would join in games of volleyball with the local boys who wandered over for free recreational use, and by night we would dine with candlelight at a restaurant near the lake edge. Lead by Doug Teschner, my family also had the privilege of taking a personalized tour of the Rwandan Parliament. The whole Parliament building was bombed and destroyed during the genocide, and, due to lack of funding, only one section has been rebuilt. The personnel use a very basic side entrance.

The skillfully carved wooden doors which stood in the past now lie among the rubble of the main entrance.

Without a single security check upon entering the Parliament, we met numerous high-ranking Parliamentary staff, all very informally. We also visited in the Speaker of the House's leather-furnished office for tea. The Rwandan government is in the process of constructing a functioning democracy with a new constitution, and in this new constitution women are guaranteed 30 percent of the house seats.

The end of my visit to Rwanda was a blur of Presidential rallies and street parades. The political rallies, usually in favor of Paul Kagame, drew thousands of spectators since the first democratic post genocide election was occurring in two weeks. There was some controversy on how democratic the pre-election events really were, considering Kagame's main opponent held merely a 5-percent rating in the polls. I actually stumbled into one of the chaotic rallies while in search of some fresh bread, and was deafened by an immense band marching down the street playing Rwanda's national anthem.

My last meal in Rwanda was at a Chinese restaurant near Teschner's home. I walked by it everyday but never went inside until the last night. Doug recommended trying it out numerous times, but we all quickly disregarded his suggestion without much thought, not interested in eating Chinese food in Africa.

Ironically, I remember Rwanda most for that last meal, where we devoured the great parting meal of our journey. Seven of us sat on a second floor deck, overlooking the animated night lights of Kigali, reminiscing on moments that will last a lifetime.

For five unbelievable weeks, I thrived on Africa's unique way of existence. I have developed a profound appreciation for plumbing and languages, and am filled with aspiration to return.

Becoming absorbed within the rich culture ultimately enhanced my perspective on life. I would argue the theme of the African way of existence is a Swahili phrase made common by The Lion King. Hakuna Matata means to relax and live your life free of worries.