Thirty

So, on this blog I try to talk less about myself and more about Rwanda, finding anecdotes that are interesting to people who've never been here and are curious what its like. But let's be honest, these "people" are basically my family and friends, this isn't exactly reaching millions of readers, and pretty much everyone who sees this knows that, today, I turned 30.

Yesterday I had my little crisis and am over it. My sister sent an email saying, "Hope they have cake there", and I am happy to report that indeed there is a fantastic bakery. My coworkers + Hannah threw a little surprise party this morning; I totally fell for the "we have an urgent team meeting in the conference room now," walked right in to all 12 or so of them singing and then we had chocolate and carrot cakes, both of which were delicious.

Tonight these coworkers, their spouses, and some of my (few, but I'm working on it) friends in Kigali are going to dinner at the Indian restaurant, which honestly is the best Indian food I've ever had. So, I'm living high on the hog as we say at home. Here that'd translate better as, high on the cow.

To bring this back to Rwanda, I'll talk about what a cow culture exists here. When the Belgian colonial administration initially divided the population into Tutsi and Hutu for identity card purposes, the criteria was cows: Own more than ten cows, you're a Tutsi, less, and you're a Hutu. Here cows are still given as wedding dowries and presents, and beef is much much more present than chicken in grocery stores.

So, while I haven't received a cow of my very own yet, it has been a great first birthday in Africa!