The second goal of the Peace Corps is to u a better understanding of America and its peoplehos within the host country. Usually I fulfill this with casual conversation, sharing American food, or explaining pictures of Boston and home. Often, Rwandans ask me questions about how things are done in America, and I’m put in the position of distilling our massive and diverse culture into a neat answer that can be conveyed with my meager Kinyarwanda vocabulary.
I had the funniest conversation the other day with my counterpart and the head of my village. They asked me if men in America can take more than one wife, so I explained that they can’t do so at the same time but they can after a divorce, of which we have many (and likewise, women can take a second husband). And that some men, and some women, take girl/boyfriends despite being married, but that I think that happens in Rwanda too and usually it’s frowned upon in both cultures. They asked me if sometimes men might have kids with different women and therefore a few different families. They asked me who would get the kids so we got into court arbitration, child support, etc. I told them that there is a slight bias towards the mother getting the kids, and they seemed to think there would (or should?) be more men getting custody. I said usually a man (particularly athletes and rappers) who has children with several different women would rather find new women to have relations with than take care of the existing kids so usually the mothers get the kids.
I kid you not, the head of my village then said he wants to go to America some day and impregnate a woman. (Good luck dude, you’re a great village leader but with your middle-age paunch, your total lack of English and money you would not have so much game…)
Throughout the conversation, they kept asking my opinion on all of this and I kept navigating between keeping up my reputation as being “serious” and culturally appropriate while speaking for all of America on the topic with some semblance of nuance.
Showing posts with label awkward. Show all posts
Showing posts with label awkward. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
Rwandan etiquette
There are lots of things Rwandans do and say that seem rude when considered in an American cultural context:
- To get someone’s attention, say that of a waiter, a passerby in the street, or a potential customer in the market, many Rwandans make a hissing noise. It’s alarmingly effective.
- There is no word for “please” in Kinyarwanda. The word for “thank you,” murakoze, translates literally as “you have just done (done well).”
- There is no word for “excuse me” either. When people want to get by, they push you out of the way, usually gently.
- Picking noses and shooting snot rockets onto the ground are common occurrences.
- So is picking one’s earwax in public. Two recent experiences: the woman on my bus last month who bought a lollypop, picked her ear with the end of the stick, and then unwrapped it and ate it, and the guy who walked into the milk bar where I was eating a sambusa and wished me “Muryoherwe” (bon appetite) as he twisted a cotton swab in his ear - and then reached over to shake my hand.
- Upon meeting someone new, a Rwandan immediately asks “Are you married?” and “How many children do you have?”
- It’s also common to ask a near-stranger if they are looking for a husband. It’s not just men who ask me this, but women as well.
- Discussing weight is in no way taboo – I’ve been in multiple conversations where Rwandans have talked about each other’s weight, particularly in the context of “so-and-so used to be skinny before you were married.”
- One colleague once told me “your face is very nice without glasses but I don’t like it when you wear your glasses.”
- Another asked me what medicines I take at home.
- Asking how much money somebody makes isn’t taboo either.
- As I mentioned in an earlier post, it’s quite common to answer one’s phone during a meeting, church, or anywhere else, and proceed to talk on it in hushed tones without excusing oneself.
- Rwandans have no issues with describing people by their skin color (be it Muzungu vs. Rwandan or a distinction between “brown” and “black” Rwandans).
- Rwandans throw food on the floor of their homes and others’ homes. Using a toothpick? Just spit out the food you’ve dislodged! Throw the toothpick on the floor too. This makes more sense when you realize how often they (or their houseboys) clean the floors, but it sure is off-putting to observe.
- Waiting on a Rwandan? Call to ask when they will arrive, and they’ll tell you a few minutes. Always, regardless of whether they’re actually going to be an hour or two late. It would be rude for them to say anything but Ndaje, ndaje “I’m coming, I’m coming,” even if they haven’t left yet.
This all takes some getting used to, but it’s normal here to be nosy about somebody’s marital status, and comments about physical appearance and skin color don’t carry the same weight as they would in the US.
On the other hand, there’s a number of ways in which Rwandans might find our culture quite rude. They greet everyone, while we hardly ever talk to strangers we pass in the street. Greetings often extend to discussing marital status, what one does, etc., so it’s a nice way to get to know the people I pass every day and the shopkeepers I’ve arbitrarily chosen to frequent. Rwandans also love giving gifts and will usually share food with guests. They also accompany guests to the front gate and sometimes halfway down the street - an American who stopped at the door when seeing guests out would be viewed as rude. There is a very nice tradition of randomly giving small gifts - buying a coworker or neighbor ears of corn or a bunch of bananas, for example.
Although sometimes I am frustrated by what might be considered rude behavior, it helps to take a step back and remember the cultural context. Except when I’m told I’m getting fat - it may be a Rwandan compliment, but that’s just not fun to hear.
- To get someone’s attention, say that of a waiter, a passerby in the street, or a potential customer in the market, many Rwandans make a hissing noise. It’s alarmingly effective.
- There is no word for “please” in Kinyarwanda. The word for “thank you,” murakoze, translates literally as “you have just done (done well).”
- There is no word for “excuse me” either. When people want to get by, they push you out of the way, usually gently.
- Picking noses and shooting snot rockets onto the ground are common occurrences.
- So is picking one’s earwax in public. Two recent experiences: the woman on my bus last month who bought a lollypop, picked her ear with the end of the stick, and then unwrapped it and ate it, and the guy who walked into the milk bar where I was eating a sambusa and wished me “Muryoherwe” (bon appetite) as he twisted a cotton swab in his ear - and then reached over to shake my hand.
- Upon meeting someone new, a Rwandan immediately asks “Are you married?” and “How many children do you have?”
- It’s also common to ask a near-stranger if they are looking for a husband. It’s not just men who ask me this, but women as well.
- Discussing weight is in no way taboo – I’ve been in multiple conversations where Rwandans have talked about each other’s weight, particularly in the context of “so-and-so used to be skinny before you were married.”
- One colleague once told me “your face is very nice without glasses but I don’t like it when you wear your glasses.”
- Another asked me what medicines I take at home.
- Asking how much money somebody makes isn’t taboo either.
- As I mentioned in an earlier post, it’s quite common to answer one’s phone during a meeting, church, or anywhere else, and proceed to talk on it in hushed tones without excusing oneself.
- Rwandans have no issues with describing people by their skin color (be it Muzungu vs. Rwandan or a distinction between “brown” and “black” Rwandans).
- Rwandans throw food on the floor of their homes and others’ homes. Using a toothpick? Just spit out the food you’ve dislodged! Throw the toothpick on the floor too. This makes more sense when you realize how often they (or their houseboys) clean the floors, but it sure is off-putting to observe.
- Waiting on a Rwandan? Call to ask when they will arrive, and they’ll tell you a few minutes. Always, regardless of whether they’re actually going to be an hour or two late. It would be rude for them to say anything but Ndaje, ndaje “I’m coming, I’m coming,” even if they haven’t left yet.
This all takes some getting used to, but it’s normal here to be nosy about somebody’s marital status, and comments about physical appearance and skin color don’t carry the same weight as they would in the US.
On the other hand, there’s a number of ways in which Rwandans might find our culture quite rude. They greet everyone, while we hardly ever talk to strangers we pass in the street. Greetings often extend to discussing marital status, what one does, etc., so it’s a nice way to get to know the people I pass every day and the shopkeepers I’ve arbitrarily chosen to frequent. Rwandans also love giving gifts and will usually share food with guests. They also accompany guests to the front gate and sometimes halfway down the street - an American who stopped at the door when seeing guests out would be viewed as rude. There is a very nice tradition of randomly giving small gifts - buying a coworker or neighbor ears of corn or a bunch of bananas, for example.
Although sometimes I am frustrated by what might be considered rude behavior, it helps to take a step back and remember the cultural context. Except when I’m told I’m getting fat - it may be a Rwandan compliment, but that’s just not fun to hear.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Clubbing in Muhanga
This post is rated PG 13 for adult language and content.
Last night I went to a club in Rwanda’s second largest city, Muhanga (sometimes called Gitarama). There are sadly no pictures beyond the mental images permanently burned in my brain. After waiting 10 minutes for my change (cover: 1000 francs, or less than $2) and being felt up by the security guards, I entered the club. Impressively, it was a split level, so my companion and I retired to the second floor where I promptly spilled half a 1500 franc beer (aka very expensive) when I leaned on the rickety counter it was sitting on.
The upper level offered an excellent view of the place. Picture a dark and dingy split level club, decorated with eclectic posters (a basketball star, an action movie, Bob Marley). As is typical wherever there is a Rwandan bar with a TV and music, the music videos did not match the music that’s playing. On the upper dance floor were two guys taking advantage of all the empty space to find a happy medium between dancing and seizuring. On the lower level were lots of Rwandan men, but not a woman to be found, so the men were grinding on each other. And I do mean grinding as in crotch-to-leg contact (remember, kids, homosexuality doesn’t exist here).
Eventually more friends arrived and we moved to the lower level where the male in our party was subject to aforementioned male-on-male grinding. (“I think I might have felt his penis.” “If you think you felt it….you did feel it.”) About 3 Rwandan women eventually arrived, but it was still a mostly male affair. One guy we were dancing with offered to buy drinks, and in a classic Rwandan manner, brought the unopened bottle and bottle opener onto the dance floor so he could open the beer in front of me so I would know it wasn’t poisoned.
The music was a nice mix of danceable hip-hop and 2-year-old pop songs that were fantastically fun to sing along to. Despite the auspicious start (gropey security guards are always so charming) it was a fantastic night, topped off by the 3am discovery that my 5000 franc ($9) hotel had half-frozen water bottles in their fridge.
Last night I went to a club in Rwanda’s second largest city, Muhanga (sometimes called Gitarama). There are sadly no pictures beyond the mental images permanently burned in my brain. After waiting 10 minutes for my change (cover: 1000 francs, or less than $2) and being felt up by the security guards, I entered the club. Impressively, it was a split level, so my companion and I retired to the second floor where I promptly spilled half a 1500 franc beer (aka very expensive) when I leaned on the rickety counter it was sitting on.
The upper level offered an excellent view of the place. Picture a dark and dingy split level club, decorated with eclectic posters (a basketball star, an action movie, Bob Marley). As is typical wherever there is a Rwandan bar with a TV and music, the music videos did not match the music that’s playing. On the upper dance floor were two guys taking advantage of all the empty space to find a happy medium between dancing and seizuring. On the lower level were lots of Rwandan men, but not a woman to be found, so the men were grinding on each other. And I do mean grinding as in crotch-to-leg contact (remember, kids, homosexuality doesn’t exist here).
Eventually more friends arrived and we moved to the lower level where the male in our party was subject to aforementioned male-on-male grinding. (“I think I might have felt his penis.” “If you think you felt it….you did feel it.”) About 3 Rwandan women eventually arrived, but it was still a mostly male affair. One guy we were dancing with offered to buy drinks, and in a classic Rwandan manner, brought the unopened bottle and bottle opener onto the dance floor so he could open the beer in front of me so I would know it wasn’t poisoned.
The music was a nice mix of danceable hip-hop and 2-year-old pop songs that were fantastically fun to sing along to. Despite the auspicious start (gropey security guards are always so charming) it was a fantastic night, topped off by the 3am discovery that my 5000 franc ($9) hotel had half-frozen water bottles in their fridge.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
It appears I've made a friend
Today, while riding a moto with another (licensed) colleague, the police pulled us over again. My new friend just wanted to chat. I told my unlicensed coworker that he better get a license before I end up with a fiancé.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Sinshaka umugabo - I don't want a husband!
I am asked here on a regular basis if I’m looking for a husband, “Urashaka umugabo?” My interrogators may be men (or the boy who just sold me Tigo credit for the last time, I’ll go elsewhere) but also women who ask either with a male relative in mind or out of curiosity.
“Sinshaka umugabo,” I tell them: I don’t want a husband. I might say I’m working now and I will look in two years after Peace Corps, or that Peace Corps won’t allow me to get married and have kids (the good ol’ blame-it-on-Peace-Corps excuse can be applied to many things).
Today I was introduced to a man at the sector office, who said “Umugabo urashaka?” Frustrated that this had come up yet again in a professional setting, I told him “No, oya, Sinshaka umugabo,” only to be told by my coworker that he was just telling me his name: Mugaboshaka. "Man who is needed." Oops.
“Sinshaka umugabo,” I tell them: I don’t want a husband. I might say I’m working now and I will look in two years after Peace Corps, or that Peace Corps won’t allow me to get married and have kids (the good ol’ blame-it-on-Peace-Corps excuse can be applied to many things).
Today I was introduced to a man at the sector office, who said “Umugabo urashaka?” Frustrated that this had come up yet again in a professional setting, I told him “No, oya, Sinshaka umugabo,” only to be told by my coworker that he was just telling me his name: Mugaboshaka. "Man who is needed." Oops.
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