My Last Few Days in Rwanda

9/3/09

Today I updated the blog, had yet another rehearsal for tomorrow’s gig at the Goethe Institute, and ran a bunch of errands in preparation for my departure on Sunday. Had to get money from the bank to pay rent, buy another duffle bag, etc.

9/4/09

Soundcheck for Goethe Institute gig today proved to be a lengthy procedure, for the usual reasons. The sound engineers were a little late, and there was some general dilly-dallying. I decided to practice some clarinet while I was waiting around. A young woman in a headscarf was reading from a piece of paper nearby and started to wander in my direction. When she got really close, I stopped playing clarinet, and her reading came to a sudden halt. She looked at me annoyed, and signaled with her hands that I was to continue playing while she read, so I launched into Odessa Bulgar, an old klezmer tune, and she started reading very dramatically in French. I then started playing an old Doina as she continued to read. Though I don’t understand French, I appreciated the way her voice adapted to the peaks and valleys of the music. When we finished, she introduced herself as Natasha. Her theater group was rehearsing in the same building that I was soundchecking. She was preparing for a trip to Beirut, where she’d be reading this piece for a theater festival of french speaking countries. (Rwanda is in fact doing away with French in favor of English, but it is still widely spoken.) Eventually she would be performing it to musical accompaniment, so she thought she’d practice with me. I much appreciated her spontaneity and character. Her English was nearly perfect, but she said she could never write in English, because she’s too much of a perfectionist. We established that she’d be acting in Daddy’s next film, and it was quite a mystery to me that I hadn’t already met her. She then dropped the name, “Kiki” and said, “I think you know her right?” It turns out I had met Kiki in Brooklyn just a short while before I departed for Rwanda. It was at the Blue Marbles fundraiser to open an ice cream shop in Butare (www.bluemarbledreams.org) Kiki is the theater director at the National University. And sure enough she showed up to the gig that night.

The gig drew a couple-few hundred people of all ages, and a good mix of Rwandans and expats. The entrance was free to make it accessible, though the location was hard to reach without a cab, probably hurting the turnout among some of the less well-to-do.

I think the American musicians among my readers will understand when I say I was not so crazy about playing tunes like Blue Bossa and Chameleon (these are songs many of us have played way too much,) but it was a trade-off. I played the old jazz tunes with them, and they played the old Rwandan hits with me. The music was much appreciated, and an event of this kind and scope is extremely rare in Rwanda. I particularly appreciated playing clarinet with Sophie, the Inanga player. I also enjoyed starting off the evening with two lengthy unaccompanied saxophone pieces. Some people told me afterwards that it was their favorite part.

I have to give a lot of credit to the band, Jean-Pierre, and Karin for their hard work.

9/5/09

Today, I recorded some inanga and clarinet duets with Sophie. It was a nice day, and we recorded outside. I’m hoping this can be an interesting sample of some of the music I’ve made in Rwanda, though it’s just one of the many different styles I’ve played here.

I also had several social appointments. With my departure being tomorrow, I have quite a lot of goodbyes to make.

I received a text message from Emmy today, asking if I could give him some money before I left, and I agreed to meet him tomorrow and help him out. I feel that I owe him a little for his role in the film.

9/6/09

Today was departure day. I started packing, then had to go meet Emmy to give him the money I promised. While Emmy more than deserves all the food, beverages, hotel rooms, and money I’ve given him along the way, I was starting to feel that I had allowed the relationship to evolve in the wrong way. He was latching on and getting closer than was necessary. After all, his English isn’t quite good enough for us to communicate effectively about a large variety of topics. Bluntly put, I was starting to feel that because I’d spent a little money on him, that he concluded I might have access to an unending supply. He spoke of how great our friendship was, but I cannot entertain any illusions about that. Sure we are friends, but I was using him for his services in showing me around Gisenyi and in the film Daddy and I are making. Any money I spent on him was compensation for that and not charity or a friendly gift. I now wish I’d made that arrangement more formal, perhaps even using a contract and treating it as employment. I’m sure he also knows that our friendship has limits, linguistic and otherwise.

I brought Emmy along to meet Pacifique who had a small bundle of papers for me to give a mutual friend in New York, Claudine of the Kuki Ndiho Foundation. I was glad to see that Emmy and Pacifique got along well. They discussed the genocide, and Pacifique told about his time as a soldier when he was seventeen. After Pacifique left us to go to a meeting, Emmy offered to show me where he lives, so we took the ten minute walk there. His room was every bit as dismal as I expected, no more and no less. The walls and floor were made of mud bricks. There was no bed, just a mattress on the floor, and he shared the place with a couple other students. There was an outhouse that I believe was used by a few households. As we walked back to the main road, he continued on this topic of how hard his life is and how badly he needs help. I can’t blame him for trying to express the hardships he faces, both economically and emotionally from the genocide. It was difficult for him to express the level of desperation that he truly feels. I could see the shame he felt, when while showing me his home, he said, “Okay, can we go now?” He sounded a little angry, and I could tell he hated his home so much. He hadn’t invited me as a guest, but as a spectator. Emmy was begging for help. It annoyed me a little, but he was doing what he felt he had to do.

I absolutely respect Emmy and think he’s doing a great job and is working very hard to make a better life for himself. His ambitions to eventually go to graduate school are admirable, and I think he has a very good chance of achieving his goals in life. He is very motivated and displays a lot of endurance. I hope that when the film is finished, Emmy’s story and his ambitions will be displayed for a broader audience, and that others might want to help him out with jobs and other opportunities. He also needs supplies for school, and could probably make good use of a laptop.

I went home and finished packing, then Jean-Pierre picked me up to go the airport. When we arrived I left him with the extra saxophone I brought (the one I learned on as a child.) I trust that he will put it to good use. I believe the plan is to use it in a youth program that his wife is active in, and they will also try and get other musical instruments. I will provide more details on that at a later date. It was surprisingly hard to find someone to give the sax to, since there’s no one to teach people how to play it! But I said I’d donate a sax, and I did…

So then Jean-Pierre left me at the airport, and right now I’m waiting in Brussels for my connecting flight to New York.

The beach at Lake Kivu

Jeremy performs for children on the shore of Lake Kivu at Gisenyi

8/27/09-9/2/09, Including a trip to Gisenyi and a performance with Rwa Makondera

8/27/09

This morning I recorded a little more music for the film, then I called Manuel, the leader of Salus Populi, to tell him I didn’t think I’d be making it to Butare tomorrow to perform with Salus Populi. My reasons are that I have to play at the Muhima Primary School in the afternoon, then was invited to play at a nightclub in the evening, plus I have a performance the next afternoon. It just didn’t seem possible to got to Butare. I am very sorry for this, and I hope to perform with Salus Populi sometime when I return to Rwanda. I like their music and their spirit.

I met Richard Niwenshunti for lunch. He’s someone I’d been meaning to meet for a few weeks now. In addition to running his own business, Richard is the Kigali representative for BPeace ( www.bpeace.org ) which is an American organization that promotes female entrepreneurship in post-conflict zones, particularly Rwanda and Afghanistan. It’s a worthwhile initiative, because it empowers people with employment, so it is more sustainable than many aid programs. Plus, it decreases women’s dependency on potentially abusive spouses, by making them economically independent. I first heard of BPeace from Delilah Rothenberg, a friend who’s now on the Parade of One board. Bpeace members like Delilah and and Sabra Richardson have provided much encouragement and support for my project.

Richard, having traveled to New York, could relate to some of my impressions of Rwanda: the politeness of the people here, the shyness etc. He also shared some contacts at the American Embassy and the Kigali Institute of Education to see if I could arrange a couple more performances. Hopefully, it’ll work out, but my time here is running short, with just a week and two days left!

After meeting Richard, I went to Novotel to use the internet and update my blog, which is a remarkably time consuming activity. It’s hard for me to roam with both my laptop and my saxophone. So when I need to update my blog and upload photos etc. I have to go all the way back home, drop off my sax, and pick up my laptop etc.

Later I had a rehearsal with Rwa Makondera. Some of them were in school uniforms today, and the rehearsal had a little bit of that wound-up after school energy. We are supposed to have a performance on Saturday in the food court of a shopping mall here, but there are still some logistical issues to be sorted out. You can’t really count on anything happening until after it has happened around here, but I am really hoping this works out!

In the evening, I received a text message that my appointment tomorrow at the Muhima Primary School has been cancelled, because the headmaster has a meeting with the vice education minister. Perhaps, we will reschedule, but I’m now wondering if I should have gone to Butare!

8/28/09

Today, I worked on some of the logistics for tomorrow’s performance with Rwa Makondera. I have no idea what little Rwandan kids think a nice treat is, but the manager at Nakumatt (a local supermarket) suggested that a croissant and a soda for each kid should do. So I set that up for tomorrow.

In the afternoon, I performed on the street in Nyamerembo, a lively neighborhood with a large Muslim presence. As usual, I was well received. There was also a surprisingly common occurence: someone tried to give me money, which I turned away to the spectator’s applause. At some point, I decided to start walking while playing, parade style. Some people followed me at first for a block or two, but street kids followed me the longest. (Street kids are easily recognizable from their oversized clothing and general filth.) As I walked, many people clapped and laughed from the little shops or from buses. Again, someone tried to give me a coin from a bus, and the passengers laughed and applauded when I turned it down.

I continued to parade all the way to the center of town. One image that sticks in my mind is a young boy who kept running ahead of me, stopping to watch until I passed, then he would run ahead of me again. This probably went on for ten minutes. The walk downtown was about thirty or forty-five minutes from Nyamerembo, and full of curious looks, cheers, and laughs from people passing by. When I arrived in the town center, I stopped again for a stationary performance, and one more time someone tried to give me a 100 Fr coin. The crowd watched for my reaction, as if this was an experiment they were conducting on me. When I turned down the money, once again there was applause. I’m not sure why this was happening so much today!

In the evening, I played with a rock band at the Planet Night Club in the Kigali Business Center.

8/29/09

Today was the gig at the Union Trade Center with Rwa Makondera, and it was quite a struggle to make it happen. To make a long story short, there were lapses in communication and confusion about the distribution of tasks. Everyone thought that transporting the children from the Ivuka Arts Center to the venue was someone else’s problem, and the instructor, Chance, wasn’t sure of the time and date of this performance. Without assigning blame for this chaos, I will simply say that we got a bus, and the kids sang and drummed the whole way to UTC. We were forty-five minutes late, but it’s a miracle that we showed up at all.

The performance went very well, the crowd was a mix of European and American expats and middle class Rwandans. Both categories seemed to enjoy the performance equally. The kids had a really great interaction with the audience, sometimes dancing up to people who were holding out money for them. I got lots of good feedback afterwards. People were surprised at how well the saxophone fit into the mix, and they wanted to know how to donate to Rwa Makondera.

After the gig, I picked up the snacks at Nakumatt, and we took the bus back to Ivuka, again the children singing and drumming the whole ride. Finally while watching the sites of Kigali pass by and listening to the kids’ songs, I was able to rest from today’s earlier chaos, and I found myself feeling a new level comfort here in Rwanda. The sun was setting, and I was now noticing the subtle differences in color between different stretches of dirt road. It was almost starting to feel like home. Aspects of the place had become beautiful by virtue of familiarity. Rwanda was no longer a series of historical events and statistics, but a place with subtle differences in the color of its dirt. Even the genocide didn’t seem to matter so much at this moment. And I was no longer so irritated by the Rwandan unreliable way of doing business. I’d somehow come to terms with it and felt I could work in my own way alongside it, hopefully never becoming fully a part of it though. I was starting to enjoy myself here!

Back at Ivuka, the kids thoroughly enjoyed the croissants and sodas, which relieved me. I was afraid that they would either want more or something different, but this worked out fine. I imagine American kids would have been more loaded with allergies, other special needs, and preferences. The kids started talking to me a lot more than they had before. It seemed like the ice was finally broken, now that I probably wouldn’t see them again before I left. One told me her name was Clarissa, and another said his name is English, which provoked an outburst of laughter among him and the other kids. They wanted to know if I could ever bring them to New York, and I said maybe. They also suggested that I marry Chance, their dance instructor. After eating, they asked me to play some more saxophone, and they started dancing like maniacs, clapping their hands and stomping almost like it was an Appalachian hoe-down, though I don’t think they’ve ever heard the word “hoe-down,” and I’m not even exactly sure what one is, myself.

Next I met Daddy and his girlfriend Emily for dinner, and Crystal, a Canadian public health worker, also joined us. Daddy told us a little about his life right after the genocide. He lived with his uncle, and there was no water, electricity, and certainly no public order. If you found something it was yours. Just about any currency was accepted for anything: Ugandan, Tanzanian, it didn’t matter. Landmines exploding were still a regular sound, and now and then you simply wouldn’t see someone again. We also talked about the different ways Americans and Rwandans casually address sex in conversation, and this led only to less mentionable topics. I will spare you for now.

After dinner we went to a party at a British girl’s house and we stayed late until it turned into a wild little dance party of about 6 people.

8/31/09

Today Daddy, Emmy, and I piled into a bus to visit Gisenyi, a city in northwestern Rwanda on Lake Kivu, near the Congolese border. Emmy is from Gisenyi, and he offered to show me the good places to perform on the street here. When we arrived, the first the first thing on the agenda was lunch. We had a buffet that was tasty, though infested with flies. Then, we went to the local market where Emmy had us running around, with me performing in several places, while Daddy filmed. Daddy later translated for me some of the comments he overheard, and hopefully captured on the camera. People were apparently amazed that a white person could “also go crazy.” Some of them even said they felt sorry for me. Hopefully when Emmy translated my reasons for playing on the street, these concerns were clarified. Others said things like, “Score! A free concert!”

After the market, we got in a cab to go to the beach at Lake Kivu. In the car, I started complaining that my street performances were starting to feel so commonplace and monotonous to me. It was always playing sax and watching people gather round and stare. The magic from when I never really knew how people would react was wearing off. I was doing the same show over and over, as if in a circus sideshow. I think I was just complaining, because I was tired.

The view at Lake Kivu was stunning, and there were lots of kids swimming and playing on the beach. I performed on a pier, and my have reached a small musical climax. It is hard to reach musical peaks here or to even know if or when I am reaching them, because I’m just as focused on watching my audience as I am on making music. I can only hope that some of the music has been pretty good. One of my reasons for coming here and doing this has been to work on my unaccompanied saxophone performance, and I do think I’ve made some strides in that direction. I am eager to take some of the ideas and motifs I’ve been using to the practice room when I get back home to NYC.

After performing on the beach, we strolled to the Congolese border, and caught a quick glimpse of Congo. We stopped for a drink there, and Emmy started sharing some of the details of how his mother came to be paralyzed. There was a grenade attack on their house, and their were still shrapnel fragments in her head.

9/1/09

Today Emmy, Daddy, and I had breakfast at the hotel, walked around Gisenyi a little, then piled right back onto the bus to go to Kigali. It had been a quick trip! The bus driver agreed that I could play for about ten minutes during the bus ride. The passengers seemed unsurprised, though curious and pleased with my performance. Generally, I think when Daddy was with me filming and Emmy was taking photos and translating, Rwandans were less baffled by me. It probably made at least a little more sense if I wasn’t alone, plus I’m sure they overheard Emmy asking the bus driver is I could play.

Two people vomited on the bus, which is common here, because the roads can be very windy and full of potholes. Those who are prone to motion sickness, might just suffer an attack in Rwanda. In recent times, plastic bags have been banned here, so it’s harder for the ill individual to find somewhere to deposit their problem. Both people today vomited all over the seat and floor. The first person’s illness smelled so bad that the bus driver pulled over and let people get out for some air. Daddy insisted that the sick individuals were at fault for this. He could see in their guilty faces that they knew they had problems with motion sickness and did nothing to prevent it. They should’ve refrained from eating right before riding the bus, and should have been prepared with some kind of bag or bucket.

As soon as I returned to Kigali, I had to go straight to a rehearsal for the Goethe-Institut gig. I think the performance should go well.

9/2/09

Today, I met Emmy to record him speaking for some voice overs in the film we are making. He talked about his life during and after the genocide, the hardships of going to school with no money, etc. He spoke about how difficult it is to be in Gisenyi, where most of his family was killed and many of the killers roam around town freely. After all, they can’t put fifty percent of the population in prison. But when he is in Kigali, he feels better, because he doesn’t know so many people or their particular roles in the genocide. Back home, his mother, as I’ve mentioned, has been paralyzed in bed for fifteen years. His sister is a subsistence farmer, and balances her time between attaining food and taking care of their mother, who can’t do anything on her own. It can be very hard for Emmy to be at school when he knows his help is needed back home, but getting an education is the only hope for his future and the only way he can raise a family that will live normally. He is constantly anticipating his mother’s death, in which case he will have to quit his studies in order to go deal with it back in Gisenyi. He fears that after all the work he’s already done, something will still prevent him from graduating.

Next, I had yet another rehearsal for the Goethe Institute performance. Today, Sophie the inanga player was there. This is something I had been anticipating for some time, as I have long loved the inanga even before coming to Rwanda. Her playing and singing was fantastic, and we found the clarinet particularly nice alongside it.

In the evening, I performed at the Gisimba Orphanage, which was a fantastic experience. The kids ranged in age from near toddlers to teenagers. The older ones were very style-conscious, sometimes in fairly eccentric ways. I remember one girl wearing sunglasses, though it was dusk. They came up with some interesting dance moves to my music, sometimes even coordinating with one another. Then, they sang some songs for me. Some of them I didn’t know, and some I did, like Santa Clause Is Coming Down, and If You’re Happy and You Know It. A couple of the kids were mentally challenged and several were mute. The director of the orphanage was very pleased with the whole thing. He was sure the kids had never seen anything like this. No one had ever come there playing saxophone before.

Goethe Institut performance on Sept. 4th

For those of you who are in Rwanda right now I’ve attached the flyer for my Goethe Institut performance on Sept. 4th. I should also be making an appearance with the Rwa Makondera Children’s Dance troupe on Sat. at 3PM in the Food Court area of UTC.

Week 3: Collaborating with the locals, and sax demonstrations in the schools

8/21/09

This afternoon I took the bus back to Butare. My expectation was that I would be performing with Salus Populi at the National University in the evening. I checked into my hotel, then went out to eat something before the performance. While I was waiting for my food, I got a phone call from Manuel, the leader of Salus Populi. It was one hour before I was supposed to show up at the auditorium, and I was now being told that the show was cancelled! It had been a waste of money and time to come to Butare, and I had only a limited amount of both! He asked where I was, and I told him I was already in Butare. Where else would I be one hour before a gig, when it takes two and a half hours to get there? I said that I wished he’d told me sooner, and that we’d discuss it later.

Now I was in Butare for a night with no idea of what to do. I asked around a little, but since the Salus Populi show was cancelled no one else knew what to do either. So I decided to do one my favorite things: I took a couple beers back to my hotel room and listened to some music, Abbey Lincoln, Bjork, etc. At some point, Manuel called and asked if he could come talk things over, and in a few minutes he was at my hotel. He explained that there was heightened security on campus, because President Kagame would visit on Sunday. He had only been notified at 5 PM that campus security had postponed the concert. Manuel saw that I was drinking Primus, one of the two Rwandan beers. “Hey, I like Primus too,” he said. And how could one not like Primus? It had a crisp clear taste, not too strong, and perfect for any occasion. In a few minutes, we were sitting in the hotel cafe drinking Primus together. I showed him some pictures I’d taken in Rwanda so far, and he had a little hard drive with pictures of the recent Salus Populi performance at the Pan-African Festival in Algeria. He complained of the racism in Algeria.

I agreed to try and make it for when the gig is rescheduled next Friday. My schedule is a bit hectic and unpredictable, but I hope I will be there.

8/22/09

This morning I took the bus back to Kigali, and by the afternoon Daddy and I had straightened out our film permit issues with the Ministry of Culture. So finally, he was able to film me playing on the street, and we chose Kimironko Market as our location today. I also called Emmy, a student from the Kigali Institute of Education, to see if he wanted to come hang out, since he’s been so interested in the project. He’d also been useful as a translator in the past, so I thought he could be helpful when, as usual, people started asking where I was from and why I was playing on the street.

The crowd was bigger than usual, and for the first time I had some solid dancers in the audience. Usually people are a little too bewildered at the situation to simply enjoy it the they were today. Maybe it is a sign that they’re getting used to me. Also, today for the first time, no one asked why I was playing on the street. This was very unusual. I told them anyway about the 15th anniversary etc, then had Emmy translate to them, but today they didn’t care at all, when in the past this would generate at least approving nods and perhaps applause. Maybe they already knew why I was there since I’d already been doing this for a couple weeks now?

At some point, the crowd was very large, and Daddy thought it might be a good time for us to try and escape, before things got a little out of control. Escaping is not easy in a situation like this. For some reason, every time they see I’m about to leave the crowd closes in around me, with questions, attempts to practice english, and requests to keep playing (especially from kids.) So Daddy and I stood there calmly discussing where we were going to go and how, while a whole bunch of people stared at us (something I’ve learned to completely igonre.) The only way was going to be to get a cab. If we tried to escape by foot, we’d certainly be followed by a bunch of kids and probably a couple drunks too. We pulled Emmy along with us and got into a taxi, sax still strapped around my neck, and people were knocking on the window waving until we pulled out.

On the way to get a beer, we interviewed Emmy a little, and he told us about his perspective on the genocide and where Rwanda’s come since then. His father was killed in 1994, and his mother was disabled, not having gotten out of bed since the genocide. His sister is so busy taking care of their mother that there’s not time for her to be gainfully employed. Emmy has been in and out of school since the genocide, at times not feeling right enough in the head for his studies. His education is being paid for by the Survivor’s Fund of the Aegis Trust. He hopes to work after finishing school next year, though he’s a little concerned about whether he’ll graduate and usually precedes it with the word “if.” After working for a few years, he hopes he’ll have enough money to go to graduate school. He told me that wants to discuss these things, because it makes him feel free. We arrived at the bar of a local hotel Chez Lando, where mobs of people were loudly watching soccer. We ordered Primus, and Emmy told me about how he was currently researching the impact of the genocide on Rwandan soccer. He believes that soccer in Rwanda is still behind where it was when many of the players and coaches were killed.

While sitting at Chez Lando, Daddy showed us some of today’s footage. Seeing it from the camera’s perspective was hilarious to me, since it was so different from how things look when I’m concentrating on playing, and only using my own two eyes and not seeing myself as part of the scene. In fact, I’d never realized just how chaotic and ridiculous these street performances look! In one shot, there was someone standing right next to me, pretending to play sax, while I was actually playing, and right in front of me was a ridiculous drunk man dancing, while kids kept pretending to steal his bag of onions to tease him, and meanwhile there was just this big crowd, with some other dancers etc. Daddy reported hearing some young children surmise that the reason for my playing on the street is that “he must be traumatized about something.” And generally my own display of wackiness generated a chain reaction of other crazy people and gawkers. If I was watching this footage as a stranger, with no idea how or why this scene had occurred, I would surely think it was fictional, probably some kind of weird, absurdist comedy.

8/23/09

My first meeting of the day was supposed to be with Emanuel but was postponed until Tuesday. My second meeting was supposed to be with Richard at Novotel to discuss a performance with Rwa Makondera, but there was some sort of misunderstanding and he was not there.

Finally, the only thing that worked the way it was supposed to today was my rehearsal with the kids of Rwa Makondera. It was a lot of fun. Today we focused mostly on their choral pieces, though they also drum and dance. The teachers were taking care of the drumming today, and we explored how to arrange their songs to include the saxophone. It was fun for me, the teachers, and the children.

Today marked the halfway point: two weeks until I return to New York. It has gone fast, and so far I would count this trip to Rwanda as one of the best experiences of my life. Sometimes, I’ve been a little too caught up in logistics to play on the street as much as I’ve wanted to, but I’m hoping to address that by de-prioritizing some of these other pursuits and not-so-productive meetings that don’t seem to lead anywhere.

I also thought today a little about what it might be like to return to NYC. Probably not just the reverse culture shock, but the total difference in the relationship of self to locale: I will go from being the totally outlandish crazy mizungo with a saxophone in Rwanda, to being the somewhat typical jazz musician in Brooklyn. Just the same person in a different context.

8/24/09

This morning I met the students at the Muhima Primary School. The students there fall into three categories: Either both parents are deceased, one parent is deceased, or the parents are too poor to take full responsibility over them. First, I was taken to a classroom full of about 50 twelve and thirteen year olds. I told them about how in NYC the summer is hot and humid, but it snows in the winter, and about how we use the subway, and you can feel the ground shake when it runs beneath you etc. Then, I took out my saxophone and explained how the reed produces the sound, and told them about how jazz and many other styles of American music combine African and European elements. First, I played a high note for them, followed by a low note. Then, I played a descending chromatic scale and this drew a lot of applause. The kids absolutely loved the chromatic scale. I then played some blues as an example of “basic” jazz, then played Sonny Rollins’ St. Thomas as an example of Caribbean jazz. Afterwards, I opened it up for questions, and they wanted to know every last detail about everything. Can you play reggae and hip-hop on a saxophone? How about Beethoven? What happens if you try playing it without a reed? Does it break if you drop it? How long does it take to learn? Are you married and do you have children? One important question was “How do I get a saxophone?” With the severe musical instrument shortage in the country, I told them they needed to write letters to people in power like the president and say that they needed musical instruments, like the rest of the world.

Sometime during this interrogation, the headmaster suggested that I go outside into the schoolyard to play for the all the kids, from 5-6 up to 13-14 years old. Then the older kids whose questions I’d answered could teach the younger ones. Soon enough, I was standing on a chair in the middle of the schoolyard surrounded by literally a couple thousand kids. They applauded generously at times I wouldn’t have expected from an American or a grown-up audience, seemingly in the middle of things. They asked me to play some reggae, and this resulted in a sing along to the tune of Bob Marley’s One Love. Marley is quite possibly the most ubiquitously adored musician in the world. I surmise that it’s partly that he sang in English, the current international language, plus his melodies and lyrics are simple enough for all ages.

When I finished playing, some students came to shake my hand, and this started a mad frenzy of little kids trying to shake my hand and tugging at me from all directions. What could possibly be more interesting than shaking that crazy sax guy’s hand? This continued until I’d shaken hands or slapped fives with at least a few hundred kids, and I had to hold my hands up in the air and just wave, saying “Byebye!” The headmaster and I went to his office to discuss when I’d come visit again, followed by a few dozen kids who knew better than to actually walk into his office, so they just stood at the door until they got bored and left. I agreed to come back on Friday afternoon.

In the afternoon, I had a rehearsal with some Rwandan musicians. The Goethe Institut is sponsoring this workshop, where I collaborate with them, and two days before I leave, there will be a concert. We practiced at a night club in the Kaciryu section of Kigali, and here was the first full drum-set I’ve seen in Rwanda. It even had a snare! They taught me some Rwandan songs, and I taught them the Thelonious Monk song Well You Needn’t and one of my own tunes called Exactly Serious.

Later that evening Jean-Pierre Kalonda and I had dinner, and we discussed many things. He’s a music producer with real ideas and good intentions. He thinks, as I do, that Rwandan music has just as much potential as Malian or Nigerian music to evolve in new and different directions and reach global audiences. We dreamed of having a weeklong Rwandan music festival in New York in the future, and even started plotting ways of getting musical instruments from Europe and the USA into Rwanda, where there’s such a severe shortage. We then moved onto Rwandan history and politics. He told me about fleeing to Burundi before chaos broke out, but his mother and sister stayed behind and were killed in the genocide. He thinks that the genocide happened because of bad government, and currently bigotry is being reduced by good government. I suppose that it is even easier for those in power to manipulate such an uneducated public, for better or for worse.

8/25/09

This morning I had a meeting at the Gisimba Orphanage. Since I’m never quite sure what’s going to happen at a meeting like this, I brought my saxophone. For instance yesterday when I arrived at Muhima Primary School, I did not expect to be playing for a couple thousand little kids. But today at Gisimba we merely scheduled a time for next week when I would come back to perform for the kids.

The Gisimba Orphanage was started in the 1970s with just a few kids, and is now being run by the grandson of the founder. During the genocide, the facility was flooded not just with children, but ordinary people too, some of whom were hidden in a secret room. The orphanage was under constant attack, but the militias accepted bribes and desperate pleas for mercy, and only eight people were killed at the orphanage. It was only a matter of luck, and according to Mr. Gisimba God’s help, that money helped save lives there, because in other situations, the same strategy didn’t work.

After my meeting at Gisimba, I had another rehearsal in preparation for the performance at the Goethe Institut. It was more of me learning Rwandan music, and Rwandans learning jazz music. Progressing very well.

Finally, Jean-Pierre and I met Elise, the Belgian delegate for the Red Cross to have some dinner, then we saw Jaws on a projector screen at someone’s house. Jean-Pierre gave me a ride home afterwards and told me that there was some truth to Jaws, in that people don’t understand when danger is right around the corner. In the movie, people (especially those in power like the mayor and businesspeople) don’t want to shut down the beach. They won’t accept that business as usual cannot continue, with the risk of a shark attack. Jean-Pierre thought this was relevant to his own life, since most people wouldn’t listened to him when he said, in 1990, that Rwanda was in great danger. He fled to Burundi, but many loved ones stayed behind and died.

8/26/09

Today despite feeling exhausted, I had a rehearsal in the morning for the upcoming Goethe Institut performance. I was the only person who was on time, a few people were an hour late, and the person who we really needed, the Inanga player, didn’t show up at all. The inanga is a local stringed instrument, and today’s rehearsal was supposed to center around inanga-based songs. The result was a few wasted hours. Misuse of time can be a problem here in Rwanda. The status quo is unreliability, and there is a weakness here both in taking charge and managing as well as being managed. When one person fails to complete their task in part of a larger mission, it makes the efforts of others futile and wasteful. The misuse of time and unreliability can be viral in this respect. It is hard to know when one’s efforts will be worthwhile. My strategy has been to simply try as hard as I can to get things done, be happy when the task is completed, and try not to feel too disappointed when things don’t work. If any of the people I’ve been working with are reading this, I hope they realize that it is not meant to be taken personally. These problems and many others exist in the USA too, and I’d be curious to know what annoys them when they come to visit New York – the rudeness of people, the rush? I know that on the roads here I am sometimes fighting the temptation to give other drivers the finger on behalf of my driver. But that kind of uncivil behavior is unheard of here.

Anyhow, I now feel that this morning might have been better spent catching up some much needed rest. Having only four weeks to get as much done as possible has led to a mad rush of sometimes inefficient work. I am exhausted, and many of the people around me, like Daddy and Jean-Pierre, are complaining of stress and exhaustion. Probably even more passive observers are getting a little tired just watching. I imagine there will be a collective sigh of relief when I leave Rwanda!

In the afternoon, I had a brief meeting with Arthur the manager of the Union Trade Center. UTC is a little shopping mall in Kigali. There is a food court, an upscale coffee shop, a supermarket, and various other shops. We are planning a performance in the food court area with Rwa Makondera, the children’s dance troupe. I then went home to get a little recording done for the film.

My Second Week in Rwanda, and a visit to the Murambi Technical School Genocide Memorial

8/14/09

Today we were supposed to make a film of me playing at Kimironko Market, but we’re having a little delay in getting a film permit from the Ministry of Culture. But it’s right around the corner.

This evening I performed at a place called Republika in the Kiyovu section of Kigali. Imagine an African themed bar/restaurant in America, and that’s roughly what the decor was like except for that it was full of Rwandans, with only a few foreigners. The view of Kigali’s hills from the back deck reminded me of Los Angeles. The owner’s name is Solange, and I have to admit to feeling a little intimidated by her. Solange is deadly serious, well-mannered, and business-like. I see it as a good thing in a country that could use a boost in the area of entrepreneurship.

There has been constant pressure to do legitimate gigs at real venues, which is taking away time from the important part of playing on the streets.

8/15/09

Today, I met Rwa Makondera for the first time, a meeting that I have been anticipating for months. Rwa Makondera is a children’s dance troupe, composed of street kids, orphans, and neighborhood kids from the Kaciryu section of Kigali. They meet at the Ivuka Arts Center where they learn traditional Rwandan drumming, dancing, and singing. Sometimes, they make a little money from their new skills, and they even won themselves a little trip to Holland last spring. Children don’t have a lot to do in Rwanda. There aren’t a lot of community centers or places to play sports, so the children of Rwa Makondera love the opportunity to hang out together in an organized activity, with instruction etc.

First, they showed me a little of what they do, then I demonstrated the sax for them. Their faces faces when I played were hilarious to the point of being a mild distraction to me. I know that my throat expands when I play, but this was a very funny thing to them. And probably half of them started feeling their own throats and looking at one another, with wide smiles, probably trying not to laugh out loud at me. I explained the way we use the saxophone in America for jazz music, which is a mix of European and African music.

Then, we started jamming together which went very well. I think we were all pleased with it. They said they wanted to play on the street sometime with me, and we’ll probably also do a legitimate gig at Novotel.

In the evening, I had a gig at Cactus Cafe where I did some solo sets, and performed alongside Dasha, a singer/guitarist from Russia. I know I’ve said a lot about how my main priority in Rwanda is to play on the street, so that the music is for everyone. But after getting to know this place better, I realize it is also important to do these legitimate gigs, because the people here who want to dress up and go out and see music as a planned activity with friends and family, have very little opportunity to do so. The resources here are very limited in many aspects, and entertainment is definitely one of them. I did some improvised music, some standards, and some klezmer clarinet, all unaccompanied, and the audience was very appreciative.

8/16/09

Had my first “easy” day since arriving here in Rwanda. Woke up and enjoyed some pancakes with my housemates, then went into town and bought a bus ticket to Butare and did some emailing at Bourbon Cafe.

In the evening, Daddy and I met with Karin, the head of the Goethe Institut here in Kigali. We discussed funding and other ways that she and the Goethe Institut might help out, and it was a very productive meeting. Karin was very open and engaging, and she served some wine and a great dinner in her beautiful house here. She has a big dog named Simba.

8/17/09

 

Today, I rode the bus to Butare. The ride is a little longer than two hours. First on my agenda, was a meeting with Leonadis, a member of the local Rotary Club. Somehow, I’ve taken on this side project of creating a relationship between the Rotary Clubs of Butare and Delaware where my mom lives. Leonadis gave me a tour of Butare. Despite being the second largest city in Rwanda, it seems quite small. I would almost describe it as a village, not to belittle its significance though. Butare is most famous for the National University, the oldest and most prestigious institution of higher learning in Rwanda. The great amount of cathedrals here have enticed some to call it the “Vatican of Rwanda.”

 

One highlight of the tour was the Butare expo, where there was a stage and various merchants displaying food, beverages, services, and products. The booth where free blood pressure tests were given was probably the most popular. When we were there, the mayor was at the microphone, and no one, as in not a single person, had gathered near the stage to listen. Leonadis and I both found this funny. According to Leonadis’ translation the mayor was talking about why he decided to organize an expo and what a success it was.

 

The rotary in Butare is hoping to promote English language literacy among local students, so they are hoping to start a pen-pal program between children in Butare and their counterparts in English speaking countries like the USA. They are also helping out with Claire Umubyeyi’s book-drive initiative, which is already well underway in New York: http://www.enwa-rwanda.org/jml/

 

In the evening, I met with Salus Populi, the school band of the National University of Rwanda. They specialize in African pop hits, etc. We jammed well into the night, in a small room in the basement below the auditorium. There was a little bathroom stall in the corner, and the drum-set was missing a snare, but they really had a lot of enthusiasm so the music sounded great. I particularly liked their group vocals. Many of them were also great dancers. They invited me to be a special guest at their upcoming performance in the main auditorium, so I will return on Friday night for that. I am told that the hope is that Salus Populi might evolve into a full music program here where students can major in music. I am feeling pretty overloaded, but still look forward to coming back on Friday to perform with them.

 

8/18/09

 

Today despite feeling half-mad, I went to play some sax outside the expo in Butare. There’s something about this city that unsettles me a little. There is not a whole lot to do, just one street to walk down, and it doesn’t really seem like there’s anywhere to go. Outside of the university, I don’t see many people having much fun here. Though I’m sure as a foreigner, I haven’t properly navigated the city in such a short time for this judgement to be entirely accurate. 

 

I set up my sax outside the entrance of the expo, and as usual people started gathering around while I was still putting it together. I started playing, and there was a crazy woman, with twin toddlers, in my audience who started carrying on and saying things to me and swirling around. I couldn’t understand a word, but she seemed like the happy kind of crazy person with a wide, perhaps glue-sniffing, smile. I’ve had trouble getting pictures of scenes like this, because I’m usually alone, but I finally just decided to take a picture of my audience. For some reason, they didn’t seem to think it was very strange that I did that. I followed the usual strategy of finding a volunteer in the audience who speaks a little English to translate for me, explaining that I was playing music in Rwanda to commemorate the 15th anniversary of the genocide. Today, my translator happened to be one of the supervisors of the expo, and a few minutes later I was on the main stage of the expo playing sax, and having my message translated for the audience there. I’m pleased to report that I attracted a slightly larger crowd than the mayor did yesterday. After my brief performance, I was interviewed by a journalist for the New Times, Rwanda’s first and, so far, only English language daily. I’m hoping it is published and accurate.

 

In the evening, I played a little on campus at the National University. I met a couple of young gentlemen who, pleased with my performance and motivations, showed me the university’s genocide memorial. One of them named Marc, was seven years old at the time of the genocide, and he lost his father. He described bodies, sometimes in mass graves, and sometimes just anywhere, like a toilet. The memorial at the National University was on the site of a mass grave where the students and faculty were buried. On display, were names of those who were identified and photos, where possible. 

 

After this, I had another rehearsal with Salus Populi, in preparation for our performance Friday evening. I found myself a little upset that here at the National University I was seeing the first drum-set I’d seen in Rwanda, and it was missing a snare. 

8/19/09

Today Daddy Ruhorahoza, the filmmaker, met me in Butare and we took a bus to the Murambi Technical School, about 45 minutes outside of town. The Murambi Technical School was meant to open in 1994, but during the genocide, the almost finished buildings were packed with refugees, hiding from the militias. Thousands of them were killed at Murambi, men, women, and children, all noncombatants. Murambi never opened as a technical school. It went straight from being a construction site to a mass grave, and now a genocide memorial.

Our tour guide was a survivor of the attack on the technical school. She was hiding there with her husband and three children, in a building that she pointed out to us. She was Hutu, but her husband was Tutsi. As the militias were throwing rocks and grenades at them, she shouted that she was a Hutu, and showed her ID card. They let her out, and she carried one of her children, strapped to her back. Her husband and her other two kids were killed. I asked her how she felt about working at the site where her family was killed, and talking about it so much all the time. She said it was an important but uncomfortable thing to do, and, in the end, it was job, protecting her from economic vulnerability. Today, she was wearing a bracelet that said “There is no such thing as a lesser person.”

We started with the classrooms full of mummified bodies, which were dug up from the mass graves and put on display as proof of what had happened there. Daddy didn’t want to film the bodies, and neither did I. Too uncomfortable… So I went into the rooms and reported what I saw to the camera. This was not easy to do, because what I saw was very disturbing, plus I’m not used to discussing such serious subject matter on film. The bodies were crushed into various shapes and positions, some with holes or dents in the skull. Many looked very young, even younger than 3 or 4 years old. Some of them still had just a little hair on their heads. I believe at one point I reported to the camera that they smelled like garbage, and now I just hope that this sounded right on film.

We moved on and took a look at the clothes room. This was easy to stomach compared to the bodies. The clothes, and some other sites at Murambi, look disturbingly similar to images we know from the European Holocaust. Personally, I am reminded of things like shoe piles. Plus, the long buildings arranged in straight lines, could easily remind one of cellblocks in a concentration camp. I got this idea of playing some klezmer clarinet in front of the clothes and the “cellblocks,” while Daddy filmed. The idea was to decontextualize and recontextualize images of atrocity. What this should accomplish, if anything, I’m not sure. But I hope it will reinforce the ubiquitousness and repetition of human rights disasters. It’s sad and fascinating to me that these images and sounds can be combined almost seamlessly. Sometimes, we can hardly discern whether we are looking at images from Rwanda in 1994 or Europe in 1944.

Daddy and I purchased some bananas to eat on the bus ride back to Butare, and we both agreed that they were terrible. (It’s rare to have a bad banana in Rwanda.) They were so bad, that we had to throw them out the window of the bus, and I was the one sitting next to the window. Somehow, I managed, completely accidentally, to nail someone on the side of the road with a half-eaten banana, and then I started laughing uncontrollably, while the other passengers gave me the “you asshole” look. I actually felt bad, but was laughing anyway.

When we got to Butare, I immediately got on a bus back to Kigali. While I was waiting for the bus to leave, a mute child with a gigantic smile on his face approached me and knocked on the window. He started gesturing like he was playing the saxophone, swaying back and forth, and pointing in the direction of the expo. I gave him a thumbs up. He came back to the window doing this several times, while I was waiting for the bus to leave.

8/20/09

 

Last night, was one of the rare good nights of sleep I’ve had in a while. Then today I met with Daddy, and we discussed some ideas for the film, then we both caught up on emails and paperwork, typing madly across the table from one another. 

 

I then met with a gentleman, by the name of Emanuel, who is the director of a Catholic youth movement for orphans, and we discussed how I might do a saxophone demonstration, for the children. Emanuel, spoke very broken English, but told me of his hopes to write a book about the hundreds of thousands of children who were orphaned in the genocide.

 

My last meeting of the day was with Christian, a local actor/filmmaker/businessman. He showed me a three minute preview of a film he’d worked on about the genocide, and wanted some advice. Unfortunately, as a musician working on my first film, I could give him very limited input.

 

Christian told me that when he was 15, the militias came to his house the day after the genocide started and accused his older brother, then serving  in the Rwandan Patriotic Front, of having killed President Habyarimana, the leader of the Hutu Power movement, and he still sees those militiamen on the streets around Kigali. I asked him how it was that Rwanda had changed so much in 15 years, from being so violent and hate-filled to being completely safe and with bigotry remaining mostly below the surface (possibly the best we can ask for anywhere?) He said that Rwandans looked to their past, to the way that their ancestors lived. There had been more peaceful and less hate-filled times in Rwanda’s history, and today they are trying to emulate that history. It also helps that the current government is vigorously promoting reconciliation. 

Murambi Technical School Memorial

This is a photo of me playing klezmer music at the Murambi Technical School. The Murambi Technical School is a genocide memorial, where thousands were massacred. It never opened as a school. It went from being a construction site to a mass grave and now a genocide memorial.

 

This photo combines imagery from the European Holocaust and the Rwandan genocide, with the hope of representing the ubiquitousness and repetition of such atrocities.

Jeremy jamming with the Rwa Makondera Childrens Dance and Drumming group

 

Jeremy jamming with the Rwa Makondera Childrens Dance and Drumming group.

link to their site: http://rwamakonderachildrendancetroupe.blogspot.com/

My First Few Days in Rwanda

Monday August 10th, 2009

Today was the first official day of the Rwanda 15 Parade of One. Despite jet-lag and general confusion about how transportation, money exchange, cell phones, and internet work here, I managed to begin the mission of playing music on the streets in Rwanda, and it feels good.

My starting point was a place called Kimironko Market, probably the largest center for buying produce in the city. Imagine a gigantic tent-like structure, but made of aluminum. Inside it is quite dark, and merchants sit at tables overloaded with beans and fruits. I started playing near the entrance close to when the evening rush was going to start. I was already kind of standing out in the crowd, being a mizungo, wearing a white sports coats and sunglasses, but when I opened the saxophone case and started assembling the horn, people gathered around me immediately, before I’d even played a note. The small children placed themselves in front, in a circle around me, staring intently, and not making a sound. Then the older kids and grown ups, assembled behind them. The people gathered so close to me, that it was actually a little awkward. The little kids in the front were just inches away. I started playing a little improvised music, sometimes going into tunes like Ayler’s “Ghosts” or a little bit of a theme I’ve been working on. When I told my grandfather that I’d be playing on the streets in Rwanda, he said that all I was going to need was a decent theme, a “hummable” melody that I’d return to throughout my stay here. The theme I’d say is still a work in progress.

After my first tune, which was really more of a medley, there was uproarious applause and requests for more. After my next medley, people finally asked me to explain what I was doing. The problem was most of them don’t speak English. I was able to tell someone who spoke English, and they in turn. explained to the others in Kinyarwanda. My explanation of why I was playing on the streets in Rwanda was just as popular as the music itself. They were very glad foreigners are doing something to commemorate the genocide. The people were honored that I was there, to remember their country’s history and celebrate its present. They also wanted to know what this instrument was called and how it worked. Most of them, maybe all, hadn’t seen or heard a saxophone before. By now, I needed a decent water break from playing. I was doing long tunes, consecutively, and was surprised that the people had quite an attention span and kept asking for more. But I insisted on taking a water break and coming back in 15 minutes. As I opened the case to put my saxophone back in, the people crowded in even closer, trying to look inside the case, as if it might be full of jewels, even though without the horn inside it was empty. When I walked to a little stand to purchase water, I was followed by a bunch of men, mostly unemployed street urchins. They asked me a lot of questions, and taught me a little kinyarwanda, which I promptly forgot.

Fifteen minutes later, I was playing again in front of Kimironko Market. This time there were luckily some very curious students watching, two from university and one high school student. They wanted to talk a lot about why I was playing on the street, and why in Rwanda. They spoke fairly eloquent english and were extremely grateful for what I was doing. They said many people at school were orphaned or otherwise severely effected by the genocide. I asked them where else they thought I should play, and they said the universities, then the high school kid chimed in, “and secondary schools!” They couldn’t stop talking about how happy they were that I was playing in Rwanda for the reasons that I was. Then one of them offered to take me into his campus at the Kigali Educational Institute, which was right down the street from Kimironko Market. His name is Emmy, and his father was killed in the genocide, and he’s attending university on a scholarship from the Aegis Trust. So we walked together, and I had to show a guard at the gate my passport. Emmy is physical education major, and he gave me a brief tour of the campus. Including a section donated by China, where students learn to speak and read Chinese. Then he suggested I start playing again, and so I was very warmly received by an audience of Rwandan students. Many of them asked interesting questions. It was a foreign concept to them for music to be both completely instrumental (as in no lyrics) and about something, in the way we have funeral marches and wedding marches etc. So I simply explained that, in my culture, even music without lyrics, could be about a particular event. Then, they wanted to know how the audience was supposed to be aware of what the music was about without lyrics. I suggested that even if a song doesn’t have lyrics, it can still have a title, and the title of what I’d just played was, “Celebrating Rwanda at the Kigali Institute of Education.” This drew uproarious applause. Then, I was off to go get some dinner. Emmy suggested that I come back on Wednesday after the students had completed their finals. I agreed to call him on Tues. night, so we could arrange this.

Tuesday August 11th, 2009

Today’s performance was in the center of Kigali at the intersection between the Simba Supermarket and the Union Trade Center. I immediately attracted a crowd of paperboys and other various jokers. What differed about this crowd from the people at Kimironko and the Kigali Educational institute was that they all thought they needed to learn how to play the saxophone and that I should teach them. They wanted to know if I came just to entertain or to teach too, and they seemed to think I should open a music school. Also, unlike Kimironko and the University, the people who stopped were mostly men. This might’ve been because I chose a location that was overrun with paperboys and cabdrivers.

After playing I took a moto-taxi to Novotel, a posh hotel in the neighborhood where the American Embassy is located. There I was to meet Hope Azeda, who has a theater group and does casting for Americans and European films in Rwanda. I was a little early, so I decided to give Paradis a call. She’s poet, model, actress, and manager of Rwa Makondera, the children’s dance troupe I’m supposed to work with. I told her I wanted to meet her sometime in the next couple days, and she said that was cool. Then at some point during our discussion she said she was at Novotel, and I told her I was there too. I found her by the pool. It was a remarkable coincidence that we were both there. I told her that I was there to meet Hope, and she asked “Hope Azeda?” But I said no, because I thought Hope’s last name Katurebe (her husband’s name which she rarely uses.) Eventually, it was established that Paradis and Hope know one another though, and Hope is in fact Hope Azeda.

I found Hope, and we had a drink at the cafe while her daughters swam in the pool. Hope complained about the service at the hotel cafe (which was roughly the same as the service everywhere I’d been in Rwanda.) I’m finding that Rwandans who’ve traveled abroad, though, have some of the same frustrations with Rwanda that foreigners do. Anyhow, Hope very helpfully gave me the contact info of a musician, here in Kigali, and another one in Butare, a town in the south that I’ll probably go next week. Afterwards, we went back to where Paradis was lying by the pool, so Hope could say hello. Then, Hope and I left the hotel, and as we left Lucy Mbabazi arrived in a cab. Lucy, a grad student at Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government, has played an important role in this project. She was the first Rwandan person who told me that my idea would work and should absolutely be pursued. Who would’ve ever though that Novotel was the place almost every Rwandan I knew liked to hang out!?

I should also mention that on this second day I am already starting to feel a little known around town. At least two people said “Hi Jeremy” as I walked by, and when I passed Kimironko Market almost everyone waved or said something. Another interesting moment, was when a young boy who said he was eleven but could’ve been younger crossed the street and started walking next to me, talking in English the whole time, and he didn’t know that much English. But he told me among other things, that his name was Eric, he “loved” me, the names of all his brothers and sisters, what school he went to, and that he sang at school. Then, he sang a couple nice songs in kinyarwanda for me, and I praised his skills. He asked me how old I was, and I told him to guess. He said, “Eleven?”

8/12/09

Today I finally met Daddy Ruhorahoza a Rwandan filmmaker with whom I’ve had a lengthy email correspondence over the last few months. It was a very productive meeting, and we will be doing more meetings and introductions tomorrow. We came up with some ideas of things to film, including me popping, with my saxophone, into Rwandan “dive” bars where the poor and uneducated drink warm beer. He introduced me to a couple other people, including a music promoter Jean-Pierre and a businessman named Sunday. Tomorrow we will be meeting some musicians with whom I might collaborate.

After leaving Daddy, I started heading back to Kimironko, but got out of the bus a couple stops early to walk around a little. While strolling, I heard someone saying, “Hey saxophonist!” He was a cab driver with a guitar in the passenger’s seat. He said he’d seen me playing in the town center the previous day. I asked him if he wanted to play a little. Then, I walked into Chez Lando to grab a bite to eat, and the waiter introduced himself as Charles and said he really liked my music.

8/13/09

Today I was up early, met Daddy at Novotel, and then we paid a visit to the local Goethe Institute and arranged a meeting to discuss projects, funding, etc. After that, went to Bourbon Cafe, checked email, chatted, and discussed coming days’ itineraries.

I then met Lucy Mbabazi and her cousin Arthur for a lunch buffet. Africa Bite served authentic cuisine of rice and beans, mashed bananas, fish, corn cakes etc. Afterwards, Lucy went to interview some government minister, perhaps the minister of finance or health. I don’t remember. As for me, I went to play on the street in a neighborhood called Kiyovu. I picked a mostly unpeopled street with a decent sidewalk, and just walked and played. Someone stopped their car, got out, and told me that Rwanda needed me to do was what I was doing, because there had been such little investment in arts and entertainment.

In the evening, I had a meeting with Jean Pierre and Daddy at Mille Collines, the hotel of Hotel Rwanda fame. During the genocide, a thousand refugees took shelter there, while the manager diverted trouble, to make a long story short. There I was introduced to some musicians who were performing there and they had me play with them, and I also did some unaccompanied saxophone music before and in between their sets. Instead of standing on the stage, I stood in the middle of the room and did some long completely improvised sets which the packed room loved. The house band consisted of a keyboard player, with programmed percussion and three singers. Their music ranged from Tina Turner songs, to South African and Congolese hits. The audience was very enthusiastic. There are almost no places where someone can see live music in Rwanda. There is not a single bar or club or theater that has live music every night or even every weekend. The people are thirsty for it, and Rwanda has yet to create it’s own kind of modern music in the way that countries like Congo, Nigeria, and Mali have. In some ways, it’s refreshing to be in a country that can start from scratch. In other ways, the lack of resources is startling. It is hard to find a bass player or drummer around here, or even a place to play! And like I’ve said the vast majority of Rwandans have never seen a saxophone.

It was evident that the audience was hungry for a good time, and this has been evident too wherever I’ve played on the streets in Rwanda so far. People keep telling me that Rwanda needs arts and entertainment. Some people in the audience that night stopped me, one of whom went to Cornell, and he pinpointed me as being from NYC. His friend asked if I was Jewish, and I said yes. He said that he was Jewish too, and I thought he meant literally, so I asked if he was a Rwandan of Ethiopian Jewish descent. He found this hilarious, and said that he meant that he was a survivor of the genocide. It takes a lot more than genocide to be Rwandan or Jewish probably. I don’t know what makes anyone anything, but I appreciated his desire to connect, and he begged me not to leave Rwanda.

Why I’m Marching in a One Man Parade in Rwanda

Many of you know by now that the Rwanda 15 Parade of One will be a four week long one man parade in Rwanda. Late this summer (2009,) I will wind through the capital Kigali and surrounding regions, making melodies and meeting Rwandans to commemorate fifteen years of peace and stability since the end of the civil war and genocide. Yes, this is what it sounds like: I’m going to Rwanda to be a street musician. Sure I’ll be a doing a couple performances at legitimate venues while I’m there, since they’ve been offered, but it’s mostly about playing on the street for me.

As I am about to embark on my most unusual gig to date, I have been asked many times to explain myself. Why am I marching in a one man parade? And why in Rwanda? I don’t feel so compelled to justify what is perceived as abnormality. On the contrary, my instinct is to simply carry on with what I do, disregarding norms. I don’t care to conform to standards, nor do I want to make some adolescent protest of them. I just want to do my thing, and often don’t even really want to be troubled to stop and explain just what that “thing” is or why I’m doing it. In fact, with the many other things I have to do to prepare for this journey, I worry that writing on matters of what’s going through my mind and trying to make it eloquent might not even be the most productive thing to do. But if you are among those brave few who are trying to take my upcoming operations in Rwanda seriously, I’m most gratefully indebted, and I hope that by writing this blog I can satisfy your curiosity. It is with your help that this voyage is possible.

The “parade” concept is really what makes the music for everyone and anyone. Even, if you are immobile, the parade can come to you. You don’t need to know it’s happening let alone purchase tickets, and all of a sudden the parade goes right by. It is the most egalitarian form of performance. Many great musicians, such as Ornette Coleman and Milford Graves, have spoken recently of the “healing” power of music, and if I am capable of using music for such purposes, I hope to bring it to everyone and not just the few who might know where and when the performance is and have the money for tickets. Coming from Brooklyn, I expect the change in the type and scope of the audience to be refreshing. Things are very fragmented here, with audiences representing social cliques and even socioeconomic demographics. Picture the drastically different ages, races, and clothing styles among audiences at the jazz club, the hip hop show, and the indie rock concert. I am glad to be in a position to transcend this fragmentation and to allow the openness and egalitarianism of the parade to influence my music. The social exclusivity surrounding the different musical circles, here in New York, serves as a sort of safety net for the music that is produced. Musicians are guaranteed a certain response in giving the audience what they expect. In my upcoming parade, there will be no such expectations from the audience, and I feel that it will be a good atmosphere to further develop my unaccompanied solo saxophone concept. Unaccompanied saxophone performance is a rare and challenging endeavor, which few have done well.

Not only do I expect the parade to have an impact in Rwanda and on my own music, though. I also think it can spark awareness and education over here in the USA, where people could probably learn a little more about Rwanda’s recent history, the descent into genocide and the successful but still fragile recovery from civil war. Which brings me to the question I am asked the most: Why did I choose Rwanda? The question seems so normal to the people who ask and yet so odd to me. The answer is that Rwanda chose me. Having grown up around survivors of the Jewish Holocaust in Europe, I’ve felt some connection to Rwanda’s recent history, in particular the genocide in 1994. When I hear the stories from Rwanda, I see parallels with the stories I am told about World War II era Europe. My hope is that being around people much closer to my age who experienced a similar atrocity to that of my grandparents will help me better understand what my elders here in America went through. After all, so many of the most important stories I’ve ever heard happened before I was born in a different place and time, but there are people still experiencing similar things in my lifetime, not only in Rwanda in the nineties but in Darfur now and many other places. Without our help and our continued awareness and discussion of human rights, such atrocities will only continue.

The Rwandan recovery from genocide has been very unique and remarkable. Rwandan victims now live in the same neighborhoods as the people who murdered their families, and they are keeping the peace, for fear of the gruesome alternative. Hopefully, the Rwandan distaste for violence will continue forever.

I think Jews might have something to learn from Rwandans. Whether in the USA, Israel, or the former Soviet Union, Jews are still, just like most of the world’s inhabitants, members of societies that do not reject war. Not only Jews and Palestinians, but all Americans and people from all nations of the world, whether it is Sudan, Russia, or Iran might benefit by learning from Rwanda. And if anywhere deserves a fun parade right now, for the trauma they went through and the advancements they’ve made since, it is Rwanda. It is important for people all over the world to be having fun, because if people are having a good time, maybe they will think twice before ruining it with wars and genocide. More than anything, I want this parade to help people have a good time.

It’s no surprise that a parade of one is a lonely place to march. In a world where the dedication of one’s time and labor to being a street musician in a developing country is not commonplace and perhaps even clownish, I have surely felt my share of social alienation. I am asked many questions, and I am often even doubted and ridiculed. While I have attracted much attention and support from my family, friends, and colleagues, at the end of the day I am still marching and performing alone. Sometimes, I even wake up in the morning and am ashamed and frightened to be greeted by the mind that has conjured this crazy parade. I want to be allowed to get some rest and just carry on with my peaceful life in Brooklyn. But a task is a task, and I have to take it seriously. If I don’t march in the Rwanda 15 Parade of One, no one will. The job won’t get done, and that frightens me more than anything.