tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-209126732024-03-24T03:12:40.566-04:00Morgan In AfricaMorgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.comBlogger156125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-32804994859431707212011-10-23T22:02:00.004-04:002011-10-24T22:21:14.187-04:00France Screws Up...AgainFrance has refused to allow the extradition of Agathe Habyarimana to Rwanda. It has been sheltering her since three days after the genocide began in 1994. The original article is below.<br /><br />This sort of news really frustrates me, especially in a time when Franco-Rwandan relations appear to be improving, and when there is a real opportunity for justice to be served. France can be astonishingly myopic when it comes to decisions like this. What do they gain from sheltering a war criminal of the magnitude of Rwandan former First Lady Agathe Habyarimana, the architect of the <em>interahamwe</em>, and one of the most extreme of the <em>génocidaires</em>?<br /><br />What it’s really about is saving face—French President Mitterrand was famously close to Juvénal Habyarimana, the Hutu president whose plane was shot down in April 1994, and husband to Agathe.<br /><br />If France is hesitant to “do the right thing” and voluntarily allow the extradition of Agathe to Rwanda, perhaps they would respond differently if the International Criminal Court (ICC) weighed in with an indictment. After all, the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda is not likely to act—it has been notoriously sluggish in its efforts to indict and try Tier 1 <em>génocidaires</em>. ICC Prosecutor José Maria Ocampo is on a roll with indictments of President Bashir, Col. Qadhafi, Kenyan leaders (for pre-election violence), Joseph Kony, and others. It seems to me that Agathe, whose <em>interahamwe</em> youth militia arguably inspired Bashir to facilitate the formation of the <em>Janjaweed</em> in Darfur, belongs in the same notorious category.<br /><br />***<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">France Will Not Extradite Former Rwandan Leader's Widow<br /></span></strong>CNN Wire Staff<br />updated 3:11 PM EST, Thu September 29, 2011<br /><br />Paris (CNN) -- A French appeals court on Wednesday rejected a Rwandan request to extradite the widow of former Rwandan President Juvenal Habyarimana, whose assassination sparked the 1994 genocide.<br /><br />Lawyer Philippe Meilhac said his client, former first lady Agathe Habyarimana, was "relieved" and "very satisfied" with the court's decision.<br /><br />"This is a very delicate case, as it can also impact relations between France and Rwanda, so this decision is important and in many ways symbolic," Meilhac said.<br /><br />Habyarimana still faces a civil suit dating from 2007, when a French Rwandan rights collective accused her of being involved in the genocide, Meilhac said. Habyarimana has asked to be heard by a judge but is still waiting to be summoned, he said.<br /><br />She faces a Rwandan warrant on genocide charges that include crimes against humanity, specifically murder and extermination; creation of a criminal gang, namely the Hutu militias; and aiding and abetting the killings perpetrated by soldiers in violation of the Geneva Conventions, John Bosco Mutangana, the head of Rwanda's Genocide Fugitives Tracking Unit, said last year.<br />Habyarimana left Rwanda for France soon after the violence broke out. Meilhac said there have been roughly 10 extradition requests during her 15 years in France.<br /><br />Her husband, the former president, was killed in April 1994 when his plane was shot down near the capital, Kigali. The mass killings began hours later, and by the time they ended 100 days later, 800,000 people had been killed.<br /><br />Most were members of the country's Tutsi minority, killed by members of the Hutu majority.<br />The circumstances surrounding the former president's death remain a mystery. He was a Hutu, and speculation immediately fell on Tutsis -- but some have also speculated that Hutus themselves may have shot down the plane to provide cover for the ensuing genocide.<br /><br />Top officials such as army generals and politicians who allegedly took part in the genocide have been tried in the Rwandan justice system and the International Criminal Tribunal, which is based in Tanzania.<br /><br />Civilians who allegedly contributed either directly or indirectly are tried by local communities in "gacaca" courts, which allow survivors to confront their attackers. Some human rights organizations have criticized the gacaca courts for falling short on delivering justice.<br /><br />Habyarimana has no residency permit, having been refused legal status by the French prefecture. She has appealed that decision and is awaiting a ruling from the Versailles administration court in the next few weeks, Meilhac said.<br /><br />"The administration court should look to the appeals court as an example," he said. "The case against my client is empty, and she deserves to be granted a residency permit."<br /><br /><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2011/09/28/world/europe/rwanda-widow-extradition/?iref=obnetwork">http://www.cnn.com/2011/09/28/world/europe/rwanda-widow-extradition/?iref=obnetwork</a>Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-79973375434904413012011-10-13T04:29:00.000-04:002011-10-14T04:35:20.670-04:00Where have I been?A quick update, as I haven’t been posting on the blog for a while. I spent the past year working on Africa—in particular, Darfur, Sudan—and often thought about posting my thoughts and stories from my travels here. After all, it <em>is</em> called Morgan in Africa.<br /><br />What I recognized, though, is that I wanted to preserve this blog for what it became: a bit of a resource on Rwanda (with a splash of Burundi for good measure). As my heart lives in Rwanda, I know I will be back, and in the meantime, I will continue to post interesting news stories and, occasionally, analysis. Rwanda is developing at breakneck speed, and it will be interesting to watch what happens in President Kagame’s last term—and what will come after.<br /><br />In the meantime, I have started a sister blog to this one, called <a href="http://theglobalgamine.blogspot.com/">The Global Gamine</a> (<a href="http://theglobalgamine.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://theglobalgamine.blogspot.com</a>), which is documenting my latest travel adventures. At the moment, I’m working in Indonesia, a major change for this Africanist. I invite you to follow along as I try to navigate my way through this fascinating language, country, and culture.<br /><br />Murakoze cyane!<br />MorganMorgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com76tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-22247485266517391682010-09-28T22:01:00.003-04:002010-09-28T22:14:25.576-04:00The UN Report That Shook A Thousand Hills<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiggAtup7kpBgyPKPo29DG54Ff05DLOE3xMrPVU5paDDOzhEGiPgiRPdT9LebtrKK2GDjb5DkKWEHDqhuTYG8sMsauQSRiwlfdCISkj5YmLTfC98rt2G45pXFtokAkvbLjn8/s1600/IMG_1483.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522152655534937922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiggAtup7kpBgyPKPo29DG54Ff05DLOE3xMrPVU5paDDOzhEGiPgiRPdT9LebtrKK2GDjb5DkKWEHDqhuTYG8sMsauQSRiwlfdCISkj5YmLTfC98rt2G45pXFtokAkvbLjn8/s320/IMG_1483.JPG" /></a><br /><div><br />Rwanda is riled up right now, and with good reason. Last month, <em>Le Monde</em>, the leading French newspaper, leaked a draft of a United Nations report that allegedly accused the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), President Kagame’s Tutsi rebel army that ended the 1994 genocide of itself committing genocide in 1996. At the time, the RPF was chasing <em>génocidaires</em> into the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), because they were regrouping in UNHCR camps and launching attacks from across the border. Since the UN was doing nothing to prevent this from happening, the RPF (now the Rwandan army) chased the <em>génocidaires</em> in the forests of the DRC. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>According to the report, RPF soldiers themselves committed genocide when on these campaigns. While I have not read the report myself (it is slated to be officially released on October 1, 2010), friends who have seen the report have said that the evidence is incontrovertible: Hutu women and children were specifically targeted, and their bodies were buried in mass graves. I have not seen a precise total of the number killed (the report allegedly identifies sites with hundreds of bodies), but it certainly does not rival the 800,000 to 1 million estimated dead during the 1994 genocide. This, of course, does not make it less tragic, but I think it’s important to have a sense of the numbers, especially when some of Rwanda's critics will use the report to support their belief that there was a "double-genocide"--that is, genocide conducted on both sides.</div><br /><div><br />President Kagame has called the report “ridiculous” and is furious for two reasons—that the United Nations undertook this exercise (which was to map human rights atrocities in the area from 1993 to 2003) without his knowledge, and that the report language calls Rwandan actions “genocide.” The Rwandan government has repeatedly threatened to kick the UN out of the country because they did nothing to end the genocide, they fed and gave health care to <em>génocidaires</em> who had fled to Congo, and they currently do little in Rwanda that the Rwandan government would miss. When I was working for UNHCR there, I was often told by fellow staff that our days were numbered, and that the Rwandan government would take over sole administration of the camps. Naturally, then, when I heard about this UN report, I immediately thought the UN would be summarily asked to leave, as the French government was in 2006. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>This hasn’t happened yet, but the Rwandan government hit the UN where it hurts—it allegedly threatened to pull its 3,300 peacekeepers from the UN Mission in Darfur (UNAMID) and 300 peacekeepers from the UN Mission in Sudan (UNMIS). Rwanda had volunteered to send its peacekeepers to Sudan to demonstrate activism in ending genocide (and probably also to demonstrate what others should have done for their country). The United Nations has a difficult time recruiting peacekeepers, and an even more difficult time recruiting peacekeepers who are trained and qualified. The Rwandese are competent and disciplined. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It is no wonder, then, that UN Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon himself went to Rwanda to pay a personal visit to Paul Kagame—to congratulate him on his landslide re-election, and beg him to reconsider the possibility of pulling out of Sudan. The UN also decided to postpone the release of the report, presumably to re-examine the language used, and is allowing the countries implicated in the report to make comments and statements that will be released alongside the report text. </div><br /><div><br />The impact of this report cannot be overstated. The entire narrative of Rwanda over the past decade and a half has been defined by its activism against genocide and the development miracle that has been made possible through the “new” Rwanda’s moral high ground and social/economic/environmental policies that donors love. In many ways, even if the term “genocide” is replaced by something slightly softer, such as “acts of genocide,” or “mass retributive killings,” or “ethnic pogrom,” the damage has already been done. No longer will donors be able to tout Rwanda without reservation as a development miracle. Now, all such statements will have to be qualified; Rwanda will no longer be the West’s golden child. It’s too early to tell whether this will have any real impact on development aid, but I suspect it will not. The international community gives money to countries with similar (or worse) human rights violations.<br /><br />What could happen is a fueling of the Rwandan government’s critics (from exiled detractors to the French government). [As a side note, is it any real surprise that this story was initially made public by a French newspaper?] The Rwandan government has felt embattled since 1994, and felt that way during its days as a scorned rebel army. In a way, this latest development will contribute to their narrative of needing to be even more self-reliant and impervious to external criticism. </div>Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-70413254303356337262010-05-19T00:00:00.005-04:002010-05-19T00:35:51.419-04:00The Mucyo Commission (Findings on France's Role in the Rwandan Genocide)I had heard quite a bit about the Mucyo Commission that was established when I first moved to Rwanda in 2006. Much has been made of the findings, and I wanted to read it for myself to see exactly what it included. I found the French version tucked away on some obscure Rwandan government website (so well hidden that I can't find it again), but I did manage to read the entire thing. If someone knows where an English version may be found, please post. It's quite interesting (and incredibly sad) to read. Following is my (incomplete) synopsis. I pulled some of the most alarming things that I read, but there is much more included in the report.<br /><br /><strong>The Mucyo Commission</strong><br />The Mucyo (pronounced "Moo-cho") Commission was an independent commission, named for its head, the former Minister of Justice Jean de Dieu Mucyo. It was established by the Rwandan Government on April 16, 2006 to investigate France's role in the Rwandan genocide from April to July 1994. The 331-page final report was released in September 2008.<br /><br />Methods of information collection: Public and private archives, investigations in the field, witness testimonies in public and private; meetings and archive consultations in Rwanda, Belgium, France, Germany, and Tanzania. Particular emphasis on including only those testimonies that could be corroborated. Translations found below are my own.<br /><br /><strong>Key Findings/Accusations of the Mucyo Commission</strong><br /><br />• French soldiers were present in the Rwandan Army before and during the genocide; thus allegations that the French were unaware of who was killing whom are questionable, because top military officials were helping to plan Rwandan Army strategies<br /><br />• French soldiers helped to train the youth militia, the Interahamwe, before the genocide.<br /><br />One former Interahamwe member said,<br /><blockquote>“The French taught us how to shoot at targets. They drew a head at which we aimed…These were the French who gave us grades and prizes as a function of our results. They gave us alcohol. According to our grades, they promised a bottle of banana beer.” </blockquote>• President Mitterand believed that the Tutsi, who were invading from the north, wanted to establish a Tutsi regime. Since they represented an ethnic minority, this was viewed as a challenge to democracy.<br /><br />• The French army manned road blocks and encouraged Interahamwe to kill Tutsi when their identity cards were checked.<br /><br />• The French helped to prepare lists of Tutsi suspected to be aligned with the RPF (Tutsi rebels) and Hutu sympathizers, and gave it to the government for investigation. These lists are believed to have been used in house-to-house targeting of victims.<br /><br />• Several RPF prisoners-of-war that were held at the Kigali military base were tortured and assassinated in the presence of and with the participation of French soldiers.<br /><br />• The genocidal leader who took over the government after the plane was shot down, Théoneste Bagosora, was encouraged to do so by the French government. The French military promised to provide ammunition and communication equipment.<br /><br />• The French military provided an estimated five tons of arms and ammunition to the Rwandan military government two days after the genocide began, and flew additional arms to Goma for transport into Rwanda one month after the genocide began.<br /><br />• Operation Turquoise, a French “safe zone” established in June 1994 permitted Hutu extremists to escape into Zaire with their light and heavy armaments. Tutsi who believed it was a safe zone for them were slaughtered.<br /><br />• Tutsi captives were systematically thrown by the French from their helicopters over Nyungwe Forest.<br /><br /><blockquote>“French soldiers tied my hands and legs. A little after that, they put me in a bag up to the neck and put me in their Jeep…Then they transported me in a helicopter above the Nyungwe Forest and threw me out, to a place called Kuwa Senkoko. I was injured by a branch that I fell on and I felt shaken by the shock.” </blockquote><br />A local official substantiated these claims, saying:<br /><br /><blockquote>"The French soldiers left early in the morning in their Jeeps. Sometimes I went with them, essentially as a translator. They were looking to arrest Tutsi. Among them, the French soldiers chose some, hit them, bound them, and put them in bags with only the head exposed. Then they put them in the helicopter. After, the French told me that they were thrown in the Nyungwe Forest. I asked them why they used these methods, and a French captain said the French did not want people to know that they had killed, and that finally, they threw people down into the forest because they didn’t have time to bury them.”</blockquote><br />• French soldiers participated in the rape of Tutsi civilians.<br /><blockquote><p>“I arrived in Gikongoro around July 20…One night, 4 to 5 French soldiers,<br />accompanied by a Rwandan in military uniform, came and asked me to follow them,<br />telling me they were taking me to a safer place. At the same time, they took a<br />woman named Colette. They took us to SOS. We found that they were keeping other<br />girls and women there. I was raped all night by a Frenchman. He kept me between<br />5 and 10 days. They promised us they would help us leave Gikongoro to go to a<br />safer place. Every day, they lied to us like that, and at night, they continued<br />to sexually abuse us.”</p></blockquote><p></p><p>• Thirteen French officials were named in relation to aiding and abetting genocide in Rwanda. These include former President Francois Mitterand, Alain Juppé, Hubert Védrine, and Dominique de Villepin.<br /><br /><br />I should mention that the French conducted their own independent assessment, called the Quilès Report, in 1998, which stated that “If France did not participate in battle, nevertheless on the ground it was extremely close to the Rwandan Armed Forces. It continuously participated in the working out of battle plans, provided advice to the general staff, and to commanders, proposing redeployments and new tactics. It sent advisers to instruct the Rwandan Armed Forces in the operation of advanced weapons.” The report said that Paris routinely disregarded warnings from French advisers in the field that their advice could be put to bad use, but the report stated that France “in no way incited, encouraged, or supported those who orchestrated the genocide.”<br /><br />As a result of France’s role during the genocide, the RPF, which ended the genocide and established a new government in Rwanda, has had very strained diplomatic relations with France. In November 2006, after the Mucyo Commission was launched, French human rights judge Jean-Louis Bruguiere accused Rwandan President Paul Kagame and the RPF of shooting down the plane that sparked the genocide. Shortly thereafter, French diplomats were summarily kicked out of the country, and diplomatic relations were only restored in November 2009. (In that time, Rwanda also became an Anglophone, Commonwealth country.) French reactions to the Mucyo report have been, predictably, angry. French public officials have questioned the report’s integrity and have supported the findings of the Quilès report.<br /><br /><strong>In case you're looking for more information: </strong></p><p>Discussion of the Quilès Report: Craig Whitney, “Panel Finds French Errors in Judgment on Rwanda,” New York Times, December 20, 1998, <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/1998/12/20/world/panel-finds-french-errors-in-judgment-on-rwanda.html">http://www.nytimes.com/1998/12/20/world/panel-finds-french-errors-in-judgment-on-rwanda.html</a>. </p><p>Rapport de la Commission Nationale Indépendante Chargée de Rassembler les Preuves Montrant l’Implication de l’Etat Français Dans le Génocide Perpétré au Rwanda en 1994, République du Rwanda, 15 Novembre 2007. (Final Draft) </p><p>For a response from the Génocidaires held at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda: <a href="http://cirqueminime.blogcollective.com/_attachments/4067882/The%20Mucyo%20Commission%20Report.pdf">http://cirqueminime.blogcollective.com/_attachments/4067882/The%20Mucyo%20Commission%20Report.pdf</a> </p><blockquote></blockquote>Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-2309817919012424882010-02-05T01:05:00.000-05:002010-02-16T01:09:41.880-05:00Rwanda=Africa Lite (For a reality check, visit Burundi)I’ve devoted a lot of thought to this, and I have come to the conclusion that Rwanda is wholly unlike any other country in Africa. I say this out of nothing but pure love for Rwanda, but I have to admit that I am ruffled when people go to Rwanda and marvel at how “everything in Africa works,” or “everything in Africa is clean,” or “everywhere in Africa is safe.” No. Things in <em>Rwanda</em> work, streets in <em>Rwanda</em> are clean, and <em>Rwanda</em> is safe enough that you could walk naked down the street at 4 a.m. without a problem (although I wouldn’t advise it). These are all great things, but they are Rwanda-specific. It’s a great strategy. When a country is safe and things work, you’re more likely to attract investors and tourists. And that’s what has happened. So many Americans (in particular) have flocked to Rwanda that I refer to it as “Little America.”<br /> <br />There is probably no better way to illustrate this than to describe my recent experience at Bourbon Coffee in Washington, D.C. I have spent hours at Bourbon Coffee in Kigali, enjoying their coffee while choking on their Starbucks-like prices. When I heard that the Rwandese-American owner had opened a store on L Street (where a Starbucks used to be…go figure), I had to see it for myself.<br /> <br />It looked exactly like a Bourbon Coffee in Kigali. My chin was on the floor. I cautiously approached the register and ordered a black coffee—from the Kivu Region. <em>My</em> region. It was almost too much to bear. I told the barista.<br /> <br />“Yeah, we get that a lot,” she responded dully.<br /> <br />Really? A lot? I was surprised for a moment, but then realized that a) aid workers, students, missionaries, and others have been flocking to Rwanda, and b) all those same people would probably go out of their way to come to this one coffeeshop.<br /> <br />To return to this idea of Rwanda being Africa Lite, or as my coworker in Burundi called it—“Disneyland Africa”—it became clear to me during my summer in Burundi just how different Rwanda is from its sister country to the south.<br /> <br />Burundi, on its surface, is the same as Rwanda. The ethnic make-up is the same. The terrain is basically the same (mostly hilly, but Burundi doesn’t have volcanoes). Burundi’s population is a little smaller (about 7 million to Rwanda’s estimated 10 million+) but still ranks as one of the most densely populated countries in Africa. Rwanda and Burundi even used to be the same country (Ruanda-Urundi), speak basically the same language, and have both known political turmoil since independence in 1962 (they share the same independence day from Belgium). In April 1994, both the Rwandan and Burundian presidents perished in a plane shot down over Kigali—the event viewed as the trigger for the Rwandan genocide.<br /> <br />There were massacres of Tutsi in Burundi in 1994, but not to the same degree. One critical difference was that the Burundian military was majority-Tutsi, which meant that the military could not be mobilized to kill Tutsi as it did in Rwanda. Another critical difference was that the Burundian population was more ethnically mixed. While there were certainly ethnic mixes in Rwanda, this occurred with greater frequency in Burundi. Divisive rhetoric is more effective when a population can be divided.<br /> <br />This is not to say that there was peace. Burundi’s short post-independence history is fraught with ethnic pogroms, coups d’etat, assassinations, rebel activity, and peace agreements. The rebel group <em>Forces Nationales de Liberation</em> (FNL) finally agreed to lay down arms and became a political party in 2009; the disarmament process continues. Violence in Burundi since independence has cost an estimated 200,000 lives, but there is now peace.<br /> <br />What is interesting is how Rwanda and Burundi diverged in development. In 2006, before I left for Rwanda, people asked me where it was. “East Africa,” I would say. Now, when people ask me where Burundi is, I say, “south of Rwanda.” The attention of the world community is very different toward these two countries. Burundi, in many ways, is Rwanda minus 20 years of development. The roads are pretty rough-and-tumble. Industries are not very developed. The health care system is weak. The UN has a huge civilian presence there in the form of BINUB, the UN Mission to Burundi. Policemen pull over expatriates, expecting a bribe.<br /> <br />It’s sad to think that Rwanda has received so much attention because of the extent of the tragedy it suffered. It says a lot about the international community, and (sadly) what it takes to get noticed. To its credit, Rwanda has managed the “guilt aid” (my term for the money that the international community has collectively given because it feels guilty for doing so little for Rwanda during the genocide) it has received very well. Anti-corruption measures are largely effective, and the Rwandan government demands accountability from all donors and organizations on the ground. This has created a dream environment in which donors can work.<br /> <br />Flip the coin, and you have Burundi. The 200,000 dead from years of violence did not grab headlines. Some NGOs work there (with small staffs), but certainly not the panoply that dominate Rwanda, planting their logo signs across the countryside. In comparison, it was hard not to think that the international community had forgotten Burundi.<br /> <br />This made me think about the possible ripple effects. Could aid-drenched Rwanda have positive spillover into Burundi? I think it can, but it must start with the infrastructure that exists. Burundi has real potential for growth, especially in the tourism industry, among regional aid workers. While it doesn’t have the starpower that Rwanda’s gorillas carry, Burundi does have a stunning lake so large that it has tides, waves, and real sand. Bujumbura has a number of nice hotels, and luxury resorts are popping up along the length of the lake shore. Food is inexpensive and there are great choices. The nightlife is bustling. And, perhaps more than anything else, it’s also nice to have a reality check. For someone who has spent a lot of time in Rwanda, experiencing a moderately more gritty and more real country was refreshing. Aid workers (and students, missionaries, and others) in Rwanda would benefit from spending some time in Burundi. Not only would they be providing needed investment in the local economy, but they would get a reality check. It is also close—any easy drive or a cheap flight. Over time, money and capital flowing into the country from increased interest in the tourism industry could fuel investor confidence (we’ll also have to wait to see what happens with the elections later this year) and lead to increased development. It’s a small starting point, but an important one nevertheless. Burundi may not land on the East Africa Tourism Circuit anytime soon, but it could certainly benefit from the ripple effects of aid in Rwanda.Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-19239629784876302512009-11-13T17:30:00.005-05:002009-11-14T17:16:25.606-05:00Dinner with Dallaire<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE_PcLMYajp1UZ_dThyphenhyphenJbLKEFx_Du0oJ9AjcNSFE3R0nLsvi8dsUBdAJJ_GRYBK7TVNgADcTQf_nqYbEzWOLOdZ1dxlgyFYKWawggRrIx8OgjAfN1n1ItrBePW8eI-BdnOzNs/s1600-h/Dallaire.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403719626845841298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 261px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE_PcLMYajp1UZ_dThyphenhyphenJbLKEFx_Du0oJ9AjcNSFE3R0nLsvi8dsUBdAJJ_GRYBK7TVNgADcTQf_nqYbEzWOLOdZ1dxlgyFYKWawggRrIx8OgjAfN1n1ItrBePW8eI-BdnOzNs/s320/Dallaire.jpg" border="0" /></a>One of the benefits of being in policy school is the opportunity to attend intimate dinners with luminaries, to be able to ask them questions in a small forum and exchange ideas. On Monday, I was able to join a small dinner with <strong>General Romeo Dallaire</strong>, the former head of the UN Assistance Mission in Rwanda (UNAMIR) during the 1994 genocide. General Dallaire, in 1994, was informed that a genocide was imminent, and informed Kofi Annan at the United Nations that action could and should be taken to prevent it from happening.<br /><br />This warning fell on deaf ears. Once the genocide started, ten Belgian peacekeepers were killed, and the United Nations, for this reason as well as member nation reticence to become involved, reduced its troop levels there to a skeleton force. With few peacekeepers and a UN Chapter 6 force mandate (which permits force only in cases of peacekeepers’ self-defense), General Dallaire was essentially helpless as hundreds of thousands of people were slaughtered around him. In addition, as the UN Force Commander, he had the unenviable task of communicating and negotiating between the genocidal Rwandan government and the Rwandan Patriotic Front. His famous, meticulously detailed and heart-wrenching account of his time in Rwanda, <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shake-Hands-Devil-Failure-Humanity/dp/0786715103">Shake Hands with the Devil</a></em>, documents this.<br /><br />I had heard from others that for years, he couldn’t talk about the genocide in public without falling apart. He has attempted suicide multiple times, and over the past decade has become a major spokesperson on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in Canada. When I was informed that he was going to speak at my graduate school, I was interested to hear what he would talk about and if it would be as emotional an experience as others had said.<br /><br />The dinner was very conversational, and I was surprised to see that it seemed that he had dealt with his demons. There were about 15 of us around the table, and he chatted cheerfully about Canadian politics and peacekeeping. He is a strong believer that a human is a human, and that skin color and national interest should not influence whether the UN (or individual countries) should intervene to end a genocide. Some have argued that race was a factor in the decision of Western countries to intervene in Yugoslavia, but not in Rwanda. Sadly, there are more crises around the world than the international community can provide resources for, so it will always have to choose...and I suppose we can only hope that the lessons learned in Rwanda will prevent another such horrendous miscalculation on the part of the international community from happening again.<br /><br />Dallaire also argued that middle countries (he named Canada, Germany, and Japan) should step up their commitments to peacekeeping, because they have the capabilities and don’t carry the same “baggage” that the U.S. does (and Britain, to a certain extent). In other words, Canada carries a reputation for neutrality that the U.S. does not.<br /><br />In arguing that all humans are equal and deserving of protection, he referred to a story he told at the beginning of his book. His convoy was speeding through the no-fire zone when he spotted a child by the side of the road. Eyes glazed, belly distended, mucus running down his lip. The convoy slowed and stopped, and he went back to find the child, who had retreated into his house. <em>There were bodies everywhere, had been there for weeks, half eaten</em>, he said. <em>And the child was just sitting among the bodies, as if to say: This is my house. I am at home. </em>He picked the child up and looked him in the eyes. In them, he saw the eyes of his son. Dallaire spoke easily, and to my surprise, was not emotional in the least, even as he described the piles of corpses. He said it as if it were simply a fact. The numbness with which he spoke was the only clear indication to me during the course of the evening that he has been deeply traumatized.<br /><br />What I was most curious about, of course, was what he thought about Rwanda today, 15 years on. I asked him about it, and he said that it was a real success story. Things work. There are services. The people feel safe. The country is strong. But then he said that while President Kagame is a good leader—the two have close ties—he believes that the time has come for Kagame to relinquish a bit of his stronghold. After all, the press is self-censored or intimidated. There is a strong intelligence system involving wiretaps and informants. There is, for all intents and purposes, one political party. These were all justified in the context of strengthening security and promoting post-war unity, he said, but now that 15 years have passed, it was time to allow more freedom in these areas. He also said that Kagame needs to begin thinking about a political successor. Next year, presidential elections will be held in Rwanda (which I, and everyone else, believe that Kagame will win by a large margin), and the two-term limit will mean that after six years, a new candidate must step to the plate. Who that will be is unclear.<br /><br />He also commented that, until France permits the extradition of genocidaires that it continues to harbor (it airlifted many of the genocidal leaders out of Rwanda at the end of the war), the Rwandan government will continue to fear that it will be attacked again, and will continue to maintain a strong (benevolent) authoritarian control over the country.<br /><br />Very interestingly, he discussed the idea that perhaps the current geographical borders of the Great Lakes countries were not necessarily permanent…that perhaps they could change. This wasn’t his idea—he attributed it to others—but he said that some had talked about the possibility that Rwanda and Uganda’s territories increase to be more reflective of population identities. In other words, colonizers carved up Africa without regard for tribes, ethnic groups, or languages. When Germany carved up Congo and Rwanda, they gave the Western side of Lake Kivu to Congo, despite the fact that the people there spoke Kinyarwanda. In light of all of the meddling by Rwanda and Uganda in Eastern Congo (which is rich in resources), I found it interesting that anyone had actually proposed that Rwanda could expand. I had heard this, only jokingly, from Rwandans, who said they thought that they could manage that area better than the Congolese could. I can’t imagine why the Congolese government would ever consent to that, though.<br /><br />When it came to the ethnic question—that “Hutu” and “Tutsi” divisions no longer exist, and that everyone is simply Rwandese—he said only time will tell. For many, it is clear who is of which ethnicity, and he agreed that addressing the underlying causes of ethnic friction—which in the past has been the inequality of opportunity for Hutus—is the way to prevent another genocide from occurring. “Will another genocide occur?” he asked. “Maybe.” But then he said that, if real reconciliation between the ethnic groups was achieved, it didn’t have to be that way.Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-82005310696348316442009-09-01T19:40:00.000-04:002009-09-10T20:06:31.575-04:00Dr. Livingstone, I presume?<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdJfwS1r3MxhWHV3DrRwu_VHjxaBjImfyMS8VWowbxpelMTGokzeakWsQhNl9icEHKFlzdwGvvvERkrsZIjn1_7hVb9-3TZxRsvwNo-Xx2EFlPQ8xcyxlCbrN7nxiNaqhXw8/s1600-h/Saga+Resha.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379992752652101634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdJfwS1r3MxhWHV3DrRwu_VHjxaBjImfyMS8VWowbxpelMTGokzeakWsQhNl9icEHKFlzdwGvvvERkrsZIjn1_7hVb9-3TZxRsvwNo-Xx2EFlPQ8xcyxlCbrN7nxiNaqhXw8/s320/Saga+Resha.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div>On a clear, sunny Sunday, my friends and I drove down to Saga Resha, a beautiful beach about an hour south of Bujumbura. The resort that is being constructed there was not yet complete, so we brought a big picnic of sausage, sandwiches, fruit, cookies, cheese, and other goodies that we managed to put together at the last minute. As it turned out, the restaurant had just opened, and the men who met us in the parking lot tried to charge us about $50 for bringing in our own food (“the corkage fee,” they explained). We had been informed otherwise, and we discussed this with the manager, who made a point of telling us that he was dropping the charge to $20 because he was such a reasonable fellow. We agreed to pay the $20, and descended to the lake shore, with its expanse of white sand and private huts. </div><br /><br /><div>We all splashed about, enjoying the warm water and fresh air. After getting our fill of the heat, sand, and occasional ogling by the Burundian staff (the whistles were NOT welcomed), we packed everything up and headed back to Bujumbura. On the way, we pulled over onto a tiny, unmarked dirt road which led to one of Burundi’s few tourist attractions: the rock where Henry Morton Stanley, journalist-turned-explorer and operative of King Leopold II, allegedly “found” Dr. David Livingstone, who had been traipsing about East Africa in search of the source of the Nile River—and famously said, “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?”</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379991679309149778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScvNZCR78zinxgJPPhCt8Rb7QE3TcHiTFI_nGjWBi5TJFF-bQnYyUgXYOsFwlbfxXLsoYX8m5i0L_IZJuy3EAbm80O3UY-FGdeXxfNH10ijnojWDhBUv8Z1GhoQabXmZ5EEE/s320/Livingstone+and+Stanley+in+Burundi.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><div>To be fair, this may or may not have actually happened at this site. We know it happened near Lake Tanganyika, and the rock that marks the famous meeting overlooks the lake. Most people say the meeting actually happened in Ujiji, Tanzania. Apparently, Stanley and Livingstone traveled together for a while after their meeting, leaving markers of where they had been, and this might be just one of those markers. The large stone is engraved with their names, like strange historical graffiti. Burundi doesn’t have much in the way of landmarks, so I hope and wish for the sake of the tourism industry that this was the real meeting spot. </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379994161459500786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVb-NsedEeHNzrzioE4STYRRGPtOCk8XjUSrC_25urdUqfD2CMBe5e-OMz0LWgXs3F9f6QZXVidiyWNQ-5QWB00xfF5tTCP9-zuYFYgMjs0Cp45UkQVB8coHGukO2ZXbCJy28/s320/Livingstone+Vista.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>Nothing much is around the site (it’s really just a vista over the lake), but as we were wandering about and taking photos, children began to run up from the nearby huts to welcome us. We gave them leftover fruit from our picnic, played with them a bit, and then packed up to head back to Bujumbura before the curfew set in. </div></div></div>Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-69949974355972601772009-08-26T07:47:00.002-04:002009-08-26T08:57:08.519-04:00Anything GoesSo I finally got my visa. It took literally over a month to get a one-month renewal for my visa, and I think that only happened because our logistician seems to know everyone in Bujumbura. After losing my file for several weeks, it was found and I was issued a 70-day visa instead of a 30-day visa, which costs more than twice what I should have had to pay. Then, they demanded payment.<br /><br />As a volunteer here for the past three months, I was pretty annoyed that the grand total for the visas alone was going to be $220. In the end, after having tried repeatedly to make an appointment with the always-absent top official at the PAFE (Police of the Air, Borders, and Foreigners) Office, we finally got in to see him. I tried to be as charming as possible without looking like a pushover, and used as much Kirundi as I could. Naturally, he asked me if I had a boyfriend, and where he was. In Kirundi. This was, luckily, among the questions that I know how to answer, because people ask all the time. (It’s a bit tiresome.) I also answered because I knew that he, and he alone, stood between me and the visa I wanted…and it was better than slipping him a $20 under the table.<br /><br />After rustling through some papers, examining my file closely, making an exaggerated point of studying the calendar, and then my studying my file again, he said something in Kirundi to the logistician, who nodded and led me out. I asked him what happened.<br /><br />“He’s giving you a 45-day visa for $90,” he said. Interesting. I’ve never heard of a 45-day visa, nor is it posted anywhere. It looks like something created for me because I created such a fuss, and for so long. It seems like rules here are flexible…in other words, anything goes.<br /><br />Sadly, it appears that the visa delay issue (among many other visa dilemmas) is significant here. I was describing my situation to a friend who works for BINUB, the United Nations civilian mission in Burundi, and he explained that the PAFE “loses” <em>muzungu</em> visa applications on purpose. I didn’t believe him until I remembered that they had lost my boss’s visa application as well. At the PAFE, they drag their feet deliberately, until someone gives them the motivation to do something—that is to say, until someone gives them a bribe. Then…ta da! You have a visa, as if by magic. My friend said that it’s gotten so bad that he doesn’t work with them anymore—he works through higher officials to get UN visas processed.<br /><br />The idea that corruption is rampant here is something to which I have not grown accustomed. My boss was pulled over by a policeman for talking on her phone while driving. After insisting that he see her identification, the policeman asked her to pay 5,000 Francs. She said that she would be happy to, if she received a receipt. The policeman shuffled his feet and looked down. “A receipt?” he repeated, as if he had never heard the word before. “Yes,” she said. “If you are pulling me over and are giving me an official ticket, then I want a receipt for the amount paid.”<br /><br />The policeman looked uncomfortable. “It’s not a lot,” he insisted. My boss stood her ground. In the end, he returned her identification to her, and we drove off without paying any money.<br /><br />That’s just a small example. For a big example, take malaria treatment. One of the best medicines you can get in this region for malaria treatment is called Coartem. It used to be available in Burundi, but an Indian company struck an under-the-table deal with people in the Ministry of Health, and now only their Indian-made malaria treatment drugs may be sold in the country. Coartem is no longer sold. If you want it, you’d better hope that a friend in Rwanda will send you some. In the meantime, the malaria treatment medication that is sold here is of questionable quality and may be expired. Great. A little extra mosquito repellent, please.<br /><br />Then, you have the downright silly. The same friend from BINUB who told me how terrible the PAFE was recounted something that happened to him a couple of weeks ago. He and some friends ordered a container full of household goods, food, etc. Just to be clear about what I mean when I say container, it’s one of those massive metal boxes that 18-wheel tractor trailers transport. In other words, it’s big and heavy and hard to miss.<br /><br />Well, his container arrived…and then disappeared into thin air. Since he’s at the UN, he knows the Burundian intelligence services, and called them up, asking them to conduct an investigation. Three days later, they found his container (much to his relief, as the container itself cost $1500), but it was completely empty. I find this absurd because we’re not talking petty theft, such as stealing a bag or wallet. To move a container, you need a crane and a tractor trailer. This was an operation.<br /><br />I told an American friend who works in security about this, and he laughed. “Well, intelligence must have been in on it,” he insisted. “Containers don’t just vanish without someone noticing. And it took them three days? In a country this size? Are you kidding? That was just enough time for them to cover their tracks.”<br /><br />It’s sad, of course. Signs around town proclaim that “Corruption enriches few people, and kills many,” but they probably have as much impact as the female condom advertisement, which just looks like a woman handing a plastic bag to a perplexed man. That is to say, these signs probably have little to no effect. In this environment of corruption and impunity, it feels like anything is possible, but not in the good way. Rules are simply guidelines; they are not strictly followed. It means that there is always room for negotiation here, for better or for worse. Right now, since I finally received my questionable visa, it’s for the better. In general, though, it’s certainly not the best.Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-87732227064907713442009-08-25T10:37:00.000-04:002009-08-26T10:56:37.086-04:00A Small (But Charming) Welcoming Committee<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cTrQUngD8kJnYnU3mh1ymN8YvpUgWyidHjYf1Vw3y0vlfLe8XX_2uh74S1oCZ8fbKDs4Zm9zCZv1OSb3LZ1CBbz0nTst4Vm5sBuac9LDQ7rdtTdwUkfoLjeJjroYrL12COM/s1600-h/Burundian+children.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374284861241875186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cTrQUngD8kJnYnU3mh1ymN8YvpUgWyidHjYf1Vw3y0vlfLe8XX_2uh74S1oCZ8fbKDs4Zm9zCZv1OSb3LZ1CBbz0nTst4Vm5sBuac9LDQ7rdtTdwUkfoLjeJjroYrL12COM/s320/Burundian+children.JPG" border="0" /></a> Couldn't resist sharing this photo from my recent visit to the rock on the hill overlooking Lake Tanganyika where Stanley and Livingstone met (and Stanley reportedly uttered the famous words, "Livingstone, I presume?"). These charming kids ran up to meet me and my friends, and they danced and played with us. Full post forthcoming!<br /><br /></div>Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-59213463476412387332009-08-19T05:35:00.003-04:002009-08-19T10:01:20.434-04:00Taking the Good with the BadEvery experience has its ups and downs, and I have compiled a list of some of the best—and worst—things I have experienced while I have been in Burundi. Here goes:<br /><br /><strong>The Good</strong><br /><br />The beach. It really is paradise. (Just watch out for the crocodiles and hippos.)<br /><br />Lake Tanganyika. I never imagined the water could be so aquamarine, and that a shoreline could be so picturesque. It’s like being in the Caribbean, in the middle of Africa.<br /><br />People here are active. It’s amazing to see the groups and individuals of all ages running down the streets, doing push-ups by the side of the road, and playing soccer at all hours of the day. I have never seen anything like it anywhere else.<br /><br />The monkeys. I love that they surprise you here. They are at work, at home, everywhere. It’s amazing how comfortably they live among people.<br /><br />The Baguette Magique, the go-to bakery in town. Everyone loves this bakery, and while their cookies all taste the same to me (and leave a greasy residue on my hard palate), I love that the name, in English, is The Magic Stick. Like the 50 Cent song. And I can’t get it out of my head whenever I see their products.<br /><br />My Burundian supervisor. Full of life and energy, he is a go-getter that actively disregards the red tape and bureaucracy that too often hamper progress. You have a problem? Go straight to him, and he’ll make a phone call to fix it. None of these month-long processes requiring formal letters with stamps and flourished signatures. If only more people were like him!<br /><br />The Burundian drummers. My office is not far from the stadium, and every day around 4 pm, I hear the rhythmic beats of the drummers as they practice their craft.<br /><br />Peas and lenga-lenga. This is my lunch every day, and I usually eat it with white rice. The peas here are excellent—really well seasoned—and seem to be more omnipresent than beans. Lenga lenga, a spinach-like vegetable, is also really good, and much better tasting than isombe, which is made of cassava leaves. (No one has been able to tell me what lenga lenga really is, though.)<br /><br />The t-shirts. Really deserves its own section, because I’ve seen so many good ones. This is where shirts go to die, which is why I saw a guy wearing a shirt from my own hometown the other day. Other good ones:<br /><br /> <strong>Nothing Runs Like a Deere</strong> (Worn by a man running by the road)<br /><br /><strong> Just because I’m up doesn’t mean I’m awake</strong> (Worn by an old woman at 7 am)<br /><br /><strong>Big Johnson’s Weed Whackers</strong> (Illustrated with a flesh-colored appendage wearing a hat. Interpret at will)<br /><br />And my personal favorite:<br />Worn by an elderly farmer on the side of the road to Makamba: <strong>Cheerleading is Life. The Rest is Just Details.</strong><br /><br /><br /><strong>The Bad</strong><br /><br />The Immigration Office, which, after losing my file for a couple of weeks, continues to refuse to give me the visa I asked for, insisting I pay for one that is more than twice as expensive. They have now had my passport for a month.<br /><br />The dust of the dry season, which has aged my laptop considerably…my advice: don’t bring a Dell or Mac—bring an IBM Thinkpad! Those computers are like tanks.<br /><br />The mosquitoes. While not worse than other places I have been, every third person I know seems to contract malaria, making me think that the malarial rate here is quite high.<br /><br />The traffic…and the accidents. New traffic lights were installed at one of the city’s worst intersections, but a car plowed into one of them, and now none of them work. The irony is overwhelming.<br /><br />Isombe (cassava leaves). Never was a huge fan, but it makes the list of bad things because 1) it tends to be bitter, and 2) without fail, I always find a pebble in my isombe. I have no idea whether to attribute this to lack of cleanliness, or the mode of preparation, or what, but my teeth can’t handle it anymore.<br /><br />The phone network. Maybe your friend will get your text message, maybe not…or maybe in three days. And when the network is down, an annoyed Burundian woman reprimands you for trying, because your call <em>obviously</em> cannot be completed, <em>you jerk</em>.<br /><br />The ants. Even though their brains are Lilliputian, they seem to always outsmart—and outnumber—me. As soon as I put down my plate, they swarm it and try to carry it away. Now, after realizing that they live INSIDE the table where I prepare my food, I have been left with the dilemma of spraying them with poison--and in doing so, poisoning myself. As a result, I’ve resorted to pouring boiling water on the counter to wipe them out, or wiping down the counter with a thin layer of Rwandan pili-pili oil. In addition to adding a tasty flavor to my food, it repels pests! How versatile.Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-33801618322085040472009-08-16T11:38:00.002-04:002009-08-17T03:03:50.046-04:00A Simian VisitorSaturday, I was still recovering from a light cold and severe migraine that had troubled me on Friday. I woke up at 8 and started working on my computer—it will be a miracle if my task here is complete before I leave—and took a break at noon to go for a run. Exhausted, I returned to my house, showered, and took a nap on the couch in the screen room. The cat at the house I am housesitting joined me, lazily outstretching herself and clawing at the cushions.<br /><br />Something caught her attention, and I worried that she had seen the baby gecko that I had spotted the day before. She tends to massacre geckos, and I tend to protect them, since anything that eats mosquitoes is a friend of mine. She remained perked, jerking her head every now and then, but I couldn’t figure out what she was looking at.<br /><br />I stretched and roused myself from my nap, and through the screen saw a lone monkey sitting on a branch of a tree in the garden, eating something orange. I looked at it for a while, puzzled that it was alone—monkeys travel in packs here—and when my curiosity was satisfied, I walked into the house.<br /><br />The cat followed, but then froze. Standing in my dining room was a two-and-a-half foot tall monkey. He looked around, obviously confused, and then walked toward the cat, whose back was fully arched, and who immediately dashed out of sight, sliding on the floor as she went. On all fours, the brown monkey slowly meandered to the door through which I had come, looked around, and then turned around and walked back through the living room and into the dining room. He saw me, but seemed not to mind that I was there. It was more like a tacit acknowledgment.<br /><br />As interesting—and humanlike—as this animal was, I was no fool. I wasn’t about to try to touch it, lest I catch Ebola or, God forbid, it attacks out of self-defense. Instead, I looked around my dining room to see what shiny objects it might take. My camera, my cell phone, and my laptop were all in plain sight. I moved slowly toward them, and the monkey turned and made its way into the kitchen. The kitchen door had been ajar, so this must have been how he had come in. He stood up on his hind legs and surveyed the scene, displaying how tall he was. Then he squeezed himself back through the door and rejoined his group, which by this point was jumping on the roof, pulling mangoes off the adjacent trees, and generally making a racket.<br /><br />The guard was standing in the yard. “Did you see the monkey?” I asked. “He was in the house.”<br /><br />He nodded, flabbergasted. “Ah, these monkeys, they just cause trouble!” the guard mustered. After I returned to the kitchen, he stood, staring openmouthed, at the roof.<br /><br />Now, I have to go find that cat. The unexpected visit certainly redefines the idea of a house pest…or perhaps that of a house guest?Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-41646024508200403362009-08-11T04:16:00.002-04:002009-08-11T04:19:33.799-04:00Local EatsSteamed goat meat. Doesn’t sound like the most appealing dish in the world, but it is Burundi’s specialty. They call it <em>muchopo</em>, and the best versions of it can be found in the Asian Quarter and in Bwiza, the Congolese/Senegalese Quarter of Bujumbura.<br /><br />As a thank you for taking me to the tailor on the weekend to check on my dress order, I told my Burundian co-worker that I would treat him to <em>muchopo</em>—but he had to pick the place. I had wanted to experience Bwiza, which is widely considered to be the liveliest neighborhood in town, but he insisted on the Asian Quarter (“There are too many fights in Bwiza,” he said).<br /><br />We ambled into the neighborhood, rolling over potholes and unpaved roads. This area looks vastly different from the rest of the city. There are compounds, square buildings, small empty porches that become bars at some point in the evening. Men loitered here and there, and minarets of green and white rose over the rooftops. There are many Muslims in this area.<br /><br />It’s called the Asian Quarter because of the businessmen. There is a significant population of Indians here, and I’ve seen a few Arabs as well. Since it’s near the port, they set up shop here, with little warehouses and distribution centers. My friend tells me it’s possible to find whatever you need in this area—he walked into a crowded little shop and asked if they had Tahini sauce; after digging around a bit and brushing off a layer of dust, a jar of sauce was produced.<br /><br />We pulled into a courtyard with straw huts and tables. The place was called Chez Terrence, and was well known for its <em>muchopo</em>. After greeting literally everyone in the cabaret (my coworker seems to know everyone), we sat down at a little wooden table and ordered some muchopo and Amstel.<br /><br />While we were waiting, a huge SUV rolled into the parking lot. Music was blaring from the open windows, and everyone was looking at the people who had just arrived. They jumped down from the car, laughing and talking much louder than necessary. The men wore camouflage shorts and flip flops and the women were prancing about in strapless tops. They popped open the back, where they sat and tailgated, drinking massive beers and being obnoxious.<br /><br />“Rwandans,” my coworker sighed. I nearly passed out laughing. In any other country, people would have thought they were American. Camouflage shorts? I have never seen a Rwandan man wearing shorts. Only schoolboys wear shorts. But apparently Rwandan men wear them when they come here. It was only too funny to see from this other perspective.<br /><br />The <em>muchopo</em> emerged, on a wide plate, covered with thinly sliced and somewhat pickled onions, and served with a side of <em>umurobe</em>, which is a cassava-based starchy dough. It’s more dense than <em>ugali</em>, and I have been told that it keeps for a month on the counter (this is very questionable). Eating <em>umurobe</em> is like eating a brick—it just sits in your stomach, feeling heavy and unhealthy and with little nutritive value. I expected the steamed meat to be gray and soggy, but for some reason, its exterior was crispy and the interior was as tender as goat meat can be. It was chopped in finger-food sized pieces, and you had to pay attention as you were eating, as some of them still had a couple of goat hairs attached. Some of the chunks I picked up were stained dark blue, which makes me think they used blue twine in the cooking process…so I didn’t eat those bits, but beyond that, it was surprisingly delicious. Apparently it takes seven hours for <em>muchopo</em> to cook (when steaming meat like that, it doesn’t surprise me that it takes so long).<br /><br />My coworker insisted that we also try their goat brochettes, since I still hadn’t had a particularly good one here in Burundi. He ordered me one, despite the fact that I was full of <em>umurobe</em>. As we sat in the dark, chatting with some of his friends that joined us at our table, I took several bites. The brochettes were…surprising. The first bite was tough. The second was too soft and tasted a bit weird—that turned out to be goat liver, and I couldn’t manage to spit it out without looking crass, so I just chewed it as much as I needed to before swallowing it in a big chunk. Blech. The next morsel was a huge chunk of fat, which was as soft as the liver, but was so chewy that I realized what I was eating and held it solemnly in my mouth until everyone turned to the server to order more beer. I then managed to throw it over my shoulder, and no one was the wiser.<br /><br />The verdict: Burundi muchopo good, Burundi brochettes…not so much.Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-81505800416886568152009-08-06T09:06:00.004-04:002009-08-06T09:49:04.967-04:00Monkeying at the Office<div align="left"><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366839719572455154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW7tsZhOoil4Jiyz7Z-QWhClgeghyphenhyphenAEXhLenL7fRJCns1o1_mvsLI4wiVk4T8zMhhX4gdGNovcddeJEXmA648PyCxeaSdSXeGmnpiBQoJ1gg3U5pEPyYCy1JLq5Voi4dCzRMI/s320/Monkey.JPG" border="0" /><span style="font-size:85%;">It's hard to see his...ahem...bright anatomy in this photo, but I decided to allow him some privacy.</span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br />Today, as I was walking back to the office from the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant where I get peas and rice for lunch every day, I heard someone running up behind me. I turned to find a monkey had leapt up onto the wall next to me. With a brown body, black face and eyes ringed in white, its long tail curled down the wall. I was observing him from two feet away, when he turned, revealing bright, teal-blue testicles. Given the general dullness of his coat, it was certainly a surprise.<br /><br />Soon, I found myself surrounded by a whole family of monkeys. They were swinging from the trees, running along the walls (which were topped with broken glass for security, but seemed to have no effect on the monkeys), and one that jumped down and walked next to me for a while before running off and jumping into a tree. I carry a camera for these moments, but of course, when I turned it on, the battery died. I managed to shake it a little and get it to turn on for a brief few seconds, during which I blindly snapped photos of one of the monkeys before it scampered off.<br /><br />On another note, I have a visa update. The PAF finally found my file, and despite my having clearly stated that I wanted a one-month visa renewal, they gave me a 70-day visa. I had requested a multiple-entry visa, because I was thinking of popping into Rwanda one of these weekends, but have come to realize that I simply don’t have the time (partly because of work, partly because it took them so long to give me my visa). Now, they’re insisting that I pay a whopping $140 (this is in addition to the $80 I paid back in Washington), when I should be paying only $60. They’ve already written it in my passport, but I’m going to see if I can negotiate to have that cancelled and get the visa I wanted. (We’ll see how long that takes...and how successful I am.)<br /><br />It seems rather strange to me that a country so starved for tourism and development aid charges unjustifiably high prices for visas. Rwanda, by comparison, allows free visas for three months to citizens of several countries, including the U.S., Canada, and the UK (but not France)—and it’s a real incentive for people who wish to volunteer or visit. I've been collecting my thoughts on the Burundi-Rwanda comparison, but those shall be reserved for a future post! </div>Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-28364540380390694382009-08-04T03:11:00.002-04:002009-08-04T03:29:52.545-04:00Alphabet SoupThat is, perhaps, the best way to describe my brain right now. It is swimming with languages, and when I open my mouth, who knows what will come out.<br /><br />I decided to come to Burundi for multiple reasons. The first—and most important—was that the job offer was the most challenging. The second was that I would be able to use my French full-time (Burundi is still Francophone, although it is moving toward English due to its recent membership in the East African Community), and continue to improve my Kinyarwanda. I had been told that Kirundi, the local language of Burundi, was very similar to Kinyarwanda (the language of Rwanda), and was curious to see how true that was.<br /><br />As it turns out, they are very similar. With a couple of exceptions, the languages are almost the same, and Burundians always tell me that they understand Rwandans easily, the same way that Americans and Britons understand each other. I have only had problems with one word: beans. I ordered them in Kinyarwanda once, and was brought peas, which were still delicious, but weren’t exactly what I ordered. Another time, I tried it again, and the young boy taking my order looked at me like I had six heads. I switched to French. “Eh,” he acknowledged, and sure enough, I received my beans. (Note: In Kinyarwanda, it’s <em>ibishyimbo</em>. In Kirundi, it’s <em>ibiharage</em>.)<br /><br />I’m also taking advantage of the opportunity to learn Swahili, and have hired a private Swahili tutor for about $6 an hour. Swahili, the lingua franca of East Africa, is fairly easy to learn. Its grammar is (mostly) logical, and many of its words are derived from Arabic (the language was born on the island of Zanzibar, which for years was an Omani sultanate) and English. I often laugh when my teacher teaches me new words—such as kampyuta (computer), shati (shirt), wiki (week), and the months of the year (which basically look like pidgin English, from Januari to Decemba).<br /><br />I have been insistent with my tutor, telling him that I want to learn Tanzanian Swahili, which is the purest form. Kenyan and Congolese Swahili is different, and Tanzanians look down on these dialects as muddied. My tutor is very good about this, but since he is Congolese, I do catch him teaching me what he calls “Bantu Swahili” from time to time. And he, in turn, catches me mixing Kirundi and Kinyarwanda with Swahili during our lessons.<br /><br />There is certainly a heavier Tanzanian influence here than in Rwanda, and as a result, Swahili is known as the language of the street. The director of my office once sniffed that Swahili wasn’t spoken in our office—only Kirundi or French, pure and simple. Of course, knowing the “language of the street” is very helpful when you are trying to tell a taxi driver who does not understand any French or English where you want to go, or when you are making conversation with the women who lay out their smelts to dry in the sun near my office.<br /><br />The result has been that I have begun to speak in Kirundi and Swahili at the same time, dropping in words from both languages, with an occasional French word as well. Luckily for me, that’s how people speak here.<br /><br />And what of my English? Any English speaker here will acknowledge the inevitability of “Franglais.” Our brains are so mixed up that most of my conversations with expats are bilingual. I do fear that some of my English is slipping—I recall my junior year of college, when I was studying abroad in the south of France. I had only spoken in French, so when I was being interviewed over the phone for a possible internship, I found it nearly impossible to put together a coherent sentence in English. When the interviewer asked me what my greatest weakness was, I knew that I had to come up with a strength disguised as a weakness. As I struggled to find the words in English, the silence on the phone grew deeper, and I ended up telling the woman that I am sometimes late to work. (Note to possible future employers: I am NEVER late to work. Er..) Needless to say, if there ever was a wrong answer, that was it, and I didn’t get the internship.<br /><br />At the very least, my colleagues and friends understand me, and I’ve hopefully limited the faux pas. And while having this soup of languages in my head will probably make writing term papers in the fall an even more laborious process, I’m quite satisfied that I am able to communicate with Burundians here in the meantime.Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-65424562878842716722009-08-02T06:17:00.000-04:002009-08-04T03:25:41.810-04:00I think I'm illegal.It's not my fault, though. I swear.<br /><br />The Burundian Embassy in Washington only issues visas of one month, which I didn't realize until I arrived here and heard my boss's woes about visa issues. It expired in the middle of last month, but we brought it into the PAF (the Police d'Air et Frontieres)--the immigration office--which is a nightmare of disorganization and bureaucracy. They opened a file for me, and it was expected that, for another $60 (the original visa was $80), I would have my new visa in a week.<br /><br />I know they were working on my file, because apparently it was laying out for everyone to see, and a friend who was passing through saw it. Privacy is a bit of a foreign concept.<br /><br />Well, two-and-a-half weeks later, and with no end in sight, I still don't have a new visa. Why? Because the PAF lost my file. "Oh, it'll turn up," they have assured me. Looking at the chaotic mounds of dusty paper piled on every horizontal surface, I'm not so certain.Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-68123396007733759382009-07-30T04:25:00.011-04:002009-07-30T06:22:16.862-04:00Feeding Guinea Pigs to Crocodiles (and other things that are not normally allowed in zoos)<div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1i0Dfm2jYnO5ACJTnG8too1tGEBlwDJUpu162UOXdXS-DIGU_ggf0FlAC61uFQJKaKCVN5fWn6PWFD2K9LbRCzL7O1st2rY0RQaYlAvv4ymK1tUuqbhVxHtq8cPpd4U9NlmA/s1600-h/Leopard.JPG"></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364171997934376482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhayzYyv6FLeXD0Oqnkr2sRZGD7rcEqyesAWVhOWBDfp0EJeZEK_tVzm9YeASNBn6i-amamCewjn6PSpHbYpZVWHbHdEnZcF4IzulTQknfEBeDQq_92CPuhPqYWh7VjGbaW4BI/s320/Lipstick+Crocodile.JPG" border="0" /> <div align="center"></div><div align="left">One of the greatest attractions in Bujumbura, I was told upon arrival, was the Musee Vivant, or the Living Museum. With a name like that, it seemed like an innocuous children’s park, with a couple of friendly goats, and perhaps some monkeys, that children could feed and pet.<br />Not so, my friend told me. There are crocodiles there, she said, and you can feed them. With live guinea pigs. </div><div align="left"><br />Obviously, I had to see this for myself.</div><div align="left"><br />I managed to convince two of my guy friends to come with me. If I was going to feed crocodiles, I preferred to do so in the company of people who would be entertained by the experience, not with people who were going to whine about it. It is, admittedly, an experience that doesn’t sit well with many muzungus. But where else can you see a crocodile on the hunt, other than on National Geographic?</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364176064940968930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCqyka323_vVpw0o2FDmjLSrpkdQiRu-gCPMbguuzhscF8VBPsI3YXiw54BzeO7Lr2_O0PntEV8ojpA-gYTBwMbzUPfzsYifWUXoalEfV3YCPc_9tO2ateCSpG408qIZ1NnA0/s320/Burundi+Crocodile.JPG" border="0" /><br />After paying the 5,000 Franc (less than $5) entry fee, a guide walked up to escort us around the small park. It was more of a zoo, but with a real focus on crocodiles. The guide had worked there for twenty years, he said, and hasn’t lost a finger or appendage yet. He also told me that he simply doesn’t take chances, particularly with the big crocodiles. </div><div align="left"><br />The first two concrete pens separately held adolescent crocodiles, about three feet long. They were Nile crocodiles, he explained, and the younger they are, the more agile. He asked us if we wanted to feed them with guinea pigs (les cochons-dindes) or with rabbits. The guys, excited to see exactly how fast these crocodiles could move (since they were just languishing in the small pools of water), took the guide up on the offer, and for 4,000 Francs each, we had two guinea pigs ready for sacrifice. </div><div align="left"><br />One of my friends dropped the guinea pig into the pen, and the crocodile launched out of its resting place, whipping water violently on the walls of the pen, and darted for the prey. In one bite, it was gone. The second was dropped into the other pen, with the same effect. With a squeal, the guinea pig had disappeared. The only trace that remained was a smear of blood on the crocodile’s snout.</div><div align="left"><br />My friends asked how much it would cost to give the crocodile a goat, so there would at least be a fight. The guide said it was 50,000 Francs (about $50). We decided it wasn’t worth it. (Plus, you can buy a goat on the side of the road for $10, so asking $50 was way too much.)</div><div align="left"><br />Moving on, we came to the leopard cage. In the past, the leopard had been living in a 2 meter by 1 meter cage, but the Musee Vivant decided to build it a larger one, with a tall canopy and large branch so that the leopard could climb up and perch if it wanted to. There was a bucket of water in a corner surrounded by, inexplicably, tufts of fur. </div><div align="left"><br />The leopard had a full, thick, spotted coat. He rubbed against the cage, which was so close that we could reach out and touch its body (though we were told not to try to pet its face, because we would probably lose several fingers). The guide told us that we could also feed the leopard with a guinea pig. We took him up on the offer, and a couple of minutes later, he emerged with one in hand. </div><div align="left"><br />With a toss into the cage, the leopard pounced, grabbing the guinea pig by the head and carrying it around the cage. After settling on a place to eat, it walked around in circles before lying down and systematically eating, by carefully pulling off the fur and discarding it in tufts on the ground. The mystery of the piles of fur had been solved. Even big cats don’t like hairballs.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364185182920840562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1i0Dfm2jYnO5ACJTnG8too1tGEBlwDJUpu162UOXdXS-DIGU_ggf0FlAC61uFQJKaKCVN5fWn6PWFD2K9LbRCzL7O1st2rY0RQaYlAvv4ymK1tUuqbhVxHtq8cPpd4U9NlmA/s320/Leopard.JPG" border="0" /><br />Next, we saw the large crocodiles, which occupied enormous pens. Each had its own, and was submerged in the shallow pool of water, with only their eyes and their slit ears above the surface. We were the prey; they followed our movements, slowly lumbering in our general direction as we walked around the pen. They were also Nile crocodiles, about seven or eight feet long, and wide in the middle. One looked ready to pounce, which it probably would have, if not for the tall concrete walls that surrounded it.</div><div align="left"><br />The next stop was the chimpanzee cage, and the guide warned us not to get too close with our cameras, because the chimps grab them—and getting them back in one piece would be difficult. They reached their black, hairy, humanlike hands through the cage, trying to snatch my camera and the beer that my friend was drinking. (Er…there’s another thing that’s not allowed in the United States.)</div><div align="left"><br />My friends may or may not have given beer to the chimps, and the chimps may or may not have shared it. The guide, who was very laissez-faire about everything, responded in a way that made it clear that this is a relatively frequent occurrence. The chimps went crazy.</div><div align="left"><br />We moved into the reptile house, where we saw a spitting cobra, a regular cobra, some other venom-spitting snakes, and some innocuous ones. We also held an enormous python, which began to wrap itself ominously around our arms, and defecated on both of my friends. They were nonplussed, to say the least, and tried to wash off the white mess.</div><div align="left"><br />The last attraction was the baby crocodile pen. The guide jumped in and, with swiftness and confidence, grabbed the baby crocodile, which was about a foot long, by the snout and tail, securing its jaws firmly shut. He passed it to us to hold, giving us careful directions about how to hold it so as to not lose a finger. We each took hold of it (it urinated on one of the guys…it wasn’t his lucky day) and felt its smooth underbelly and rough skin. </div><div align="left"><br />The guide then asked us if we wanted to feed it. We did, and he brought back a baby guinea pig (the regular ones were too big for him). This was my Achilles heel, and I should have known it. The baby he brought back was adorable, and fit in the palm of my hand. I made the mistake of holding it—of building rapport—and gave it a little kiss before passing it along. Unlike the others, I couldn’t watch this one.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364180051535462786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mkNx-m4VdTLDOw_BjpKD60nJWTwQUWHGd7QqaLYAQNMe6ktmNfmYMi4X0A8oXTIHZowZu6bK-RJpZk6JY0hDf9BqKv5p0fpn_zDaFTw85seuOzBn5X3YJhxSOwt8PB5I8sc/s320/Harry+Potter.JPG" border="0" /> <div align="left"><br />Meanwhile, the boys were yelling at the crocodile, making it seem like a speedy end had not befallen this little guinea pig. I went back to the pen to see the crocodile snapping, but missing every time. He went for it no less than five times, and failed. Finally, the crocodile gave up, swimming away. </div><div align="left"><br />We decided that this little guinea pig had earned his stripes. We retrieved him from the water, and, cupping him in my hands, where he was trembling violently from cold and fear, we decided to keep him. The guide told us that he was injured, that he wouldn’t live—but in fact, he hadn't suffered so much as a scratch. And so we carried him out of the Musee Vivant, and he will live at the Marine House, with endless quantities of carrot shavings and lettuce. We named him Harry Potter—because he was the guinea pig who lived.</div><div align="left"></div></div>Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-30537046356344320942009-07-27T10:32:00.012-04:002009-08-27T09:15:45.362-04:00Things To Do In Bujumbura, Burundi<p align="center">(Also known as the Bujumbura Restaurant and Shopping Guide)</p><p align="left"><br />The following guide was originally (and mostly) compiled by several expatriates who lived in Bujumbura over a number of years. Many people who arrive in the country to work are sent a somewhat outdated version of this guide, and I thought it would be useful to share it with a wider audience, since it is extremely difficult to find up-to-date information on restaurants and activities in Bujumbura.<br /><br />The credit for compiling it goes to the unnamed many (among whom were several CARE International staff), and in particular to my friend Ledio, who was the first to send it to me, and who was one of the original authors of the Guide. I have tried to update it a bit from its original version.<br /><br />Anyone who has information to add to this guide is invited to do so!<br /><br /><strong>General Information on Restaurants<br /></strong><br />Service is pretty slow. Don’t be impatient!<br />Wine is very expensive here, so if you have a limited budget, stick to water or beer.<br />You can drink the tap water in Bujumbura, so don’t worry if you are served tap water or ice.<br />The vast majority of restaurants understand French. A few understand English.<br />Tipping is welcomed, but not mandatory. While I have heard different perspectives on this, a tip of approximately 5% seems to be good.<br />At the time of writing (2009), the exchange rate is approximately 1200 Burundian Francs to $1 USD.<br /><br /><strong>Key words:<br /></strong>Ikanye –cold<br />Ibitoke-plantains<br />Msososo: meat-instead of heart, intestines, liver, etc.<br /><br />For other key words related to meals and eating, see the <a href="http://morganinafrica.blogspot.com/2006/02/rwandan-dictionary-kinyarwanda-english.html">Kinyarwanda guide</a>. Kinyarwanda and Kirundi are nearly the same language—most words are the same, and the two languages are mutually comprehensible.<br /><br /><strong>Restaurants</strong><br /><em><br />Tanganika</em><br />Good for a nice meal out and one of the best restaurants in town. Near the port. Old colonial style building with excellent service and a breeze from the lake. Probably has the best chocolate mousse in town but also excellent fish carpaccio, other fish and meat dishes – such as sangala with blue cheese, grilled lamb chops, etc. Someone told me recently they have the best steak in town – order the “tournedos” with your choice of sauce. I recommend the spinach as a side dish – quite delicious. Be prepared to spend a bit ($30), especially if you have some wine.<br /><br /><em>Khana Khazana<br /></em>This is the Bujumbura branch of the restaurants which you can find in Kigali and Kampala. People call this the best restaurant in town. In Kiriri, off of Avenue de Belvedere. Beautiful pavilion seating, luxuriously decorated. Great Indian food—have never been disappointed. Numerous vegetarian options. Can accommodate big groups. If you have a birthday, tell the staff, and they'll sing for you in 5 languages for 20 minutes. It's a little excessive but pretty hilarious. Closed on Mondays.<br /><br /><em>Belvedere<br /></em>Situated up on a hill in Kiriri with a spectacular view of the town, lake and DRC. Great place to grab a sunset cocktail. There is a bar counter – where you can sip a cold beer, eat some potato curls and look at the beautiful view; just a shame they don’t do tapas! A wide range of European cuisine, rather expensive and fancy for the price but the view is great. Service is good here. Prices hover around 12,000-16,000 per main course.<br /><br /><em>Bora Bora</em><br />On the lake, about 10 minutes north of town, next to the Club du Lac Tanyanika. Fabulous atmosphere. Everyone orders their pizzas, because they are great and whatever you can’t finish, you can bring home with you. Pizzas run from 9,000-11,000 Francs. They also have salads and fish. The latter is unbelievably pricey! Good place for drinks on the weekend, while lounging next to the pool. There is also free wireless internet, so the place is often overrun with muzungus on their computers!<br /><br /><em>Chez Andre</em><br />On Rue Rwagasore, on the right as you go up the hill. Beautiful, beautiful restaurant. Greek-themed, usually empty, but is known for amazing food. A non-profit to train domestiques in cooking is run out of here. Prices are around 12,000-18,000, and they have various kinds of fish, steak, and pasta.<br /><br /><em>Kasuku<br /></em>A very colorful and friendly restaurant, run by a female, Belgian/Rwandan rally car driver who has lots of friendly dogs. Also known as the town's gay bar, although homosexuality is forbidden here. Mostly a nightlife destination, not a restaurant destination. Friendly service but if there are more than two other tables full, be prepared to wait.<br /><em><br />Botanika</em><br />A family-run boutique hotel/restaurant with wireless connection anywhere – so you can do e-mails while eating in the terrace or garden. Excellent salads, a great fish steamed with vegetables, hamburgers and other treats available. Food is served relatively quickly and is always good—since the quality of the food is always constant, there are no nasty surprises!<br /><br /><em>Aroma</em><br />Nice coffeeshop in town, very tranquil, with wireless internet and places where you can plug in. They serve real Burundian coffee (and fancy coffee drinks), not Nescafe, and offer some food items as well. (If you get the crepe with spinach, make sure you tell them you don’t want the ground beef in it. Unless you do. Not advisable.) They also have fruit smoothies and ice cream. Very sweet, attentive staff.<br /><br /><em>Ubuntu<br /></em>On the lake with nice garden and pleasant atmosphere. Sometimes, you can see hippopotamuses while you eat. Service is not that bad, but check to see if they are using their generator before ordering a pizza. They have good pizzas – some say the best in town--and standard meat, fish and vegetable dishes. Pizzas are half price on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Expect to spend around $20 for food and a beer.<br /><br /><em>Novotel</em><br />Surprisingly for a large chain hotel, it has decent food at decent prices, you sit out on the terrace near the pool. Not exactly warm and cozy. You tend to get stared at a lot here. Seems like a place where dodgy deals take place! There are a lot of mosquitoes most of the day and in the evenings. Don’t forget to buy cakes at the little kiosk next to the bar. (As a side note, the hair salon is good for abazungu males. Seven thousand to get a haircut and the hairdresser actually owns scissors. Get your hair cut with loud Congolese music plays in a nearby boombox and look at the splendid hairstyles women around you having done!)<br /><br /><em>The Ethiopian Restaurant</em><br />I can’t remember what this is actually called. Incredibly hard to find….take the Avenue du Large going away from the city center, and take a left after the sign for Orphan Aid. Excellent Ethiopian food, with real injera. Garden seating. English is spoken here! Whenever I eat here, I spend about 10,000 Francs ($10), and leave stuffed to the brim.<br /><br /><em>Oasis<br /></em>Greek food, good salads, best pizzas in town according to some. Try and get a table on the terrace as the main room can be quite dark. Be careful locking your car here; there are quite a few street kids and thieves around here.<br /><br /><em>Cercle nautique<br /></em>The place to go and hang and have a cold beer watching the sun set over Lake Tanganyika. A favorite is to nibble on the small dried/fried fish, Ndagala or munch on samosas. Someone also told me that there pizzas are amazing, crisp with tasty sauces. They have some great drinks: an excellent ginger juice called “gingembre”, a thing called ice tea – which might have tea but has Sprite as well and is very refreshing. If you are lucky they will have fresh pineapple juice. A good place for sunset drinks and beautiful evenings. Occasionally a hippo or two can be spotted in the lake.<br /><br /><em>Shanghai</em><br />Thought to be the best Chinese restaurant in town. A nice family run restaurant, meals in the garden, decent variety. This restaurant was held up a gunpoint 4 times, but now that problem seems to have gone. My favorite is the dumplings called “ravioli” on the menu, the aubergines and even though I don’t like sweet and sour – the sweet and sour pork is great. Also the best place for take-out.<br /><br /><em>Beijing<br /></em>A Chinese restaurant on Rue Rwagasore. Most of the tables are in an outdoor pavilion. Salty food, but what do you expect? You can also buy a kilo of tofu here for 4,000 francs, or a kilo of Chinese noodles for 4,000 francs. (Chinese noodles cost at least 9,000 elsewhere, and tofu cannot be found anywhere else.) If you place an advance order, you can also get dumpling/egg roll wrappers for 400 FrBu apiece.</p><p align="left"><em>Aosta</em><br />More of a fashionable lounge than a restaurant, though it does serve dinner (prices are expensive). On the second level, next door to Botanika, and has a beautiful porch with a great view of the Havana Club. Drinks are decently priced. This place has a lot of potential, but was empty when I went.<br /><br /><em>Barbeque</em><br />An up-market cabaret, with a variety of grilled meats. You can have a solid meal for 10 USD. The gigot d’agneau or the lamb leg is definitely the best dish. Surprisingly cheap and very good food. You have to eat the lamb with fried bananas and spinach. The best place in Bujumbura for their vegetables, including the bananas (the really long ones), spinach (absolutely delicious and not salty at all served on a hot tripod) and peas. The best value for money in all of Bujumbura. Does take out too.) </p><p align="left"><em>Tandoor</em><br />A newcomer to Bujumbura, Tandoor is an Indian restaurant that tends to be low on flavor and high on kitsch. The dal and the chicken korma were pretty flavorless, and not spicy, despite requests for extra heat. The food was served relatively quickly, although others have complained about how slow it was. From the Exorcist-esque German gnome in lederhosen with the revolving head that welcomes diners as they arrive to the concrete kudu in the garden, to the horse's head in the dining room, to the erratic fountain, this place offers endless topics of conversation. Open for lunch and on Mondays (when Khana Khazana is closed).<br /><br /><em>Eden du lac<br /></em>On the lake with a nice garden and up-market cabaret food as well as some other choices such as soup. They have sandwiches but I would not recommend them. On weekends they have one of the liveliest “boites” or night clubs.<br /><br /><em>Le Petit Bruxelles<br /></em>I'm a little obsessed with this restaurant. The best burgers in Buja. Just to make sure you read that correctly, yes, these are the best burgers in Buja. Try the garlic ones--they're amazing and will also keep the vampires away for days. Can hardly be called a hole-in-the-wall--it inhabits a hallway! Very charming and cheap, though, and there is Amstel on draft rather than in a bottle, which is a nice change. Near Botanika and the Tourism Office on the Boulevard de l'Uprona.<br /><br /><em>Isango<br /></em>Upscale Burundian restaurant. Beautiful garden seating. The fish brochette was excellent, and the lengalenga was even better (tasted like perfectly seasoned spinach). A little pricey, but not too bad. On the Boulevard Mwezi Gisabo.<br /><br /><em>Maquis<br /></em>Excellent music, but on a crowded street with poor parking. In the university area. A lively scene around the bar filled with journalists, lawyers, NGO staff and interesting people to meet and chat with. Nice vegetation, a wooden upstairs and once again excellent music. They have the standard meat and fish brochettes, salads and it is most famous for its chicken – you will need to share the chicken and have plenty of time.<br /><br /><em>La Fantasia<br /></em>Near the main roundabout in town. The best place for pastas and Italian-style food. It is actually run by an Italian lady and serves mostly to <em>abazungu</em> from the UN. Was only open for lunch, but is now serving dinner as well. Order the penne carbonara, aux aubergines or aux courgettes. Some good sandwiches such as Prego (beef and caramelized onions) and also vegetarian sandwiches. The hamburgers are pretty good and juicy, and they have nice salads. A killer tiramisu is also served but can be pricey. Can order take out at lunchtime. </p><p align="left"><em>Le Petit Suisse</em><br />In the Quartier Asiatique, near Buja Day Spa and the Cameo Cinema. A lovely little restaurant with a nice view of the main mosque, and with the most amazing fish brochettes I've had in Bujumbura. Nice omelettes. Cheap, too.<br /><br /><em>Kassim’s<br /></em>On the main road in the Quartier Asiatique, a red unmarked door next to a door with painted keys. Also known as the Chicken place. Serves grilled chickens cooked in a red sauce which are really tasty and different to the usual tastes of Buj. They serve chilled prune de Japon juice in small water bottles. No alcohol here, it is run by a Muslim family. Really good and cheap.<br /><br /><em>Café Au Petit Plateau<br /></em>The local restaurant where I eat most days. Hole in the wall. Not a muzungu place, which I love. You can find all of the Burundian staples here: Ubugari, beef (which is very tender), fish, beans, lengalenga, isombe, peas, etc. I usually eat here for 1,000 Francs (less than $1 USD). They don’t put salt in the food—they let you add your own. Clean preparation. You can also get good milk and ikivuguto (yogurt milk) here. On Rue Rwagasore, across from the U.S. Embassy, near Dmitri’s.<br /><br /><em>Cafarc</em><br />Another restaurant where you can find good local food. Located near the Poissonerie on Rue Rwagasore. Look for the sign “Galerie Les Arcades,” go down a short passage, and it’s an airy little restaurant with some outdoor tables. It is a bit dusty. They serve all the staples: rice, beans, peas, lengalenga, plantains, meat, etc. The peas and rice are excellent. The meat isn't great--stick with the vegetarian options. A surprising amount of English is spoken here. I eat here for around 2,500 Francs (less than $2.50 USD). </p><p align="left"><em>Baobab<br /></em>Senegalese restaurant across from Aroma (look for the alleyway) on Rue Uprona that serves local food for a bit of a higher price than elsewhere. Try the traditional fish dish and the peanut sauce. Great venue, with high thatched roof ceilings and decorative details that make it a fun place for lunch. Check the bill, though--they tend to overcharge!</p><p align="left"><em>Le Cayor<br /></em>Offers the town's best coffee--absolutely delicious and puts Aroma to shame. Located in the middle of town, it proclaims "fast food," and it is pretty fast. For those in a rush, order directly from the buffet. Otherwise, you can also order sandwiches and hamburgers. Cheap and cheerful. Parking is horrid. </p><p align="left"><em>Hibiscus</em><br />Local food, cute little restaurant. For 1200 Francs, you can get the Plat du Jour, which comes with rice, lenga lenga, a chunk of beef, bananas in sauce, and beans. For a little more, you can get peas as well. Delicious and fast. Near the Greek Orthodox Church. </p><p align="left"><br /><strong>Cabarets</strong><br />Bujumbura has a wide variety of local corner bars known as cabarets and I have listed a few here, there are many more. If there is a choice, choose goat meat as it is usually much more tender then beef. In some places, sausage brochettes are available. Cold beer and sodas are usually available. </p><p align="left">For beer drinkers there are usually 4 varieties:</p><p align="left"><br /><em>Amstel</em>: usually only available in large bottles, locally brewed by the Dutch managed brewery but quite a high alcohol level –stronger than Tusker<br /><em>Amstel Bock</em>: comes in small bottles in most places, a dark, flavorful beer<br /><em>Primus</em>: a light beer in a large bottle with lower alcohol than Amstel, popular with ladies and daytime drinkers<br /><em>Heineken:</em>this is imported and very expensive. It is favored by the elite.<br /><br />Sometimes, Tusker and Leffe are available—at a price.<br /><br />Other drinks you will find:<br />Flat water<br />Sparkling water<br />Coca-Cola<br />Fanta Orange<br />Fanta Citron<br />Tonic<br />Pineapple juice<br />Passionfruit juice<br /><br /><em>Chez Gerard<br /></em>A nice cabaret which, according to Burundians, has the best brochettes. I tried the beef ones and wasn't incredibly impressed, but the atmosphere is great. Cheap and cheerful, outdoor seating, pool tables. Lots of parking. In Kigobe, near the 28 Novembre.<br /><br /><em>Cocodi<br /></em>On Rue Rwagasore, across from Chez Andre. It has a sign that says it rents DVDs...perhaps it does, but that's not why people go there. Great local cabaret that has karaoke from time to time. They have sweet fried bananas--delicious! And a wonderful atmosphere. The goat brochettes were a little tough, but the fish ones were very good.<br /><br /><em>Le Pont</em><br />A nicer cabaret with probably the best selection of brochettes and other meat dishes and salads in town. Nice relaxed atmosphere in the garden and good cold beers. Decently priced ; you will probably spend $10.<br /><br /><em>Picnic or Kolomboko</em><br />A lively cabaret that has excellent music, using old LP records. They serve roasted meat on most nights, otherwise standard brochettes and an interesting mixed clientele. The chicken is also pretty good. Dancing to the great old tunes can happen most any night of the week.<br /><br /><em>Escale du Bien</em> (note this is not the real name)<br />A garden cabaret located adjacent to Tele 10. Standard cabaret fare but a delicious grilled goat leg is available – sufficient for about 3 people served with grilled bananas and onion.<br /><br /><em>Mutsuhinda</em><br />They serve an interesting snack of cheese and eggplant, good fish and beef brochettes, very simple.<br /><br /><em>Africana<br /></em>A pool table, decent brochettes (beef, sausage, sometimes chicken and fish) and they usually have a choice of potato or banana frites. That is early at night, later it becomes a disco with lots of interesting young ladies.<br /><br /><em>Kibira Bar<br /></em>At the very end of Avenue du Large: a rasta bar with nice gardens – great place for an afternoon. There is donkey and a monkey and old cars that provide lights and some camping vans that during the weekend can be rented by the hour! A fun, lively place to hang out. Food is not what you go there for!<br /><br /><em>Avenue 2 – Bwiza</em><br />This is the Congolese neighborhood and is full of ambience and very much the central African feel. There are a variety of restaurants but best to go with a national staff member who can help you choose which place has the best mshwi that day. You sit on the side of the road, practically in the road, and eat mswhi which is steamed and then grilled goat meat, served with grilled onions and “pate de manioc” or manioc ugali. You might not find a cold beer and you will definitely not find a toilet.<br /><br /><strong>Supermarkets (Alimentations)</strong> </p><p align="left">The town has a series of alimentations that have items such as wine, cheese, veggies, bread etc. These are for your basic household needs – and it is not an attempt to describe all shopping possibilities.<br /><br /><em>Escale du Bien Alimentation<br /></em>The first on the left after Librarie St Paul as you climb up Ave Rwagasore. This is my favourite – the vegetables come in twice a week and are good and fresh – and the staff very friendly. Inside they have all the basics you need and that all the other shops have, with the difference being the staff are friendly. The local eggs are always good quality, they have the standard brown bread and cheese and sausages.<br /><br /><em>Belladone<br /></em>Nice alimentation where Avenue Rwagasore meets the 28 Novembre. They have real eggs (with yellow yolks, not the alien white yolk eggs). They have vegetables, but not the same variety as Au Bon Prix. Sometimes, they carry Leffe beer. Open amazingly late—sometimes until 11 pm.<br /><br /><em>Fido Dido<br /></em>On the left –as you go up the hill. Sometimes has a good deal on a nice white wine, has a bakery next door and is usually quite crowded. I have never really shopped here much as parking often gets hectic and there is not that much of excitement. Also their cigarettes are more expensive than elsewhere.<br /><br /><em>Dimitri<br /></em>THE MOST EXPENSIVE SUPERMARKET IN TOWN. They can hardly justify their astronomical prices. Cannot really miss it – on the corner as you leave town from the market. Once you get past the blackmarket money changers and the beggars, you enter the large shop with all sorts of items, patés and cheese imported from Europe etc. However, sometimes it is necessary to venture in – there are some things like metal forks, household items, and decent wines.<br /><br /><em>Poissonnerie</em><br />Go up the road north from Dmitris (not toward Boucherie Nouvelle) and just at the next junction you will see a small shop that sells all types of local fish. I am told they have fresh fish but have only found frozen fish. </p><p align="left"><em>Bambino<br /></em>Next to the Poissonerie, a packed little supermarket run by a very, very nice man. They have a small selection of good produce, and also sell souvenirs. Open every day, even Sunday.<br /><br /><em>Boucherie Nouvelle<br /></em>Down the road near Dmitris but not the same as above. Basically the best place to buy meat, cheeses, homemade sausages, salami, prepared meats for barbecues, other imported and local items like chutneys and sauces. Sometimes, they have chicken. They also have frozen seafood, like crab and shrimp. I usually go early on a Saturday morning before the crowd arrives around 9:00 a.m. They also carry assorted other things, like yogurt, milk, juice, crackers, etc. I bought my olive oil here—the cheapest place in town to find it.<br /><br />There are other branches of Boucherie Nouvelle all over town.<br /><br /><em>Au Bon Prix<br /></em>On the 28 Novembre, easily recognized by all the UN and diplomatic cars outside. They do not have the best prices in town; in fact, it’s one of the most expensive, and the staff are not overly friendly. I do all my purchasing of beer and sodas here because the prices are the same as elsewhere. Other things that are here and not elsewhere- a good selection of hams and cheeses, a nice local goat cheese – that is soft, almost a chevre, as well as a large selection of vegetables geared towards Wazungu – such as grapes, and little orange mushrooms etc when they are in season. Very nice vegetables and fruit, as well. They also carry strawberries!<br /><br /><br /><strong>Shopping<br /></strong><br /><em>Marche Central<br /></em>Middle of town. Total chaos, but best prices you’ll find anywhere, if you negotiate hard. Great fabric! When you go, carry as few valuables as possible, and, if you’re carrying a purse, make sure it’s small and fits under your arm. Thieves abound, and they have been known to reach into bags or, worse, cut through them.<br /><br /><em>Craft Market<br /></em>On Rue Rwagasore, near the U.S. Embassy. There’s several individual shops packed to the brim with local handicrafts and Congolese handicrafts (textiles, statues, and masks, in particular). There is also a place to buy vegetables, sauces, and local jams. Outside is a basket seller, as well as a plant and flower market. Bargain, bargain, bargain. Make sure that the plant roots are alive. </p><p align="left"><em>Congolese Market<br /></em>Across from the Hotel Source du Nil, a small market with multiple Congolese vendors selling masks, statues, and other odds and ends from Congo. Some of their stuff may be truly old, but a lot of it was probably made two weeks ago and buried in the dirt to age it a bit, so just keep that in mind when they tell you something is an "antique."<br /><br /><em>Indian shop near Peace House and stadium<br /></em>Here you will find all sorts of things for your house, from pillows, to food mixers, cutlery, etc. Decent prices. They also have some food items that come in from Nairobi such as some spices, sauces etc.<br /><br /><em>Mutoyi</em><br />There are two centers: one on the way out of town, and one in Kigobe (off the 28 Novembre), near where the new U.S. Embassy will be. Here is where you buy the local pottery as well as good chickens as well as basic household items for good prices. You can also buy all sorts of food items and school supplies and the prices are good. Their gelato is sought after.<br /><br /><em>Centre des Femmes Musaga</em><br />A women’s centre that makes great materials that they paint with all sorts of designs. Great for curtains, T-shirts, wall hangings etc. You can special order T-shirts and it is the best price in town and the quality is good.<br /><br /><em>T 2000 or the Chinese Shop</em><br />You can find anything here from electric cars to coffee mugs - a large store with electric gadgets, household items etc. It is not that cheap though.</p><p align="left"><strong>Hotels</strong></p><p align="left"><em>Botanika</em>- Known as one of the best hotels in town. Downtown, on the Boulevard de l'Uprona, not far from the dilapidated Novotel. Bujumbura's boutique hotel, it is beautifully situated and appointed, and hosts one of the finest restaurants in town. Rooms have wireless internet, DSTV, and air conditioning, and they wash your laundry in proper washers and dryers. $90 includes breakfast; $110 includes all 3 meals per day. Phone: +257 22228873 or +257 22226792. </p><p align="left"><em>Club du Lac Tanganyika</em>- The top hotel in Bujumbura, with prices to match. Located on the beach north of Bujumbura about 10 minutes, the hotel offers frequent shuttles to downtown, several restaurants, a couple of pools, evening entertainment on weekends, etc. I have heard that they even have a horse riding area. Some rooms have air conditioning, and others do not. Prices vary from $120 to $320 a night. Breakfast included (I hope so, at those rates). Phone: +257 22 250220 or +257 22 250 221. Email: <a href="mailto:info@clubdulac.com">info@clubdulac.com</a>. Website: <a href="http://www.hotelclubdulac.com/">http://www.hotelclubdulac.com/</a>. </p><p align="left"><em>Hotel Residence-</em>Downtown, at 10 Blvd de l'Independance. Owned by a Burundian woman. Beautiful little hotel and restaurant, well appointed. Hot water, satellite TV, fan, wireless internet, and breakfast included. Some rooms have air conditioning. Restaurant has wonderful ambiance and food. Rooms are a bit steep in price. From $75-100 for a single room or suite; $112 to $150 for a double room or suite. +257 22255757 or +257 78862510. <a href="mailto:hotelresidence@yahoo.fr">hotelresidence@yahoo.fr</a>. </p><p align="left"><em>New Tourist Hotel</em>-For the budget, backpacking traveler, this place is really bare bones. It looks quite nice from the outside, but in reality is very simple. A double room is less than $10. Rooms have their own bathroom, but no hot water...and when I asked if they bring you some in a bucket, they said that they don't do that. Phone: +257 79321586. </p><p align="left"><em>Ubuntu Residence</em>-By the water, great long-term residences that tend to be cheaper than some of the other high-end options while still a nice place to stay. Suites are self-contained, and at either $80 or $120, you can get a room with a bathroom, hot water, air conditioning, wireless internet and a small kitchenette. Access to the pool and breakfast included. A great restaurant is also located here. Phone: +257 22244065. </p><p align="left"><strong>Beauty</strong></p><p align="left"><em>Buja Day Spa<br /></em>In town, near the Muslim Quarter and the Cameo cinema. The best/only spa in town, it offers all services, from hair to nails, to facials, scrubs, and massages. Don't ask me to explain how or why, but there are two Thai women here who specialize in Thai massage, and they have special rooms for that. They also do the regular massage. Massages are an hour long and start at 40,000 Francs (a little less than $40 USD). Closed Mondays. Appointments should be made in advance: 22 22 70 00. </p><p align="left"><em>Top Beaute<br /></em>In town, off of the Rue Rwagasore. Smaller, ambitious little place that tries very hard to be a spa. They, too, have facials and massages. They are known for their waxing, and they have massaging pedicure chairs. Call for an appointment: 79 99 80 50. </p><p align="left"><em>Racoon<br /></em>This tends to be the main muzungu hair cutting place. Ask for the Congolese stylist--he's apparently very dependable and also has a good sense of style. On the 28 Novembre. Phone: 22 25 97 40. </p><p align="left"><strong>Activities</strong></p><p align="left">Buy cloth at the <strong>Marche Central</strong> (but secure your bag!) and take it to the <strong>Avenue de la Mission</strong> to have it turned into whatever you want--whether a dress, a shirt, or pillows. They can do it all. </p><p align="left">Go to the <strong>Musee Vivant</strong>, a zoo of sorts that would never be allowed in the United States. They have crocodiles, a leopard, chimpanzees, and several types of snakes (including a spitting cobra). You can feed the crocodiles and leopard with live guinea pigs (for 4,000 francs each), or rabbits (a bit more expensive). If you're really feeling sadistic, you can buy a goat for 50,000 francs and toss it to the big crocodiles. Visitors can also hold several snakes, a baby crocodile, and can interact with the chimps (be careful, they steal cameras!). 5,000 Francs entry.</p><p align="left"><strong>Lounge by the pool at Bora Bora</strong>, the latest hotspot for expatriates and wealthy Burundians. It's a beautiful beach lounge and restaurant on the edge of the lake, about 10 minutes north of Bujumbura. Order a pizza and a beer and get some sun on their beautiful deck, or play a game of beach volleyball. Bring your computer and you can access the free wireless internet.</p><p align="left"><strong>Play the Burundian drums</strong> and have a real Burundian beach experience by spending a day at <strong>Saga Plage</strong>, just next door to Bora Bora. Burundians of all ages come here to eat at one of the multiple restaurants and listen to "live" music (really, just people dancing on stage with microphones while lip synching). A couple of chimpanzees, a snake, and a baboon live here (none of which live in acceptable conditions, but the baboon has it the worst by far). On Sundays, a traditional Burundian drumming group plays, and for a couple of francs, you can take the batons and try your hand at the athletic music. There's also a restaurant on the actual lake shaped like a boat that has great grilled fish.</p><p align="left">Travel ten minutes north of Bora Bora on the same road, cross a strange bridge, and take an immediate left down a small dirt path to get to <strong>Rusizi Park</strong> (which I call <strong>Hippo Park</strong>). The closest wildlife park to Bujumbura, its main attraction is its three hippopotamus families. You can also see crocodiles, many birds, and antelopes. You can go by car, but I recommend going by foot--it's much more interesting that way. Go between 11 am and 1 pm, and you are more likely to see the hippos out of the water. Public transportation goes there. Admission is 5,000 Francs, but be sure to tip your guide at the end!</p><p align="left"></p><p align="left">Watch a movie in a real cinema! <strong>The Cameo</strong>, which is downtown, plays French movies (or movies dubbed in French) on most nights, but on Wednesday and Sunday night at 8:30 pm, they show relatively recent movies in their original English version. You can buy a Coke in a bottle at the front of the cinema and movie snacks--but definitely Burundian-style. They get big points for trying. Admission is 2,000 Francs.</p><p align="left">Dance your feet off at <strong>Havana Club</strong> or <strong>Toxic</strong>, which are stumbling distance from each other. There are covers at both establishments; they tend to be around 5,000 Francs on Saturday nights. Guard your car and your pocketbook...there are thieves aplenty here. There are also many prostitutes. The best music and ambiance can be found at <strong>Gymnase</strong>, which is actually a gym during the day. They have relatively secret parties--only those in the know are informed about them--and sometimes charge a cover for those as well.</p><p align="left"><strong>Excursions</strong></p><p align="left"><strong><em>Saga Resha</em>-</strong> About an hour south of Bujumbura along a mostly good road (though there are some serious potholes), there is a small resort hotel along the beach frequented by wealthy Burundians and expats. The hotel is not complete as of writing, but the restaurant is open, and serves all the standards, such as brochettes and grilled fish. If you bring your own food, you will have to pay them for the right to eat it there. There are beautiful little huts on the water, and the beach and swimming are divine. </p><p align="left"><em><strong>Saga Nyanza</strong></em>- About 2.5 hours south of Bujumbura, this is a relatively small stretch of nice beach. There is a nice and expensive restaurant here, but you can bring your own food and picnic on the public side of the beach. There is a hotel with a couple of rooms about a mile down the road. The hotel itself does not sit on a beach. </p><p align="left"><strong>Travel Tips</strong></p><p align="left"><em>Personal Safety</em></p><p align="left">Burundi is not as safe as its northern neighbor, Rwanda. Petty crime is frequent, opportunistic crimes are common, and assaults, even on foreigners, have occurred. Guard your valuables, and when going into crowded areas, particularly the Market, carry a bag that fits snugly under your arm to prevent wandering hands. Some thieves try to cut through bags to grab your wallet or phone.</p><p align="left">In some cases, people have broken into cars; be sure to lock your car and keep your valuables out of sight. Try to avoid conspicuously putting your valuables into your trunk, as this is an invitation to potential thieves.</p><p align="left">When stopped or parked, avoid leaving windows rolled down so far that people can reach in and snatch your valuables. Boys have been known to approach one side of the car to distract the person, while reaching in the other window to take their phone, wallet, or bag. </p><p align="left">Basically, be vigilant, but not fearful. </p><p align="left"><em>Vehicle Safety</em></p><p align="left">Do not take motos. Just don't. Many, even most, motorcyclists do not have driver's licenses and do not have driver's training. (Unfortunately, many car drivers don't have driver's training, either.) They often don't carry helmets, and fatal accidents involving motorcycles are so common as to be borderline appalling. For a cheap lift, take a matatu; they go all over town for about 25 cents. Otherwise, stick to a taxi.</p><p align="left">A caveat on taxis; try to use ones that have been recommended by others. Not all taxi drivers are honest, and there are many stories of taxi drivers driving drunk, demanding unreasonable fees and locking customers in until they agree to pay, and even intimidating passengers through threatened assault into paying high prices. </p><p align="left">Drivers are quite bad here, so be careful walking along the road, as well.</p><p align="left"><em>Money</em></p><p align="left">The exchange rate at the time of writing (August 2009) is approximately 1200 Francs to $1 USD. The largest bill is the 10,000 Franc bill. Most people can make change for it. Otherwise, there is a 5,000, 2,000, 1,000, 500 and 100 bill. Small change is, unfortunately, also given in micro-bills which closely resemble Monopoly money--they come in denominations of 50, 20 and 10. </p><p align="left">Always bargain with taxis and in the market. </p>Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com178tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-41898038633782778482009-07-22T12:42:00.000-04:002009-07-22T05:55:35.220-04:00Escape to the Field<div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360584159889795618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrW9uYPEtH_jwPoTXr9Yrsc9xO6w9zhHwXE49-hjIo7z4NWdDssIIBln5QeMCuBz70wmPKbrP2wYBoIYtBwzFxEwedtFmIZlOYGMf1gr72f0UIyyCzkYBleBWCw31gtgySnkg/s320/burundi+map.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Map by Lonely Planet. Indiana Jones-style path is mine.</span></p><br />I had been itching to get out of the capital, but with no transportation, the prospects had been dim. Finally, on a random Friday, I found that I was waiting on a colleague before my work could advance, and was not looking forward to a day of doing nothing in the office (putzing around on the internet loses its luster after a while). The driver was going down to Nyanza-Lac, one of the southernmost towns in Burundi, to pick up my roommate for the weekend (she lives in the field, doing hands-on training of health professionals during the week).<br /><br />I hitched a ride.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361208361703465138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQN-gneiQfX63RDsY1OvhCT6T7uWH8aFX8pY8lsPaCPHZN-Rk0m6zAjInUWqtdct4te5nhOt8cukCqVI7mvk5K2Co1UZfxM6gGgubkHNb0cvjRvPxd_8m8Vssu3oVtZ_L3s70/s320/Burundi+road.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">The road south, crowded with people and palm trees.</span></div><br />The drive down to Nyanza Lac takes two and a half hours (it’s not possible to go any faster, because despite the long stretches of good road, there are deep potholes in areas, and in others, crowds of people creep into the streets). The road runs along the coast, and the long stretches are dotted with thick, green palms. The water is aquamarine, and extends out as far as the eye can see, and there were times when I forgot that I was in Central Africa, imagining instead that I was in the Dominican Republic (or Haiti, with trees).<br /><br />The road wound around cliff edges, led through plains, and rumbled through villages large and small. Longhorned cows marched alongside, along with countless women carrying bundled sticks on their heads, men trotting tethered goats, and children playing in brightly colored plastic sandals. On our left rose rolling hills, reminiscent of Rwanda, but far less densely cultivated; a couple of farming plots could be spotted here or there, but in general, the hills looked largely untouched.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361202134724812914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIZv11a_HUMeP1jFnxf0LKQO1iqi1nl0-RlWCFhhA8C7h9Z6F9JspojwbQAtXRzkhb3EVj1NCSVaOnanT3sPHDXlrpz3fvxlwRP8FSAE8ggrbyGb-dKlbaIENmyjLNTwnd_8/s320/Beachfront+Property.JPG" border="0" /> <div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Prime real estate. Well, nice views, anyway...</span></div><br />We passed through what I correctly suspected to be palm plantations; the squat palms were planted in perfect rows, and covered acres of territory, contributing to the Caribbean ambiance of the drive. I asked about them, and was told that they were planted in 1967 to cultivate palm oil. Men walked slowly with bicycles carrying oversized loads of palm seeds to towering factories for processing into cooking oil and soap. Some of the plantations were entirely razed, which raised my suspicions about deforestation, but I was told that they were simply planting new palm trees where the old ones stood.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361215761544983714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGi9w7YGhjz4g0LO-7lYDqr_uqLtIDCWLS6pVTE9oiQ7Su_w0Vq0e_mk9B-mp9TwjcN8fD_4TbtOkjs9uVBoVRPlMMrlELl9uzzuVQ9nhtPzHIB4PysX09yvvKqeRSJHJ1qXQ/s320/Palm+Seed+Transport.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">A truck carrying palm seeds to a local factory for processing.</span></div><br />I was awestruck by Lake Tanganyika, mesmerized during the entire drive by its crystal water, its foam-capped waves, and its sandy shore. It looked like the ocean, and I can see how it would inspire local stories and myths (one speaks of an immense crocodile, like the Loch Ness Monster, which locals and expats have claimed to have spotted), as well as the original name of mainland Tanzania, before it united with Zanzibar in 1972 and assumed its current name. The lake boasts many different types of fish—Mukeke, Sangala, Indagara, and Tilapia, among others—and when we arrived at Saga Nyanza, about 45 minutes away from our ultimate destination, we stopped at the restaurant (which is incredibly overpriced…most people actually bring food from Bujumbura to eat) and had grilled Mukeke, a sharp-nosed fish with small razor teeth that is meaty, like Mahi Mahi.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360887762611463602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBOREYPLeeCKlM1LxthNGJ2JAp90qr25FRLBfjTfYndfgS-1oyerTMEJ0QDWSpsRwPhbeCLuwTs6Z_zqOCD21p-7uDTNKqePyla4yzkvd-VqDud6jkEzJxlqj7p-yHrg8S6pA/s320/Saga+Nyanza+Beach.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Beautiful Saga Nyanza</span></div><br />Saga Nyanza is, apart from the beautiful beaches north of Bujumbura, the vacation destination for expats and locals. I don’t really understand why—while the beach is beautiful, it’s tiny, and the only thing there is the overpriced restaurant (they charge $6 for a goat brochette, when the going rate is approximately $1) and, about 10 minutes down the road, a small hotel with about 12 rooms and a rocky coastline.<br /><br />We finally arrived at our destination and picked up my roommate and colleague, who had just come down with malaria. Nyanza-Lac, a small, dusty area, is apparently one of the worst malarial areas in Burundi. She was happy to come back to Bujumbura and find some Coartem, which is the best over-the-counter treatment you can find. As we drove, I asked her about the state of health in Nyanza-Lac, and she told me about widespread malnutrition, as being near the lake causes most people to focus their energies on fishing, and not cultivating fruits and vegetables. This also means that the primary employment opportunities were related to fishing, so there is widespread unemployment among those who are not fishermen—and this has meant that many women are turning to prostitution so that they can eat. The HIV and AIDS rate is higher than the national average here as a result.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361213007624327666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8EXXZbJMW1aQzdN9j165nT9vDAxDjK8ceVDWM8Nfbl5TWd0bBrMOY1-7g7weU30nUEbjowkD7mvifM17oM3aZW4rX2xgcKWlWd6rj5hwUQDIBBNkoBFODcCht1FGBZ7Re9AA/s320/Burundi+Market.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">A bustling rural market</span></div><br />After spending a short time in Nyanza-Lac, we turned around and started the trek back to Bujumbura, only stopping to do a little on-the-road grocery shopping; along the side of the road were women with baskets and piles of fruits and vegetables, and we picked up some passionfruit, papaya, oranges, tomatoes, Japanese plums (tree tomatoes), peas, and some kind of solid manioc ugali that is wrapped in banana leaves and apparently stays good for weeks without refrigeration. The women jostled for space by the car window, each hollering over the other, while children stood to the side, asking for any spare water bottles. With our groceries rolling around at our feet, we continued on home, arriving in Bujumbura just as the sun was setting over Tanganyika.Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-29131279850562590192009-07-21T04:08:00.000-04:002009-07-22T04:18:19.515-04:00Beware of DriversI was inspired to write this morning because of unfortunate circumstances. The cousin of our driver/logistician was killed in a motorcycle accident. It is another in a series of accidents I have seen or have heard about, and I can’t sit on my thoughts anymore.<br /><br />In all of my travels and work experiences overseas, I have never seen as many road accidents as I have seen here. I could not hope to count how many accidents I have passed—usually involving motorcycles. Among the most memorable were a mini-bus thrown on its side, with another car’s hood bashed in; in another, a car hit a motorcycle, whose passenger was thrown and cracked his head—blood spread across the pavement. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, but I'm frankly not sure that it could have helped him. He died on impact.<br /><br />These are disturbing sights, to be sure, but what is more disturbing is the frequency with which they occur. Every day, going to and from work, and when traveling around town, I see small crowds of people, a couple of police officers, and, usually, a motorcycle on its side. Too many have died. And now, our logistician’s cousin, who came to Bujumbura from a rural area for her school vacation, is gone.<br /><br />It doesn’t make me sad. It makes me angry. Furiously angry—because the fault lies with two parties: the government, and the people.<br /><br />First, the government. Here, while drivers of cars should theoretically have a driver’s license (every now and then, a cop will pull over a car to check), motorcycle-taxis (“motos”) do not. Motorcycles are too expensive for many people to buy, so they are rented from people who tend to have many, purchased for this purpose. The renters, more often than not, do not have a driver’s license. Many have very little to no driving experience. They rent because it’s a quick way to make a few francs, and the result is that you have incredibly irresponsible moto drivers, who dash and dart in front of vehicles, who lose balance, who don’t know to yield at intersections. And who are these people renting the motorcycles out? Rich people. People with influence. Sometimes, they are people who work for the government. As long as the money keeps coming in, they will keep renting. Safety is not a concern for them.<br /><br />The extent of government involvement with the motos is to set up roadblocks forbidding them to drive after 6 pm (which is good, because most of them do not have working headlights). But the government does not require them to have driver’s licenses, insurance, or even helmets. Compounding this is the fact that, since there are no traffic lights, police should be posted to direct traffic. (This happens so infrequently that I always notice when it DOES happen.) Since driving here is one massive game of Chicken, where everyone challenges everyone else to back down, people do not yield. They block roads. They speed up, even through blind intersections. They pull into the middle of the street before they turn, forcing their way through. And people die as a result.<br /><br />I should also note that it is apparently relatively easy to buy a driver’s license here without driver’s training. Ah, corruption. Among its other undesirable consequences, it leads to the proliferation of irresponsible drivers.<br /><br />Second, the people. Why? Because they continue to take moto-taxis—while people recognize that others have been killed taking them, they do not think that they, themselves, will be in an accident. (Burundians have told me this.) It’s one thing to understand that it’s Russian Roulette and take the risk anyway; it’s quite another to not recognize it at all. The argument that people who take moto-taxis do it because they can’t afford the car-taxis just isn’t credible—there are mini-buses that go everywhere in the city, and for a cheaper rate than the motos charge. They are also, comparatively, safer.<br /><br />At the rate of accidents in this city, it’s hard to believe that there isn’t a critical mass of people who have been impacted. I would hope that, in this country, which has some degree of political freedom and opposition (however imperfect), such people would demand changes and increased accountability from their government. I have to grant that self-organizing for a cause may not be a frequent practice, though. That kind of political activism takes time to develop.<br /><br />What’s the solution? Oh, let me count the ways. But the simplest would be to better use the Burundian police by having them direct traffic and issue fines to motos who drive poorly, who don’t have driver’s licenses, and who do not have helmets (for themselves and their passengers), and not just avail them once an accident has occurred.Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-11895226716198897722009-07-18T10:04:00.004-04:002009-07-20T09:59:54.056-04:00There Goes The Neighborhood<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352753889469050770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLJk9CJn-1E0Z-vHYg29HGZmKPJ8lov8p3ayQz0af_ZI5a8qf-PdNZV7-fumDxdg1L8PoKN-9bUnffIpNtsZj1uCLnHhh0JXL7Z0gM4D006m1Ph7k4TDgc6g2ZT0LjV4gpOVg/s320/IMG_0298.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">The view from my apartment balcony. In the distance, obscured by the dust of the dry season, is Lake Tanganyika.</span></div><br /><div align="left">I live on 7th Avenue, off of Cleanliness Street (near the intersection with Hygiene Street) and I love it. It’s a little out of the way, and is off the map of the city that I was given when I arrived (it’s dated 1984), but it’s quaint and self-contained, and 100 percent Burundian. Well, maybe 99.9%, since I moved here.<br /><br />I am definitely the only <em>muzungu</em>, but I admit that I kind of like it. I work with Burundians, and I live in a thoroughly Burundian neighborhood. In that way, I feel like I’ve really jumped in.<br /><br />It’s a gorgeous place, set on the hill, with a magnificent view over central Bujumbura and Lake Tanganyika. The streets are paved with cobblestones, the streets are wide, and children play on the street corners and kick balls down avenues. Most of the houses are one-story, but there are a surprising number that have two levels (including my own). Rising above the skyline, these two level houses are a sign that someone around here is making money. They’re impeccable, with fine details, columns, and scrolling balconies. The single-story houses aren’t shabby, either—they look freshly painted and their small gardens well-kept. (Since I live on the second floor, I can see over the walls of some of the neighboring houses.) Along the skyline, single papaya trees, whose long necks and tufted canopies look like they belong in a Dr. Seuss book, pop up over the rooftops.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyw4vZ2cFyAzId-c0QFNRTvkI1uojg5DHc8HcZ3y7AH8i6anpSOyiwLKP9giGa8T2OmwZv3BFrBGozsD4sOdYXEUYfoTb1pqsEIe8Nukh8b5T5hCq6pcdJPjRg3yblSkRsZA/s1600-h/Bujumbura+neighborhood+2.JPG"></a><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyw4vZ2cFyAzId-c0QFNRTvkI1uojg5DHc8HcZ3y7AH8i6anpSOyiwLKP9giGa8T2OmwZv3BFrBGozsD4sOdYXEUYfoTb1pqsEIe8Nukh8b5T5hCq6pcdJPjRg3yblSkRsZA/s1600-h/Bujumbura+neighborhood+2.JPG"></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360463082016045698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZlCcyfZa-czz5CJ46OhgaKf4MmojPTOmNKuYQZIRjlkdWR2X97wyCrSysMVSvYwLP9SCJBRt_3v48IMaCsHRF9WKWf4ibntmpl3Bn-0XiIWOuAt5yVWR1XaPIpXAGV5Dqc4/s320/Bujumbura+neighborhood.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">7th Avenue. Almost as posh as Manhattan.</span></div><br />All of the houses in this neighborhood are a stone’s throw apart, interspersed with an occasional snack-bar (a bar where you can eat brochettes) or alimentation (a mini-market with fried donuts, cigarettes, candles, soap, and Magic Obama strawberry gum). The neighborhood has its own Catholic church (a massive, modern compound) and high school. The teacher training school, built by the Chinese and resembling a space colony, is across the main road.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360501199198989346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyw4vZ2cFyAzId-c0QFNRTvkI1uojg5DHc8HcZ3y7AH8i6anpSOyiwLKP9giGa8T2OmwZv3BFrBGozsD4sOdYXEUYfoTb1pqsEIe8Nukh8b5T5hCq6pcdJPjRg3yblSkRsZA/s320/Bujumbura+neighborhood+2.JPG" border="0" /> <div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">The drainage and wilderness behind the houses in the neighborhood</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div></div><br /><br />I asked our driver if this was the neighborhood where all the rich people lived. “Oh, no,” he said. “But these are people of high standing.” By this, he meant that people who lived here were generally government workers, or were officers in the military. (Since many people here were officers in the military, it is known as a predominantly Tutsi neighborhood.) In effect, the middle class. The rich people lived in other places, he said. I suspect that most of the muzungus tend to live in those areas, too. In the neighborhood across the main road, Kigobe, massive three-level monstrosities are being constructed, whose gates are elaborate and impressive (and fairly tacky). The residents of Kigobe are thought of as the "new money" population--I have been told that they are mostly Hutu, and work for the government, although there are some businessmen who live there as well.<br /><br />In the middle of the Kigobe neighborhood is a large, fenced in parcel of land that was purchased by the U.S. State Department and will be used to construct a new embassy. (I stopped by the current embassy to let them know that I am here, and with its concrete barriers and miles of razor wire, it’s pretty ugly.) Everyone I know currently pokes fun at me for living "in the middle of nowhere," but once the Embassy is constructed here, I imagine the area will develop very quickly!<br /><br />Without realizing it, I’ve also acquired a pet. The owner’s dog, which lives downstairs and is theoretically to be used as an extra layer of security, is sweet and jumpy. Her name is Kiara, and I have no idea what her breed is. She’s black, with a long nose and legs that are a little too short for her body. I am starting to think that my bug spray has pheromones in it, because she likes to hump my leg and smell my toes. Every day, she welcomes me at the gate, accompanies me up the stairs to my apartment, and jumps all over me (and humps my leg) until I manage to squeeze my way into my front door. When I close the door (which she has managed to open a couple of times), she whines and sits on my front stoop until I emerge. Sometimes, she sleeps there. In the morning, she meets me at my door and accompanies me down the stairs, only advancing when I advance, and jumps on me before I leave, usually leaving dusty paw prints all over my pants. I’ve never given her any food, just a little affection, and now I have a new friend!Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-60757477518513307232009-07-14T07:12:00.004-04:002009-07-15T02:30:46.674-04:00Attack on an American NGO*This has been updated*<br /><br />While this probably won't make the news back home, I just learned that yesterday, a vehicle carrying NGO workers with the American organization <a href="http://www.villagehealthworks.org/">Village Health Works</a> (related to Partners in Health), was attacked in the south of the country, in Bururi Province. The vehicle was carrying medical supplies and equipment to the local hospital when it was ambushed. All of the supplies were stolen, as well as the personal effects of the people in the vehicle. After taking everything, the driver was fatally shot. Others in the vehicle managed to get out and run away. They were unharmed. It looks like the attack was planned, and was not random.Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-39175889831001342802009-07-13T04:46:00.000-04:002009-07-14T08:25:37.534-04:00Little Drummer Girl<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357867378157724546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiurTcPNyloxDNIUzOpVBAKRzZpXmy0nxiUc0VIMmvIhSpYyGZKga_xuUhVl9Q9ncUW3AczeAsOQXB9kwo9y6MyfwpOM5MReZb7MXw3u-wfJf_tDj2p-ET_gK33GuSchdfG-8/s320/IMG_0465.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br />Yesterday, while lounging at Bora Bora Beach Club, I heard the Burundian drums in the distance. Burundi is known for its drummers; with tall, waist-high drums and large stick mallets, they create driving rhythms to which they perform a warrior dance (very similar to Intore dances in Rwanda). I have heard that there are even bands of drummers and dancers that travel to other countries to perform.<br /><br />I hadn’t seen the drummers yet, so an acquaintance convinced me to go check it out. We left Bora Bora and walked down the shore to the public beach, where they perform every Sunday. The audience was mostly Burundian. The drummers were dressed as warriors, in the Burundian colors of red, white and green. One drummer would dance at a time, and a young boy came out and danced, too (which was very cute, because he was trying to act like a tough warrior). The dancers jumped high off the ground, often landing in a lunge, arms outstretched, and rolled their heads.<br /><br />While I was taking pictures, one of the drummers handed me two large mallets and invited me up to try the drums. So up I went, banging on that drum as hard as I could and trying to keep up with the professionals. (I gave myself a nasty blister in the process.)<br /><br />After playing for a while, my arms were killing me, and I passed the mallets back to the drummer. We gave them a round of applause and some francs, and headed back to Bora Bora for a Primus beer and a bandage for my hand. It was quite an arm workout!Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-42115302364435306822009-07-09T06:15:00.002-04:002009-07-09T06:23:17.296-04:00A Sporty CultureOf the different countries where I have visited and worked, I have never seen sport or fitness so hallowed as I have seen here. It’s not just a matter of fun here, which I’ve seen elsewhere (for example, kids or adults playing soccer). Burundians, however, also do it for good health and well-being. All day, every day, men and women run down the roads and do push-ups in the medians and on the sidewalks. I’ve even seen people doing push-ups in the dark of night, at 11 p.m. The army often jogs, chanting and blowing whistles, around my neighborhood and down the main roads (causing a lot of traffic, I might add).<br /><br />Added to this is the fact that the government ministries have mandatory days of “sport,” another phenomenon I have not seen elsewhere. On Tuesday or Friday afternoons, entire ministries put on their tracksuits (they are very popular here—the markets are swarmed with them) and go for a jog, or play soccer, or do something active. President Nkurunziza has been known to play with his presidential staff. (I asked my driver if they always let him win. He just looked at me sidelong and shrugged.) The ministries even have a soccer tournament in which they play against each other.<br /><br />I can’t speak to television or radio advertisements (because I don’t have a TV or radio), but I can say from the billboards around town that there is definitely an emphasis on sport. In the disarmament billboards, for example, a man is missing a leg. In the background, people are playing soccer. Poor thing. Because of your gun/grenade/other weapon, he can’t play sports anymore. The theme is omnipresent.<br /><br />It’s so normal for people to run for fun/fitness here that most people don’t bat an eye at the muzungus who go for a jog. Anywhere else, and you get stared down (one, because you’re a muzungu; two, for wearing shorts; and three, because people don’t understand why you would want to run anywhere unless you are really, really late…and even that isn’t worth running for).<br /><br />I witnessed the icing on the cake about a week ago when, out on Rwagasore Road in town, I passed a number of people selling things—mostly cassava roots and potatoes. A little further down, I noticed a man on the sidewalk, nothing in front of him but a weight scale. A man walked up, paid the vendor a few francs, and stepped on. He looked at his weight, sighed, thanked the vendor, and walked off. Guess he’s going for a run later.Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-2705432711603980822009-07-07T08:11:00.004-04:002009-07-07T08:45:34.215-04:00A Few Snapshots from Buja<div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355693509885840690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-AwiElkPTO-NMvhyCUbE6az4ndZJhd69RtUcG0QpJ3ZU5oQ8tGXHyNZ7x2-GF1h_98C66l-zcnNIMP9dWrKHzcotVf5XoTKmGu_3Hq3SzGBkgFbgGrrqRF1SeFC94WrD1E0/s320/IMG_0305.JPG" border="0" />The cheapest way to transport a living room set. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxA4wHclv0R-8hptwYCgWriqDGZkufNFlmaLOSemwVAIawrwblNWMu8zDLe6eW1JT9LNYB580uR0WvIK6UJR_B6E8hyE31o7byoBprsGB5wmxgCwF4KeBfuONGucmsRp6A4Is/s1600-h/IMG_0303.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355691137380597122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxA4wHclv0R-8hptwYCgWriqDGZkufNFlmaLOSemwVAIawrwblNWMu8zDLe6eW1JT9LNYB580uR0WvIK6UJR_B6E8hyE31o7byoBprsGB5wmxgCwF4KeBfuONGucmsRp6A4Is/s320/IMG_0303.JPG" border="0" /></a> The main roundabout in Bujumbura, with 8 a.m. traffic.<br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355697563398850130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSD2gXCDN49WVQI8Xtxgh259SOohNn6fwFlzEy13xkHYza2o7ewx5vywB_Q4mSNT5QxaDzthne7En5rWlp6qOwbbrvTsuh9wFZYFx7GyelMJ6Nn7xLU2TdF0q3swHrDsPMTUQ/s320/IMG_0319.JPG" border="0" /></div></div><br /><p align="center">There's always traffic on the 28 Novembre Road...This time, it was a mass group of bicyclists riding around the city wearing shirts against torture on the International Day of Support for Victims of Torture. Shirts generously provided by the UN. </p>Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20912673.post-15089047089248218572009-07-05T08:16:00.001-04:002009-07-06T10:24:12.580-04:00Barbecues and Beer Pong. Happy Fourth.It was an eventful July Fourth in Bujumbura. In the morning, I left my house to buy a pineapple and some vegetables, my contribution to my boss’s patriotic barbecue. The grill was a traditional one, which is to say that it uses charcoal, and the grill grates are basically flush against the coals. That makes for a delicious brochette, but when it came to grilling vegetables, they were entirely blackened, and there was nothing I could do about it. I ate them anyway. The grilled pineapple turned out especially well, the sweet juices caramelizing beautifully!<br /><br />The entire barbecue was as American as could be managed in central Africa. We had burgers with local cheese, there was a salad, macaroni and cheese, a potato salad, chocolate chip cookies, and one woman brought tofu in homemade barbecue sauce (which was delicious, and a justifiably American creation). One Senegalese guy complained to me, “But I thought American barbecues had lots of meat, and you only have burgers!” It was true—everything was vegetarian apart from the burgers. At first reviled by the thought of barbecue tofu, he tried it and agreed that it was delicious. (“Heh, if you didn’t know it, you would think this was meat!” he exclaimed.)<br /><br />The fun lasted until well into the evening, when the group eventually migrated down the street to the U.S. Marine House (since the Embassy is old, the Marines live off the compound). Their house is palatial, with an enormous pool, wrap around outdoor balcony, and a generous living space. When we arrived, a couple of people were playing some kind of karaoke video game and others were playing (or watching) a game of beer pong (known to some as Beirut), the great American college tradition.<br /><br />After a while of watching the Americans toss the ball back and forth into opposing teams’ cups (and watching them become increasingly inebriated), the non-Americans present wanted to learn how to play. On one side was a Frenchman and a Belgian; on the other, a Kenyan and an English-speaking Burundian. Few who knew the game were able to speak both French and English, and thus I was thrust into the role of teacher. (This probably comes as no surprise to my friends in grad school, who…er…know my affinity for this game. But I swear it wasn’t my idea.) The Kenyan and Burundian won the game handily.<br /><br />By 11:30, I was exhausted and already had a hangover from the day’s drinking, but I was at the whim of others who had cars, as my own taxi driver had long since gone to bed. Somehow, someone received word that a club was reopening downtown that night, and there was a mass exodus in that direction. I was swept up in that wave, and ended up at Havana, a club that seemed promising until you actually entered it.<br /><br />We parked the car on the median, and the car was promptly surrounded by six men. They asked for money to “protect” the car, which we basically ignored. I chose to leave my bag in the car (because petty theft would likely be a big problem at the club), and when we tried to lock the car, we found it wouldn’t because a door was ajar. As it turned out, one of the men on the other side of the car quietly opened a door so that he could easily break in after we left. I was very upset and couldn’t help but think about the safety of my handbag. My friend assured me, however, that crime here is generally limited to pickpocketing and petty theft, and not vehicular break-ins. I was still nervous.<br /><br />The club, at whose entry lingered a number of prostitutes, charged a 5,000 Franc cover (a little less than $5). While it was called Havana, there was nothing Cuban about it; in the middle of the club was a pavilion with different-sized disco balls and colored lights. The walls are high, and the roof is elevated even higher, giving it a little fresh air, but not the sense of openness. It felt more like a converted warehouse. There was some seating around the edges, and a single bar in the back that was, predictably, overcrowded. That night, I saw Chinese men that were completely out of their element, a couple of older white women, a crowd of young aid-worker expats, and, overwhelmingly, countless 60 to 70 year old men (some of whom looked like preachers, bifocals perched on the edge of their pointed noses) groping young, lithe, scantily-clad Burundian women. I know it’s a reality, but I just can’t bear to see it. It absolutely disgusts me.<br /><br />Finally, at about 2:30 am, I made my way home, even though the club was still jumping. We gave the six men “guarding the car” 1,000 Francs (which apparently was more than enough) and found while driving away that they had tried the “open door” technique again, but hadn’t been successful at grabbing anything. Given the bad experience, I don’t plan to return to Havana anytime soon!Morgan C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/14978922055827318954noreply@blogger.com1