More African notes

Writing today from my guesthouse kitchen table. There's a brownish
tablecloth on it, which is good, cause I've already managed to spill my
coffee on it twice. It's a little bit more brown than when I got here.
I think my body temperature is gradually adjusting, especially with the
breeze coming in through the night windows. It carries the smell of
smoke and exhaust that seems to permeate the entire city. It's the
smell of development, I guess, but it does stink, and you only partially
get used to it. While I'm writing, I'm working my way through my iTunes
collection to make sure that I have actually listened to all of the
songs that I own; I'm up to the M's, working backward. Later, that will
be replaced by the intermittent whine of mosquitoes trying to make my
life miserable. Imagine me waking up bleary-eyed in my boxers at 1am,
stumbling around my scattered luggage, trying to smash its tiny little
insect brains against the wall, and you'll have a good picture of my
nights. In contrast, during the day my Migayi-like ability to snatch
them from mid-air would baffle anyone who has ever watched me play
organized sports. Perhaps my coaches didn't motivate me enough.

Today's basically the last day before I head out to Mukinge, where I'll
be for the next two years. I rode the matatu (the public bus/vans that
run around throughout the cities) into town today. Like most African
cities, life seems to exist along the roadsides, and today I was struck
by the sight of women breaking rocks by hand to make gravel, next to
another group making license plates (you have to buy them yourself
here). Lack of opportunity makes a type of prison for you; watching
those women perform prisoner tasks on the side of the road brought that
home.