11 November 2005
Things in Rwanda often make no sense.
For example, we are in the middle of the first rainy season. Anyway, one would think that with the rains would come more water, and therefore better water in our house.
Ah, but this is not the case. At least a few mornings every week we don’t have enough pressure to take showers, so we do bucket baths. The water entirely stopped for most of Wednesday, and I was dreading the sanitary prospects if it didn’t come back soon. Fortunately, it returned that night.
Intellectually, I know what the problems are. The first is that Kigali grew so fast that the power and water utilities couldn’t keep up. The city has grown something like 10 times, maybe more, in the 11 years since the genocide.
I also know that when it rains, it rains hard. Mud and other stuff get caught in the pipes of the main aqueduct. While I figure that there must be some way to prevent this, Bec reminds me that 1) this is one of the poorest countries in the world and 2) it’s hard to stop nature. Finally, Kimihurura, our neighborhood, is notorious for having spotty water.
None of this makes me feel better in the morning as the water and my temper boils. If there’s more water outside, there should be more water inside.
That’s a small, if terribly annoying, example. Another thing that doesn’t make sense is the way language is handled in this country. Rwandan primary education is done entirely in Kinyarwanda. Students learn some French, but for the most part everything is done in Kinyarwanda. When kids get to secondary school, which only around six percent of the population does, everything is done in French because Kinyarwanda doesn’t have the words to do math, science and other advanced educational things. So kids are learning math and science in a language they don’t really speak. Meanwhile, they only have elementary Kinyarwanda.
It’s worse with English. Essentially, if you didn’t grow up in Uganda, Kenya, Tanzania or some other English-speaking country, you don’t speak it.
As Rebecca points out, this means that people aren’t fluent in any language. The country for some reason doesn’t just Kinyarwand-ize French or English words that would expand their language, so people can’t express really complex thoughts in their native tongue. (The legal system is conducted entirely in Kinyarwanda, so presumably people being tried can’t understand much of what is happening. But if the legal system can incorporate these new words, why can’t the rest of the country?)
The French spoken here is bad because people are learning the workings of the human body in a language in which they can’t do basic grammar. And English is non-existent in people who grew up here.
One of Rebecca’s co-workers said that it’s okay, because everyone speaks Kinyarwanda to each other. They don’t lose it as they progress in school. But her French teacher says that people don’t even speak Kinyarwanda correctly.
Other things don’t make sense either. The government wants to stop food aid because it distorts the local economy, it makes people entirely dependent on outside food and they have no incentive to improve agriculture. All of this is true. Food aid, except in emergency situations, is terrible and should be stopped. The World Food Program is here, but they need to leave because they do more harm than good.
Of course, the government hasn’t put in any plans to ease people off of donated food, so agencies that provide it are forced to tell health centers, orphanages and other groups that rely on the vegetable oil, flour and cornmeal coming in that the food is simply stopping and nothing’s taking its place. As you can imagine, the US government, European Union and other developed countries are not eager to get rid of food aid because what else would they do with their surpluses? Farmers vote, you know.
And while I laud the government’s goal of making Rwanda a technology hub, even Kigali doesn’t have reliable electricity. And, oh yeah, at best half the country can read.
Someone, a Rwandan, recently said to Rebecca that it often seems like the government here governs an entirely different country than the one they live in. And that person has a point.
The question, of course, is where it comes from. Bec and I were talking about this the other night. At first, she thought it was almost sinister. The government came from somewhere else. So they didn’t trust the people that were here, even the Tutsis who survived the genocide. Trust is not something one sees a lot of in Rwanda.
I think it’s something far more benign. I think the government here says, “Hey, we have a great idea. Let’s do it!” and can’t understand why everyone else doesn’t agree. In essence, the government is trying to pull the country in its direction, and can’t understand resistance. It’s a little utopian if you think about it. Fascism and Communism, for extreme and not nearly applicable examples, were utopian as well.
Anyway, both of us agreed that in the end, not understanding whom you’re governing is dangerous. I don’t think it’s quite as dangerous as Bec does. I think that in a way a little pulling is good, especially in a country where people are happy to do what their fathers did even if their fathers nearly starved every year.
Eventually, though, people don’t like to get pulled, especially if they don’t trust the people doing the pulling. That’s where the danger comes in.
Anyway, not to change the topic too abruptly, I’m still waiting for biogas answers. Here are the questions again:
1) What is your first reaction to powering your home using biogas, or, in other words, to powering your home using the methane from your own poop?
2) Would you do it if you had the chance?
Talk to everyone soon.
Things in Rwanda often make no sense.
For example, we are in the middle of the first rainy season. Anyway, one would think that with the rains would come more water, and therefore better water in our house.
Ah, but this is not the case. At least a few mornings every week we don’t have enough pressure to take showers, so we do bucket baths. The water entirely stopped for most of Wednesday, and I was dreading the sanitary prospects if it didn’t come back soon. Fortunately, it returned that night.
Intellectually, I know what the problems are. The first is that Kigali grew so fast that the power and water utilities couldn’t keep up. The city has grown something like 10 times, maybe more, in the 11 years since the genocide.
I also know that when it rains, it rains hard. Mud and other stuff get caught in the pipes of the main aqueduct. While I figure that there must be some way to prevent this, Bec reminds me that 1) this is one of the poorest countries in the world and 2) it’s hard to stop nature. Finally, Kimihurura, our neighborhood, is notorious for having spotty water.
None of this makes me feel better in the morning as the water and my temper boils. If there’s more water outside, there should be more water inside.
That’s a small, if terribly annoying, example. Another thing that doesn’t make sense is the way language is handled in this country. Rwandan primary education is done entirely in Kinyarwanda. Students learn some French, but for the most part everything is done in Kinyarwanda. When kids get to secondary school, which only around six percent of the population does, everything is done in French because Kinyarwanda doesn’t have the words to do math, science and other advanced educational things. So kids are learning math and science in a language they don’t really speak. Meanwhile, they only have elementary Kinyarwanda.
It’s worse with English. Essentially, if you didn’t grow up in Uganda, Kenya, Tanzania or some other English-speaking country, you don’t speak it.
As Rebecca points out, this means that people aren’t fluent in any language. The country for some reason doesn’t just Kinyarwand-ize French or English words that would expand their language, so people can’t express really complex thoughts in their native tongue. (The legal system is conducted entirely in Kinyarwanda, so presumably people being tried can’t understand much of what is happening. But if the legal system can incorporate these new words, why can’t the rest of the country?)
The French spoken here is bad because people are learning the workings of the human body in a language in which they can’t do basic grammar. And English is non-existent in people who grew up here.
One of Rebecca’s co-workers said that it’s okay, because everyone speaks Kinyarwanda to each other. They don’t lose it as they progress in school. But her French teacher says that people don’t even speak Kinyarwanda correctly.
Other things don’t make sense either. The government wants to stop food aid because it distorts the local economy, it makes people entirely dependent on outside food and they have no incentive to improve agriculture. All of this is true. Food aid, except in emergency situations, is terrible and should be stopped. The World Food Program is here, but they need to leave because they do more harm than good.
Of course, the government hasn’t put in any plans to ease people off of donated food, so agencies that provide it are forced to tell health centers, orphanages and other groups that rely on the vegetable oil, flour and cornmeal coming in that the food is simply stopping and nothing’s taking its place. As you can imagine, the US government, European Union and other developed countries are not eager to get rid of food aid because what else would they do with their surpluses? Farmers vote, you know.
And while I laud the government’s goal of making Rwanda a technology hub, even Kigali doesn’t have reliable electricity. And, oh yeah, at best half the country can read.
Someone, a Rwandan, recently said to Rebecca that it often seems like the government here governs an entirely different country than the one they live in. And that person has a point.
The question, of course, is where it comes from. Bec and I were talking about this the other night. At first, she thought it was almost sinister. The government came from somewhere else. So they didn’t trust the people that were here, even the Tutsis who survived the genocide. Trust is not something one sees a lot of in Rwanda.
I think it’s something far more benign. I think the government here says, “Hey, we have a great idea. Let’s do it!” and can’t understand why everyone else doesn’t agree. In essence, the government is trying to pull the country in its direction, and can’t understand resistance. It’s a little utopian if you think about it. Fascism and Communism, for extreme and not nearly applicable examples, were utopian as well.
Anyway, both of us agreed that in the end, not understanding whom you’re governing is dangerous. I don’t think it’s quite as dangerous as Bec does. I think that in a way a little pulling is good, especially in a country where people are happy to do what their fathers did even if their fathers nearly starved every year.
Eventually, though, people don’t like to get pulled, especially if they don’t trust the people doing the pulling. That’s where the danger comes in.
Anyway, not to change the topic too abruptly, I’m still waiting for biogas answers. Here are the questions again:
1) What is your first reaction to powering your home using biogas, or, in other words, to powering your home using the methane from your own poop?
2) Would you do it if you had the chance?
Talk to everyone soon.
posted by Evan Weinberger at 2:11 AM
1 Comments:
Biogas? "Return of the Outhouse"? All we'd need is to have the Japanese toilet designers figure out a way to integrate the, er - processing - into the latest Toto BG200X and we'd be set. Seriously, though - I like biogas as a concept, the question is whether the energy yields can be large enough to be effective. Sorta like the way solar energy is *still* taking stumbling steps to usability.
The water issue made me think of living in Manila, if only because that city also had the problem of growth outstripping the utilities infrastructure.
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