Rwanda two years later…

Things change in two years, and Rwanda certainly embodies that. It’s still my favorite African country so far, and I feel so relaxed I can hardly believe that tomorrow begins a day of actual work and research. I arrived last night and we really hit the ground running. This morning, I’ve already visited the daughter of a friend, someone I’ve heard about extensively, but never actually met in person. She is lovelier than I imagined, and a three-time Olympian. Her story is pretty incredible. Rwanda’s not know for swimming—or pools, for that matter. She taught herself to swim at a local hotel pool and using tips she got from the internet. She represented Rwanda in Sydney, Greece and Beijing, and now works for the Rwanda Red Cross. Actually, our friend’s children are all very successful. Riding on the coattails of her other daughter’s success, we visited a public (read: for the poorest of Rwandans) hospital this morning. Julienne’s youngest daughter was recently voted the “Miss” of her university (like Miss Virginia, or Miss America). With that title comes the responsibility of working with the other university misses to tour certain facilities and do acts of charity. They put together an association called “Smile Rwanda” and today’s activity was to deliver donations to those identified as the most vulnerable of the hospital residents. It was a really moving experience, and inspiring to watch this group of beautiful, young women bringing some reprieve to the new mothers of the premie ward.

We were given a tour of the various incubator rooms. The first housed the most shockingly tiny babies I’ve ever seen. Engulfed in newborn-sized papers, tiny little skeletons shaped like babies and strapped to machines lay so still in these big plastic boxes that you had to look closely to make sure they were still breathing. The nurse explained that these babies would eventually be moved to the next room as they gained weight, and eventually into another room where they’d learn to breast-feed and eventually be transferred out. Of course, there’s a huge resource deficit in the hospital. The nurse said they try to convince all the mothers to bring breast milk at the established feeding times, and to supply pampers when they can. Ultimately, though, many of these babies are abandoned at the hospital because the mothers don’t have the means to care for them. After they reach a certain age, they’ll be transferred to an orphanage to be raised. We met a young mother in one of the transition rooms. She’d just give birth for the first time at 7 months, and her twins were finally able to breast-feed. She isn’t married, is only 22, and can’t afford to pay the hospital fees. The nurse said eventually they will just let her go, but for now, she’ll stay in that room until her babies are big enough to survive without medical assistance. It’s hard to really take in the situation and really fathom the extent of poverty she faces. I try not to think about what will happen to them.

Poverty isn’t new here, of course. But given the current political situation in this region, NGOs and international governments have been pulling out of here and withdrawing their support. Shops are closed, and times are getting just a little more desperate. Rwanda doesn’t have natural resources or local industry to fall back on. Something like 40% of the economy is based on aid.

On the more positive side, the things that I love about this country are all still here. The green, tidy gardens still line the streets and fill the spaces between buildings. Flowers are in bloom everywhere, and people smile wherever we go. Rwanda is still Rwanda. The people dress as if they’re going to a party, even just to visit a friend. Things are orderly and streets are clean. There’s definitely a more overt presence of armed guards, and the hint of increased petty crime in the undertones of conversations. But, in contrast to some of my other African experiences, I feel safe and relaxed. I’m well fed, well taken care of, and very optimistic about the next two weeks. A good start to a trip that promises so much. Tomorrow, I’ll stalk my “friend” at the ministry, and perhaps buy some fabric at the market. Later this week, we’re making plans to visit a refugee camp or two—perhaps one of the best part of the trip, and hopefully we’ll be able to locate our friend Gaston. So much to do, so little time…