My Sanctuary

I am greeted at the Border with big hugs by three of my new staff members. We sit and have a drink overlooking the Rwandan hills and Tanzanian highlands. I am working hard to find a balance where I do not come off as too young, and where they do not feel threatened or tested. They slip in and out of Kiswahili. I can usually understand the gist of their conversation, but I am nowhere near where I was two years ago. My brain is constantly in problem solving mode, trying to bridge the gap over the words I do not know. Currently we are debating which staple food is better, matoke (mashed green bananas) or posho (maize meal). Unfortunately, I am in matoke country.

Before I know it, I have a 12 month multiple entry visa and we are in our Landcruzer whizzing down the tarmac towards my new home. The first short cut is impassable due to the high waters of the river. During low water levels, there is a pulley bridge. Basically a platform that you drive one car on to and the man at the other end pulls it on cables to the other side. So we take shortcut number two. We turn right off the tarmac onto a red dirt road. “If you ever need to get back here, just tell them to take you to the prison” Pastor informs me. I am immediately transported. I had spent the last 20 hours driving through cities and towns on main roads, now I was driving through serious bush. Occasionally we pass through towns. When I say towns, I am being generous. Really they are clusters of homes with the occasional church; they lack shops or trading centers. We crest over hills and get phenomenal views of the Tanzanian highland plains and dive down hills into the bush that is taller than the car. “Karibu Tanzania” says Mama Mpinizle. I breathe deep, not having the words to describe my enjoyment at that moment. Despite all of the beauty, there is a voice in the back of my head asking, “Ngara can’t actually be this small, right?” Eventually we hit another tarmac road and I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.

We climb, and with each minute, the view becomes more spectacular. The wind wafts the smell of eucalyptus through the window. This smell has always meant home to me. The road right off the freeway to my grandparent’s house is lined with Eucalyptus trees, so when I smelled them, I always knew we were close. Pastor points to a town on top of a hill and tells me that is Ngara. I had been told that my house has a porch with an amazing view, so I start imaging that one of the houses I see on the eastern side of the hill is mine, overlooking the amazing valley.

I am disappointed as we fork off down a small road, seemingly down into the valley. Pastor greets everyone we pass as they stare at the Mzungu in the front seat. In about 10 minutes we pull off into the compound. It is not the traditional compound in that it does not have a fence, but it is four houses spread out across the ridge of a hill. The last one in is my house.

From the outside, the house is very unsuspecting. It is a simple L shape with gray cement walls. The front view is a bit of a letdown. There is a huge water catchment with pipes and hardware, and a few windows. Nothing to write (or blog) home about. Pastor unlocks the door and welcomes me to my new home. The front room is empty, just red cement floors and an empty shelf. Disappointing, I thought the house was fully furnished. I slip off my shoes and walk down three stairs. My jaw drops. To my left is a full kitchen with dark wood cabinets and countertops, a full sink, full fridge and a gas stove and oven. And a sky light. In front of me and stretching out to my right is the dining room, office and living room, complete with a fire place. Windows line the walls. The furnishing is a mix of rustic and modern with African art, ceramics and woven crafts decorating the space. There is a small TV, DVD player and sound system accompanied by a vast DVD collection and a shelf full of books on Africa history, politics, and some top notch literature (maybe I didn’t need to bring those thirty some-odd books, but better safe than sorry!).

Between the office and living room there is a door that leads to my porch. I step outside to see sweeping views of the Rwandan hills and the river valley floor. I am in shock. I am giddy. I try to keep my cool while my coworkers help me bring my stuff inside, but I am bursting with excitement and disbelief. This is totally a house I would dream about living in. Oh, wait, I do!

The hallway is lined with skylights. My room is at the very end, the eastern wall is lined with wooden doors for closets and storage. The northern and western walls have 3 windows lighting the room beautifully. In the center is a double bed with a light down comforter, draped in a white mosquito net. There are many thoughts running through my head, but the most prominent is, man this sure beats my twin bunk bed that I could not sit up in and that was too short, forcing my feet to angle over the foot board and get tangled in my mosquito net.

There is a full bathroom, shower, hot water heater, the works.

There is a garden outside, that, in my future life I will visit with my kitchen knife, selecting romaine lettuce, French beans, cilantro and papaya for my dinner.
My coworkers are eager to get home, as it is 6:30pm on a Friday. We say goodbye and make plans to go to the weekly market that just so happens to be on Saturdays. As they drive off I let out a giddy scream, do a little dance and just revel in my new home.

This house just demands a nice glass of red wine. So I scour the kitchen, and what do I find…I bring my glass of cab and the letter from my predecessor and settle into the couch on my porch to watch the sunset. The light wind rustles the leaves of the faithful eucalyptus trees. The east is orange and the hills below blue in the fading light.
…
The founder of my organization is married to a UN worker who was here working in the aftermath of the Rwandan genocide and the ongoing instability in Burundi. Currently they live in Thailand, but they keep this house as their home as it is where their kids were born, and it is heaven. They come home once a year for a month and allow the Director to stay in the house the rest of the year. I marvel at the idea that someone who keeps such a beautiful house would hire me to lead her organization and say a little thank you to the United Nations. I sip my wine.

Photos:
http://picasaweb.google.com/rksantos/HowDifferentLifeCanBeLifeInNgaraTZ#