Mzungu in Heels, Part I

I’ll use my first entry for the tale behind my blog’s name, “Mzungu in Heels”. It starts with a rather amusing conversation that I had with my Partners in Health colleague and new friend, Dave, on our way out to Rwinkwavu, Rwanda. (Rwinkwavu, by the way, is a rural district or province in – I think – eastern Rwanda. The reason I’m not sure is that Google Maps can’t seem to find it, and since I don’t really know other methods besides Google and my Blackberry to find where things are, I’ll have to settle with my best guess.) So, Dave is one of the very few Mzungus (pan-African term for “white people”) living amongst the villagers in “Rwink” (pronounced as if it had a silent “w”, which I feel a certain affinity towards, having lived with a silent “w” in my own name for 28 years). As we drove down the hillside on the curvy red-clay road into the valley where Rwink is situated, our shiny 4WD SUV attracted the attention of some of the villagers. They ran out to the car, waving and pointing. I didn’t know how to feel or react – were they hoping for money? Food? Dave sighed. “Yeah, it gets a little old, you know? Never being able to go anywhere without attracting attention.” I looked at him questioningly. He continued, “it’s like that game you used to play when you were little – the punch buggy game. You know, when you got to smack your brother and sister if you spotted the punch buggy first. Well in this case, we’re the punch buggies.” What a fabulous analogy, huh? Within only a few hours of hanging out in Rwink, I began to understand what he meant. Of course we wanted to chat and joke with the village kids, but sometimes when all they wanted to do was run after you, laughing and pointing, it could get a little frustrating. So when finding myself walking around with a fellow Mzungu and being overwhelmed by the “punch buggy” feeling, a source of a good laugh was of course to punch my colleagues on the shoulder and say quietly “Mzungu ________!” But how to fill in the blank? We couldn’t use colors. I mean, “Mzungu white” is basically redundant, “Mzungu green” only happens when you’ve accidentally drunk the unpasteurized milk, “Mzungu black” is like an oxymoron … So we were left with descriptions of however we were dressed: “Mzungu in plaid!”, “Mzungu in shorts!”, and of course, “Mzungu in heels!”

So, you may now be thinking, who in their right mind would bring high heels to central Sub-Saharan Africa? OK, I admit while staying out at the hospital in rural Rwink I left my heels in the suitcase and subjected my sneakers and rubber-soled ballet flats to becoming balls of red clay dust. But in Kigali, heels were actually rather apropos. Kigali is the capital city of Rwanda, and is shockingly clean, safe, and businesslike. It’s like the entire city is in the midst of an unspoken rebellion against what the western world would naturally think of them after the horrific mid-1990s genocides – like they are so determined to be exactly the opposite of the violent, disorganized image that their relatively recent history suggests. They take pride in their beautiful city – one day a month is a day of service, and all residents join in cleaning up their neighborhoods. As a result, there is seriously no litter on the streets lined with healthy vegetation, and there are sidewalks and paths nicer than a lot of streets in Boston. It really is picturesque. Rwanda, c’est le pays de mille collines – Rwanda is known as the land of a thousand hills. Kigali is set on a few rolling hills and deep-set valleys that glow red and green during the day and twinkle with tiny white lights from the city’s inner neighborhoods at night. Yes, electricity – pretty darn constant – throughout the city. There is even a weekend salsa-dancing scene!