Monday July 27 2009

I'm resuming blogging after Denise's and my long trip to Butare, about 2 1/2 hours south of kigali. We are certainly experiencing a great deal of Rwanda.

Denise's and my first meeting was with the chair of the psychology department at the National University. They were very enthusiastic about my proposed sabbatical and expressed a need for collaborative research and also training. The chairman told me that although he was enthusiastic he would have to present the proposal to his dean and who would then present the request his rector.This is all proforma because if they approve the officials will approve too, but the rules have to be followed. We immediately bonded over common difficulties with deans and administrators.

I think we came to the country at the right time. Perhaps enough time has passed so that the country is ready to acknowledge the trauma and begin to cope with the massive project of dealing with the suffering that had to be put on the back burner to move on.

We also met with the organization of Rwandan psychology students, who want to connect with other psychology student organizations. It is an undergraduate organization; there are as yet no graduate programs. I told them I would connect them up with both the undergraduate organizations at Stern and YC, and also at Ferkauf.

The next day we visited the ethnographic museum and then the royal palace. They explained the arrangement of the typical Rwandan hut, and then the royal hut, which we walked through. Everything is gendered, and highly structured, and organized around agriculture, particularly cows and vegetables. We went through the milk hut, managed by a woman in the royal family, and the beer hut, managed by a royal male. Each had their own poison taster, for obvious reasons. I'm told than Rwandans love their cows; Jean Baptiste certainly loves his. When I asked him how many cows he had he told me "just a few," which is what everyone says no matter how many cows they have. If they exhibit too much pride of possession then expect the spirits to punish them.

Of all the many stories I could tell you, and probably will when I get back, I am particularly struck by one. A young Rwandan woman, Chantal, who grew very attached to me and Denise, told me in coversation that I was old, and asked if my wife was old, too. I was quite affronted at first, wanting to protest that I'm still young, but then I realized that for her it was a high compliment. In Rwanda, the old are revered, not pushed aside to make way for people who can do things faster or in a more modern way. Probably, related, is that she lost both her parents in the genocide or its aftermath. There are very few old people left in Rwanda. I expect that when I land at JFK and a 20 something man pushes by me, I will experience culture shock.

For Denise's mom and family, Denise is being absolutely amazing. I couldn't have done this without her.