7 January 2005

Greetings from Nyagatare, in the province formerly known as Umatara. I’m now in Rwanda’s northeast on a story for Focus, the newspaper I’m helping to start. But I’m not reporting. I’m the photographer. It’s one of my four jobs at Focus, along with staff writer, headline writer and editor. (Oh yeah, did I mention I’ve got two stories to do for Catholic News Service and two for DaMN. When it rains it pours, to use a beaten-to-death cliché.)

The story Shyaka, Focus’s founder, is working on is heartbreaking. Umatara is, and always has been, drought and famine prone. It is the province where the country is experimenting with rain collection and other ways of saving water. The manager of the hotel where we’re staying, the Sky Blue Lodge, said it rained a bit yesterday, but only a drizzle. Other than that, it’s been three weeks. But this is only slightly worse than normal, so people rely on cows for food and sale rather than farming. But there’s been a foot and mouth out disease outbreak, so the government has quarantined all livestock, both cows and goats, from Umatara. Cows are dying from the lack of water and the disease, and people are starving. The story is actually that someone is buying the cows extremely cheap and then turning around and illegally selling them at full price. Nice profit if you can get it, and Shyaka is trying to find who that “you” is. I’m just taking pictures and trying not to step in cow pies.

Getting out here was slower and slightly less comfortable than we had hoped, but relatively easy. Shyaka’s uncle lives in Umatara, and he arranged for a twin-cab pick-up to get us at 9:30 this morning. It was just supposed to be the uncle and The Guy With the Truck, but a third guy was in the truck. The whole trip, Shyaka kept saying, “who the hell is this guy?” So Shyaka, his uncle and I crammed into the back seat with the bags.

We finally left Kigali at 11:30 this morning and stopped for lunch at around 1 p.m., at a pretty little restaurant on the shore of a lake where President Kagame keeps a weekend retreat. As we walked in, Shyaka said that it would take an hour to just prepare the food. So we sat at the bar. I got a soda, Shyaka a beer. He then had time for two moor. The three other guys disappeared after getting a snack. We think they went on a boat trip (none for me, thanks). Lunch was delayed because not only did the restaurant have to prepare the chicken, they had to slaughter the birds as well.

Anyway, at a little after 3 we were back in the truck and I went to sleep. When I woke up it was time to take pictures. Most of them are of cows because Rwandans are incredibly afraid to have their pictures taken. It’s all a part of the paranoia. Even my tricks with kids – squatting so I’m at eye-level, shaking hands and showing them the video display of their faces – didn’t work. Not that I wanted straight on photos of people. I was looking for action shots (although how much action is there when herders are just trying to get their cows watered), but I was trying to keep everyone from running away.

The different ecosystems and terrains of Rwanda are astounding. After spending last weekend in green and lush Kibuye, I’m in an area where the rainforests of central Africa ease into the savannahs of east Africa. The hills roll rather than shoot up into the sky as in Kibuye and Kigali. They are covered in browning grasses, stubby trees that look like cypresses or the cover of U2’s “Joshua Tree” album and cactus. Some of the trees look like they’ve given up and have sprouted cactus branches where leaves should be. I was half expecting to see Clint Eastwood or John Wayne riding over the hills while we were driving, but no such luck.

After photography, it was off to Nyagatare, the largest town around these parts. It has a paved road, but unlike Butare, no intersection. “It’s not exactly Las Vegas,” I said to Shyaka. I’m about to go to bed. It’s 9:21 p.m.

Tomorrow morning we get up bright and early for more interviews and photos, and then we’re taking the bus back to Kigali in the afternoon.

As for as the “province formerly known as” stuff at the top, Rwanda just changed its administrative structure earlier this week, shrinking from 12 provinces to four with Kigali it’s own separate administrative zone. The new provinces are North, South, East and West, and I’m not sure if I’m in North or East province. I don’t think the people who live here are either.

6 January 2005

I’m in the office now. Everyone is speaking Kinyarwanda. They can all speak English or French. But apparently I’m not here to the ladies from the Voice of America. Actually, they all speak at least some English.