Well, that's it. I've been home now for about 3 and 1/2 months, and life has returned to something like normal. I'm busy. I have working at the local food pantry, being on the school board, art class, student mentoring, trivia night every two weeks, planning the Sustainability Fair, etc. etc. to keep me out of trouble, but there's a part of me that misses Africa.
Art class is one of my favorite things, maybe because it can incorporate so many of the things I love. For example, since my return, I've been painting FROM the photographs I took
while in Africa. Here's one of my gorillas.
Also, I find myself wondering what I'd like to see if I were to go back to Africa, and I think about the great migrations in Tanzania and Kenya. So I've also been painting wildebeests.
Migrating.
And I read about the prolonged drought in sub-Sahara Africa and found an amazing photograph of the dried up bottom of a reservoir near Capetown (the first modern city that will completely LOSE it water supply THIS YEAR), and I painted that reservoir bottom as well.
As you can see, no artist need fear that I am going to intrude on their turf, but I enjoy painting so immensely, maybe because it requires me to concentrate so fiercely on the subject matter.
And spring is in the air, and in a few days time, Scott and I are taking a road trip with friends (and Aramis) to see the great crane migration on the Platte River, Nebraska. That no doubt will lead to more paintings. And soon it will be time to start seriously thinking about the garden, and so on.
SO . . . . . . some of you have been such kind readers, and I
do so appreciate your letting me share my impressions and photos. My own memories are now so much the clearer for my having committed them to print, and they're much better organized now too.
Many of you have sent kind remarks and comments, and I feel very good about that. Now I will pause until the next trip comes along.
I was again fortunate on the leg from Kigali to Amsterdam to be seated next to a Ugandan electrical engineer on his way to Haiti. He had been working there trying to re-establish some infrastucture for several years and would come home to visit his family occasionally and go back. He said going to Haiti was so odd for him, because he flew thousands of miles and landed and found a place so much like home it was eerie. He said Haiti was like Uganda with an ocean! He was insightful and pleasant company, and I concluded that the people of Haiti were very fortunate to have his assistance.
It was a long flight and I can't really remember what time it was in Amsterdam--early in the morning I think. I had time to snoop around a little, but I spent most of my time going through security. Didn't it used to be that once you got through airport security at one airport you didn't have to go through it again at the next airport (if you never left the second airport of course)?? Well, if it WAS that way before, it sure isn't that way now, and I had to go through security in Amsterdam and then again an hour later in Paris.
And how weird is this? I ran into some one I knew in the Amsterdam airport! It was the principal of the high school at home. He and his friends were on the way to Slovenia to do some mission work. I thought he meant for just a short time, so didn't think much of it, but when I got home, I found he was resigning his position to this sort of thing more.
All of a sudden it seemed everyone was a missionary! Both of my seatmates on the Amsterdam/Paris leg and the Paris/Chicago legs were American missionaries returning home. I was a little uncomfortable talking with them, especially when one of them laid his hand on my arm and prayed for me, but I survived.
Time is such a fluid concept when you're on such a long flight. You sleep, and you eat, and you may watch a movie and look outside once in a while, but for me it's so disorienting. I like to watch the map on the screen to see WHERE we are, but I almost never have any concept as to WHEN we are. But soon enough where we were was Chicago. I was there but my luggage was not. I thought it must be in Paris since I had so very short a layover there, but no, turns out it was in Amsterdam. So they promised to deliver it to me at home in a couple of days, and I felt that if it was going to happen (as surely it must), it was a lot better to happen on the way home than on the way over.
So, I was back in country, not even having gone through customs or anything since I had no luggage, and there was SCOTT, beginning to worry because I had been
so long waiting for my luggage. It was so reassuring and wonderful to see him! We had a fine full evening ahead of us, visiting his family, and a pretty early start the next morning to drive HOME. Aramis was happy to see me. The weather here was a little different from Africa.
Somewhere along the line I began to realize that my friends liked to surprise me. So after we regretfully left Heaven, they told me we were making one last stop, but they didn't tell me where.
We pulled into the parking lot of a large hotel
very near Heaven, and Moses asked me if I knew where we were. As it happens, I did
know where we were--at the Hotel des Mille Collines (or Hotel of a Thousand Hills, a name for Rwanda), or, as it is better known to the world, the Hotel Rwanda. I had just watched the movie again shortly before I departed from home.
You may remember the 2004 movie starring Don Cheadle, which was about a hotel manager in Kigali who gave shelter to over 1000 Tutsi (and Tutsi sympathizers) people fleeing the 1994 genocide. The people thought they would be safe there because that's where the U.N. troups were headquartered, but they got precious little support from the U.N. (the U.S. either). But this man, on his own, opened up the hotel to all those seeking sanctuary, and he did in fact manage to arrange for all of them to leave the country safely. It's a great movie, and if you haven't seen it, you may want to.
The basic facts of the story are true, and this is the hotel. It's been remodelled a LOT since 2004, but it is definitely the same, posh place as it was then. It features fabulous local artwork and a swimming pool area that looked really inviting even to a non-swimmer like me.
It was just so very sobering to think about the horror of the Genocide while standing in the beautiful location where it occurred. Hard to imagine it could happen. Makes one feel we should all be vigilant that it
DOESN'T happen again.
Also, it made me admire Rwanda for its amazing recovery and reconcilation.
And then it was sort of startling; it was time to say good-bye to my new friends. They were SUCH pleasant companions, and we experienced so much together. I will miss them. And, by the way, if anybody who may be reading this thinks THEY might want to go to Africa sometime, please let me know. I'd love to set you up with Moses and his company.
They drove me to the airport, where we underwent the most exacting security check ever. We had to take everything out of the car and set if on the sidewalk where the guards opened everything and had their dogs sniff everything. We were body-wanded and asked some questions, and . . . well, I guess I felt secure but a little scared.
They offered to wait for me, but they were heading home to Uganda yet that night and of course it wasn't necessary for them to hold my hand. So, with a genuine feeling of regret, I said good-bye to Emma, Moses, and Jackie (as pictured in order, above).
There were some very nice shops in the airport, where I did make a few last minute purchases, and before long I was on my way to Amsterdam.
The drive from Lake Bunyonyi to Kigali is not all that long, and as we proceeded, I began to feel that odd mixture of sadness that the trip is over and I wouldn't be seeing my new friends again for a long time, if ever, and also of excitement at going home. We crossed the Uganda/Rwanda border like old pro's and proceeded through the gorgeous terraced hills, heading generally lower the farther we drove, through the tea fields and the farms and the villages, until the outskirts of Kigali became apparent.
My friends kept telling me about the special lunch we were going to have, but they didn't tell me much about the place, probably in case we couldn't get a table. We drove through some shady residential streets and into a driveway. A young woman met us as we got out of the vehicle and said "Welcome to Heaven!" and right away it was clear that we were in a VERY special place.
Heaven is a lovely restaurant built by an American couple shortly after the Genocide. They came to Rwanda to help re-build the country after the tragedy and stayed and raised a family there and built and ran a their restaurant. It is one of those rare places where one can immediately see that immense attention to detail has been always paid, both in the food offerings and the decor, not to mention collecting a fabulous staff.
As soon as we were seated, these wonderful complementary little avocado smoothies appeared at our plates, and Jackie and I went to work toasting each other right away. They were SO refreshing and tasty!
For a moment I am going to pretend to be a food/travel reviewer and post some photos of the offerings. They were so exceptional.
These were the chicken kabobs that Moses, Jackie, and Emma all enjoyed, and they
look wonderful
And these were the best fish tacos I'd ever had, and that includes the ones I make and am quite proud of. These were a work of art.
And here's us four travellers, from left to right, Moses, Emma, Jackie, and me. What a memorable meal.
They were selling the book about the owners' experience in Rwanda called A Thousand Hills to Heaven: Love, Hope, and a Restaurant in Rwanda, written by the owner Josh Ruxin, at the restaurant, and I picked up a copy.
When I got home, I read it, and the Genocide seemed closer than it ever had while I was in Rwanda. Mr. Ruxin talks about the time a stranger showed up at the door--before the restaurant was even ready to be opened--and asked permission to dig in their parking lot. She had learned that her husband had been murdered in that very parking lot and wanted to exhume the remains so they could be laid to rest at the Genocide Center. Of course he gave her permission, and yes, indeed, her husband's bones were there. He learns of some of the terrible stories from other atrocities that happened in that bucolic, lovely neighborhood. Again, I marvelled that so much beauty and peace were resurrected from such a history--and in so short a time too.
