Reflections on Technology, My Last Week, and Rwanda’s Liberation Day

As far away as I feel from my normal routine, I’ve realized lately that I can never quite escape it. Sometimes I wish I could turn off my internet all together so I can stop mindlessly reading people’s statuses on facebook, quit my email addiction and, dare I say it, ban myself from indulging in the New York Times editorials that arrive ever so conveniently to my inbox every morning. I’ve realized how reliant I am on technology to keep myself in the loop, while at the same time I feel that part of the experience of traveling (and I suppose, immersion in general) is letting go of those everyday conveniences. Sadly, I’m guessing that the people at the NPR internship that I am applying for in the fall will not express the same sentiment if I use travel as an excuse for turning in my application late.

            It seems hard to believe, but we are approaching our last week in Rwanda. Now that the project is completed (today was our last day at the health clinic), I feel like we have hit what I like to call “crunch time” (aka trying to pack as many excursions into one day as possible in order to get the most out of our stay). I’m particularly excited about our trip to the Nyungwe National Park next week. It’s supposed to be second only to gorilla tracking in the category of “most unforgettable tourist attractions in East Africa” (even as I write this, I’m wondering how someone came up with a scale for “unforgettableness”). If I’m feeling really ambitious in the next couple of days I may even brush up on my Biological Anthropology notes from freshman year and try to identify one of the 13 primate species that inhabit the forest.

             Last Saturday was Liberation Day in Rwanda, which signifies the day the genocide ended. Although I didn’t see any fireworks, the celebrations that I stumbled upon throughout the day made up for missing the forth of July in the US. That morning, I slept through the 5:00 am prayer but was woken up by the glorious sounds of spirited chanting and singing that was so quintessentially “African,” and served as a morning reminder that I was still in Rwanda despite that fact that my dreams had transported me somewhere else during the night. I began my seven-minute morning routine, which basically consisted of throwing on clothes and lacing up my shoes while brushing my teeth in the garden outside, and headed out towards the main road for a run. About a kilometer down my road, I literally ran into a parade of primary and secondary school students, outfitted in neatly pressed khakis, white button down shirts, and blue dresses. As I passed them, I heard a chorus of “Muzungu” chants in about a dozen different octaves. They beamed as I acknowledged their chants with a smile and replied, “Muraho,” the traditional greeting, as I attempted to navigate my way through the crowds.         

            I feel like I am romanticizing this experience a bit too much. It was great to run through the parade and, in general, Rwanda’s terrain makes for a great and challenging run. However, I really must preface this by saying that people here do not run. Because of this, they really do not understand the concept of running for exercise and definitely would not expect to see a woman running down the road. So now factor into this equation a white woman in running shorts, and you’ll have some insight into how incredibly awkward my experiences of running in Rwanda are.   

            After I had passed by the parade, I cut off onto a less crowded side road that lead to the health center. There were still a ton of people walking down the street and everyone- women carrying baskets on their heads, the babies strapped to their backs, children playing with rubber tires on the side of the road, men on motos, farmers harvesting their crops- stared at me as I passed. Some thought it was absolutely hilarious that I was running and laughed and shouted at me as I passed. Others looked kind of disgusted. Some people had a look of astonishment on their faces. I might as well of had six legs and purple skin; I probably would have gotten the same reaction. To avoid the stares, I quickly cut down the first dirt road I could find and was relieved that the pathway was completely vacant for as far as I could see. I reveled in my solitude for about fifteen minutes, taking in the breathtaking views hills of the impossibly green hills that surrounded me on all sides, until I came back to reality and realized that I was quite lost. I made a few quick turns, ran through a cornfield, was chased by a group of small children, and finally made my way to a clearing where some fifteen men in military attire were standing. As I passed over a hill, I realized that I had run into the Liberation Day National Ceremony at the Huye Stadium. Thousands of people were standing in the stadium and around it on a dirt path, singing harmoniously as the late morning sun became increasingly intense. I stopped running and stared, mesmerized, for a couple of minutes at the celebration. As I stood there, absorbing the passion that emanated from the melodies and tried to decipher the words of the song, I regained consciousness and realized how ridiculous I looked standing there in my running gear. Finally understanding where I was, headed up towards the main street that lead back to the volunteer house.

            I have to say that despite everything, this is one of those experiences you can’t really forget. I’ve run several times since Saturday but have not run into any more celebrations. I’m getting a little more used to the stares, and maybe it’s just me, but I feel like fewer people have shouted at me. I guess it will be a while before the more traditional Rwandans here understand the concept of exercise for women, and until then I’ll just be known around town as “Umuzungu w’igitangaza" ("that crazy muzungu").