Daily Annoyances in Rwanda

I have a small confession - I don't love EVERY moment in Africa. Here is a small sample of my daily annoyances in Rwanda that I don't find joy in:

“Ssssssttttt! Sssst. Ssssssssssssttttttttt! Mazungu! Mazungu!” [I turn. They laugh]. I walk for 30 seconds down the road before I hear, “Ssst. Ssssssttt. Sssssssssssssstttttttttt! Mazungu! Mazungu! Mazungu!” [I turn. It’s new people. These new people laugh. And watch me walk away until I’m out of sight].

Walking up hills. Then walking down. Then walking up again. And, finally, when you think you are going to pass out in the middle of the street and beg for water, you reach your destination.

I just walked up and down and up a bunch of hills, on the side of the street no less, with cars whizzing by me. I am covered in sweat, dust, and car exhaust. I really need to take a shower. [I walk to the bathroom. I turn the shower faucet on. It wheezes, and shakes, like a Little Faucet that Could. Except that it can’t. After four drops leak out of the shower head and mockingly moisten my hand, the faucet shutters to a stop. Yelling to my roommates at the top of my lungs] “We’re out of water! Again.” [Three responding groans echo through the house. The Gods laugh.]

I’m reading a really good book. I’m on the edge of my seat, almost done. I won’t let myself go to bed before I know the ending. Right as I turn to the last page, the light of the world dies and darkness reigns. I sigh, exasperatedly, and sit in complete darkness, waiting. And waiting. And waiting some more. It’ll happen. You just have to be patient. So I wait. But I’m not a patient person. I scramble in the pitch black for my phone. I accidentally knock it off the table and my cheap phone shatters on the hard floor. I fall to my knees and grope in the darkness for the pieces. I find them and clumsily piece my phone back together. I push the power on, reset the time, pretend to know the date, and turn the phone’s flashlight on. As I sit back down, shining my phone’s brightness on the book’s last page, the darkness flickers once, twice, and then God shines light once again upon me. I turn off the flashlight and finish my book and go to bed.

I’m in a rush. I don’t have time for a bus (called a taxi here). I flag down a moto (a motorcycle) and tell them my location. “Karibu.” “Karibu?” “Karibu.” At the moto driver’s confused look, I question, “Tu connais?” He lifts his eyebrows, which signifies ‘Sure, why not.’ I ask, “N’agahe?” “1500.” My mental Hah! escapes my lips in a snort. “Ni menshi. Gabanya, gabanya. 500.” Now it’s the driver’s turn to snort. He looks away, looks back at me, and says “1000.” I manage to keep my laugh suppressed but shake my head with a smile. “C’est très chère. No mazungu price. 500.” He laughs but shakes his head. But I can tell I’m winning him over. “I know it is 500. Je connais.” He looks away, looks back at me, studies me a moment. “700.” “500.” “700.” I pause, frustrated, knowing the price is 500 but also remembering I’m in a hurry. With a small stamp of my foot, I resign. “600.” He nods quickly, obviously waiting for me to say that price. He hands me the helmet, I snap the loose chin straps, straddle the seat, and away we go!