To start this off, I have some new pictures from Indianapolis loaded in the gallery. I’m also embedding a video of the KeepOn robot below. If you love me, buy me one of these.

My six months in peaceful Rwinkwavu was amazing and the hardest thing about coming back home was leaving all the projects and the people behind. It is hard to put it all into words, but many of the friends I have in Rwanda decided to stop whatever they were doing, get on a plane (or for the Rwandans, a bus) and make the commitment to make a difference in the lives of those less fortunate.

I suppose we all do it at some personal expense, but I can safely say that I left with much more than I gave. That’s the craziest part of the whole experience and it’s only when you do it yourself that you know just how rewarding it is. I could talk about how much I’ll miss everything and everyone, but I think my previous pictures and posts demonstrate that enough so I’ll end with a bit of my own personal philosophy…

Traveling gives you get a chance to gather stories about people and places and things which eventually change the way you look at other people, other places and other things.

One of my favorite stories of all time is about a man who late one night walks into one of the PIH houses in Rwink. He finds the kitchen and proceeds to wolf down a large jar of mayonnaise. One of our doctors hears the noise, wakes up, walks into the kitchen and sees this guy pounding back the mayo. She freaks out, screams and the guy instead of stopping, continues to suck down the rest of the mayo before running out of the house. The next morning, we get to the hospital and there is a patient waiting with epic mayo-like diarrhea and we all have a good laugh about it.

You can only get these stories in Rwink and it’s funny because Rwandas definitely have an unhealthy love of mayo. At the same time, why a man would be so desperate as to eat that much mayo can only be understood by those who live and work in Rwinkwavu.

It is for trying to understanding both the humor and sadness of that story that I know I’ll be back very soon. Until then, I’ve put a few pictures from World AIDS Day and my last, but not final moments in Rwanda.

A few nights ago, Ally and I were walking home when we walked into the smell of human poop. Spend enough time around latrines and toilets with no running water, and you get to figuring it out all the many smells human poop can take on. This was definitely poop of the human variety.

It was unmistakable, but it wasn’t that big of deal. It was a few feet from the path and there was plenty of brush. We shrugged it off. After all, everybody poops.

Well tonight, our serial pooper went a poop too far. Our pooper crossed a line that no reasonable human being should cross. Our pooper pooped a perfect poop on the path.

There was no sign of struggle. I could understand if there was struggle. After all, we’ve all fought diarrhea and lost, but there was no battle of wills here. The pooper had plenty of time to decide. The pooper chose to poop and chose where to poop.

I can imagine how it all went down in the nutter‘s head.

Where should I poop? Should I poop in the latrines? No. That would be convenient.
Should I poop in the bushes? No. That’s exactly what they are expecting.
I know. I will poop on the path. Right where Yaw walks, that’s where I shall poop.

Fortunately, Meera spotted the poop for quite a distance and we were able to avoid it. In my time here, I’ve seen some crazy things in my life, but this one…well, it’s some shit, ain’t it?

Henry, Ally, Meera, Benson and I drove up to Ruhengeri to try our luck at gorilla tracking. Once we got to Ruhengeri, we stashed our gear in the guest house and drove up to Lake Kivu.

Kivu is one of three lakes in Africa which holds large amounts of pressurized gas. An eruption of this gas could release massive amounts of carbon dioxide and kill the tens of thousands of people who live the area. This potential disaster is of little significance to the residents of this region who are concerned about the more immediate threat of war in Goma, the city on the other side of the lake.

Goma is home to many of the Hutu refugees (and perpetrators) who fled Rwanda after the RPF came to power. The surge of refugees after the genocide sparked the First and Second Congo Wars and as recently as September, there have been outbreaks of fighting between the rebels, the militias and the Congolese army. Goma is a place with a disturbing past and unfortunately, its present is also terrifying. Sitting by the shores of Kivu, it is hard not to overlook the obvious — war is literally a stone’s throw away.

Driving from Kivu back to Ruhengeri, we managed to catch the warm red steam rising out of Nyiragongo, the Congo’s famous active volcano. In 2002, Nyiragongo erupted and destroyed half of Goma, and in 2005, volcanic activity threatened the city again. Despite this, you can still hike the volcano, peer into the heart of the earth and spend your nights falling asleep to the murmurs of the lava below. We vowed to hike Nyirangongo on our next trip to Ruhengeri and headed back to the guest house for a short night of sleep.

Gorilla tracking generally starts at 7am, but because we wanted to see the largest and most remote group, we decided to get there at early and guarantee our spot. Those who make the difficult trek to find the “Susa” group are rewarded with a family of 37 gorillas which include a set of twins, a few teenagers and a couple of large males.

We got up at 5am and headed to the base of the mountain for our orientation with the guide. According to the reports from guides already with Susa group, the gorillas were a few hours away and moving, so we got in the car and drove to the trail. At the trail head, we were greeted by the Rwandan soldiers, our security through the forest. When I asked why they were heavily armed, they said they had to defend us against cape buffalo. Not poachers or rebels, but cape buffalo. Right.

The first part of the hike was a short half-hour walk through the flat countryside to the boundaries of the park. Crossing the border into the park, the terrain changed immediately from potato farms to dense bamboo forest (like something out of House of Flying Daggers). There was no trail, but with the help of a machete, we began our slow trek — bushwhacking, ducking, twisting and marching up towards the gorillas.

Two hours later, the terrain changed from dense bamboo to slippery brush. Instead of the solid ground we had walked on before, we were walking on a spongy mix of dead brown trees covered with lush green vines and bushes. We began to see crushed foliage, a sign that we were close to Susa. Our excitement was soon tempered by the harsh realities of the evil plant known as the stinging nettle.

We generally avoided the nettles, but the rain had made everything extremely slippery, so there was a lot of falling. Once you started to fall, your instinct was to grab onto some plant which, if you were me, would likely be a stinging nettle. You see how this could induce much pain and thus much swearing from yours truly…

After thirty more minutes of stinging nettles, we ran into the set of guides who had been with Susa all morning. Our time to meet the gorillas had finally arrived. We left our bags and walked a few meters to the group.

It’s hard to describe just how amazing these creatures are, and so I will let the pictures in the gallery do the talking. The gorillas were strangely human in some ways and clearly not in some others. They had stunning and expressive eyes, sorrowful when sitting idly, focused when eating, and bright with joy when playing.

We saw one of the males risk his life to mate with one of the females while the silverback was not looking. We saw teenagers climbing bamboo shoots to get at the sweetest leaves. We saw one of the toddlers pounding his chest in mockery of the adults. We saw all this with the gorillas close enough to touch.

Our hour with the gorillas went by quickly, and as if they knew we had to leave, Susa group disappeared quickly into the forest. It was a moving experience.

We have become too familiar with the images. Gas chambers scratched with desperate fingernails. Parishioners slaughtered in a church under the watchful eye of their pastor. An armless orphan’s lonely cry. We solemnly shake our heads, sad at the loss of life, but never sad enough to stop the next slaughter.

The Genocide Memorial is Rwanda’s attempt at forever ending genocide. The memorial tells the story of how the genocide began, how it proceeded and how it finally ended. There is detailed information about the impact of the colonialism, the role radio propaganda played, the inaction of the international community, the stories of survival and finally glimpses into the court system that is slowly bringing reconciliation. The memorial also tells the story of other genocides and argues that it is only through education that the lives of future victims can be spared. It is a thoroughly moving and educational experience.

There are no pictures allowed inside, but outside, nestled between the beautiful gardens of the memorial are mass graves containing the 14,000 sons and daughters of Rwanda. The graves, which are still being filled with bodies, are a stark reminder of the evil that men do.

Let us never forget.

Driving into the forest is a breathtaking experience. You start high up in the mountains and slowly wind your way into a valley. Jutting out of both sides of the road are sharp shards of rock dotted with all forms of plant life. Drive slowly enough and you can spot the many varieties of primates and birds the forest holds. The stark contrast between the blue mountains, the white lake and the green tea which grows just outside the forest burns the most astonishing image in your mind. We stayed in a little guest house and after being warmed by a few glasses of wine and a healthy fire, we feel asleep to the sounds of monkeys scampering on our roof.

The next morning, we drove back through the forest, stopping occasionally to take some photos. It was one of these photo stops when we ran into the heavily armed Rwandan army. Although most of them were friendly, but the commander did take the time out of his busy schedule to yell at us and threaten our arrest for taking pictures of mountains. Good times.

We spent the rest of the morning hiking through the forest for an exorbitant $50/person. Now I don’t mind paying extra to support African tourism, but the hike we took featured trees and a small waterfall — no monkeys, no birds. Also, our guide, who was gasping like a pack-a-day smoker was definitely making up facts about the plants we saw.

Guide: This one is good for stopping excessive bleeding or diarrhea.
Yaw: Looks a lot like the one we just saw for killing worms.
Guide: Yeah, it’s kind of similar.
Yaw: Right. Similar.

Anyway, check out the gallery for a few pictures of the forest and a stealth shot of the Rwandan army.

Turns out one of the big trees near my room had snapped in half and came crashing on the house. It fell right into Didi and Catherine’s window and fortunately they were not hurt. The noise got everyone (minus the IT Team) out of bed to check out the damage. I’ve put a few pictures of the tree in the gallery.

If a tree falls in a forest and I am around to hear it, does it make a sound? Yes.
Will it get me out of bed? No.

It was late, so after an hour of drinking and dancing, I rounded up the team and we started the drive back. About five minutes from the hospital, we saw a raging fire on the side of the road. Patrick (EMR), Francis (IT) and I got out the car to take a closer look, and soon realized the flames were rising from a mud house. The house looked lived in and given that no one was outside fighting it, we knew there had to be people inside. We had no choice but to act.

We ran towards the house screaming fire and when no one came out, Patrick found a large branch and started knocking down the door from one side of the house. Francis and I ran around to the other side and were greeted by the house owner and his wife who were very naked and quickly realizing what was going on. Patrick came around to the other side and insisted the family go get clothes because the other PIH folks were now running towards us and who wants to be naked when fighting a fire.

At this point, the blaze had engulfed the kitchen, and we were looking at ten foot high flames which were starting to spread to the attached house. We began furiously looking for water around the house and found a few gerry cans which where heaved on the fire. The flames calmed, but the fire was still not out so we split into two teams to better tackle the fire. Those who had cameras also started documenting the newly minted Rwinkwavu Fire Fighters.

One team (mostly the girls) started digging up dirt with plates and putting that on the fire while the other team (mostly the guys) started pushing the kitchen from the rest of the house with some large branches. We knew if the kitchen didn’t come down, the house would eventually catch fire again and this time, we would not be around to help. It was all happening very quickly, but the things that stick out in my mind is Meera comforting the wife who was crying and the neighbors who had also gathered around, but strangely were not helping.

In a few minutes, the kitchen had been pulled down and all the embers covered with dirt. The fire was officially out and everyone was smiling.

I know I’ve said it before, but life in Rwinkwavu is hard. I’ve seen patients at the verge of death come back to life, and patients who look healthy die in minutes. It all seems arbitrary and yet frighteningly specific. Had we left Kirehe five minutes early, we would not have noticed the fire. Had we left five minutes later and the flames would have engulfed the house. The only way the man and his wife would have escaped a brutal death was for us to arrive exactly when we did.

As always, http://yanokwa.smugmug.com has more pictures.