9 September 2005 – Frustration

Rwanda is home to some spectacular wildlife. It is famous for its gorillas – this is the land of Diane Fossey and the gorillas in the mist – as well as its chimpanzees. There are zebras and something called an okapi, which I can’t really describe except to say that it is a mix of several different hoofed beasts.

So far, I’ve only seen some of the more domestic beasts. The mosquito, fruit fly, gecko, lizard and cockroaches that are so big they might squish me appear in our house or yard. There are also some really interesting birds around here. A small black and white one that flies low and walks funny alights our porch and gate regularly. And then there are the birds that have caused Bec to come home and say in a state bordering surprise and fear, “I saw the biggest bird I’ve ever seen in my life outside my window.” These are hide-the-children-it-may-be-hungry-sized birds.

I feel like one of those birds may have come after me. My story that I submitted nearly two weeks ago still has not been edited, and without any explanation. Other Africa stories have since appeared on the Catholic News Service Web site, possibly more pressing stories, but still. It’s been entirely too long.

There’s also the problem of finding my footing here. I still haven’t been able to get the mobile numbers of the government officials I need. And the sources I do have don’t do what they did back in the Bronx, which is tell me when news breaks. The latest example is that yesterday, a Belgian Catholic missionary was arrested at the Kigali airport for possibly playing a role in the 1994 genocide. One would think this is a story that the Catholic News reporter would want to know about, but none of my sources in the church here thought to let me know, and the other reporters I’ve met didn’t see fit to drop a line about it. It’s a good thing that I can at least understand BBC French.

With Rebecca’s help – she had access to a phone book – I tracked down the government ministries involved, and none of the people I spoke to knew what I was talking about. These were just the people who answer the phones who speak only French, or the Rwandan version, so they had no idea what I was talking about and wouldn’t transfer me to the people I needed to speak to without knowing their names. Positions didn’t count. I think Kafka would have understood reporting in Kigali.

I won’t let this happen again, and I may have had another breakthrough (stop me if you’ve heard this before). On my way to meet Bec and an American named Laura who just landed and was introduced to us by our friend Eric, I saw a man walking along with a breadbox-size tape recorder and bulbous microphone – the telltale signs of the radio reporter. I stopped Gilbert and gave him my card. I expect to meet with him sometime this week or next, and hopefully he’ll either give me numbers or let me know when something big happens. That’s the way it’s done here for foreigners.

And I still may get a story out of this Belgian priest fiasco. I had arranged a meeting with the Rwandan Conference of Catholic Bishops for this afternoon, and I can do a church reaction piece. We’ll see.

In other news, the planning for my trip to Burundi is going well. The UN refugee people are pretty much taking care of my contacts, at least with the church, the non-government groups and the refugees. I’m heading down on a refugee convoy on Sept. 20. And from there it’s another three or four days in the country, where peace may be breaking out. It will mean missing my first three French classes. I was placed into an upper-level beginner section.

That appears to be the extent of the action here for now. A lot of frustration, but the trick is working around that frustration. I’m getting better about that.