Back to Work

As I was about to write a blog posting, I realized that I had written most of the things I wanted to say here in an e-mail to my dad, so here is the copied e-mail. The picture is from an Indian restaurant in the capital that has become our escape. It just moved from Kigali, Rwanda because it did not pay its taxes there. Rachele and I are well, and will be heading back to Kigutu to the clinic tomorrow morning...

Hey dadski,

Not too much new here to report. Rachele and I are returning to the clinic tomorrow. She has bought some great colored paints and brushes to make a mural in the building that is going to be the malnutrition ward. She sent out an e-mail to see if people back home would be willing to support her ideas, and there has been a great response. I think there is a lot that can be done before we leave.

We both feel as though we are being really challenged here, it has been an exercise in patience, working with limited resources and meeting the local leaders halfway to bridge the cultural gap. We have at times been so excited and at other times been wondering if this is worth all the time and effort we have been dedicating. Not because there isn’t work to be done, or because the work isn’t rewarding, but because we have already been here a month and have only taken baby steps towards achieving our goals. In the US, you would be fired for making the progress we are making, but here it appears to be the norm. I am encouraged by the fact that the founder of the organization will be coming here on Thursday and is staying for 2-3 months. There is a group of drummers from our clinic and they are traveling to Rwanda on Feb. 9th to play for the president and a bunch of other hot shots. We are hoping to weasel our onto the trip and take it all in.

We had an interesting evening last night. At about 11pm the sky lit up and there were sounds of gun shots and what we thought to be mortar rounds. Rachele and I had our running shoes on, I had our passports in my back pocket and all the cash we had. I thought for sure the rebels were making an attack on the government army, despite a peace treaty. It was creepy because the city was quiet except for these noises, I think most people were thinking the same thing. We called the US embassy and everyone we knew to try and find out what was going on. Turns out it was a fireworks show put on by the ruling party – complete with celebratory gunshots – and that from our house we couldn’t see the fireworks, only hear the effects and see the sky illuminated by bright lights. We just found out this morning that Miss Africa was the guest of honor, and so I am sure the military was going crazy over her. At one point one of the flares – a red one – went right over the house just down the street from us and the four of us in the house dove for cover. I was ready to pay our driver $100 to get Rachele and I to the embassy. There is no newspaper and only one – poorly followed – radio station, so there was no way to know that a celebration was coming. Rachele and I both slept with our shoes on, fully clothed and a small bag packed, ready to make a break for it if we had to. When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed that the rebels were coming after us because they read something on our blog that was offensive to them, haha. Wild one, whew!

Love you all,

Kenton