Here are a few songs that are ubiquitous here, if you’re curious about Rwandan pop/hip hop:
Amayobera means something like “that thing that cannot be explained/articulated.” A love song, obviously.
Igipimo means balance - as in the refrain: “it’s a balance really, a balance.” Another love song.
*see post on kumva
Showing posts with label Rwandan culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rwandan culture. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Poison follow up
Here’s a follow up to the poison post I made last week.
B. says his sister is getting better but still in the hospital. However, they moved the kid to their brother’s house, and he’s recovered.
On the way home from the World Cup third place game, I asked my colleague W. about poison; specifically if he believes it is the cause of B.’s sister’s illness. W. unleashed a lecture about poison, paraphrased from memory below.
“It’s real. It’s powerful. I’m telling you it’s real. There are cases I have heard, you cannot deny them. It is why we cannot allow you to stay with these people who invited you [members of a rural cooperative we work with]. You cannot know what people will do. You must always watch your drinks.”
He told me a few stories about poisoning, which often seems to be the Rwandan term for witchcraft in general. According to W., some farmers put “poison” on their corn. Then, when a thief tries to pick an ear, his hand gets stuck to the corn and the thief can’t move until the farmer returns.
Another story involves a truck driver who suspected his wife was sleeping with other men while he was away. He left poison in the bedroom, and she and the man were stuck “in this way, somehow together, like the man and the corn,” until the truck driver returned home to catch them.
B. says his sister is getting better but still in the hospital. However, they moved the kid to their brother’s house, and he’s recovered.
On the way home from the World Cup third place game, I asked my colleague W. about poison; specifically if he believes it is the cause of B.’s sister’s illness. W. unleashed a lecture about poison, paraphrased from memory below.
“It’s real. It’s powerful. I’m telling you it’s real. There are cases I have heard, you cannot deny them. It is why we cannot allow you to stay with these people who invited you [members of a rural cooperative we work with]. You cannot know what people will do. You must always watch your drinks.”
He told me a few stories about poisoning, which often seems to be the Rwandan term for witchcraft in general. According to W., some farmers put “poison” on their corn. Then, when a thief tries to pick an ear, his hand gets stuck to the corn and the thief can’t move until the farmer returns.
Another story involves a truck driver who suspected his wife was sleeping with other men while he was away. He left poison in the bedroom, and she and the man were stuck “in this way, somehow together, like the man and the corn,” until the truck driver returned home to catch them.
You thought I was exagerating about toothpicks?
From the review of yesterday's activities at the training I'm attending, a participant is recounting pros and cons of yesterday in the style of a radio news show (radio being Rwanda's actual national passtime). One of the cons, he said, is that for lunch "they prepared everything well, but they did not give us toothpicks."
Monday, July 12, 2010
Toothpicks: Rwanda's national post-meal passtime
As usual, I get a kick out of some of the imports from China, particularly the "Delightfully fresh and each Vogue" toothpicks and the "Toothy-Fruity" variety with "fruits flowers" flavor tips on one end (click to enlarge):
Even babies love kirida! This is my adopted host sister in Nyanza.
The toothpick craze helps to explain why middle class Rwandans have such great teeth. For poorer Rwandans, toothpicks and other means of dental hygiene are unaffordable. Compounding the problem, raw sugar cane is widely consumed by the poor, meaning that among the other class divides here there is a clear gap in dental health.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Poison
I've known for a few weeks that my colleague B.'s sister is sick. He's even been late to watch a few world cup matches in his own home because he was praying with her. Today on the way back from working in Nyakiliba sector he said we were going to visit her in the hospital in Muhoko sector. Only districts have hospitals, and ours is in Gisenyi, so I asked him, "Do you mean the health center?” No - B. explained that his sister was sick with a mental disorder because she’d been poisoned. The hospital we were going to was a traditional hospital.
I’d heard about the Rwandan belief in poisoning, but this was the first time I encountered it personally. Basically, there are many diseases doctors here can’t diagnose. They lack the technological means to scan a body for cancer and there isn’t a lot of knowledge about invisible illnesses, be they degenerative or temporary. If a doctor can’t diagnose and treat a patient, many times the family (or even the doctor) blames poison, uburozi. “Bamurozi,” they say: they poisoned her. Who is they and why would they want to poison someone? These questions go unanswered. The patient is treated by a traditional healer, an umuganga gakondo, also called a witch doctor. In the case of B.'s sister, the nature of her mental disorder is that she sometimes says things that don't make sense or says non-existent words.
The traditional hospital and witch doctor were not at all what I expected. The hospital was a collection of houses, and the one we entered had several large rooms with 3-4 beds in them and a few small private rooms. All the beds had mosquito nets. Because B.’s family is well off, his sister had a private room. Her son, who is thirteen months old, was with her on the bed. A man came in and talked briefly to B. and his sister; he was well dressed in slacks and a dress shirt. Imagine my surprise when I was told he was the “witch doctor.” According to him, the sister’s condition is improving. After he left, we discussed the child, who has been vomiting and refusing food for a few days and had just vomited up a piece of soap he’d presumably found on the ground. As B. pointed out, the conditions were less than hygienic. Then B. said a lengthy prayer, and we said our goodbyes.
B. is an educated, middle class, religiously Christian Rwandan whom I’ve seen deliver excellent speeches on nutrition and other health topics. Yet he is among many Rwandans who believe in the poisoning phenomenon, and who turn to traditional healers for a cure. He acknowledged that the conditions of the hospital were not clean, and were probably the cause of the child’s illness, but thought that the doctor was healing his sister.
I’d heard about the Rwandan belief in poisoning, but this was the first time I encountered it personally. Basically, there are many diseases doctors here can’t diagnose. They lack the technological means to scan a body for cancer and there isn’t a lot of knowledge about invisible illnesses, be they degenerative or temporary. If a doctor can’t diagnose and treat a patient, many times the family (or even the doctor) blames poison, uburozi. “Bamurozi,” they say: they poisoned her. Who is they and why would they want to poison someone? These questions go unanswered. The patient is treated by a traditional healer, an umuganga gakondo, also called a witch doctor. In the case of B.'s sister, the nature of her mental disorder is that she sometimes says things that don't make sense or says non-existent words.
The traditional hospital and witch doctor were not at all what I expected. The hospital was a collection of houses, and the one we entered had several large rooms with 3-4 beds in them and a few small private rooms. All the beds had mosquito nets. Because B.’s family is well off, his sister had a private room. Her son, who is thirteen months old, was with her on the bed. A man came in and talked briefly to B. and his sister; he was well dressed in slacks and a dress shirt. Imagine my surprise when I was told he was the “witch doctor.” According to him, the sister’s condition is improving. After he left, we discussed the child, who has been vomiting and refusing food for a few days and had just vomited up a piece of soap he’d presumably found on the ground. As B. pointed out, the conditions were less than hygienic. Then B. said a lengthy prayer, and we said our goodbyes.
B. is an educated, middle class, religiously Christian Rwandan whom I’ve seen deliver excellent speeches on nutrition and other health topics. Yet he is among many Rwandans who believe in the poisoning phenomenon, and who turn to traditional healers for a cure. He acknowledged that the conditions of the hospital were not clean, and were probably the cause of the child’s illness, but thought that the doctor was healing his sister.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
A Rwandan joke
A man is afraid of chickens. He goes to the doctor, and the doctor asks him, “Why are you afraid of these things? It is so small, it cannot eat you.” The man leaves the doctor and he sees a chicken and he is afraid. He returns to the doctor and says “But doctor, did you tell the chicken it cannot eat me?”
Monday, June 7, 2010
Cell phones in Rwanda
Everything you wanted to know about cell phones in Rwanda, and then some:
- The most basic phone models start at about $15, and have indispensable flashlights at the top. 35% of Rwandans have phones, says the BBC. I'd have guessed it was higher, but in rural areas it's probably very low.
- With rare exceptions, cell phones are pay-as-you-go: you buy airtime in the form of a 500 or 1500 franc card and use the card’s code to add credit. Those who don’t have 500 francs at once can buy credit in any amount by paying an phone card guy who will then send credit to their phone (pictured below, yellow vest).
- Credit can be sent from one phone to another, so if you leave your phone unattended, you might find it empty (if you find it at all)!
- Many middle-class Rwandans have two phones. I noticed this phenomenon first at meetings: many people had two phones in front of them at the table. (Two phones would make things awfully crowded in your pocket, wouldn’t they?) They have two because MTN has the widest coverage but the worst prices. So those who live in the ever-expanding areas that get Tigo use their Tigo phone for most communication, but have an MTN phone to receive calls and messages from their MTN-bound contacts. It’s still cheaper to reply to MTN with Tigo, so someone might receive a message from an MTN contact on their MTN phone and respond to the same person from their Tigo phone. Those who are really fancy have a phone that holds two sim cards, usually with two different call buttons on the front!
- Sample prices for MTN and Tigo (exchange rate is about 570 RWF / $1): MTN-MTN text: 30rwf. MTN-Tigo text: 53rwf. Tigo-MTN text: 25rwf. Tigo-Tigo text: 3rwf (raised last week from 1rwf – either way less than a cent). MTN-MTN call: 120rwf/minute. Tigo-MTN call: 90rwf/minute. Tigo-Tigo call: 10rwf/minute (less than 2 cents). I’ve entirely switched to Tigo.
- Many people go online with cellular modems that plug into a computer’s USB port. At my office, we have one MTN modem that gets passed around to several computers. It’s an old model, so to add airtime you must put the sim into a phone; with new models you can add airtime online. The internet is slow but does the trick so long as you aren’t uploading or downloading big files. That is, of course, if the network is up.
- Text message spam is alive and kicking in Rwanda – multiple times a week I receive messages enticing me to enter contests or offering me jokes, news, or romantic advice – all for a fee (~$0.12).
- Cell phone etiquette is a bit lacking here. I’ve seen people answer phones in church, in meetings, while leading a meeting, a waitress while clearing a table at a restaurant…the list goes on. Sometimes they step away, but usually they just cup their hand around their mouth and talk quietly into the phone. There are even those who take calls while driving motos….
Rwanda has issued cell phones to community health workers, speeding the process of getting rural people to hospitals. It’s a trial program currently focusing on maternal health workers in Musanze (a district near mine), especially important when maternal mortality here is 7.5/1000 women – one of the highest in the world.
- The most basic phone models start at about $15, and have indispensable flashlights at the top. 35% of Rwandans have phones, says the BBC. I'd have guessed it was higher, but in rural areas it's probably very low.
- With rare exceptions, cell phones are pay-as-you-go: you buy airtime in the form of a 500 or 1500 franc card and use the card’s code to add credit. Those who don’t have 500 francs at once can buy credit in any amount by paying an phone card guy who will then send credit to their phone (pictured below, yellow vest).
- Credit can be sent from one phone to another, so if you leave your phone unattended, you might find it empty (if you find it at all)!
- Many middle-class Rwandans have two phones. I noticed this phenomenon first at meetings: many people had two phones in front of them at the table. (Two phones would make things awfully crowded in your pocket, wouldn’t they?) They have two because MTN has the widest coverage but the worst prices. So those who live in the ever-expanding areas that get Tigo use their Tigo phone for most communication, but have an MTN phone to receive calls and messages from their MTN-bound contacts. It’s still cheaper to reply to MTN with Tigo, so someone might receive a message from an MTN contact on their MTN phone and respond to the same person from their Tigo phone. Those who are really fancy have a phone that holds two sim cards, usually with two different call buttons on the front!
- Sample prices for MTN and Tigo (exchange rate is about 570 RWF / $1): MTN-MTN text: 30rwf. MTN-Tigo text: 53rwf. Tigo-MTN text: 25rwf. Tigo-Tigo text: 3rwf (raised last week from 1rwf – either way less than a cent). MTN-MTN call: 120rwf/minute. Tigo-MTN call: 90rwf/minute. Tigo-Tigo call: 10rwf/minute (less than 2 cents). I’ve entirely switched to Tigo.
- Many people go online with cellular modems that plug into a computer’s USB port. At my office, we have one MTN modem that gets passed around to several computers. It’s an old model, so to add airtime you must put the sim into a phone; with new models you can add airtime online. The internet is slow but does the trick so long as you aren’t uploading or downloading big files. That is, of course, if the network is up.
- Text message spam is alive and kicking in Rwanda – multiple times a week I receive messages enticing me to enter contests or offering me jokes, news, or romantic advice – all for a fee (~$0.12).
- Cell phone etiquette is a bit lacking here. I’ve seen people answer phones in church, in meetings, while leading a meeting, a waitress while clearing a table at a restaurant…the list goes on. Sometimes they step away, but usually they just cup their hand around their mouth and talk quietly into the phone. There are even those who take calls while driving motos….
Rwanda has issued cell phones to community health workers, speeding the process of getting rural people to hospitals. It’s a trial program currently focusing on maternal health workers in Musanze (a district near mine), especially important when maternal mortality here is 7.5/1000 women – one of the highest in the world.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Kinyarwanda names
Today is Rwanda’s much-hyped baby gorilla naming ceremony: kwita izina, literally “to call a name.” In recognition of this day, here are a few notes about names in Rwanda.
- Rwandans typically have two names, a Kinyarwanda name which they write in all capitals followed by a Western name (usually French, sometimes English). Neither is a family name – unless the family has intentionally adopted this practice, one cannot tell family relations here by name. This presented obvious problems for family reunification in the wake of the genocide.
- Rwandan women, once they have had children, often go by their eldest child’s name: Mama Jackson, Mama Teta, Mama Yvonne, etc. Easier for me when I meet my neighbors – it’s a two-for-one!
- Examples of Rwandan names: Imanairere (Ee-mah-nah-ee-ray-ray) is female and means "God helps me to grow." Nishyimimana (Neesh-yeem-ee-mah-nah) is female and means "Glory/praise God." Mukahirwa (Moo-kah-heer-gwah, female) means “one who has success in life.” Mugiraneza (Moo-jeer-ah-nay-zah, male) means “well done;” the French is Bienfait. Nzikobankunda (Nn-zee-koh-bahn-hoon-dah, male) means “I know that they love me.” Wizeimana (Wee-zayee-mah-nah, female) means “one who has faith in God.” Kamanutsi (“Kah-man-oot-see,” male) and Nyirakmanutsi (female) mean “to become accidentally” or to be an accident – the man I know with this name was born seven years after his next older sibling!
- My adopted host family in Nyanza gave me a Kinyarwanda name: Agatesi (Ah-gah-tess-ee). The previx “aga-“ is a diminutive, which is a sign of affection when accompanying a name. Agatesi means “one who is loved/spoiled by her parents” – an American connotation that’s a little off-putting, but it’s considered to be a very good name here (and I must admit, I am spoiled by my American parents).
When I introduce myself here, I use the Rwandan format and say I’m Agatesi Trude, or even just Agatesi – most Rwandans can’t pronounce my real name. So I’m called Agatesi, sometimes shortened to Agate. If I meet a mother of an Agatesi or a woman named Mutesi (the non-diminutive and less aurally appealing form of my name) they say they are my mother or older sister. Every time someone calls me Agatesi and not muzungu, I feel a sense of victory and identity within the community. Three weeks after my arrival at site, nearly all the children on my street know me by Agatesi, as well as my neighbors, coworkers, market ladies, shopkeepers near my house, etc.
Although sometimes people who know my name call me muzungu – and I start to say “Sinitwa mu—“ (my name is not mu—“) when they jump in and say “Witwa Agatesi.” We’ll get there, buhoro buhoro (slowly by slowly).
- Rwandans typically have two names, a Kinyarwanda name which they write in all capitals followed by a Western name (usually French, sometimes English). Neither is a family name – unless the family has intentionally adopted this practice, one cannot tell family relations here by name. This presented obvious problems for family reunification in the wake of the genocide.
- Rwandan women, once they have had children, often go by their eldest child’s name: Mama Jackson, Mama Teta, Mama Yvonne, etc. Easier for me when I meet my neighbors – it’s a two-for-one!
- Examples of Rwandan names: Imanairere (Ee-mah-nah-ee-ray-ray) is female and means "God helps me to grow." Nishyimimana (Neesh-yeem-ee-mah-nah) is female and means "Glory/praise God." Mukahirwa (Moo-kah-heer-gwah, female) means “one who has success in life.” Mugiraneza (Moo-jeer-ah-nay-zah, male) means “well done;” the French is Bienfait. Nzikobankunda (Nn-zee-koh-bahn-hoon-dah, male) means “I know that they love me.” Wizeimana (Wee-zayee-mah-nah, female) means “one who has faith in God.” Kamanutsi (“Kah-man-oot-see,” male) and Nyirakmanutsi (female) mean “to become accidentally” or to be an accident – the man I know with this name was born seven years after his next older sibling!
- My adopted host family in Nyanza gave me a Kinyarwanda name: Agatesi (Ah-gah-tess-ee). The previx “aga-“ is a diminutive, which is a sign of affection when accompanying a name. Agatesi means “one who is loved/spoiled by her parents” – an American connotation that’s a little off-putting, but it’s considered to be a very good name here (and I must admit, I am spoiled by my American parents).
When I introduce myself here, I use the Rwandan format and say I’m Agatesi Trude, or even just Agatesi – most Rwandans can’t pronounce my real name. So I’m called Agatesi, sometimes shortened to Agate. If I meet a mother of an Agatesi or a woman named Mutesi (the non-diminutive and less aurally appealing form of my name) they say they are my mother or older sister. Every time someone calls me Agatesi and not muzungu, I feel a sense of victory and identity within the community. Three weeks after my arrival at site, nearly all the children on my street know me by Agatesi, as well as my neighbors, coworkers, market ladies, shopkeepers near my house, etc.
Although sometimes people who know my name call me muzungu – and I start to say “Sinitwa mu—“ (my name is not mu—“) when they jump in and say “Witwa Agatesi.” We’ll get there, buhoro buhoro (slowly by slowly).
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Goat notes
Incidentally, it is taboo here to drink goat milk. Rwandans’ disdain for goat milk stems from their utter reverence for cows; goat milk is seen as a disparaging substitute for cow milk. People who consume goat milk do so in utter secrecy for fear of being shamed by their communities. In a country where many struggle with malnutrition, this situation is particularly unfortunate: goats cost $10-20 whereas cows cost at least $100.
The taboo against dairy products does not extend to goat meat, which is a common food, although many Rwandans believe goat meat will cause women to grow beards.
If you’re curious about cows in Rwanda, my Colleen posted an excellent essay on the topic.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Butare national museum
The national museum houses some amazing artifacts from Rwanda’s history: an intricate traditional woven hut that is just too cool to describe, ingenious hunting traps, an amazing array of crafts, as well as photo exhibitions on the making things like of banana beer and pottery.
The pottery comes out perfectly round without the aid of a wheel, and fired in the ground by building a fire underneath the pots and covering them in burning leaves. Perhaps even more impressive are the baskets, ranging from small enough to store an item of jewelry to taller than me for backyard grain storage, most with intricately woven patterns. These are still used today. Curved woven panels with beautiful patterns were also made to divide rooms inside huts.
I ran out of time, so didn’t get to see the exhibits on musical instruments, sports, or religion. I’ll definitely be coming back with anybody who visits me, though!
The pottery comes out perfectly round without the aid of a wheel, and fired in the ground by building a fire underneath the pots and covering them in burning leaves. Perhaps even more impressive are the baskets, ranging from small enough to store an item of jewelry to taller than me for backyard grain storage, most with intricately woven patterns. These are still used today. Curved woven panels with beautiful patterns were also made to divide rooms inside huts.
I ran out of time, so didn’t get to see the exhibits on musical instruments, sports, or religion. I’ll definitely be coming back with anybody who visits me, though!
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