Yesterday I crossed the threshold into normal life...at least normalcy for a foreign national in the sheeshy part of Kigali.

After making my breakfast of sunny-side-up eggs, toast and tea, I joined Tom on the veranda to enjoy breakfast. Chantal was in the kitchen when I brought my dishes back. Chantal has three children – ? (his name is Kinyarwanda), Enoch (with a French pronunciation), and Rebecca. Her youngest, 2-year-old Rebecca, she calls "a funny girl". With very little prying, Chantal told me the "funny girl" story of yesterday - Rebecca cooked. With water - pouring from one pan into another and then back again. Rebecca got herself all wet and dirty but insisted she was clean. Chantal even dug out her wallet and showed me a picture of her beautiful little Rebecca. I promised Chantal that I would cook with her - something Tom has encouraged me to do. Opportunity International call it capacity building. Chantal's an extremely trustworthy cook. In fact, she used to be the cook for the old CEO of Urwego's family. However, I'm told that Todd Brogden's wife used to rely heavily on pre-made sauces and pre-assembled spice packets. As these things are either not readily available or extremely expensive, Jessica Brogden would stock up every time she went to the States. I cook from scratch with whatever is fresh and readily available. If something isn't available, I alter the recipe slightly. Teaching Chantal this cooking method for American and French cuisine would actually make Chantal a more marketable cook in the nicest neighborhoods of Kigali.

As Tom had some errands in "Central" yesterday morning (I think it was another excuse to drive me to work...), he drove me to the German Butcher, La Gallette, where I selected 2 nice cuts of meat, spices and a few other essentials - tea and cheese, in preparation for cooking with Chantal today. She made granola for me this morning. When I came home from work, we made a roast - with a rub from herbs in the garden. It was quite yummy...though I really miss my meat thermometer. I asked Chantal what she cooked at home, and she replied rice and beans. Every night. Her children love it. While they get good local produce, meat is too expensive for them. After we finished cooking our roast, I sent Chantal home with some of the roast.

The real reason I feel a bit more like a adjusted ex-pat is that I had my first moto taxi ride yesterday. In fact - my first 3 moto taxi rides. I was wearing a pencil skirt (for the less fashion conscience...or obsessed...that means I was in a tight skirt straddling a motorcycle). It was quit interesting. The driver laughed at me as I got on and off the moto taxi. I was laughing at myself. My friend Dave tells me that in South Africa Moto Taxi drivers are on speed to stay awake during their long shift. Rwanda doesn't have any drugs (at least according to Matt), so speed isn't an issue here. In addition, the moto taxi industry is regulated by the government - drivers are required to provide their rider with a helmet and their cell phone number is printed in bright yellow on their helmet and the back of their green shirt, so you can report the moto taxi driver if they are reckless. Riding a moto taxi is really fun - they zip up and down the hills of Kigali. I live a 20 minute walk/5 minute drive from the office. So, I was planning to walk to and from the office. However, Melissa didn't want me to walk with my laptop. She and Tom have finagled into giving me a ride every time I've needed to go somewhere. I knew they'd be more comfortable with me on a moto taxi than on foot. The fiery, independent streak in Grace, wants to prove that she can take care of herself. The moto taxi was a major step in that direction. I was just nervous about being ripped off. (They're notorious for overcharging Muringos.)

Nyanja is the reason I finally collected the courage to hop on the moto taxi. She assured me that - where I am - and anywhere I'd want to go, I shouldn't have to pay more than 300 RWF (55 cents).

Nyanja and I met up at Bourbon UTC for lunch. Bourbon UTC is the coffee shop 3 blocks from work. (Some of you know Nyanja. She lives in DC and attends my church - Grace DC. She's Rwandan, but came to the States shortly after the 1994 genocide. Nyanja has quite a story. However, that story is hers to tell...not mine.) We were getting ready to order at Bourbon, I mentioned that I lived close to one if Kigali's best restaurants - the Indian Khazana. I'd never been and she'd never heard of it, so Nyanja insisted we leave Bourbon and go to the Indian Khazana for lunch. It was delicious - the best Indian I've had in years. I also learned first hand that Rwandan restaurant serve isn't like American restaurant service. American runs on the principal of efficiency - the more people in and out the more revenue generated. In Rwanda it is assumed that you want a relaxing time. Our lunch ended up being a three hour lunch. I went back to the bank with my tail between my legs, and then realized no one cared...and the lady I needed to work with was out.

Finally, some pictures of places:


Above is the street where I purchased my cell phone, my first day in Rwanda. This street is called the Mall. As Matt explained, here you can find everything you don't want and a few things you do want.

One of the new groceries will be down the block from Urwego Opportunity bank, in this tall building - the one with the reddish facade and the wall of windows. I can't wait until there are more grocery stores.



Many Rwandans ride in these things called Mini-buses. Picture squeezing about 18 people into a minivan. There you have a min-bus. The fair is about 150 RWF (27 cents). Matt says they are extremely dirty. In Uganda, there is a line strung in front of the mini-bus, were people hang their fresh fish before getting into the bus.