Arrival

Greetings from Kigali!  After approximately 900 hours on a plane, Ellen and I arrived safely at Kigali International Airport, which is more like downtown self-pay parking lot for planes.  I hope flight crew remembered to leave the ticket on the dash.  Things I know now that I did not know before flying to Rwanda:

• On Brussels Airlines, they give you an ice cream bar in between meals.  For real. Vanilla and caramel ice cream dipped in chocolate and coated in peanuts.   
• People on their way to Africa shop the crap out of the duty free cart.  Every other time I've seen flight attendants roll down the aisle with the duty free cart, the passengers shift their eyes guiltily/annoyedly downward as if she were a panhandling gypsy.  Not the case on Brussels Airlines-- people were lined up in the aisle (literally) to buy chocolate bars, liquor, and perfume like you wouldn't believe.  It's as if everyone on the plane simultaneously realized they forgot to bring something back for their boss that they don't really like all that much.
• The absolute very last thing you want to do after you get off an eight-hour flight is run to board a plane for another eight-hour flight. 

I think Ellen would enjoy jungle life.

All things considered, though, the trip went very smoothly.  It did take almost an hour for our bags to come off the plane, but no one else seemed too concerned, so we weren't either.  Our first strange occurrence came when we grabbed one of Ellen's bags off the conveyor belt, and she noticed that it had been marked with the number 30 in white chalk on top.  I will now open the floor for submissions as to what this means.  I hope it's not Kinyarwanda for "the bearer of this bag is now marked for gorilla sacrifice."  That would seem like a stretch, but just in case, I would like to put it on the internet record that the bag is filled with ELLEN'S STUFF.

Our room in the Gorillas Hotel.

Happily, one of our guides, Eric, was waiting for us when we emerged from the airport.  Also happily, he drives a white Land Cruiser, so we will be traveling around Rwanda in style while we're with him.  He's extremely smiley and friendly, and we like him already.  He helped us get settled in the Gorillas Hotel (not the kind Ellen will be living in after she's handed over to the gorillas, but a real hotel in Kigali) which is perfectly adequate for our needs.  Not "nice," per se, but neat and clean and, most importantly, Wi-Fi capable.

Tonight we're just going to crash and try to get acclimated to GMT+2 and the altitude of the Land of a Thousand Hills.  Tomorrow, Eric will pick us up at 10 and we'll head to Musanze, the closest town to the Parc National des Volcans, where Ellen's future adoptive family lives.  Until then...

So it begins...

We leave for the airport in about an hour, and all I can think about is how much good karma already envelops this trip.  Since the day we began discussing the possibility of going to Rwanda, so many people have contributed, in ways large and small, to making this a reality.  We can't leave without acknowledging those people who have significant ownership in this experience:

• Thank you to USN, and especially the administrators who, unprompted, decided that this trip was worth expending precious resources.
• Thank you to the Ensworth community, which has given Ellen so much support of all kinds in this endeavor.
• Thank you to all the people who have shared their time, knowledge, and experience of Rwanda with us.  Trust that every little bit of information has been invaluable in creating new opportunities and reducing our anxieties.
• Thank you to our families, who have swallowed (most of) their concerns about this adventure, and put on very brave and encouraging faces.
• Most importantly, thank you to Dr. Patricia Pasick, whose piece in the New York Times I randomly found while looking for news of Rwanda.  Her inspirational program, Stories for Hope, led me to believe that she would be exactly the kind of person who could give me guidance in approaching this trip appropriately, respectfully, and beneficially.  As soon as I contacted her, she immediately began introducing me via email (as "my new wonderful friend Matthew, no less) to her contacts in Rwanda, all of whom have been enthusiastically welcoming (a testament to her character and the relationships she has built, no doubt).  I honestly have no idea how this trip would have come to pass without her generosity, and I can't thank her enough.  Please learn more about Stories for Hope, and pass the word along.

We should arrive in Kigali on Thursday evening (their time, which is 7 hours ahead of Central).  So right around noon on Thursday in the States, throw on Toto's "Africa" and join us in spirit.

Preparations, Or, Why Going to Rwanda is Already Not At All What I Thought it Would Be

Part I.

I'll bet you know someone who's been to Rwanda.

When we began this process, I thought I had picked just about the most obscure place in the world to go.  Today--for the first time, mind you--I had the experience I expected to have dozens of times, when I called my credit card company to tell them I was going to an obscure foreign country and to please please please not think my card was stolen and shut it down:

Super Helpful and Cheery Credit Card Security Customer Service Representative: "Where are you going?"

Me: "Rwanda."

SHCCCSCSR: "Oh, wow, that sounds great!"

Me: "It's certainly going to be an adventure."

SHCCCSCSR: "I'll say.  Now, remind me-- where is Rwanda again?"

Exactly.  I thought I would have to explain to everyone I talked to where Rwanda was.  Instead, here are actual transcripts of actual conversations (1) I've actually had over the last few weeks:

SCENE ONE 
(The last advisory meeting of the year.  The kids are comparing their summer plans over Cheez-Its and and Fruit Tea, and for once, I think I might get to trump these rich kids.)  

Me: (outwardly) "I'm going to Rwanda."  (inside my head: "Boom!")

My 17-year-old Advisee: "That's weird.  My uncle goes there all the time.  He just got back.  You should talk to him."

SCENE TWO
(My sister is out with her friends, closing down an exclusive New York bistro.  Empty bottles of extravagant wine litter the table alongside half-eaten desserts.) 

My Sister: "My brother's going to Rwanda!"


My Sister's Friend: "That's weird.  My father worked for the International Criminal Tribunal in Rwanda prosecuting perpetrators.  He should talk to him."

SCENE THREE 
(Visiting the extended family.  A Bon Voyage party for Ellen's college-aged cousin, who is about to bike across the country.  Eaten a nauseating amount of Boursin covered Wheat Thins.) 

Me: (crunch) "We're going to Rwanda this summer."


College-Aged Friend of College-Aged Cousin: "That's weird. (2)  I spent last summer in Rwanda teaching English.  You should talk to me."

You get the point.  Apparently we are far from starting a trend.

Part II.

You're supposed to bring gifts to Rwanda.

Iffy, at best.

Especially when you're trying to do what we're trying to do, which is learn about an unspeakably painful and tragic part of people's lives directly from the ones who are still living with it daily.  That understandably deserves a small token of appreciation.  So what do you get the Rwandan who has everything nothing I have no idea what they have?  We've heard ideas ranging from phone minutes to pencils to keychains to USB drives to t-shirts with American stuff on them.  Since we're both teachers with tremendous fealty for our respective institutions, we thought some good swag from our schools would make good gifts.  Things that are obviously American are highly valued, we've heard.   Both of our schools generously donated some t-shirts to that end.  After getting them home and really looking at them, though, we concluded that some of them just didn't quite deliver the message we want to send.

So instead we're going with some modern NashVegas Country Music-- it is empirically undeniable that nothing says "thank you for sharing the story of the most horrific experience of your life or anyone else's" like a little Taylor Swift. (3)  God bless us, everyone.

Notes:
(1) These are not actual transcriptions of actual conversations.  But they're close enough and they all really happened, at least in my mind.
(2) Ok, so only my student actually said "that's weird."  But if you teach teenagers long enough, everyone starts to sound like a teenager in your head.
(3) Go ahead and try to deny it.  You can't.

Shots, Etc!

Probably the question we're asked most often after we tell people we're going to Rwanda (Footnote 1) is "did you have to get shots?"  Yes, we absolutely had to get shots.  I am now the most innoculated person you know.  Tetanus?  Check.  Polio?  Check.  Yellow Fever?  Check.  Hepatitis?  How many hepatitises you want?  Cause I got em all.  I've even got enough cool hallucinogenic malaria pills to have my very own Bonnaroo.  This is no problem for me, and as you can tell, I'm a little proud of it.  If you've got a syringe with a little fatal disease in it, bring it on-- I'm game.

My wife doesn't exactly share my enthusiasm.

For as long as I've known her (and from what I'm told, much longer than that) Ellen has suffered from a relatively severe case of blood-injury-injection phobia. (2)  This is a problem, since we need to get the aforementioned variety pack of shots before we head overseas.  On this trip, we fully intend to interact with both silverback gorillas and genocidal murderers.  I'm pretty sure Ellen was more anxious about the nurses with needles.

If you didn't know it, shots are expensive.  Like hundreds of dollars per person expensive.  I didn't know this until I started looking around.  A friend told us that some people he knew went to a place called Shots, Etc! (the exclamation point is mine-- it just seems fitting) to get their vaccinations.  So I checked it out.  Turns out that we could save about $90 by going to Shots, Etc! (mine again) instead of going to the incredibly unappealingly named Vanderbilt Travel Clinic.  Well, Ben Franklin once wrote When it comes to potentially life-saving vaccinations, a penny saved is a penny earned! and he's a founding father.  And I'm a damn patriot. 

So it was off to Shots, Etc! which has a very nice storefront between a Subway and a Chinese Buffet. (3) Surprisingly, there was a line.  "Other adventurers?"  I pondered as we signed in.  All was going well with the paperwork, and we waited patiently in the designated waiting area. (4)  By this point, Ellen had turned noticeably inward, more focused on a game of cell phone solitaire than anyone really has ever been.

I took her soli-zen moment as an opportunity to lean in to the friendly counter nurse.  "I don't know if you could tell," I whispered, "but my wife has a bit of a phobia.  The quicker this all happens, the better."

"Oh, ok-- no problem," she smiled knowingly.  We were officially in cahoots, she and I.

Moments later, as Ellen's solitaire game approached nirvana, we heard an outburst from the back room. (5) "Owww-- that really hurts!  Wow!  I can't believe how much that hurt!  Oh my god!  I mean, I expected it to hurt, but wow!"  So much for nirvana.  Cahoots girl stuck her head through the window.  "Oh-- don't worry-- she isn't getting what you're getting."

I had hoped that was the case, because whatever she got injected with (5 again) looked less like a vaccination and more like a quart of cherry Kool-Aid.  "What was that?" I asked cahoots girl.  Since we were in cahoots, she dispensed with any sort of HIPAA formalities.  "It's a LIPO shot."  Ellen returned to the material world.  "A LIPO shot?"

"Yeah, a fat-burning shot."

"Does it work?" I asked.

"Oh yeah."

"Wow." 

So it turns out the line wasn't full of adventurers.  Unless you qualify injecting yourself weekly with an ambiguous fruit drink in a desperate attempt to lose weight as an adventure.  But now it was my turn.  I went around the counter to the back room by myself.  

I made noisy conversation with the non-cahoots nurse who gave me my vaccinations.  She was very pretty and very nice, and gave a totally reasonable explanation as to how a nurse ends up working in a strip mall injecting Jungle Juice into middle aged desperadoes.  In between loud, harmless banter, I stealthily brought her into cahoots.  The CIA calls it turning a mark.  "I think the best thing," I whispered, "would be if you set up all the shots and had everything ready so that when my wife comes back here, it can all happen really fast."

Cahoots 2 was a pro.  I'm sure Ellen was wondering on the other side of the wall what was taking so long,  but when I finally came out to get her, everything was ready.  I led her around to the viewing injecting area and sat her down.  Immediately, both cahoots girls rolled up Ellen's sleeves as she tensed.  They then proceeded to vaccinate her from both sides simultaneously and with SEAL Team Six precision-- 2 quick shots in one arm, 1 in the other.  Geronimo.

Relieved and a little dazed, Ellen let me lead her out of Shots, Etc!  Cherry Limeade from Sonic was the promised reward, and so it was delivered.

One emotional and psychological hurdle surpassed; many, many more, I'm sure, to come.

Notes:
(1) By "asked" I mean verbally asked.  I'm not including the incredulous "I'm pretty sure everyone got murdered there.  Didn't everyone get murdered there?" questions that most people scream with their eyes.
(2) It's real.  The usually bright-eyed, cheery, reasonable person that is my bride can be reduced to a quivering ball of anxiety by the mere suggestion of a shot.  She can tell you rationally one minute that she knows it's stupid, and it just feels like a bee sting, and it's no big deal at all, and it just takes a second, etc etc, and then, the next minute, she has tears in her eyes.  There's no explanation.
(3) They also have pizza and chicken nuggets.
(4) "Waiting room" would be a stretch-- think tableless chairs next to windows in an inappropriately small ice cream shop.
(5) By "back room," I mean "totally visible area behind the counter where the injections took place in front of everybody."

This is all Ellen's fault.

Going to Rwanda was not my idea.  It was Ellen's.  Here's the story:

Back in April, it was announced that USN (where I teach) had received a grant from a generous family who wanted to help fund teacher travel for professional development purposes.  It was a pretty significant amount of money-- enough to facilitate a trip pretty much anywhere in the world-- and thus a pretty awesome opportunity.  Obviously I wanted to apply, but the problem was, I didn't know where I would want to go.  So went the conversation with my wife:

M: "Obviously I want to apply, but I don't know where I would want to go."

E:  "You should go to Rwanda."

M:  "I should go to Rwanda!"

And that was that.  So if you're a parental/worrying type, blame Ellen.  I applied, but this is where the plot takes an unexpected turn: I did not win the grant.  Another deserving colleague won instead.  After notifying me, though, my generous division head informed me that he liked my proposal so much that he wanted to help fund a trip to Rwanda anyway.  So here we are.

Perhaps you're wondering why an ostensibly loving wife in an ostensibly happy marriage would tell her husband "you should go to Rwanda."  It's not (I don't think) because she simply wants me to go away, and Rwanda sounded like the farthest possible place.  At USN, I teach a class called Social Conscience, a discussion-based senior seminar centered around the question: What Makes Good People Do Evil Things?  Genocide is just about the evil-est thing we can think of, so it makes for a good case study.

In 1994, Rwanda endured one of the worst incidences of genocide in the 20th century.  Over 100 days, nearly a million Rwandans were murdered by tens of thousands of their seemingly "good" Rwandan neighbors, who chased them, rounded them up, and typically hacked them to death with machetes.

My Social Conscience students explore the nature of this unspeakable behavior, its causes and aftermath.  We examine the situational and systemic influences on perpetrators, bystanders, victims and rescuers.  We unpack the meanings of ideas like "good", "evil", "justice", "forgiveness", and "reconciliation".  Rwanda is a living, breathing example of these concepts in action, and after next week, I'll be able to tell my students, I've been there.

I'm incredibly nervous about a number of aspects of this adventure, not the least of which is that it's entirely possible that I will have shared this blog with everyone I know and will soon find there's no internet connection with which to update it while we're there.  If this is the one and only post on this blog, or if the most exotic locale from which posts are made is Nashville, I apologize in advance.

But thanks for reading.  We already have a lot to share-- just preparing for this trip has led us on a winding path marked by generosity and connectedness.  More to come...