Country Roads

As a child of East Tennessee, whenever I think of country roads, the immediate follow up is to "take me home". The beautiful mountains of Huntsville, Wise, Maryville, and Charlottesville have provided a stunning backdrop for my life's activities, and the country roads that wind through them have reliably led me to what feels like a "place I belong".

It is only appropriate that the land of one thousand hills be the backdrop for my life’s newest adventure here in Kigali. And this weekend, I was fortunate enough to be led into the mountains by yet another country road. Sunday morning we left the tarmac of Kigali and headed north for the adventure of Musanze.

Many recognize Musanze as the starting point of the Parc des Volcans and Rwanda’s legendary gorillas. For me, however, Musanze was the trailhead of the proverbial road less traveled that leads around the volcano-made Lake Burera. This lake, and its sister Lake Ruhondo were formed when one of the five volcanoes straddling the borders of Rwanda, Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo erupted and the lava formed a natural dam separating the two bodies of water. The road that encircles these two lakes is seldom traveled by tourists because a substantial four-wheel drive vehicle is required to navigate is muddy terrain.

On this day, however, I set out with my roommates, Sam and Sally, in their massive Land Cruiser. We were accompanied by John, another muzungo (white person) from Tennessee who has been in Kigali for a year or so selling coffee for a local nonprofit. The massive muddy holes we encountered were rivaled only by the panoramic views of the lake that seemed to evolve with every new vantage point. While we were astonished by the views of the scenery, the children of the local fishing village were amazed by the muzungos who were venturing into their rural town.

Undoubtedly, these children were not accustomed to seeing tourists. They would stare and comment in their native Kinyarwanda, but turn and run at our first attempt to speak to them. Eventually, a few hellos and a glimpse of our cameras peaked their curiosity to the point that they would interact with us the best we knew how. As we watched the shadowy clouds roll over the peak of the volcano, the children watched as we slowly rolled our car through increasingly treacherous mud pits.

We eventually turned around to ensure a safe journey home to Kigali, but the ride home was anything but anticlimactic. We took a quick stop to admire the vistas at the Virungas Lodge—a well known five-star resort to give tourists the “authentic” African experience before journeying to see the gorillas. Witnessing the luxury of this pseudo-Africa in such start juxtaposition to the extreme poverty on the other, less-traveled side of Lake Burera seemed like a fitting combination for this particular place. It is here that the two starkly different lakes of Burera and Ruhondo are separated by a thin dam created long ago. Similarly, it is here that two very different lifestyles, those of luxury and poverty, exist in parallel to one another without any knowledge of what exists in the lives of their neighbors on the other side of the lake.

As I contemplated the oddly symbolic views of the day on the ride home, I couldn’t help but think of the social injustice that is so pronounced in Africa. And though many of the “haves” take sympathy on the “have nots”, the views of these gorgeous lakes left me questioning if we muzungos are fundamentally that dissimilar. For the villagers, the view of the lake is commonplace and the white man’s camera is the real show. But for us, we had left our world laden with technology to venture down this treacherous country road and see what the villagers are blessed to wake up to every day.

Often times, in Virginia or Tennessee, I drive through the mountains looking forward to finding my home at the end of a country road. The adventures encountered on this particular country road took me far from home. This day, however, I knew that this road had undoubtedly led me to a place I belonged.

Numbers

15 hours was the length of the flight from Dulles International Airport into Addis Ababa Ethiopia, and it was a little more than 25 hours from the time that the plane took off in Atlanta to when I first stepped foot in Kigali.

75 degrees is the temperature that I then felt blowing on my face and continue to feel round the clock here in Rwanda. This number varies slightly around the hour of rain that is guaranteed during the “little” rainy season.

3 was the number of British accents that greeted me at the door of my new home. Interestingly, a home that has no numbers for its address other than “across the street from Centre de Sante Gitega”.

$579.00 Rwandan Francs was what the exchange bureau handed me for each crisp American dollar bill, and $7000 RwF was what I then traded the lady at the market for a bag of produce too heavy to carry without help.

7-6 was the final score of the ultimate Frisbee game I played Sunday evening a group of ex-pats and Rwandan men and women at the local sports club. To be honest, I can’t remember which of those numbers belonged to my team.

When I decided to come to Rwanda the quantitative was my focus. As a medical student required to spend a five month period doing research I knew that I wanted to spend this time abroad, in a new place. As the months before my departure counted down to days I quickly became focused on the quantitative. “How many subjects will I need for my sample size?” I asked. “What is a good amount of bug spray to take for five months?” I wondered. Trying to quantify the list of questions leads me to a number approaching infinity it seems.

Somehow, in the preparation for this excursion I got lost in the quantitative and left the qualitative to the wayside. I’ve been in Rwanda for 5 days, 5 days, and some odd hours and I’ve finally begun to appreciate the intangibles that led me here in the first place. My first week of work at Project San Francisco has reminded me that some calculations await me in the future, but the patients and staff at the clinic reinforce that I am here for something more. Whether that is learning to cut a pineapple (as I did tonight), or throwing my first punch at a bag of coffee beans (as I did at Tae Kwon Do lessons in a coffee warehouse last night) I am certain that more than the quantitative awaits.

I have nearly five months in Africa and I plan to make the most of it—whatever that may be. As my friends, family, and mentors there is nothing I would love more than to share what this amazing place offers. Not in terms of statistics or tallies, but from a qualitative viewpoint that appropriately reflects the spirit of the country. I invite you to this blog in the hopes that you get some pleasure from the sights, sounds, and stories of this country along with me. And I write it with the hopes that the only thing I will be counting during my time wandering through the country are my many blessings.

The view of the sunset and gate outside of my home and its surrounding garden (pictured above). Rwanda is known as the land of a thousand hills, this is the view from atop ours. The first photo is the view from my Ethiopian Airlines flight into Kigali.