Le 7 janvier Just after an unsuccessful trip to the post office, I decided to stop at the nearest kiosque and buy some airtime. As I was walking up, another girl, about my age, was turning to leave.
“Hello,” she greeted me.
“Hello,” I replied. This is strange, I thought, she has an American accent… but she’s not muzungu.
We got to talking, and as it turns out, she is American. She’s here in Rwanda for Peace Corps, the Rwandan branch having started within the past two years. Her name is Portia, and she’s been here since February.
“So you just had your first Christmas here, too.”
“Yeah, and it didn’t even really feel like Christmas.”
“I KNOW! Ha, where are you from in the States?”
“Connecticut.”
Really?? Connecticut? Of all the places in the world to be from in the whole, vast country of the United States of America she was from my similarly-small neighbor?
“That’s unbelievable. I’m from Rhode Island. Where in Connecticut are you from?”
“Groton.”
Apparently there are 100 Peace Corps volunteers in Rwanda right now, and three, I was informed, are from New England. What are the odds that I meet a girl on the opposite side of the world that’s not more than 30 or 40 minutes from my home by car?
We said our goodbyes and as I turned to purchase some MTN airtime, she headed off towards town. Something strange about when she walked through the different people on the road – no one called out to her. When I walked up the same street a few minutes later, children were calling “Muzuu, muzuuu (in a sing-song tone)” or “Muzungu, give me money.” (Honestly, it’s tiring.) I wonder how different my experience in Rwanda has been from hers just based on the color of our skin. We’re both American, born and bred, but I wear my dissimilarity on the outside, too.
“Hello,” she greeted me.
“Hello,” I replied. This is strange, I thought, she has an American accent… but she’s not muzungu.
We got to talking, and as it turns out, she is American. She’s here in Rwanda for Peace Corps, the Rwandan branch having started within the past two years. Her name is Portia, and she’s been here since February.
“So you just had your first Christmas here, too.”
“Yeah, and it didn’t even really feel like Christmas.”
“I KNOW! Ha, where are you from in the States?”
“Connecticut.”
Really?? Connecticut? Of all the places in the world to be from in the whole, vast country of the United States of America she was from my similarly-small neighbor?
“That’s unbelievable. I’m from Rhode Island. Where in Connecticut are you from?”
“Groton.”
Apparently there are 100 Peace Corps volunteers in Rwanda right now, and three, I was informed, are from New England. What are the odds that I meet a girl on the opposite side of the world that’s not more than 30 or 40 minutes from my home by car?
We said our goodbyes and as I turned to purchase some MTN airtime, she headed off towards town. Something strange about when she walked through the different people on the road – no one called out to her. When I walked up the same street a few minutes later, children were calling “Muzuu, muzuuu (in a sing-song tone)” or “Muzungu, give me money.” (Honestly, it’s tiring.) I wonder how different my experience in Rwanda has been from hers just based on the color of our skin. We’re both American, born and bred, but I wear my dissimilarity on the outside, too.
Laura, I'm always running into people from Groton when I'm in Africa! UR
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