The Dry Season

Ruhengeri has one major attraction for foreigners. It is the city nearest Volcanoes National Park. For $500, you can take a day hike to see the Silverback Gorillas. Our hotel is currently populated with two, maybe three large groups of Aussies, Kiwis, and Brits on safari. (Personally, I think they have a secret motive for being here: I think they're still bitter that the French got to Rwanda first, and they're trying to lay claim to it somehow.) Ed and I could afford to spend neither a day, nor $500, so we hoped to just walk a little ways into the park in hopes of seeing some kind of wildlife. It's our only free day here in Ruhengeri, and we would be remiss if we didn't at least try. We got to the park office to find it closed, and too late to attempt any sort of hike, so we got back into our cab for the day. At least it was a pleasant drive.

Our taxi driver, Jonathan, spoke only French. Ed tried to use the remainders of the French he had learned in school, but communication was difficult. Despite our inability to converse with any depth, I did find one thing remarkable, somewhat at Jonathan's expense. He was unfamiliar with the French words for the seasons. Technically, it's winter here, because we're below the equator (another first for me). When Ed tried to verify the fact with Jonathan, "winter" didn't compute. Upon further investigation, we found him unfamiliar with any of the seasons, because the season we're in is not a season. It's the dry season. There's the dry season, and there's the wet season - that's all. It's not that Jonathan was uneducated. For all I could tell (what with my vast knowledge of French), he was perfectly articulate. It's just that he learned his language in a place that had no use for season-related terms. We were unable to communicate even the concepts of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. And that makes sense. I now wonder, being from California, how it is that I have learned and comprehended the seasons. After all, in California, there's only the hot season, and the not-so-hot season.

Seeing as how it is the dry season, the relative abundant presence of mosquitos puzzles me a bit. I thought mosquitos were supposed to like humidity. It's dry. Why don't they all die. No, that wasn't a question. I think they should all die. I'm sure there's a very important reason they exist - they're probably a foundational organism in the ecosystem, or a major link in the food chain - but I don't know what that exact reason is, so I don't care. Not sure I'd care if I did. (Dad, maybe you can educate me when I get back.) Fortunately, both places we've stayed so far have had very nice rooms which have been kept mostly free of those annoying little suckers (*ba doomp, chhhh*). Sleeping under a mosquito net is actually pretty fun. I'm reminded of the days when I used to build forts in the living room by suspending sheets over chairs and pillows (college was so much fun...). The big dilemma is the light switch. Sight comes in handy when you're trying to climb into bed without stringing yourself up like a whale in a mosquito net. So leaving the light on while you get in bed is pretty necessary. If only turning the light off while you're trying to fall asleep wasn't. Having long arms isn't really my strong suit, and the switch is 4 feet away (please ignore the human proportion fallacy). Like a puppy beckoned by two masters, I don't know which way to go. But I'm cool and clever (why else would I be writing a blog?), and I came up with a ninja solution. The hotel room came equipped with a pair of foam flip-flops positioned conveniently next to the bed. I've only got two shots at this. If I miss, it's back out into the mosquito-infested jungle. Reaching down, I flip the first flop underhanded towards the switch. Just left. Last chance. I flip the second flop. Instantaneous darkness. I forfeit my consciousness feeling very proud of myself. The following morning, I awake to find another light switch just over the head-board of the bed. So much for being cool and clever.

Time for my first African church service. We'll see if it really is the dry season. My guess is that it's pouring. Looking around, I see many cups running over. I'm sure mine will be filled too.