Good morning is not Mwiriwe (“good evening”)! And more about butter milk.

There is a meme going around Wramagana, and maybe beyond, that “Good morning” is said in the evening. Today I saw it first hand: “Mwiriwe” I said to a stranger, who responded “Good morning.” Another girl then asked, “What does good morning mean?” and he answered, “It means Mwiriwe.” I quickly interjected that, no, it means “Mwaramutse” and he was very surprised. “Really? It does not mean Mwiriwe?” “No,” I said, “It means Mwaramutse and is only said in the morning.” All the kids and adults – almost everyone – says, “Good morning” to me in the evening. I told this fact to one man in the evening who had said, “good morning” – I said, “Now it is evening, so you should say, ‘Good evening.’ Mwaramutse is ‘good morning’ and ‘Mwiriwe’ is ‘good evening.’” He looked at me like I was crazy and said, “ok… Mwaramutse then,” I think making fun of me, as if I was confused as to what Mwaramutse meant, as opposed to him being confused as to what “good morning” meant. I wonder how far this misunderstanding stretches….I would not care, really, because I want people to speak to me in Kinyarwanda, at least for basic greetings (I hope I improve beyond basic greetings.) But really, all the “good morning!” in the evening is driving me crazy. And some kids with pretty decent grammar and vocabulary, for Wramagana anyway, seem to make this mistake. Which is a shame.

“Do you have a father?” is a common off-hand question here when meeting someone new. That, followed by, “do you have a mother?” and then “do you have siblings?” When I first heard it asked, I thought the kid meant “do you have a husband?” but then quickly realized that “do you have a father?” would be a common question here. Everyone I have spoken to so far had at least one member of their immediate family killed or who died of an illness, and a lot who are my age or older had one or both of their parents killed in the genocide.

On another, lighter note: I want to compliment everyone on their beautiful clothes and the little kiddies on their pretty cute faces, but the whole “that’s pretty” is challenging, because verbs have classes in Kinyarwanda, so you say “Uri mwiza” if you want to say “You are pretty” and “Heza” (or something like that) if you want to safe a place is pretty and “Ni Chiza” (spelling that wrong) for some things and not others. I know that “Your shirt is pretty” is “Ishati ziza” or something along those lines. When I was sitting next to the cute three year old decked out in pink, I wanted to tell her she was pretty and I think I used the word “Ziza” and her father smiled and said “You are supposed to tell me that she is ziza” because she was his, and tell her “Uri Mwiza.”

There is no word for “cute.” I was trying to say that the goat that was about to be slaughtered for the bi-weekly kabobs seemed so cute. It was not understand what “cute” meant and I said it was like pretty but for a baby, and he said some really long sentence that described cute. I checked, and there really is no word for cute.

With a country full of pretty clothes and ridiculously cute babies, this is annoying. How will I say “cute shoes?” It’s important.

Ah, butter milk. And the local butter milk bar. It is awesome. It is a small little tiny room, with a table and benches, smaller even than the local proper “bar,” and filled with people who love butter milk. They sell Amandazi, which is really just donuts, and Chapatti, which is just Chapatti, and sometimes hardboiled eggs. And they sell a 600 or 700 ml. glass of butter milk, or Amata Ikivuguto (I think, this might be something else) for 200 Froncs, versus 150 froncs for a tiny little glass of maybe 100 ml. So you go for the 600/700 ml one, right? I got the huge glass, could not begin to finish it, and offered some to the man sitting across from me, who was the pharmacist from health center across the road, which was built two years ago and has a Peace Corps volunteer who also teaches the child prodigy, Leondis, English. Anyways, he used to be a primary school teacher for English and, based on his English, I understand a little why kids think “good morning” is “Miriwe” which, well, I just looked it up, and actually means “good afternoon.” But still. He taught me how to say Ikivugoto and I told him that Chapatti comes from India, which he and the others in the room did not know. Chapatti is very popular here. So, I love the Butter Milk Bar (that is not what it is officially called, it is not called anything, like every other place of rest and relaxation Rubona). It basically serves the purpose of a café, which they do not have, because coffee is not really drunk here.

Today, we were told who our “house mothers” and the “sisters” would be. Volunteers are all “friends of the family” which I think is a very accurate description. The “sisters” are actually councilors. Soon, we will meet the kids who are living in our houses – we don’t call them “students”, because the idea is that Agahozo-Shalom will become like a home to them, which includes a school as only one aspect of many.

Ann Heyman spoke to us about making Agahozo-Shalom more sustainable. One project was improving the hatchery and making it more profitable. Apparently 10 million eggs are imported from Uganda every year and there is a huge problem with protein deficiency among children.

Speaking of protein, I think the highlight of my week was seeing gruff men after a hard days work sit down and get 700ml. beer cups filled with milk.