A SIMPLE LIFE, A COMPLICATED STORY
We've spent these last 5 days in our rural homestays in Ngarama, a small isolated village tucked away in the Eastern Province of Rwanda. "The people here live a simple life" we were warned before entering the warmth and hospitality of our families.
It was true. I woke up every morning around 7. My host brother would cut wood for the fire and we would boil the morning tea. My host sister would sweep dirt off the front dirt porch and I would take my bucket shower. My host mother would walk me to the market and we would buy food for lunch. Then it was time to cut more wood for the fire while my host sister washed the dishes or did laundry. The afternoons were generally spent chatting with the neighbors or playing with the children or fetching water. Then it was time to peal more potatoes and more plantains for dinner. When it was finally dark, the kids would usually bring the radio outside and under the feeble glow of the family lantern, we would watch them dance under the stars.
This rhythm and this schedule for 5 days. There really is no other way to describe it: A simple life. A simple, calm, relaxing, healthy life. For 4 days I smiled at the way things worked in Ngarama. Time seemed to stand still. No one was ever rushing. Everyone was kind and friendly and warm and happy. But on the fifth day, when I was peeling plantains with my host mom this picturesque life style that I had painted in my mind was put to the test.
My host mom began to talk about her life. She had been married at 18 and had her first child 9 months later. The new born baby girl was 2 months old when the genocide began. In a few short months, she had lost the father and his entire family. She took in her eldest sister's son who was also killed. She remarried with a military officer a couple of years later only to find out that he was already married to a first wife who refused to let him financially support the 3 new kids he had with her. So my mom was left with 5 kids and herself to feed. But she found a job at the local hospital and can now send all her children to school.
My host mom may lead a simple life but she's lived a harsh and complicated story. My story is simple. I have 2 healthy parents and a brother. I've lived in the same house my entire life. My grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins are alive and I get to see them at least once a year when we travel back to France. My story is simple but they way we live is complicated: Electricity, water, heating, and cooling systems dictate our every move. We have a truck that takes our garbage and brings it who knows where. We buy our food at a supermarket that sells product grown halfway around the world in laboratories. We drive a car that constantly needs to be refilled at the gas station whose oil pipes are connected around the entire world.
It's easy to get caught up in the joys of a simple life and ignore the realities of a sad and complicated story. It's also equally easy to get caught up in joys of my happy life story and ignore the reality of the complicated and potentially destructive system of living we've set up for ourselves. Ngarama started out as a vacation. I enjoyed 5 simple worry free days of vacation, but it's complicated the way I view my place in the world for the rest of my life.
