Book List

I've become so thankful to Jessica, who decided to bring a small library with her to Kibungo. As she finishes books I snatch them up. Unfortunately I have trouble making them last, so I have almost exhausted the supply.

Two books that I read lately provide an interesting and realistic glimpse into the life of 'whites' in Africa. They also provide insight into the history of Africa from the point of view of someone who lived through the 'history'.

In Don't Lets Go to the Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood, Alexandra Fuller recalls her childhood in what is now Zimbabwe with candor and humour.

Rosamond Halsey Carr's book, Land of a Thousand Hills: My Life in Rwanda, describes her experience living in Rwanda from 1949 until the present. She was forced to evacuate her plantation during the genocide, but returned shortly after and started and still runs Imbabazi Orphanage for children who lost their families during the war.

You can feel the tumultuous history of Africa on an almost everyday basis living here. People's way of thinking is permeated by feelings leftover from the colonial period. In Rwanda, Europeans (and so by default North Americans) were in general treated with respect for their ability to help the nation economically, and today I feel certain expectations placed on me solely because of the colour of my skin.

People come to me with innumerable requests. Can I find them a job or can I give them money are the most common; however, I get all sorts of requests. This week a man traveled from Kigali to meet me on my lunch break in Kibungo, on the premise that he wanted to talk about Canada, where he also has family. But when he arrived and after pleasantries were exchanged, I found out the real reason for our meeting: "Marie Antoinette tells me that you're looking for a boyfriend." Apparently Marie Antoinette, the cook at the restaurant, came to that conclusion on her own and felt motivated to set me up.

It can become difficult. Yesterday on my way home from work I greeted a woman standing on the side of the road. She approached me and started asking me something in Kinyarwanda. I told her I didn't understand, and it's true, I didn't get the exact words, but I could get the jist from her pointing at her bare, calloused feet, the faded cloth wrapped around her waist, and the hospital note she was showing me. When I asked her what she wanted (in my limited Kinyarwanda), she held out her hand. I wish I could help everyone who needs help, but that's impossible. And how do I choose how and who to help fairly?

My thoughts surprised me as I walked off, leaving the woman behind me on the street. Maybe it was because I was taking my usual shortcut through the priest's quarters, but I thought, I wish I believed in God. I wish I believed like so many people in Rwanda, because then I could have gone back to my room and prayed for that woman and had faith that God would take care of her. Instead, I believe that only humans will solve humanity's problems. That belief, combined with the general expectation of Rwandans that I can solve their problems, leaves me with a difficult load to carry. But at the same time I see the strong African women who, despite many hardships, confidently carry heavy balancing loads of anything on their heads with babies bundled to their backs, and I take my inspiration from them.