kagablog

There’s a Rwandan saying. It goes like this:

God visits other places during the daytime but at night rests in Rwanda.

Going to Rwanda is like the old joke. “Instead of saying ‘Honey please pass the butter’, I said ‘You bitch! You ruined my life!’”. In Rwanda you want to ask “Where were you during the genocide?” instead you say “Please pass the honey”.

Landing
Landing in Rwanda was surreal. I looked out the plane window and my eyes were greeted with the green. Green green green. Then a voice reminded me that this was the land of a thousand hills and those dips I was viewing from the plane were a sight to behold. At Passport control, the guy in front of me was treated well. Laughs and smiles. I started feeling that Rwandan hospitality I knew nothing about. Then I remembered Strini Pillay’s words. Strini told me Rwandans treat white people very well but black people terribly. Laughs and smiles in front of me was white. So when I stepped up I approached with a smile. He returned my smile and within seconds I forgot about Strini and was in Kigali. John the driver from the production had picked me up and was taking me to the set. After the quick meeting I was whisked off to Hotel Des Mille Collines a.k.a Hotel Rwanda. On the way I was taking in the city landscape, the water fountains at the roundabouts, the valleys receding into the skyline. I remembered images from Raoul Peck’s Sometimes In April.

Hotel Rwanda
After the nap and a shower I went to dinner. The sight of goat meat on the menu got me excited and I ordered it. Mistake. Not the most appetizing. I decided to hit the night. The guy at reception said it was safe. Paul Kagame is on record saying Kigali is safer than Johannesburg. War torn DRC is safer than Johannesburg. I walked left and found nothing but pitch darkness. I walked right - pitch darkness. The city was asleep. I went back to the hotel. I asked a lady in the corridor what the time was. She supplied me with the correct time and then offered to come and keep me company. I said politely declined. Later on we nicknamed the girls ‘Angie’, because that’s how they introduced themselves. One of the other actors was buying some cloth at the hotel lobby and had asked if there was anything else he could buy and Angie had replied ‘Me?’ I went to sleep to the news of Hamas asking The International Community to intervene to stop the Israeli’s. Being in that hotel, knowing the history of the genocide I thought it was ironic and thought Hamas should know what kind of the guest The International Community is. A no show.

Searching For Paul Kagame
Morning found me at breakfast with two other actors in the film, John and Kenneth. John is from Kenya and had a brief appearance in The Constant Gardner. Kenneth, or Pepe as he insists on being called, acted in Yesterday, the Oscar nominated South African Film.

A quick word on Pepe. When I met Kenneth he introduced himself as Kenneth. When John kept referring to him as Pepe as we waited in the lobby I wondered what the? I discovered that Pepe is his African name and he doesn’t want to be called Kenneth. Nuff said!

We took to the streets. The mission was twofold. John had to pick up a tape and I was looking for audio recordings and videos of Paul Kagame. The internet has been useless, just giving me the background I needed and visuals but no voice. John’s mission was easy. At the video shop he picked up his tape and we asked if they had visuals of the Presido. They didn’t. The woman sent us to the radio station. One of the things that struck me on the walk was the brandishing of Ak-47’s by the security guards. Their fingers on the trigger. Ready for…what? I thought. At the radio station the producer we spoke to told me I was too short to play Paul Kagame and I needed to be skinnier. We all laughed but he couldn’t help us. We needed to write a letter. John had another friend who would be able to help us, he said. John’s friend was very helpful. One phone call and a tape was being made as he dropped the phone. We needed to write a note but this note was a mere formality and wasn’t going to disappear into the vaults of applications, demo tapes, competition etc at the radio station. We left him feeling mission accomplished. He did say I was too short to play Kagame.

Kigali International
I was cutting it fine to the airport but I got there in time. Now I accept every airport is different and each carries out the duty of taking and receiving visitors as they feel fit. Not sure if there is accepted practice in the Airport industry because I certainly haven’t felt that. What I have felt more often is that there are no conventions or airport rules. So in Burkina Faso you have to check in twice, in Milan you have to pay to use the trolleys and in Rwanda to get into the airport as you depart, you stand outside in the blazing sun and a security guard checks your ticket and passport. I guess to ensure that the only reason you are the gate is indeed to leave the country. I had an e-ticket so I hoped he understood what that meant. Inside the woman tells me their system is down so I have to have the ticket verified upstairs. Upstairs he asks me for the printout to which I reply I lost it and he says the system is down so he can’t verify my ticket! He has to phone Nairobi. It takes them twenty minutes to get through to Nairobi. They confirm my ticket and I am asking myself if the system is down how to they verify who’d flying and booked! A terrorist’s wet dream. I get my boarding pass and my seat number reads FREE. Great, even Kulula has stopped the free seating thing. On the plane after everyone had hustled for their seats, the last thing I remember before I dozed off is that the gentleman next to me let out a large burp. I thought: no attempt to hide it? How rude. He followed up with another louder one, as if answering my thoughts. I smiled and drifted off to sleep. Is it me or do they dub Bollywood films into English in Kenya?

Return To Rwanda
I am struggling not to ask people I come into contact with about the genocide. Also I keep walking down the street looking for signs to see if its coming back again. In South Africa it’s quite clear Apartheid can’t return (at least not in the format it was presented) but here in Kigali, someone could flip. Start cutting people up. I look behind the smiles. Yes they greet me at the door but could they also turn around and give the killers my room number. At least staying at Hotel Rwanda gives me comfort. This place has a reputation for saving people. Had a surreal moment. Was watching Hotel Rwanda dubbed in French at Hotel Rwanda knowing it was shot in South Africa. Forgive my paranoia but I started thinking that to come to Rwanda is to meet death, the possibility of it, it’s to meet possible collaborators that have fitted into society but more and more I feel I am meeting life. Life in all it’s full breasted glory.

News Of War
It’s ironic again that in these mountains of peace, news should reach us of the bombing of Lebanon’s airport by Israel in retaliation for Hezbollah’s bombing of Heifa. That body, The International Community is once again scrambling. As usual, the powerful protect the power. Hearing of death in this place of peace. I start crying psychologically. When are we going to stop killing each other? People I am tired. I am ashamed of the human race. We are a disgrace. Not any of us is any use. I am totally ashamed to be human. The most intelligent life forms on earth. Yeah right.

The Girl On The Bus
Lunch was over and I was exhausted. I went down in the bus and when the driver dropped the actor’s off I stayed in the bus to dose some more. His next pick up were the children in the scene. They came in loud and cheerful. Don’t know how much activity happens on the tea farms but the presence of camera’s etc must have contributed to their excitement. A small girl sat next to me and chatted away animatedly to her friends. I looked out the window on the dusty winding road thinking about Ted Hughes poem “The Horses”. The last line came to me. In din of crowded streets, going among the years, the faces/May I still meet my memory in so lonely a place/Between the streams and the red clouds, hearing the curlews/Hearing the horizons endure. It was then I realized the small girl was resting peacefully on my shoulder. Her eyes closed. Her friends still chatting loud but she was quiet resting on my shoulder. She got up to say something to her friends and then rested back on my shoulder. I made sure I kept very still. I didn’t want to give off a vibe that suggested she couldn’t find comfort in a stranger’s shoulder. The bus came to a halt, the children bundled out. I was left alone. Surrounded by all this beauty that for me was the most beautiful moment and I respected it enough not to take a picture. Her eyes closed. Resting peacefully. Her smile. In all my travels from this day forth I will come back to that image because in that moment I felt at peace.

Formula One
Driving the world around is notoriously bad I am sure. Italy is bad. In South Africa when the traffic lights are down the lanes become a four way stop. It’s something that has always impressed me somewhat about South African driving. It’s an unwritten code and when it happens, South African motorists slip into character, this isn’t the case in Milan. Because in Milan when the lights are down it becomes a free for all. I nearly lost my mind as our taxi driver went into the maze of speeding cars hooting and screaming for all to get out of his way! The master race my foot! Barbados roads aren’t bad and the driving there is fine. Traffic jams at 11pm in Los Angeles drove me mad. Johannesburg drivers are bad. Durban drivers are bad (zero tolerance or no zero tolerance). Taxi drivers are the worst but I think that’s universal. However in Rwanda, driving is something else. It’s right hand drive out there so that takes some getting used to and that’s fine. Adjusting to those roads is the least of my worries. The drivers however are competing to enter the next Formula One because I have never seen such speed on some of the narrowest and bumpiest roads in my life. In Kigali where the roads are clean and smooth, the drivers straddle the lanes and if another car approaches (as is wont to happen), it becomes an eyeball match. Who will blink first! Outside Kigali as you travel and move off the roads into the mountains and the roads become dustier it’s another story. A truck was overturned in a ditch just outside Kigali and on our way to the set two guys were staring at it. The next day, the truck was still there and the same two guys were staring at it. Arrive Alive people. Down a windy, bumpy, dusty road at 6pm, our driver decides at this moment to make a phone call, looking down as the dust rises before a corner to dial numbers! Hands free? Now his English isn’t good and neither is my Kyirwanda. My French is a combination of restaurant French and charades. He can’t see my stares in the dark so I try to make sounds to indicate to him that I am not feeling his driving. Doesn’t work for he continues to drive recklessly. The two cameramen at the back don’t seem to mind. Finally a sign saying Kigali! Civilization finally! What made me smile was when our driver started swearing at another’s driver’s hopelessly bad driving!

First Day
They had kept us on set in case they needed us, so Tom and I used the opportunity to take pictures. I have never felt the picture reflex like I have felt in Rwanda especially in the hills of Kitara. Every thing is a picture. Soon it was like breathing. I didn’t have to think about it. Hills. Camera. Click. Hills. Camera. Click. And continuous clicking like one doesn’t want to stop looking and not convinced that digital technology is capturing this sight, this feeling, this moment. So the fingers keep snapping at the same image each one trying to better the last and then you stop. Lower the camera for the bodies’ eyes to feast on the view in the full understanding that God not only rests here, but the world should too.