THE POST OFFICE.

le 15 octobre    There are some moments in life where you`re really not sure whether you`re more eager to laugh or yell. My first run-in with the Rwandan Postal Service was definitely one of these times. I do realize that I`m in a developing country and have already been here for two weeks so I`m getting acclimated to society, but I was truly not prepared for my trip to the post office.

To start things off, the car that Sr. Rose had called for to come at 14h00 never came, so at 15h30 she decided she wouldn`t be going to do her errands – now I had no ride to the post office. Besides, I wasn`t sure when it would be closing, and I wanted to get my ballot sent back to the States ASAP. Sr. Gisele (knowing this would be my first time in town alone) called one of the moto drivers that goes to our parish. She could entrust her muzungu to him – bring me TO the post, wait for me to mail my ballot, and bring me back.

I head to the gate facing the parish, and wait for my companion. Mind you, it`s absolutely pouring. He greets me, and seems to be an absolute sweetheart. On the way to the post, we carry on a conversation as best we can over the sound of the rain and the moto. We arrive, I take out my ballot (and a few things I had to mail for the sisters) and walk to the window.

GREAT. So far so good. At least it`s open.

This is where it starts to get interesting. Instead of coming to help the customer at the window, the man behind the wall waits for about three minutes before even coming to ask what I need. Okay, fine, maybe he was busy. I hand him my first letter upon his request, and then he asked, “oh, you`re mailing those, too?” Well of course I am, silly, that`s why I brought them with me to the post office!

After we finally get the pricing figured out for what I`m going to mail, I take out my money from my wallet and have it in hand. He then sits back down. Now mind you, this is my FIRST time at a Rwandan post office, so I have no idea how the system works. You would also think that he would instantly realize that I`m not a local – the fluorescent skin is a giveaway – and give me some extra assistance. Nope. A few minutes after that, he informs me that I have to go to the next window. AH!

Here, the woman asks me if I wouldn`t mind helping her apply the stamps to the envelopes. Hmm, I`ve never heard of this before, but seeing as I want my ballot to get there before MAY…sure I`ll help.

“Do you know how?” Oh, this should be fun.

The ballot (only one of a FEW pieces of mail) costs just under 2000rwf. She started handing me strips of stamps at 100rwf and 50rwf apiece. ROW on top of row, these stamps went on. There were so many that the envelope was becoming wavy from the water. I literally had to strategize where I would be putting the stamps, so that I wouldn`t be covering up any pertinent information, like the address. It`s in this moment that I wish I had my camera. The people at city hall are going to get quite a kick out of this, but I`m sure that all of the absentee ballots coming in could tell a tale.

The woman hands me more rows of stamps and I dampen them on the sponge and put them on the envelopes. More stamps? Okay, sure. At one point or another, she asked, “Okay, how many is that?” WAIT wait wait – weren`t you counting? You are, after all, the one who works here.

Half an hour after I arrive at the post office, I am finally able to hand the woman my payment. EXCEPT that she doesn`t have change. If it weren`t for my incredibly patient and kind-hearted moto driver, I`m not sure how I would have paid. I think they would have said “sorry, take your mail and come back tomorrow.” Luckily, he had change and I was able to pay for the postage – ALL those little 100 and 50 rwf stamps.

The icing on the cake? After I`ve waited for 40 minutes and physically placed the postage stamps on my envelopes myself, the woman hands me my envelopes back and says, “Just drop them in the box over there.”

Maybe I shouldn`t have been, but I was absolutely shocked – I think at this point I literally started cracking up. What does this woman get paid for?

I laughed all the way back to the house with my driver, and was so relieved to see my friend Vincent at the school when we got to the gate. He`s the English teacher here and one of my good friends, and is able to keep up with me if I need to have a real conversation in English. Thankfully he was there, as this story really would have lost something if I`d tried to explain in French. As it was, he found my energy humorous but I think because he is Rwandan himself he couldn`t find all the absurdity of my story.

All just to practice my rights as a US citizen. And now, because of this, I appreciate the US even more. I love “dropping something off” at the post office. You bring it to the clerk, she tells you the price, you pay for it – she puts on the stamps and puts it on the box while you`re already halfway home! God bless America.