There are two bars close to the hospital, and as my trusty readers know, The Experience has never been one to turn down a drink…or ten.

The first bar is nameless, but we call it The University. It has a few huts where you can sit, but is not the most comfortable place to enjoy the local brews. The second bar is the Sunrise Bar (aka Harvard) and despite the warm beers, tiny brochettes and atrocious waits for food, it has become my favorite.

A few weeks back, we were at the Sunrise Bar and after some pleading in bad French, they allowed us take a few to the house. This is rare because generally if you buy something in a bottle out here, you are only buying the drink — the bottle belongs to the institution. Anyway, we promised to bring them back in the morning, and I guess they felt they could trust us.

Well, one drunken thing led to another drunken thing and we didn’t bring them back. So I show up to the bar a few days after and I get handed this note (apparently, I’m the ring leader or something).

At this point, I figure I can blow it off. It’s not like I track bottle locations and I’m also pretty sure the guard has taken them back, so the note goes in my back pocket and I focus on my beer and having a good time.

I show up to work the next morning and the bar manager is waiting for me. He’s looking for his seven beer bottles, and he’s not leaving until he gets them. I try to explain that I have no need for bottles and that the bottles were probably returned by the guard but he just looks at me stoically.

At this point, most of the Rwandans around are laughing at the shakedown. The manager doesn’t know English, so with some help, I finally figure out how much I owe (200 per bottle). Adrienne and I split the bill and more laughter erupts from the Rwandans.

Just another day in Rwink.