A Day in the Life of Stephen Clare: Kigali Edition
Written by Stephen Clare
A Day in the Life of Stephen Clare: Kigali Edition
By Stephen Clare
0730 Before venturing
out to get some eggs I peek through the window, looking for the chicken. She’s
cunning, and pure evil. Though I don’t see her right now, she’s been known to
come running to defend her eggs, clucking ferociously. Plus she likes to poop
on the mat by the front door.
0815 The best,
and realistically only, way I can get to work is by hailing one of the city’s countless
motorcycle taxis. There’s a guy waiting outside, and after some awkward
haggling he hands me a helmet, I jump on the back, and we roar off to join the riverine
flow of Kigali traffic. My commute is one of the day’s highlights. Between the
howling wind and the harsh growl of the engine below me, it’s in this moment
that I really feel like I’m on an adventure. In fact, it’s a lot like a dream I
once had, except in the dream I was driving, and also I was with Scarlet
Johansson instead of a 50 year old Rwandan man who only speaks Kinyarwanda.
1030 I’m in my
office when my supervisor pokes his head in the door. “Let’s go,” he says.
“What?” I ask.
“Let’s go!”
“Where?”
“To the meeting. Come on, we’re going to be late.”
I’m not sure where this meeting is, who it’s with, or what
it’s about. But this doesn’t bother me, as since moving to Rwanda I’ve gotten
used to living in a constant state of bemused confusion. I shrug and follow the
boss outside.
1105 While we do
arrive late to the meeting, everyone else is even later and the boardroom is still
empty. I grab a chair at the big table in the middle and start thinking about
motorcycles and Scarlett Johansson.
“Ah, Mr. Minister,” says my supervisor.
I flash him a confused look. He nods at the table in front
of me where there’s a nameplate. “Oh,” I say.
I turn it around. MINISTER OF YOUTH, it reads.
“OH,” I say again.
My boss chuckles as I evacuate the chair and retreat to a
low stool in the back corner.
1130 Eventually
the Minister of Youth joins us, along with another national Minister, some more
officials, the head of the UN in Rwanda, and the head of my UN department. I
sit in the corner and try not to make any noise or funny facial expressions.
I’ve only been in Rwanda for two weeks, and this is the kind of company I find
myself keeping. I could tell you what happened in the meeting, but then I’d
have to kill you.
1230 Afterwards,
my team grabs lunch in the UNDP canteen. We eat capati (a kind of chewy tortilla) and corn muffins with sliced avocados.
So many avocados. They’re the size of coconuts and they’re everywhere.
Yesterday, heading up the highway on the way to work, even my moto driver tried
to sell some.
1500 The
afternoon thunderstorm rolls in. Black clouds extinguish the sun and all of a
sudden it’s dark enough that we have to turn on the lights in the office. The
rain starts bucketing down. The streets empty. You can see all the moto drivers
huddling under bus stop shelters and gas station awnings. After 20 minutes of
torrential downpour, it stops as if the taps were turned off and the sun
reappears. If it weren’t for the water streaming down the gutters beside the
road, you would never have guessed there was a storm.
1730 As it dips
behind the hills of Kigali, the sun glows warm and orange like an ember in a
dying campfire. Because the air is filled with smoke and dust, it sometimes
feels like you’re seeing the world through an eerie red filter. Houses and
walls are built of red bricks. Red rust eats away at the fences and tin roofs.
And all the streets, sidewalks, railings, and windows are stained by streaks of
dry red clay. Through the ruby haze, the dirt streets of Kigali look ethereal.
Like a dream, except still missing Scarlett Johansson.
1800 The sun sets
quickly and it’s gloomy by the time I reach my front door. As I fiddle with the
lock the doorknob falls off. Half the light bulbs in my house need replacing. I
don’t know if we’ll have hot water until I turn on the tap. An army of ants,
beetles, bees, and mosquitoes is constantly trying to invade my bedroom. And
we’re liable to lose power without warning once or twice a week. Adventure has
its price, but I’m happy to pay it.
As I lean down to pick the doorknob up off the mat, I notice
that I’m standing in chicken poop.
You know, I really think she does it on purpose. I hate that
stupid chicken.
