First, the business;
The grand sum of the considerable efforts expended by both of
this summer’s construction teams thus far –excavating foundations, setting
rebar, forming and pouring columns, fabricating trusses and welding purlins– has been for one elusively simple
end: to support a roof.
It is my honor to announce that as of Saturday evening, just
in time for Sunday’s mid-morning downpour of old women with clubs (the Afrikaans
idiomatic equivalent of raining cats and dogs), our pavilion at Gasebeya was completely
covered. As one would expect, the corrugated sheeting successfully collected
and channeled the precipitation into our gutter. Though such an occurrence may
be unmentionably banal back home, among four filthy muzungus in the heart of
Africa it proved the highest achievement of recent memory.
For its part, the pavilion at Nyarutosho (while not yet
sheathed) is no less impressive. The fully assembled steel skeleton, accented
by crimson trusses raised high on monolithic pillars, captivates the passerby
from the peak of a distant hill atop which the first approaching view of the
structure is revealed. As the premier concrete and steel framed building in
Cyanika, its alien yet clearly communal character has drawn many a curious Rwandan
down the trail.
Last but not least, our third implementation at Munini has
made major conceptual if not yet physical headway. After deliberating with our
endlessly resourceful local compatriots, we have decided to adapt the existing
banana-drying house for rainwater catchment by adding gutters supported on knee
braces fixed to the raw lumber columns.
Much work remains to be done in the coming week, but as a
team we feel confident completion is realistic. Regardless, the accomplishments
to date merit a mention of the immense gratitude we as EWB-CU have to the impossibly
hardworking masons, welders, community leaders and members without whom this
project would not even be imaginable, let alone possible. Another special word
of thanks to the always upbeat Willy, our NGO partner, the infinitely patient
Mezack, our translator, and the imposing yet affable Cyanika patriarch Don
Jaque, as well as all of you across the Atlantic who have supported us from the
outset.
Now, the fun;
If you’ve been following this blog, then you’re already
familiar with the difficulty our team has encountered in remembering and reciting
the often half-a-dozen syllable names of Cyanika’s endearing children. Turns
out it goes both ways, the primary difference being that when they mispronounce
our names the variation is often marginally more musical than the original; ‘Michael’
becomes ‘Marico’, ‘Oak’ becomes ‘Ohkay’,
and ‘Christian’ becomes ‘Kreestiani’.
Dakota’s name, however, becomes much more illustrious- ‘Zahquotah!’
has become a rallying cry for many of the kids, occasionally prefaced by the
epithet ‘Yasu’, or as we know it, ‘Jesus’. Our resident pastor and translator explained
to me that this is on account of his voluminous beard, grown wild in good
African bush fashion. Admittedly, I am less qualified in ecclesiastical matters;
still I prefer to believe our very own Dakota has been endowed with some degree
of legitimately divine providence by the glow-in-the-dark plastic Christ figurine
hanging in our bedroom. Either way, the cult of the muzungu has gained so much
attention that now whenever we need to take bathroom breaks, another team member
must be conscripted to distract the masses of minors in order to save them the
corrupting trauma of witnessing some glaringly pale flesh.
On the subject of children, in addition to gaining their
spiritual loyalties we’ve also managed to focus their boundless enthusiasm for
white visitors into an effective work force. After becoming transfixed by the Viking power with which our hirsute fellow Christian hammered to oblivion the
rocks obstructing our drainage way, they tikes began to pick up axes, shovels
and hoes on their own volition to assist our earth moving. Since, they’ve also
helped us gather mountains of gravel as well as schlep beams and roofing from
site to site. To those with more legal awareness than I- is child labor still
frowned upon if unpaid?
Unfortunately, not all of Cyanika’s youth have been so charming.
Most youngsters wave cordially upon seeing a muzungu whip by on a moto, but on
yesterday’s excursion to Lake Burera one decided to flip Dakota the bird. Doubtful
his messianic reputation has spread beyond our immediate acquaintances this
quickly, so it’s hard to chalk that particular aggression up to religious
protest. More likely, pre-teen angst merely respects no cultural boundaries.
Happily, not only offensive gestures are universal. The
utter incomprehension of lyrics does nothing to prevent Cyanika’s children from
enjoying our singing, more out of jest than admiration given how hilariously
nasal they find our voices. All of us being engineers, only one of whom was
ever in a choir (bet you won’t guess who), our harmonies are only as atrocious
as our shared repertoire is limited. Eventually we exhausted our set and
settled on the one tune all Americans can recount- our national anthem. Wailing
about the ‘broad stripes and bright stars’ in the shadow of a looming volcano
with a hundred dark eyes staring perplexedly was to say the least, surreal. To
say just a bit more, it was surreally obnoxious.
Cheers from the motherland,
Michael Salka
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