Today I found myself sitting in the teacher’s room at school staring outside and thinking “Today is the perfect beach day.” The sky was blue with huge fluffy white clouds rolling through and there was a light breeze – you know, to cool you down while working on your tan and to keep the greenheads away. I then sadly remembered that I live in Rwanda, a beautiful country, but still a country without an ocean. As the school years come to an end at home and the summer tourist season begins on the Cape, I can’t help but think about the beaches, longer daylight hours, band concerts in Chatham (and penny candy of course!), the 4th of July parade, my birthday with family, late night ice cream runs in our pajamas, grilled food, and all of the other wonderful things about summer on Cape Cod.
This wonderful land-locked beach day has become a common occurrence. The wet season is coming to an end and the wrath of the dry season will soon be upon us. We are working our way through the “spring” (an 80 degree spring) in Bugesera district where we still have a little rain, but soon the dusty roads will begin to coat my clothes, water will become scarce (so I’ve been told), and middle-of-the-day outings around the widest road I’ve ever seen (the market used to be in the middle of the shops, next to the road, but it moved and now the space it occupied has made room for an abnormally wide road). I’m sure this will all have a lovely effect on my students. The classrooms are like ovens and even on a warm day it can be unbearable, so I can’t wait for a hot day to really slow us down.
On a different, but similar note, I have been thinking about my life muri Amerika and my life mu Rwanda and found another funny parallel between the two – bridges. Growing up on Cape Cod, it was always a huge deal when we made a trip over the bridge to go shopping or to visit family or to spend a day in Boston. Well, much like the good ‘ole Sagamore and Bourne Bridges, whenever I want to leave my site to go to Nyamata, my district capital, or Kigali, my trip is highlighted by the trip over two bridges. Now these bridges are certainly not like the mammoth bridges we are used to; there are no tug boats, yachts, or ships going through the channel. Over the Cape Cod bridges, I always held my breath worried that I would go too far left on the narrow bridge and side-swipe another car. Here, I hold my breath in fear that the bridge will collapse at any second. The bridge from Nyamata to Kigali is nice and I often see small wood dinghies transporting wood up the river, but the bridge over the marsh from site to Nyamata is made of cracking, crumbling, and rattling wood beams that lay across metal supports. The bus goes over the cement hump on one side then rattles across these boards – many of which have broken in the last few months – then back up over the cement hump on the other side. For those of you who know Chatham, it is not like going over the draw-bridge; a solid sturdy wooden bridge. Imagine going over that bridge with all the boards loose and some sagging lower than others, making it difficult for the bus to pass over.
Despite the fear associated with this bridge, passing over it at sunset or just after dark is an amazing site; the marsh is full of fireflies, crickets and peepers so not only does it look like there are tiny lanterns throughout the reeds, but it sounds like a late summer night sitting on the back porch at home. Just like the Sagamore and Bourne Bridges marked our departure into the real world; these bridges mark my journey from village life to a slightly more modern life (Nyamata) and to an overwhelming, modern, loud and chaotic life (Kigali).
I’m sure I’ll be drawing parallels between my life here and my life in America for the rest of my time here, but I thought I’d share these two with you all. The ocean, the beach, and the Cape (and the bridges) have been such huge parts of my and my family’s lives, so sitting in the teacher’s room today and realizing that this will be my first summer without even the shortest visit was a little sad. I won’t miss sitting in traffic on the bridge or suicide alley; I won’t miss New Yorkers driving the wrong way around the rotary; and I won’t miss battling tourists on the sidewalk or in the Squire. But, I will miss going to the beach on my day off with sandwiches from the local shops; I will miss the battle over who is driving to get ice cream and who’s paying; I will miss attempting to grill some new fruit or vegetable; and as the dry season approaches, I will surely miss having central AC J
