Summer Postcards 2013
Skeletons
I spent the first half of the summer in guesthouses that were basic by American standards yet prohibitively expensive for most locals. Still, I bumped up against the “real” Tanzania every day. My pale skin never failed to cause a stir on the walk home from work, no matter how much I tried to blend in with ankle-length skirts and Swahili greetings. I spent weekends in chaotic markets, hunting for bicycles and earrings and everything in between. I stuffed my money down my shirt to keep it safe, snuck into fitness clubs, and bargained for my rickshaw rides as well as I could.
Kuvuza Umutima / Talking to the Heart
Now, I see it every day. Rwanda is a place with a pretty substantial number of foreigners, but a white person still stands out almost anywhere. Walking around, especially away from affluent areas, almost everyone stares, curious and awkward. Sometimes they pause to politely greet me in English or French, and then they go back to staring.
A Tale of Two Cities and a Soccer Match
At dinner, our conversation was regularly punctuated by cries of local supporters. Soon, however, the people at the small hole-in-the-wall diner next door erupted into cheers: the final score was 2-0. “Somos campeones, otra vez,” they chanted. “We are the champions, once again!”
