Today brings you a bundle of Grace and Nyanja stories. (Medefinds, I know these are your favorite, so buckle your seat belts and enjoy.)

I've been very elitist so far - riding only on Moto Taxis, in the white private taxis or in 4 wheel drive vehicles owned by the bank. Today Nyanja insisted I experienced my first "taxi" (they previously have been called minibuses). This is the form of transportation used by common folk here. So, we rode the taxi together to the expo. Ours wasn't the mini-est of mini buses in the taxi park. Everyone pilled in, 5 people sitting the width of a normal sofa, 7 to 10 rows deep. Thankfully no one was generously endowed (p.c. for fat). A little boy, sitting next to me on his mothers lap, starred at me with frightened eyes the entire trip. I could hear a father talking to his little son about the "muzingo" as everyone poured out of the taxi, into the mob at the expo entrance. Mob almost seems like an understatement. 7 people came up to me, trying to sell a 500 RFW ($0.91) expo ticket. Swarms of children pressed against my closely clutched purse, eyeing my wallet and I carefully, as I paid for our expo entry tickets.

Things calmed inside the expo. The expo reminded me of the annual Wisconsin State Fair...except that there weren't cows or really any animals at all. The vendors came from all over Africa - Egypt, Kenya, Uganda, and Congo - to sell their wares. Nyanja was obsessed with finding herself a pair of leather flip-flops. After disappointing nearly 20 vendors, she found the perfect pair for 4000 RWF. For me, however, it was more a case of love at first sight. With a painting. Obviously, I spent more than 4000 RWF. Still, it was a typical Grace purchase, the "premeditated impulse buy" as Anna Chambers so aptly described them. The colors in the painting are beautiful. (It will perfectly compliment my brown leather couch...So, umm, Katie and Betsy please, please please be willing to have it prominently displayed in our living room.) The artist perfectly controlled his washes to create a sense of depth and he used a type of material I'd never seen before. Like a mud-plaster. Nyanja said it was very Rwandan - portraying a family in traditional garb. I thought about the painting the entire time we perused two of the three large tents, looking at a gazillion pairs of earrings, necklaces, peace baskets, terracotta tiles, passion juices, Rwandan foam, banana wine, wood carvings and flip flops. I thought about the painting as we sat, sipping Fantas and watching the teenage Rwandan boys and girls, prowling the fair grounds to find each other. Nyanja described it as the universal language of flirting. I was still stuck on my first love, the painting.

Nyanja told me I wasn't allowed to do any bargaining myself. Muzingos can never get good prices - which proved true every time I tried to start bargaining on my own. I'd learned my lesson (i.e. let Nyanja barter) by the time we meandered back to the Rwandan Prison Services tent. The painting was still there. I tried to busy myself amount the woodcarvings, so they couldn't tell she was acting as my agent. She went to inquire as to the price. $300. (If I'd asked it would have been $500.)

Meanwhile, this tall Rwandan stopped me, insisting we had met before. We had? I was clueless. Yes, he insisted. Across from the craft place. I don't ever remember being anywhere near a craft place. Was his name William? Oh, no. It was Mark. Awkward. Nyanja came over, with that wry little smile in her eyes. She thought the handsome Rwandan was speaking the universal language that I, apparently, am not fluent in. (Frankly, I only had eyes for my painting.) She had gotten the artist down to $200. I didn't have that much on me...only the...well, I'd be willing to spend $100. She went back to work. By now, the artist/seller figured out we were associated. He wouldn't budge. We perused the tent a little longer. The artist started trying to talk directly to me. Then we started to walk away. All of a sudden, he said that I could have it for a $100. In shook, I whipped the $100 bill out of my bra and, before you knew it, he was holding my cash, and I was holding his...now my painting. With such a large painting, we decided our time at the expo was done. Stumbled through the crowds, out of the parking lot, past the mob, into a private taxi home (again negotiated by Nyanja for half what it would cost me).

Tom arrived while Nyanja was sipping a tonic water with me on the Gazebo and philosophizing under a swarm of mosquitoes. Would Nyanja be so kind as to help him communicate with Ingas? Of course. What about? Well, I should give you all a little bit of background. Two weeks ago, Ignas wrote Tom a letter, asking for support. He was being paid $45/month by his employer, Intersect Security Company. Not enough to live on in expensive Kigali let alone pay his school fees. (To give you a comparison, I spent $2oo on groceries this past month and that would only be for breakfast and dinner since my lunch is provided.) Tom, had decided to help him, but wanted a system. Ignas would provide him with invoices for his school fees. Tom would lend Ignas the money to pay the fees on condition that, one day, Ingas would do the same thing for someone else, someone not related to him. Since Tom wanted to make sure the arrangement was clearly communicated, he asked Nyanja to translate for him. Nyanja agreed. After coming back from their discussion, she said it was wonderful to be part of that.

Then Nyanja and I went to get dinner at my favorite restaurant in Kigali - the Indian Khazana. It was quite dark after we finished. We started walking. Nyanja quickly hailed a moto taxi. I, however, was only 5 blocks from home. Yes it was dark, but the street was well lit. I could walk home. Well, Nyanja thought I needed an escort. So she and her moto taxi swiveled back and forth behind me, as I scurried home.

So end today's adventures.