I have approximately three months left in Huye, a place where I met people who willingly played Florence Nightingale to my troubles in one way or another. Tina, a fellow Cameroonian, was the first genuine connection I made here. I can still picture her seated across from me at this popular “rolex” (a local snack that consists of fried eggs, salad, and potato chips) spot. She’s hunched over the table, eyes glued to her phone, the hood of her black hoodie almost masking her facial features entirely. We both look up at the same time, our eyes lighting up with recognition. A mutual friend had been trying to introduce us to each other for quite some time, but with little success. Now that I think about it, we were always destined to cross paths. Tina is the most religious person I know. Me, not so much. Sometimes I wonder how we manage to stay friends. For the sake of our friendship, I’ve tried to impress on myself that ‘sinful’ discourses themselves are morally neutral; it’s knowing one’s audience that really matters. After spending a lot of time with her, you learn to omit certain conversations around Tina, who will take offence, because as a general rule of friendship, it is kinder to avoid giving offence when you can. It’s the least you can do for a friend who offers to bake a cake for you at 2a.m just because you were craving it. Don’t tell her I said this, but I only pretend to complain when she shows up at my house unannounced. Secretly, I love it. Hakeem, on the other hand, I think enjoys the performance of being Muslim arguably more than he practices the actual religion. He doesn’t seem to understand that certain behaviours are regarded as “haram” by Muslims. If comprehension isn’t the issue, he simply doesn’t care. When I first met Hakeem, his histrionics put me off. He was what you would call a “brassy broad”; loud, large, opinionated, and self-confident bordering on arrogance. He was everything I wouldn’t look for in a romantic partner. As a friend, however, I think he’s awesome. We spent most of our university days laughing about grades, we were ‘concerningly’ unconcerned about me playing photographer for him. You see, Hakeem’s obsession with the camera is becoming a character flaw. Random calls, watermelons... I have quite the collection of human gems in Huye. Friends, whom I’ll miss profoundly. I’m talking about all the people who showed up for me in the sweetest ways, creating beautiful memory after beautiful memory after beautiful memory. Aimé’s random phone calls, offering watermelons. A breakfast of samosas from my friend, Kefa. The lunch meal cards from Pacifiquo and co. The kind note from Joël offering to accompany me while I go to purchase medications for my toothache. Bish helping with the dishes. Antony whose face seems to light up every time he catches a glimpse of me. My classmates, calling to remind me about assignment deadlines and CATs. These are the little gestures that kept me going then, and I still value them today. These days though, Suzy, Glory, and Ange are the ones I miss most. All are currently juggling media jobs in Kigali. They are the reason my monthly trips to the city make me feel as though everything is right again with the world after I return. It’s always easy with them, never an uncomfortable silence. We chat about everything, from unremarkable men we’ve had the misfortune of meeting, to our plans to make so much money that we can travel the world together. Suzy poo, (Stranger Things fans would get the reference) as I fondly call her, was the first of the group I became acquainted with. She is the most altruistic person I know. She is the friend who is always prepared to listen to you rant about any and everything but would never divulge personal information about herself unless the apocalypse is upon us. We joke that she wouldn’t even tell us when she’s getting married, but deep down, I’m worried that she might really do that. The ‘adult’ friend, nagging pal and Rwandan nationality The old adage “Never judge a book by its cover” was made for Ange. On our first meeting, she had the flat-eyed look of a girl on her best behaviour. A few weeks into getting to know the real her, I was in for one hell of a ride. There are many sides to her. On the one hand, she is the “adult” friend who already handles so much responsibility that you can’t help but be in awe of her. On the other, she loves to have a good time and is hilarious in party-mode; this girl can't dance to save her life! She acts as my personal tour guide and talks my ear off about getting paid for her “services” but I tell myself she’s just joking around. I know she is. Probably. Right? Barely a month into knowing Glory, she started nagging me about adopting the Rwandan nationality. I quickly learned it loosely translated to, “You’re growing on me.” She is undoubtedly one of the sweetest, kindest people I know. I’m not sure she even remembers this, but I was going through one of the worst periods of my life when she texted me, “Hey girl, get ready. I’m taking you out in an hour”. That gesture meant the world to me. Or is it the time my sister came to visit Rwanda for the first time, and Glory went out of her way to ensure that her arrival was comfortable and stress-free? There was a time when I considered Huye a prologue that set the stage for the rest of my life, a prologue that I was not going to be taking with me. This thought got me through a self-pitying night or two. Now, I realise the prologue eventually turns into the book. I don’t want to lose these kinds of connections as my chapters unwind. I want to let my world grow with the people I met in this town. Here is what three years in Huye have taught me: · You’d save valuable friendships if you make efforts to understand your friends better. · Be like Hakeem; never think of yourself as ordinary. · Food is also the way to a woman’s heart. They just don’t mention that part. · You’re allowed to hoard information about yourself, with the exception of news regarding your wedding. · And for the most important lesson, community is something closer, something less abstract and more essential.
