8 january 2010
So I was just about to leave the squat pot when out of nowhere drops the biggest grasshopper I've ever seen. He lands on all 4 (6?) right in front of me, the fear knocks me off balance, and let me tell ya, my balance in there is pretty shotty to start with, I'm always about slight breeze away from being up to my eyeballs in you-know-what (just kidding, it's a brand new "toilet" so it's not that full yet). Anyway, I'm serious though, I thought the grasshoppers in Nyanza were monsters, well this guy, he'd win a gold medal if you entered him in the State fair for something or other. Plus, unlike the g'hops in Nyanza, which were all green, this guy had on a jacket of camo. Anywhere other than my feet in the squat pot, and I wouldn't have suspected a thing. He could pass so inconspicuously by, wouldn't even register on my dangerous-insect radar - and I'd like to think that mine is very finely tuned these days.
So he does a little hop and I do a little scream as I struggle to pull my capris back up to their rightful place on my hips. He aims himself for the door and it appears as though we both have the same idea "GET ME OUTTA HERE". I courageously open the door and we're free.
Thank goodness.
As if that wasn't enough, I hear something wrestle on my haphazard fence.
(what, is this pick on Nicole day or something?)
I look.
A lizard is sitting there, watching me.
Mocking me, is probably more appropriate.
"Don't even think about it"
and I scoot back home to safety.
Although considering I spotted a rat scampering across my kitchen table yesterday, I'm not real sure just how safe this house really is - at least on the 4+ legged critter front.
Yikes.
I spent all morning with Aderine, my 9 year old neighbor (the youngest in that family of 8 children), my new best friend.
Sometimes when the sun is out, I get it in my mind to go out wandering my new place.
Sometimes when the sky is grey and threatening rain, I'm just quite alright sitting inside and passing the day with a book.. or the bucket of dirty dishes crying for attention from my kitchen floor.
Today the sun was out and I had an itch to move.
So I put on my gear, packed up some toilet paper and hand sanitizer as well as safe drinking water (you just never know) and approached my neighbors home.
Mwaramutse (good morning), Aderine ari hehe? (where is Aderine?)
La petite - as they call her, being the youngest in her family, came out of the house with a fist full of corn-on-the-cob, just like her brothers, all sitting around outside, snacking.
Her brothers and I later get into a conversation (French, English, Kinyarwanda) about whether or not Americans eat corn - because rumor on the street is that it's just for animals over there in the USA. I explain that we have different kinds of corn, one that's sweet - which people eat, another which isn't and which is for animals. They ask if the corn they enjoy eating just about every day would be for humans or animals in America.
I blush.
"Animals" I tell them.
They all have a good laugh.
I apologize and tell them that I am just being honest. I go on to explain that I've heard no matter what kind of corn you plant here, it all turns out the same - hard and chewy. I tell them I've brought seeds from America that I want to plant. I run home to get them. Fascinated, they read the packages (two of these young men study agriculture at university). I tell them they can open the packets of seeds. Before I know it, they're poppin' kernels of the dried corn into their mouthes "C'est sucre" (it's sweet) they say. I know. Told you so.
So anyway, before all of this seed talk took place, Aderine and I were on our way into "town" to pick up some isabuna yo kumesa na umunu (clothes-washing-soap and salt) for her brothers.
I like to explore, I really do.
I just am not used to having EVERYONE watching me as I do so.
With Aderine by my side, it's like I have a personal tour guide who doubles as my link to the community. I feel I am one step closer to getting a foot in with people here if they see the muzungu walking hand-in-hand with La Petite, it's kinda like she has taken me under her wing, you know? And I much prefer to go to town with her rather than show up there alone for first time, just waiting for the stares to devour me.
Shoot, not only is she my tour guide and body guard, Aderine is my Kinyarwanda tutor as well. We spend our entire hike exchanging words, phrases and giggles.
"Mfite ubwoba" (I have fear) I say over and over again as we make our way down the steep paths to town.
People literally stop in their tracks at the sight of me, but Aderine ignores it and I do my best to as well.
Greetings in Kinyarwanda take them by surprise.. as if a white person in their village wasn't enough, but a white person who knows a few words of their language as well, it's almost too much.
We reach town, a small road lined with a few closed up shacks.
Aderine makes her purchases and teaches me the words "Udushwi dutoya" (baby chicken) so that I can ask how much they are on our way back home.
Stopping where the mama chicken and her slew of "udushwi dutoya"s are, a crowd quickly gathers around us.
Udushwi dutoya n'angahe? (how much is a baby chicken?)
Ibihumbi bibiri (2,000)
*doesn't take a genius to know that 2,000 RWF is a ridiculous amount to ask for a baby chicken ($4)
Ni menshi chanye!!! (that is WAY too much - I tell him)
n'angahe? (how much - he wants to know how much I have and that I am willing to pay)
Oya, maurakoze. (No thank you)
Arriving back home to find Aderine's brothers sitting right where we'd left them, I ask THEM how much a baby chicken ought to cost. As low as 600 RWF they tell me.
That's what I thought.
I tell them that a young guy in town tried to charge me 2,000.
It's because I'm white they tell me in so many words. I know.
So they offer to purchase the chickens for me (getting the better deal) and we go on chatting for a while. Lunch time rolls around and I excuse myself, dreading spending my entire afternoon begging my charcoal stove to light. They ask what I will cook with and I say charcoal. They are surprised and I tell them yes, it's very difficult for me, takes me an hour or more each time. They offer up La Petite "she knows how to light a fire" and so we make our way the shot distance between the two houses.
We pile up some charcoal (my mind and empty stomach are full of doubt) and Aderine goes outside, pulling dried leaves from my fence. Inside she immediately gets to work, (she is 9 years old, remember? Who in America would let their 9 year old use matches or build a fire?) piling the leaves on and under the charcoal. Strikes a match, the leaves catch. Then it's all a game of once again keeping the fire alive. The smell of burning eucalyptus leaves fill my home as the leaves smolder and La Petite puts all of her lung power into spreading the heat. It's almost as though she is capable of breathing fire because miraculously the coals glow red and flames appear.
In what takes me all afternoon, she got the fire going in 10 minutes.
Shown up by a 9 year old.
I put my soup on to boil and we pass the time playing a card game - her game, I pick up on the rules without language but rather with pointing (same suit or same number - it's an acceptable card to throw down, no luck with either of those, pick one up from the pile). I bring out the wonderful "Building Language Library" flash cards I received in a care package (thankyoukathy!) and once again Aderine gets right to work, absorbing the new words like a thirsty sponge.
The soup is done, we eat, we play, we tucker out and curl up on my couch for an afternoon nap.
Not a bad day, not at all.
Yesterday, chatting with the brothers:
"How is it that people from Kigali cannot stand to live her, but you, an American, can?"
"I don't know. How?"
"That is what we ask ourselves."
"I wanted to experience a new lifestyle."
"Yego."
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