I'm missing Joan in ways I didn't expect. I thought it would be hard being away from Nate and to have to think about him noticing myabscence anot being able to understand it-- though he seemed to understand well enough when he called me on the way to Kampala and canted "African Church PArty!" But I miss talking to the one wo I know and who knows me.
Rwanda is a beatiful country. After crossing the small, dissolving stream of the Ugandan border, I found my surroundings immediatedly very green and hilly. They growa a great variety of crops with babana trees around the houses and rice addies in the valleys. When I arrived I exchanged contacts with a couple passengers, a man named Idi (?!) and a woman named Jolly BD THEN TO SET off to find the Episcopal Guest House. The matatu tried to drop me at another guest house and when I protested, asked me to ride the rest of the route and return to town. I decided to call Pastor John and went to a cyber cafe to find his number. I couldnt find the email I wanted, but did find the one saying we were staying at Beaujolias, not Episcopal Guest HOuse. A taxidriver said he knew the place, buthe didn't. The peole at the placehe took me to, discovering that I was to meet a Pstor John, went to get another pastoe. Thie pastor led us (myslef, Janvier form the wrong hotel, and the taxi driver) to the ouses of two other pastors before I inssitedwe giveup and ho to the Des mille Collines. This was hard for me-- admitting that I would giveup on the African method of relying on people and instead rely on money. I had no francs but knew the hotel would let me use a credit card and exchange money so I could pay my driver. I had swim in the pool and slept very well.
