Kigali Delicacies

I think the food here is great. I’m not sick of it and I’m not sick from it, so really, given my track record, I can’t complain. I’ve been frequenting the infamous Rwandan buffets for lunch – which, for $2-3 you can pile your plate as high as you want. The catch is you can only go up once, so Rwandans use some sort of, what I can only believe is magic, to pile their plates ridiculously high.

I also eat a lot of brochettes, which are beef or goat pieces in a kabob form. There is no nice way to eat it; it’s basically being oh so ladylike and ripping meat off of a stick with your teeth. Luckily, they give you toothpicks afterward.

I eat a lot of omelettes as well; my personal preference is to eat them with potatoes cooked in, which sort of tastes like fries in them. Conor – if you’re reading this, which you should be – you’d be in heaven here. There’s also the traditional samosas (a pocket of meat and onions), chapati and chips (fries) galore.

Prices here are not what you would think. In Africa, you can live cheaply, but I’m not dousing myself in champagne and caviar every night. Some restaurants are more expensive or comparable to DC - $10 for a drink, $20 meals…I don’t think so.

I have a place down the street from me that I go to ohhh once a day, at least. Samosas and chapatis are 100 Rwandan francs each, which is about 20 cents. So I can eat dinner or lunch for under $1. Plus, the owners are so friendly, and I can practice my Kinyarwanda. So for now I really enjoy the food. I am realistic in knowing that I’m a ticking time bomb when it comes to getting sick, but for now I’m perfectly satisfied.

The Rwandan Nightlife

I know you were all waiting for this one. I went out to a Rwandan club this weekend. And it was faaaaantastic. The new volunteer Tim (he’s a kiwi for a little background) got here this weekend and already has made a Rwandan mafia of friends that I have leached on to. The day started extremely somber as we visited the genocide memorial. It was as hard as you would think it would be, if not worse. After laying around the rest of the day (because really what else do you do after that), eating brochettes and drinking Primus – tough life, right?-, we hit up a local bar before going out. After that, we went to Car Wash.

The best part about Car Wash is not only is it a nightclub, but it’s a fully functioning car wash by day. Talk about efficient, Rwanda! Due to the rain, the crowd was mostly dispersed, but that doesn’t mean a dance party didn’t ensue after a couple muzungu song requests were made to the DJ. More Primus and dancing later, we, of course, motoed back home. Motos are by no means expensive, but what bothers me is that I’m convinced that I can fit on one with another person. After forcing Tim to request in French that the moto driver let both of us on one and naturally getting denied, I sulked onto my own moto for the fun drive home. Maybe it’s my Africa skinnyness, but I know I can fit two people on one. I think it’s a law that you can’t, but one day. One. day. In sum: I will be frequenting a Rwandan club every weekend I don’t travel. Watch out Kigali.

More on the Motos

I’ve been riding motos everywhere – they’re the easiest way to get around. My drivers always range from people who completely try to rip me off to some who can be waned down to a normal price. Sometimes, while flying down Kigali’s hills, a driver will take out his phone to text or answer a phone call – which is weird because I didn’t think you had an extra hand when driving a motorcycle. At that point, I scream OYA OYA (NO, NO) because as everyone reading this blog knows, he’s driving precious cargo.

As there are no street signs, getting around is tough, not to mention the language barrier – I greet the drivers in Kinyrwanda, bargain in French, give directions in a mix of Swahili and Spanish, and then talk to myself on the moto in English. Multi-lingual much?

My moto driver the other night was quite the gem. He didn’t put up a fight when I proposed 400 Rwandan francs for the ride (which is about 80 cents), so I gladly hopped on. It wasn’t far, mostly because I may or may not have been taking the moto in order to avoid walking up a huge hill – this tired body can only do so much. After helping to adjust my helmet, my driver so generously offered me a bite of the ear of corn he was eating at the time. Famished as I was and as good as street corn is, I declined. I was unsure what he was going to do with the corn, as there are no garbage cans in Kigali that I can find, but I soon found out when he tossed it onto the ground as we ran through a red light. On top of it all, when I got home he only charged me 300 francs! And who said chivalry was dead.