Richard drives us everywhere

Without him, we would be nowhere. He totes us around in the 7-seater throwback van with striped curtains that he feeds diesel, and Bea shakes her head disapprovingly because we cannot breathe when we step out into the cloud of exhaust.

But Richard smiles, and he takes us wherever we need to go. (Note: You will probably see more pictures of our van because it is our spaceship, and I already feel like it's my "family van.") Emmanuel speaks to him in Kinyarwanda, Rwanda's native language, and I wish I knew what they were talking about. When I climb out of the backseat, all I can say is "Thank you" or "Urakoze" ("Thank you" in Kinyarwanda) when I remember, and I always kick myself a little bit when I forget. Otherwise, when I see him, all I can say is "Amakuru" (How are you; hello) or "Murabeho" (Goodbye). Today, I asked him in French if he could bring us a picture of his 9-month-old baby girl, and he said, "Yes, the day after tomorrow." He is practicing his English. It's amazing how technically mundane a conversation can be between two people who are learning each other's language ("Hello," "Hello," "Goodbye," "Goodbye"), but how excited you both are when the words come out right. I wish I had spent more time learning Kinyarwanda before coming here, but instead of fretting, I'll just write down a new word every day.

Tomorrow's word:

"Ni meza, nawe?" which means "I am good, and you?" After Richard says "Amakuru," I will say "Ni meza, nawe?" and see what happens.

There is a linguistic history in Rwanda that reaches far back to the Belgium colonization of the early 1900s; the country was split between Francophone and Anglophone, and at different times, there was practiced hatred toward both groups. I could speak to Richard in French, but I would prefer to speak to him in his native language because I believe it is a way to show respect.

Now, I would like to show you the faces of the people I am living with and learning from (picture of Richard soon to come). Yesterday, we all went to the Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre, and the experience is something I cannot fully express to you, but I was happy and so lucky to have Emmanuel, Amanda, Lauren, Ellen and Gwen with me. It was an overwhelming exhibition of genocide history and artifacts, but it is so important to open oneself up to viewing this history and to not pretend that it did not happen. Going to this memorial was one step in acknowledgment, and also lent itself to personal acknowledgment; I now feel that I am apart of an international society that must educate and advocate for prevention and reconciliation.

Here we are, outside of Chez John, a yummy restaurant where we ate casaba leaves mixed with rice, yams and beef.

From left to right, there's Ellen, me, Bea, Amanda, Gwen and Lauren. We are still waiting for another Lauren to join us. Her flight was delayed, so she'll be here tomorrow afternoon.

And, for the man behind the lens, here is Emmanuel.

More on him later. First, this next picture, where I show my true colors. I think Emmanuel is slightly better at making this face than I am, but I blow him out of the water with the Marjorie face. More on THAT later. When we took this picture, young school children were walking by yelling "Amakuru!" and laughing at our faces. 

Emmanuel is our bodyguard, the Cookie Man, a swell dancer, friends with seemingly everyone wherever we go, a balcony serenader, and so so so much more. Like I said, more on him later.

Ijoro ryiza. (Goodnight).

Yanna