Going home / What I miss

In anticipation of my upcoming trip home to the US, I have begun to fantasize about the under-appreciated treasures I will rediscover there, the land of limitless creature comforts and den of unbridled consumerism.

So in honor of this homecoming, I am dedicating this post to a retrospective on all that I have missed about the States, having now spent 5 months here in Rwanda…

I miss…

Bathrooms at the workplace that a) don’t require the cleaning staff to bring buckets of water to manually fill the toilet tanks and b) feature sinks that run consistently and are regularly equipped with soap.

Going to the store and being able to recognize more than 1 out of every 5 brands.

Not having to wish I could read labels in Arabic. (Goods are shipped from Dubai.)

Being able to buy cereal that doesn’t cost $10/box.

Having my choice of cheese. (One can only rotate the local gouda and goat cheese for so long.)

Not feeling like my brain becomes dislodged inside my skull and thanking God for the modern bra every time we drive on dirt roads.

Cable service that doesn’t go out every time there’s a thunderstorm.

Not having to fight armies of ants who march around like they own the place, carrying out crumbs of food in what looks like one long undulating trail of black pepper.

Not being afraid to go into the back bedroom ‘cause I saw the BIGGEST cockroach in there, and Garron could you please kill it when you come home.

Fast, reliable internet connectivity. (Don’t even think about sending me a link to something on youtube.)

Having a car with a CD player.

- Oh well maybe that’s asking too much -

Having a car with a good, working radio.

- Or even better yet –

Just having a car that doesn’t require you to cut off the air conditioning when you drive uphill (to give it more power).

Street signs.

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Directionally-challenged

Only a handful of streets actually have names so signs and addresses don’t really exist. In their absence, directions can sound like this:

Lost Person: “How do I get to x?”
Helpful Rwandan: “It’s no problem. You pass the La Fiesta sign and turn left.
“Then you go, you go, you go.
“You pass a woman carrying bananas on her head.
“Turn right.
“You go, you go, you go.
“You’re there.”

_______________________________

Not being constantly stared and gawked at, in the manner of rubbernecking or stopping people dead in their tracks. (It’s only a matter of time before I erupt in a “TAKE A PICTURE WHY DON’T YA?! IT’LL LAST LONGER!”)

Peacefully sleeping through the night without being woken up by the sounds of a mosquito buzzing by my head.

Not having to come home and worry if the featherweight-one-foot-in-the-grave guard is dead when he doesn’t open the gate after 5 minutes.

Not having to feel annoyed when he comes trotting up 10 minutes later, having spent some time getting soused at the little ‘bar’ down the street.

Phone etiquette, the way I’m used to it. (This means a) identifying yourself within seconds of the call, b) not taking calls during meetings, and c) not calling me, letting it ring once, hanging up, and expecting me to call you back – a practice known as ‘beeping.’)

_______________________________

Hello?

Rwandans will always exchange pleasantries before even stating who they are.

“Hello?”
Caller: “Hi, how are you?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
Caller: “I am fine. How is your family?”
“Oh, fine but Emmanuel is sick.”
Caller: “Oh I’m sorry.”
“Eehh yes, he’s not well.”
Caller: “Eehh, I’m sorry. Ok, this is Concilie.”
“Hello. How do I know you?”

_______________________________

A coffee culture. (I like to take my coffee only one way: with VOLUME. Unfortunately here, outside of the one coffee shop that has been my savior, restaurants rarely serve it and customers seldom order it. And instant coffee – if you can find it – will set you back $10 for a 100g canister!)

Clean money. (No, I don’t mean money that hasn’t been laundered by the mafia; I mean money that isn’t physically DIRTY. I'm often handed bills so utterly filthy, discolored, smelly and flimsy I wonder if they will disintegrate in my fingers and I shudder to think where they’ve been.)

Not having to wonder if this salad will give me amoebas if it wasn’t washed in filtered water.

Not having to only occasionally purchase diet coke as a “splurge.”

Not being constantly viewed as a dispenser of money.

_______________________________

Faranga!

Amafaranga = money, in Kinyarwanda. No need to take a class to learn that one – as a muzungu, you will hear it in constant refrain.

_______________________________

Not having to see children with yellowed eyes from malnutrition.

Not having to witness crushing poverty at almost every turn..............