When I first came to Rwanda some years back, I hardly went anywhere on my own, so, my inability to communicate with the locals wasn’t a problem as someone else would do the talking. My poor Kinyarwanda is responsible for one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. I remember quite well the first time I went to a shop in Kimihurura to buy toilet paper.Forgive me, for what I am about to say might upset you. I went into the shop and asked for toilet paper, thinking this is one word even Bushmen in the Kalahari would know. I was so wrong. The saleslady looked at me like I had spoken some really pathetic Chinese.Now, misery is when you go into a shop to buy toilet paper and the chick doesn’t click what you are asking for, and double misery is when you have to resort to sign language to get that message across. I tried looking around her very brief shop to see if I could spot the damn things and point them out to her but alas, nothing.So, I did what only a true clown would do and imitated the ‘wiping the ass’ action. The woman and her friends burst out so hard with laughter that she literally cried. After her good laugh, she reached below her counter and handed me toilet paper. From that day, supermarkets are the only way forward when it comes to buying toilet paper because being forced to pretend I am wiping my behind is an action I am not even remotely keen on doing ever again.I have noticed some moto chaps act like it is their sworn duty to make conversation the second you jump onto it. Nothing pisses me off more than sitting on a moto with its rider determined on telling you stories. More annoying is the fact that even when I stay silent the man insists on talking.I’m sure that they are just being friendly but you see; some days I wake up with no desire to be friendly or even tolerate it. Sometimes I just want to jump on a bike, get to work, slouch behind my computer and curse my existence. On a day like that, conversation I do not understand might just make me a danger to society.When I sit in a taxi, my earphones are always intact. For one, people here like striking chat with strangers. Just enter the taxi, (say hello if you must), sit and wait for your stop. Some lady once went on and on, telling me about God knows what. I’m sure it was funny as she kept laughing. To be polite, I smiled back and nodded my head, pretending to understand her every word until she said something that I’m certain required an answer and I just looked at her like a true retard! She never said another word…smart lady!
