My favorite three "Kigali Life" songs of the moment

There's a folder of music on my computer labeled "KigaliLife".  It's a reference to the Yahoo group of the same which essentially serves as the Craigslist of Kigali (without the adult services section*).  I add to the folder every so often when a song played on Rwandan radio or in the clubs drives me crazy in a good way.  I did a critical analysis post of three of my then-favorites back in November.  I don't have the time to analyze these next three, but I know some of you out there love music as much as me, so I figure it's better to at least link to them.  (Not to mention lots of you probably prefer them sans-Ali analysis.)

*Although I DID once see someone post asking for information about where the visiting "And 1" basketball players were staying.  Of course, I couldn't resist the opportunity for sass, and posted a reply that although I was unsure of the poster's motivations in trying to find the basketball players' hotel, in America, it usually meant they were only looking for one thing....

Video 1: Up to the Ceiling by Isaac Blackman

Hailing from the West Indian twin islands of Trinidad/Tobago, this guy is someone I plan on buying out on iTunes when I return to the States and make more than about $1 an hour.  (Kidding about the $1 part.  Sort of.)  Love the basic concept of this song - your love's got me jumping up to the ceiling, what a wonderful feeling.  It's actually a gospel song about God's love, but you can substitute whoever you like - including Johnny Depp, President Obama, etc.  Just a suggestion.

Video 2: Jupka by J Martins

I actually have no idea what this song is about.  Based on the music video, I'm guessing it's about pretty girls and how much the singer loves them.  Then again, that description covers the jist of about 39.8% of all songs ever, so you're probably just as well off throwing a dart at a board.  In any case, if you can play this song, turn it up REAL loud, turn all the lights off, turn up the heat to about 85 degrees, and imagine about 50 sweaty people straight grooving out, you can get a sense of dancing to this song at about 1:30am in Kigali.

Video 3: Alors on Danse by Stromae

This isn't actually an African (or African-diaspora, in the case of Video 1) inspired song.  So why do all the Rwandans freak out when it comes over the speakers in Kigali nightclubs?  Because it's singer, Stromae (yes, it's an inversion of Maestro, you're not crazy) is a classic Rwandan "mocha" baby.  Mocha baby?  Milky mom from Belgium, chocolatey dad from Rwanda.....yeah, I didn't come up with the term.  Anyway, of course Rwandans love to see country representation in the music big leagues* even if Mr. Stromae doesn't have contact with his Rwandese father or visit the fatherland.  The song itself is quite sad for such a danceable tune.  You can read a full translation of the lyrics here (scroll down on the page), but a sample goes something like this: "he who says family means grief, he who says forever means divorce".  The main idea, however, that I think folks of any nationality can relate to, is "let's go out and (drunkenly) forget our problems. Let's dance."

*Mr. King of Hip Hop himself, Kanye West, did a remix/cover of the song.

So there you have it folks, three of my favorite KigaliLife songs of the moment.  Enjoy!

The importance of Rwandan youth - Passionate Patriots

When 20% of your country's total population is brutally murdered in the span of a hundred days, many of them in the prime of their best and brightest years, how do you rally the nation forward over the following decades?  If you're Paul Kagame, you constantly emphasize the duty and patriotism inherent in being a motivated, educated young person in your devastated country.  Perhaps more than any other current African leader, PK is a champion of African youth.  Here are a few excerpts from a speech he made to youth in Benin in November of 2010:

"Africa needs young people who are motivated by the desire to serve the interests of their people – with a sense of urgency to address the persistent problems of poverty, hunger, disease, among others."

"(Y)ou must always be mindful that the solutions to Africa’s development will come from us, not outsiders – this means that we must have high ambitions and a clear vision for our continent."

"Our experience in Rwanda has shown us that young leaders are critical for nation building and are instrumental in wealth creation."

"They have the strength which, when coupled with relevant skills and the spirit of innovation, discipline, and entrepreneurship, can be agents of change for the common good."

Based on a recent editorial in the New Times, Rwanda's only daily English paper (full disclosure, it's edited-in-chief by a good friend of mine), it looks like some young people are taking him to heart.  In a piece entitled "Engagement, Commitment, Loyalty, and Passion of Rwandan Youth", Michelle Rugema writes about a recent speech by American First Lady Michelle Obama in South Africa on the same topics of "seriousness" and "commitment". 


You really should read his whole editorial - it's well-written and moving.  However, the part that really struck me was his focus on the idea of passion:

"Without a deep passion for our lives, for our causes, and for our nations there can be no sustainable development and none of the principles mentioned above can be effective.  We need to be passionate patriots; passionate about our causes, about our country, our development and our prosperity as a people."

I'd love to be able to forward that paragraph on to every person blessed to have been born into a developed country and who wrongly believes that Africans are lazy, ignorant of the larger picture, and expect to be handed solutions to their problems.  It's Mr. Rugema's exact sentiment which explains why I can't seem to work anywhere besides Rwanda and why, if I'm lucky, I'll get to keep working here over a lifetime.

Rwanda's first media-fueled scandal (and why it's a good thing).

I was planning on saving this post for when I needed a ready-to-go subject to break a bout of writer's block, but given current events in the US, I think it's particularly topical. 

Back on one day in February, a ripple of astonishment and twitterpation spread throughout Rwanda.  Everyone was on their phones, discussing and confirming the hottest piece of gossip to come out Kigali in...well, maybe ever.  In a country whose history is tainted with horrific violence, what could possibly have gotten everyone so riled up?  I had heard bombings, murder, and genocide-talk discussed with less comment.

The story was that a political blog named Le Prophete, run by Rwandan dissidents in France (or Belgium, maybe), had released a scathing rant against the Government of Rwanda.  Their extremely long tirade essentially accused Paul Kagame's government of becoming corrupted, out of tune with the people of Rwanda, and leading fancy, lavish lives.  Their proof?  Photos of the Minister of Youth and Sports, Joseph Habineza, cavorting with young girls, none of whom were his wife.

Minister Habineza ended up stepping down a day after the photos hit the net.  I found many things about this story extremely interesting from a number of perspectives.

•  First and foremost, the fact that this scandal spread via the internet - with people emailing the blog address back and forth, using Skype to send copies of the pictures to office mates and discussing it all in a flurry on Facebook - says a lot about technology's growing importance in Rwanda.

• The bloggers who released the photos said that they were taken in 2008.  Presumably, this means that the photos were kept secret for almost THREE years before they were released at what the dissidents thought were a perfect time to do the most political damage.  Possibly unrelated, but the Minister gave a speech not two weeks earlier on Heroes Day which focused on finding ways to emulated "Rwandan dignity". 

• The writers of the blog wrote the text in Kinyarwanda, even though I would imagine that the majority of people accessing internet in Rwanda speak either English or French (not to mention the writers themselves, who live in francophone Europe).  My guess is that the writers' choice of Kinyarwanda was very purposeful.  Not only to appeal to the less-educated populace, but because Kinyarwanda is famous for its insinuative nature.  The language often cloaks deeper meaning in metaphors, and I suspect there were some pretty interesting messages sent under the radar in the text of the blog post.  (In early 1994, pro-genocide radio stations starting broadcasting messages about "cutting down the tall trees", a reference to Tutsis, historically taller than Hutus.  This is not to imply that the writers were one ethnicity or the other, simply that the language is often metaphorical.)

•  Was this a setup?  In some of the pictures, one of the smiling girls looks particularly gleeful (the one in long cornrows on the left in the picture above right).  Do they know what they're doing, or are they just having fun flirting with a Minister, oblivious to the fallout which would occur years later?  If it wasn't a setup, who leaked the pictures to the dissidents living in Europe?  Also, WHY THE HELL did Habineza let someone so blatantly take damning photos of him?  

• Even though the Minister was clearly not on his best church behavior, the accusations of him living it up in lavish style are far fetched.  All of the articles mentioning the scandal mentioned a "well-appointed" party room.  Let's look at this party room in closer detail.  For sure, this room is lavish when compared to the dirt floor shacks of many Rwandan farmers.  But let's be serious, this ain't the Mandarin Oriental.  Those couches are straight from China fake leather and the last time I checked, Drostdy-Hof isn't Moet.  Not to mention, if I read a review for a hotel that described itself as lavish, and THOSE were the curtains hanging up when I checked in, I would demand my money back.

Ruminations on the "meaning" of the scandal aside, I was actually sort of relieved at its fallout.  The Minister resigned, the world moved on.  To me, the whole thing signified that the Rwandan government was growing up.  Instead of stories about government-sponsored rape, true corruption, or voter fraud, a politician was embroiled in the most classic of downfalls - a good old fashioned sex(-ish) scandal.  A new Youth and Sports minister was appointed (hopefully with a little less interest in connecting with the "youth" part of his title) and the government kept it moving.  

Oh, and Mr. Habineza, if you happen to read this, take my advice - don't join Twitter.  "Spend more time" with your family instead.  Unless your wife happens to be dying of incurable cancer.  In that case, she probably doesn't want your toxic ass around her in her precious final days anyway.

Reminders and Updates

Hello all!  I have about seven weeks left before I head back to the States and I am making a real effort to post as often as possible.  There's a lot I hope to be able to write about and share before I get back to DC and I hope you'll tune in often!  A couple of updates and reminders:

• You'll notice at the bottom of each post is a line of icons which allow you to share that particular post with people you think might be interested in it.  You can easily pass on a link to that post via Gmail, Facebook, and Twitter.  I appreciate any and all publicity for the things I write here!
• If you prefer to receive blog posts as emails, you can enter your email address in the box to the right which reads "Tired of checking to see if I've posted?"  After submitting your email address, you'll get each new post delivered straight to your inbox.
• I love comments!  It takes me a long time to upload pictures to my blog (about 5 minutes or more for each picture), and I work really hard to find time to write.  I love it when people leave comments, even just so I know who's out there reading.
• You don't have to have a Google Account to comment.  After entering your comment in the "Post a comment" box, you can comment as "Name/URL" from the drop-down box and type in any name you like.  Easy peasy!
• Finally, the "Reactions" feedback tags at the bottom of each post really help me know what kinds of things people appreciate reading about.  It only takes one second to click one - try it out! 

I am thankful and humbled that you take time out to read the stuff I write here.  I hope to be able to provide lots more stuff before I change my current city on Facebook to "Washington, DC".  Love from Kigali.

The Humbling Power of Baby Formula

Perhaps one of the greatest benefits to living and working in a developing country is being humbled on a daily basis.

That picture is humbling.  It's a picture of baby Cedric back in April shortly after he came into our lives.  His mother was not mentally capable of caring for him and he was taken in by another woman in his community after she found him abandoned in a latrine.  His new mama fed him the only thing she could afford - cow's milk.  Of course, cow's milk does not have all the things that a two month old infant needs to grow.  His new mama brought him into my friends Julie (Country Director of Gardens for Health) and Brad's house because they are renowned in their local community for being able to help when help is most needed - for medicine, food, a quiet place to study, condoms.  Brad and Julie agreed to take him in (with the help of the many women who work with them) long enough to help get him healthy.

Cedric was declared malnourished by the public hospital in Kigali.  However, even after emergency high-nutrition milk and a lot of love, Cedric wasn't gaining weight.  Brad, a certified nurse, worried he might be displaying symptoms of Failure To Thrive - a not fully-understood condition in which children don't progress, often for unexplained reasons.  After a few weeks of non-improvement, Brad and Julie asked if I could help get Cedric admitted to Butaro Hospital, since I know many of the doctors who work there and could probably get them to give him special attention. 

A few days and a very long car ride later, Cedric was naked on a weighing scale in the intake room of the emergency ward at Butaro.  All his tests came back negative.  "He probably just needs more food, all the time," a mentor doctor from Harvard told me.  Two days later, Cedric was headed home.  Malnourished, but not sick, they said.  Partners in Health sent us on our way with three cans of baby formula and a promise that they would continue supplying Cedric with as much formula as he needed for as long as he needed it.

This is a photo of him taken about a week ago:

I can barely find the old stick skinny baby in the picture of this fatty.  When I hold him now, it's like someone sneaked into Brad and Julie's house and did a switcheroo in the middle of the night. 

Perhaps the most humbling thing about holding Cedric and thinking about his journey is not what he's already endured and survived in his very short life.  It's the road in front of him.  Although he's clearly significantly healthier, he has a long fight ahead.  His motor skills are much improved, but he still shows symptoms of possible palsy.  Given that his mother is mentally unsound, he could have inherited any number of genetic issues from her.  Since she didn't realize she was pregnant, she likely drank alcohol  while he was in utero.  And Brad and Julie won't be around forever.

But for now, he's thriving, and crying and sleeping and sweating and eating and pooting and smiling.  And the fact that he's around for any of that, is humbling.

Here Alex, I hope you're happy now.

A few months back, some friends who work for the US Embassy hosted a "Best and Worst of America" party in which we were all encouraged to dress up.  The hostesses themselves were super lame (sorry girls!) and just wore cheeky pro-gay marriage t-shirts.  There were, however, some fun tea-bagger costumes and I think I remember Sarah Palin making an appearance. 

Back in December when I was in the States, I had some post-Christmas money to burn at Sephora, the holy grail of makeup stores.  I bought some gold glitter gel eye liner, figuring I could use it at some point.  The Best and Worst of America party was my chance.  I decided to go as Ke$ha, that wonderful young woman who brought us American classics such as Tik Tok ("wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy, before I leave brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack") and Blah Blah Blah ("come put a little love in my glovebox"). 

If you're not familiar with Ke$ha's signature style of "crazy" - in which she tries overly-hard to convince you she's a Native American, drunk, high, hung-over, sleeping with a hobo, on meth, on coke, sleeping with your dad, etc. - let's just say it relies heavity on torn clothing, "morning after" hair, and glitter.  Lots of glitter.

This pretty much covers it all.

I'll admit it.  I kind of love Ke$ha.  Admittedly, she probably fell closer to the "worst" side of what America has to offer the world, but I can't really help myself.  She's not particularly talented, tries too hard, and her whole career is schtick, but she's a hell of a lot more fun than Paris Hilton or the Pussycat Dolls to dance to.  What can I say, I'm a sucker for mindless, well-done pop music.

In any case, here was my interpretation:

Apologies to Cher-Wen for having to be beside me in this picture

If you're curious about what I'm holding in my hand there, it's a bottle of Maker's Mark whiskey re-purposed to look like a bottle of Jack Daniels with a toothbrush taped to the side.  (Get it?  Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack.  GET IT?!)

Let's just say that....most people at the party were not dressed up like me.  I clearly had gone all out.  It was worth it though - getting to act like a complete asshole for the night was fun.  I get requests to bring this costume back almost every weekend. 

In all seriousness though, I could have written an A+ paper in college dissecting Ke$ha's resistance to the Male Gaze often portrayed in today's popular music videos by likewise objectifying men throughout the song:

 "I don't really care where you live at / just turn around boy / let me hit that / don't be a little bitch  with your chit-chat / just show me where your d*ck's at."

My favorite sentiment in the song, however, and perhaps the reason I love Ke$ha so much comes from this one line in Blah Blah Blah.  It echoes the exact feeling I've had so many Friday nights out on the dancefloor when men decide they really need to take the very moment you've finally let the week go to ask about where you're from and how you like DC:

"Music's up / listen hot stuff / I'm in love with this song / so just hush / baby shut up / heard enough."

A trip to Swahili-land - Part 1

After months of planning, looking up hotel reviews on painfully slow internet, working three jobs, waiting, thinking longingly about seafood, and approximately a hundred emails later, Alex came to visit me at the end of May.  He was a superstar (read: nutjob) and ran the Kigali half-marathon with me about 18 hours after stepping off the plane (a separate post on that later).  We took a mini-safari in eastern Rwanda and then spent a day roaming the hills of the north where I work.  And then, we set off for Zanzibar. 

Zanzibar.  A name filled with mystery and exoticism, just waiting to be culturally appropriated by white tourists from Europe and the States.  Representing the "zan" in Tanzania, Zanzibar island sits off the northern coast of mainland Tanganika (the "tan" in Tanzania).  Best known historically for its Swahili culture - a mix of African and Arabic traditions - Zanzibar has been used for many hundreds of years as a trading hub between the two worlds.  In the 1600's, the Sultan of Oman moved the capital of the empire to Zanzibar and started up a spice trade, importing plants and starting up plantations.  To this day, spices are Zanzibar's largest export.

Coconut trees on a spice farm tour

"Lipstick tree" seed pod

The juice is used as a food and lip dye.

On our requisite tourist activity Spice Tour, our guides must have shown us 25 different spices trees and fruits - cinnamon, vanilla, coffee, starfruit, cocoa, nutmeg, coconut, cloves.

Fresh mace which encases the nutmeg

 We flew from Kigali (at 3am, with a lovely early-morning layover in Nairobi) into Stone Town, the "capital" of Zanzibar and its traditional hub of trading activity.  I was immediately reminded of Venice, Italy (also a historical trade hub and cultural mixing ground), where I had visited with my mother almost exactly a year before.  Stone was by far the most common building material and whole place just had a feeling of "old".  We checked into our hotel and were immediately upgraded to their executive suite.  Sweet! At that moment, I was really glad I'd decided to book the overnight flight from Kigali, because we must have been the first couple to check in that day.

Traditional Swahili style

Open-air shower

View from our room onto the Indian Ocean

The hotel was absolutely wonderful - full of old Arabic and African items (my favorite was an old Swahili swinging crib made of dark wood) and boasted an interior open-air courtyard with pool.  We never made it into the pool, but it was nice to look at.

By far my favorite aspect of our time in Stone Town (besides the fact that people loved calling Alex "rasta man" when in his button-down shirts, he was obviously about as far from rasta as you can get) was the architecture.  Stone Town is one of UNESCO's World Heritage Sites (primarily for its "outstanding material manifestation of cultural fusion and harmonization"), but I was surprised at how little real preservation has gone on.  I suppose you could argue that this simply reflects the fact that Stone Town is not a relic, but a still-living, breathing, working town.  Still, I couldn't help but wonder about what the state of it will be like in 50 or 100 years. 

It was clear that in its heyday of spice and slave trading, sultan-ism, and cultural fusion-ism, Stone Town was a wonderfully fantastic site.  Wealthy men owned entire multi-story buildings and were responsible for their upkeep.  I can't tell you how many times, on our trip, I'd look into what clearly used to be a breathtaking building, only to see ruin and disrepair inside.  I suppose when you no longer have a slave trade to support massive single family dwellings and those buildings get split up between multiple families, no one is charged with keeping the place up as a whole.  I'm not sure how you could manage to restore Stone Town to it's former glory without creating Arabic Disney world and kicking out all the locals in order to revamp their houses into hotels for foreigners.

Zanz is 95% Muslim - I kept my legs and shoulders covered in Stone Town

Perhaps the most well-known architectural hallmark of Stone Town is its doors. Traditionally a sign of wealth, many of the most impressive doors have been sold to collectors around the world.  I can understand why - they're absolutely gorgeous.  I'm a sucker for Arabic and Islamic artistic influence - somehow simple and intricate at the same time.

Much of our time in Stone Town was spent wandering around, taking pictures, enjoying fresh juice smoothies, exploring down alleyways, and poking our heads into touristy shops filled with much of the same schlock you'll find anywhere in East Africa.  A particular highlight was Forodhani Gardens at night - an open air seafood market filled to the brim with fisherman and their fresh catch of the day.  That was such an amazing experience it deserves a post of its own.  So for now, I'll leave you with the rest of the best of Stone Town.

Inside the sultan's wife's private bath

I decided I didn't need a shower.

No explanation needed.  One of my faves.

On the street

And finally, just because he will kill me, I would like to present Alex in his best spice formal-wear.

Corporate spice trading-ready.

Stay tuned for posts on the seafood market at Forodhani gardens, the rest of our trip, and the half marathon!

Photo of the Week

I have been SO bad with keeping up with thisaintnosafari I am ASHAMED!  I have so much to write about, and so much to do for work, and only EIGHT weeks to get it all in!  By hook or by crook (what does that even mean?), I will write here.  Probably tomorrow.  Or Thursday.  Until then, here's a picture I took from our hotel room in a recent trip to Zanzibar.