Friday Adventure

One of the volunteers called me an adventure magnet this weekend and I definitely had to agree with that statement.  I can honestly say that I have yet to experience a dull moment in Rwanda.  Every day seems to bring something new and exciting and today was certainly no exception.  Every Friday, my health center allows me to get off of work at 12 and so today I decided that after work I would visit one of my fellow PCVs.  It's always a good time when she and I are together so I knew the day would go well...but I had no idea it would be so eventful.  It all started with the drive to her site, which by the way is a little over an hour away from my site.  The moto driver from my health center drove me there and as he had never been to her health center before, we had to stop every so many kilometers to ask for directions (btw I have no idea how they give directions here because there are no street signs or major landmarks).  This had to be thee scariest moto ride ever!  We went over bridges that weren't quite bridges anymore, rather they were mere pieces of log scattered about here and there that threatened to break and fall into the rushing river (or creek) that flowed just beneath them if anyone so much as thought of crossing. There was one "bridge" that we came to which my driver stopped right in front of, examined a bit, then looked back at me and laughed so hard I think I saw tears in his eyes.  I found nothing funny so I just stared back with a so-this-is-funny-to-you face.  Apparently my driver was feeling just as unsure of this "bridge" as I was so we sat there for a moment while, I'm assuming, he thought about how we would get across.  While we were sitting there, another moto came up behind us and a girl jumped off and walked up next to us.  Seeing that both me and my driver had no idea how to get to the other side safely, she said hi and exchanged a few words with my driver, and then pulled my hand for me to get off the moto and walk across the bridge.  She held my hand the entire way (she must have sensed that I was scared out of my mind!) and once we were across, my moto driver slowly walked the bike across the bridge, followed by the other driver.  Once that whole ordeal was over and I realized I was safe on the other side, I sent up a quick thank you, hopped back on the bike, and arrived at my destination a short while later.

The huge mountains surrounding this health center created the most beautiful views I've seen since being in Rwanda.  Of course I didn't think to take pictures until I was already on my way back home, but pictures wouldn't have done the views any justice anyway (the sights here really have to be seen in person for the effect to be the same).  The volunteer's house was really nice too.  It's a two bedroom, complete with a kitchen and bathroom with a flushing toilet (yes, I said FLUSHING TOILET).  I must say, I was a little bit jealous at the fact that she has a toilet and I have a hole in the ground, but you can't have everything right?  Besides, I have electricity and she doesn't, and I definitely prefer to have lights over having a throne (I'm sure I'm getting more use out of my electricity than I would a toilet).

After a couple hours of hanging out and catching up, a couple of the volunteer's coworkers came to her house and said that they wanted to take me somewhere.  We each hopped on the back of a moto and when we arrived at the mystery place which turned out to be a

bar, the volunteer started laughing and said, "You guys should have told us that we were going to a bar...she doesn't even drink."  I told them that it was okay and that I would have a Fanta and then the two guys laughed at me and said, "Aww, you're a little girl.  You only drink Fanta."  Unoffended and used to getting those kinds of comments here, I just laughed it off and ordered myself a Fiesta Fanta once we were seated inside the bar.  My driver sat next to me and asked me if it would be okay if he order a Mutzig.  Not quite sure (at the moment) why he was asking my permission, I told him it was fine and wondered why this grown man was asking me if he could have a drink.  It wasn't until he got the beer, opened it, and took a sip that I realized he had asked my permission because he was the person who was going to be driving me 1 hour back home...over the broken bridges and rushing waters!!!  I immediately changed my mind about him drinking this super-sized beer, but knowing Rwandans and that they love their beer and would never leave an open bottle to go to waste, I told him that he could only have one beer because I wanted to get home safely.    Then the other guy who speaks pretty good English laughed and said, "He can have more, a man of his size has the capacity to handle it."  And I quickly rebutted jokingly, but 100% serious, "Not with me riding on the back of his moto he doesn't."  The volunteer could tell I was really uneasy about being driven back by this man who appeared to be a little bit tipsy after finishing his super-sized beer so she suggested that she ride with us to my site to make sure I got there okay.  At first, her two coworkers said no, but they quickly gave in once she added on that once we got to my site, they could stop at a bar and have more drinks (I swear you can get a Rwandan to do anything if there is beer involved). 

When we were about ready to go, the volunteer's coworkers got up from their seats and went to start their bikes.  Assuming that was our signal that it was time to go, me and the volunteer got up and began to head for the exit as the bartender came and cleared off our table.  Just as we approached the door, one of her coworkers came back in to finish off the last 10 (or so) drops of his beer that he had left on the table.  Little did he know, the bartender had already taken the bottles from the table.  To our surprise, the guy said loudly, "Where is my drink?"  We told him that the bartender took it and then he said, "I will go to find it."  Me and the volunteer (and the bartender) just stood there as the guy walked through another door and into the back where the bartender had taken the bottles.  He came back out a couple seconds later looking very pleased with himself and said, "We can go.  I finished it!"  Me and the volunteer both cracked up!  We had yet another only-in-Rwanda moment.

Finally heading back toward my site, the two coworkers who were driving us home decided at the halfway point that they wanted to race each other to see who could get there the fastest.  I wasn't the slightest bit amused by this as I was certain I would have met my fate going over all those "bridges" that I barely made it over the first time around.  Not to mention, the two bikes we were on were literally putt-putting and mine even shut off a few times without any warning (I even had to get off at one point so that the driver could restart the engine and drive a few feet to make sure it wouldn't shut off again).  All the less, after standing eye to eye with death a total of four times (or more), we actually made it to the bar near my site without any (other) major issues. 

Once at the bar, the coworker that drove me asked me if I wanted brochettes.  Feeling vey meat deprived since being in Rwanda, of course I said yes and he proceeded to walk toward the back of the bar and into the kitchen; I followed.  Once through the door, I caught a glimpse of an animal (which I'm assuming to be a goat) hanging from the ceiling and when I looked down in a corner to avoid seeing the meat that I would probably be eating in about 20 minutes, I saw a bit of goat skin and a hoof sitting in a puddle of blood.  I thought to myself, Gross!  Why did you bring me in here??!  Before I could turn to walk out (I had had enough of the kitchen), the guy asked me what kind of meat I wanted.  He held up a raw brochette and pointed to his stomach, signaling that that one contained the insides of the goat.  When I shook my head no, he picked up another raw brochette and said that one was from the arms and legs of the goat.  I decided on those parts rather than the liver and kidneys (or whatever that other one was) and then bee-lined it right on out of that kitchen!

Over our brochettes and beer (Fanta for me) we all made small talk and shared a few laughs until it was time to go.  It had started to get dark outside so one of the coworkers walked out with me and helped me find a legit moto taxi who would get me home safe and sound.  So much for legit.  Whenever I'm on a moto, I make small talk with the driver during the ride. I usually ask them their names (in case they try to kidnap me), their age, where they live, etc.  However when I asked my driver his age, he said very confidently, "Icumi nitanu."  I said, "What??!  You're FIFTEEN??!  How long have you been driving a moto??!"  I would never in a million years have gotten on that moto had I known my "legit" driver was only 15!!  He told me that he has been driving for 3 years and I said to myself You a dang on lie.  You have not been driving since you were 12 years old...At any rate, please just get me home safely.  And he did.  I think next time, though, I should ask the age question before I get on the moto...that little guy wasn't even old enough to have his Rwandan license!

Love and Peace Corps,

Dametreea