23 December 2005

So this is Christmas. And Hanukkah.

When I think of Christmas, I think of cold and snow and music. In Rwanda, it’s 90 degrees, and Christmas just isn’t that big a deal. I don’t think Hanukkah is a big deal here either. It’s been a bit hard to get into the spirit of the season, but we’re working on it.

Bec and I are hosting a traditional Christmas/Hanukkah dinner, complete with a big ol’ pot roast and potato latkes. Yummy. We’re still not sure how many people are coming, but we should probably find out soon since we need to shop tomorrow. Did I tell you that living in Rwanda was like being on the knife’s edge?

Here are just a few more thoughts on what I wrote about last time. The people who bother me when they call me umuzungu, which I probably spell incorrectly, are the adults. The street kids just break my heart, and when one of them is selling tissues or something, I make sure to buy. Bec and I also keep planning on putting together bags of peanuts to give to them, just to make sure they get something in their tummies. We’ll get to it.

The other kids don’t bother me that much either. I’m different than them, and they’re starting to explore their world. When something is different, they study it and point. That’s normal. That’s discovery.

Teen-agers do it too, but they’re just universally annoying and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

It’s just the adults who get to me. And when I asked Bec’s French teacher, Florentine (who is graciously letting me sit in on some classes), she said that to many people, umuzungus are supposed to be driving big white cars, or have a Rwandan driving them. They’re not supposed to be walking around, or taking the mini-bus. Many of the people on the street have just come in from their hillsides, she said, and they still ask her whether her husband, who is Belgian, eats with his mouth, or whether umuzungus do everything differently.

So when these people see me walking or taking the bus, there’s obviously something wrong with me, and therefore I should be laughed at. Florentine’s husband no longer walks around the neighborhood, unless he’s with their kids. It just got to be too much, and he’s been here at least since right after the genocide.

None of this makes me feel much better. It’s profoundly sad in its way, and it doesn’t make the laughing any less annoying. But I’m not going to change what I do. I like to walk around, and private taxis are far too expensive. Plus, I’m stubborn and I’m not letting people here change what I do.

So, now that that’s out of the way, I’m now a newspaper editor. A guy I met named Shyaka, who is Rwandan and reported from here and from South Africa, is starting a new English-language paper. Shyaka was also a Nieman Fellow in journalism at Harvard and got a master’s in journalism at City College in London. He’s serious about what he’s doing. The only problem is he’s a Red Sox fan. And he’s not happy about Johnny Damon.

Anyway, he wants his paper to be on an international level, good enough for people outside of Rwanda to read. Not like the New Times, the competition which I’ve stopped reading because a) it’s wretched and b) they make almost everything up.

Both Shyaka and I agreed that I shouldn’t report. I don’t speak the language, and he wants his reporters for his local paper to really dig. If there’s a story I’m working on that might work for his paper, he told me to give it a local angle and he’d publish it. But where I can really help is by bringing along his young reporters. I’ll also help put together a stylebook, so that all the reporters spell things the same way and the paper looks uniform.

The paper, called Focus, is going to be a weekly but is starting out as a monthly. The first edition is expected in January, and will probably be online. I’m not working in his office yet, because there’s not enough room and the reporters aren’t working out of there as of now. But it’s an exciting project, and he said it’s no problem with him if I take time off to work on my own assignments. I just need to get them.

I have a feeling this is going to be good, and it’ll be steady work. That’s enough for me.

Bec’s parents are coming for a few days next week, which should be fun.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone. Miss you all.