Resource Family!

I met my resource father on the second day of training at a party involving beer, fanta, cheese, peanuts. It was a joyful occasion with an impromptu dance party as the whole neighborhood watched us in the training director’s fishbowl/backyard. I was very relieved that he spoke French, although I do find his African accent a little hard to follow.

My resource father runs (owns?) a bar that serves beer, waragi (imported Ugandan gin) and pork meals. It’s located right behind the Catholic church. I’ve been there a few times between class and dinner to go over my Kinyarwanda. Usually he asks me if I want inzoga or Fanta (which they use to mean all types of soda) and I’ll say “whatever you’re having” and we’ll split a Mutzig beer. In some circles it’s a bit taboo for women to drink in public, and the evening when he had several other customers he only offered me Fanta.

This Sunday I was able to go to his village, which truly feels like the countryside despite being a 10 minute walk from Nyanza’s paved road. I was shown how to use the traditional kitchen, fed a delicious meal, and given a workout in Kinyarwanda and French. My host father and I then shared a beer and spicy brochettes in the little shack that serves as the village convenience store, bar and restaurant. I hope in the coming weeks we’ll be able to shift our conversations from French to Kinyarwanda. My resource mother doesn’t speak French, so that should help.