With My Own Two Wheels Visit

I awake with a jolt, sitting upright between the comfortable sheets of the hotel bed. Today was the day I finally got to see Miriam. I glanced at my worn out, scratched up wrist watch. It was already nine AM. Miriam would be well into work by now. I jumped out of the warm sheets, slipped into my clothes, grabbed my backpack full of things I needed for the day, such as my camera, some KIND bars(in case I don't like the food she gives me, if she gives me any food), and some other necessary items. I walk out of the main lobby and is greeted by sunshine, laughter, and children. I walk down the dusty road a little, entering a market. I want to get something for Mirriam. I walk through the crowds smelling all the wonderful smells. Salted fish is a main smell, which at first smells really weird and really gross, but I get used to it really fast. I want to get her something unusual, something she might not be able to afford or just never had. As I look at every stand, every food and drink item, I realize Mirriam needs something more than a consumable item. So I go to a stand that is completely deserted, occupied only by the old woman sitting silently on the other side of the table. Before me is an array of the most beautiful beaded necklaces I have ever seen. Although the beads are quite colorful, I can't help but notice the uniqueness of each one. I select a necklace with multiple chunky, colored beads, all strung on a thin piece of string. I pointed at it and the lady told me the price. It was 72 Ghanian cedis, which was around 20 dollars in US money. That was a lot for this necklace, but I bought it anyway.

Now, on my way. I took a small bus to where Mirriam works, all the way listening to the chatter of people all around me. Babies cry, and toddlers scream. It was noisy, but at the same time interesting to hear. The person next to me kept on pocking me and saying something. I just nodded, like I knew what they were talking about. Although people talk in English, she had such a thick accent it was hard to hear her.But people sure were nice here!

The bus pulled up to Ability Bikes Cooperative, a small bike shop on the edge of town. I hopped off the bus and watched it peel away, leaving a faint trail of dirt and debris. I took a deep breath, and clutching the necklace tightly, walked in through the open door.

Surprise greeted me. I thought I would see many fit people fixing bikes silently. I thought Mirriam would be in a wheelchair, struggling to fix a flat, everyone else slaving away. This is what I had always imagined a bike store in Africa to be like. But that wasn't the case at all. Laughter and talking greeted me, inviting me to join in on the fun. Rows and rows of tires, wheels, and rims were hanging from the ceiling, and in front of me were many bikes, waiting to get worked on. I spotted Mirriam right away, for two reasons. One, she was talking and laughing the loudest, and two, she was standing right in front of me, fixing a bike chain. I suspected it was a stiff link, but I wasn't sure. I walked over to her and tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped up, dropping her wrench. Ok, maybe it wasn't a stiff link. I say, "Hello Mirriam, I am Tatym Levine." 

"Oh! Tatym! Welcome! I have been expecting you! You are late!" She threw her head back and started laughing. It was the sweetest purest laugh I had ever heard. I handed her the necklace, and she stopped laughing. Everyone crowded around us, just staring at me. I could hear everyone breathing the words, "Wow." 

"What?" I asked? "What is the big deal about this necklace. I bought it from an old woman this morning." Everyone gasped, then cheered. "This necklace is one of the finest and well known in Ghana. I can't believe you got it. They are so expensive!" Mirriam tells me. 

"Oh no Mirriam, this isn't for me. I bought it for you, as a token of appreciation." I say, pressing the necklace in her hands. 

"Oh my gosh! No! I cannot take it! It is too good of a gift!" Mirriam exclaimed. But I pressed it into her hands anyways. Mirriam carefully placed it around her neck, and quietly said, "I will never take it off. Thank you so much." She resumed working on her bike, every once and a while touching the necklace. I just stood off to the side, watching her work. 

"Would you like to help?" Her voice startled me. I nodded, I knew how to fix bikes, and joined her on her bike. "The back derailleur is broken, can you fix it?" I nodded again, and busied myself on the bike. 

A few gruesome hours later, Mirriam tapped me on the shoulder. She had both crutches in her arms, and looked impatient. "Leave the bike Tatym. Its time to go." I dropped my allen wrench, and looked down at my hands. They were greasy and blistering. I washed them off then grabbed my backpack and followed Mirriam out the door. We walked slowly back to her village(she had no money to take the bus, and she refused to use any of mine), talking and laughing all the way. Mirriam's laugh is the best laugh ever. It made me laugh, which made her laugh, and at one point, we both were laughing so hard, we had to stop walking and sit down on some rocks. She told me all her embarrassing stories from her past, and I told her mine. We talked and talked and talked. 

Soon, we came to a basketball court, where a bunch of people in wheelchairs were playing. Mirriam called out to someone, and they responded with a wave. "That is Kwame." She waved to more people, telling me their names as they waved. Kwasi, Kojo, Abia, Esi, Annan. We walked over to a wheelchair, where Mirriam sat down, pulled on some sneakers, and joined the game. I watched from the sidelines, intrigued. Mirriam must have noticed, because she offered me the chair. I took it surprised, and before I knew it, I was out playing the game! I even made a basket! I gave the chair back to Mirriam, and watched the rest of the game. The sun was setting behind the golden hills, casting an eerie glow on the court. The game ended, and Mirriam walked with me back to her house. We exchanged hugs, and I left, every so often glancing back in her direction. I could see the funny lady waving to me. I boarded the bus back to my hotel, and was silent. I was thinking about the day. I will always remember Mirriam, and I hope I made an impact on her life. The last drop of sun faded over the hills as I stepped off the bus, reminding me that though the sun has set, and the day has ended, Mirriam will never fade away from me. Thank you Mirriam. 

With My Own Two Wheels Currency

Their money is Ghanian Cedi. One Ghanian Cedi is .30 US dollars. 

$1= 3.31 Ghanian Cedi
  $5= 16.55 Ghanian Cedi

$10= 33.11 Ghanian Cedi

$20= 66.22 Ghanian Cedi

$100= 331.10 Ghanian Cedi

With My Own Two Wheels Map

Day Four

I woke up again at five in the morning, to Adrien shaking me. “We have a big day today Tatym.” He told me. To my ears it sounded like a growl. “We don’t have much time. We are already fifteen minutes late.” I didn’t want to upset him even more, so I jumped up and got ready to go. I was starving, but Adrien said we didn’t have enough time to eat today. We rode in silence to the next village. I swear I could hear Adrien crying in the front. We parked our bikes and Adrien walked off. Some of the guys joined me, but most were comforting Adrien, who was most definitely crying now. They all got on their bikes and rode in silence one by one. Confused, the only thing to do was follow. One guy, maybe Basore, rode up to me. “I speak a little English. Adrien is grieving. Six of his brothers died in the Genocide in 1994. They died today.” Basore rode off to join the group again, but I stayed in the back. What a horrible, horrible, horrible thing! I had read and seen movies about the Genocide. It was a terrible time of war. Now I knew how lucky I was to live in America. 

I stopped mid-thought when I got to the guys circled around a cluster of wooden crosses. Each one had a name on them. All the guys went around and said a prayer to the graves, then slowly offered a gift to each. Basore came up to me and motioned to put something down at each of the graves. I had nothing to give though. Looking in my seat bag, I got out a handful of quarters. American money. I put down a few at each grave, and Basore smiled at me. Then I realized. These were the graves of Adrien’s brothers. I had to give them more. Digging around in my seat bag, I found a spare tire. It was spray painted gold. Cutting the tire up, I wrapped a piece of it around each grave. All the guys stared at me in awe. I just shrugged and held up remainder of the tire. I stuck it back in my bag. Then we all joined hands again, and Adrien started a song. Half of the guys sang it it Kinyarwanda, the other half sang it in English. 

Rwanda yeah your moon shines bright

Rwanda over planned genocide

Rwanda, won't you be strong like a lion

Tune in the transistor

And listen to the news

Cause once a week it hits ya

Heart broken and blue

It's the voice over Africa

so stop peregrination 

So listen very closely to half a million dead souls

Rwanda yeah your moon shines bright

Rwanda over planned genocide

Rwanda, won't you be strong like a lion

It's complicated when facts come slow 

Mass destruction mass confusion

Whats the difference to the orphan

Orphans of the dead

When no more machine guns strike and there's silence instead

Rwanda yeah your moon shines bright

Rwanda over planned genocide

Rwanda, won't you be strong like a lion

Then everyone said their prayers again. This time, I added, “And may the six brothers rest in peace, unhurt and well until we visit again next year. Amen.” 

“Amen.” Everyone said. We spend a little bit longer at the graves then Adrien said, lets go. I am afraid if I stay here any longer I will get stuck here, unable to move. He hops on his bike and petals off. The other guys stay around the graves a little longer. Basore says, “Adrien will want to be alone today. We will go ride more, it is only ten in the morning. Do you need anything?” 

“Actually, I am really hungry.” I told Basore. He just looked at me. “I’m not sure I understand.” He said. I rubbed my hand on my stomach and pretended to eat something. Basore nodded and told the other guys. They all got on their bikes and rode down a path I didn’t notice earlier. I followed, unsure where we were going. 

We ended up at a market, where Basore led me to a stand of fruits. Bananas, potatoes, sorghum, and passion fruit were lined up on the table. I chose a banana and a large passion fruit. The total cost was 68 Rwandan Francs, which was less than 10 cents in America. I gave them a dollar in american money, which was 687 Rwandan Francs. He just stared at me. “Ahsante Sana, Mzungu.” He slowly said. I nodded back, then walked back to my bike. Basore came up to me. “I saw that.” He said. “How do you have that much money?” 

“That’s only a dollar in American Money. Most Americans have thousands and hundreds of dollars.” Basore stared at me. 

“Most people here get very little. Maybe seven francs.” He told me. I gawked. “Thats only one cent in American Money!” I cried. I hopped on my bike and rode off, angry with the way the world treated these poor Rwandans. Everyone else caught up to me and led me off to a trail. We rode in silence for a while. 

“Beep-beep, beep-beep!” My alarm went off, notifying me and everyone else it was time to turn around. I did a u-turn and started biking back, but realizing no one was following, I turned around again. The guys were gone in the distance, up on the next hill. Heart pumping, I steadily climbed the huge hill and rode down it. Then the next, and the next, until I caught up with the guys. We cycled a new route back to their village, where Basore rode me back to my house. I was hungry, but Adrien wasn’t there, so I couldn’t eat yet. But I was exhausted! I lay awake for a while, thinking about the day’s events and the Genocide. Eventually, my thoughts turned to my dog at home. I thought about the rolling, crashing ocean waves, and fell asleep. 

The Good Lie

Day Three

I woke up to the loud mooing of a few cattle. Knowing that cows usually moo quite loud, I ignored them and started drifting off to sleep…

Then came the scream and the growl. I jolted upright in my mat, shivering with fright. I had been warned about the lions who killed cattle, but I didn’t think it was actually true. Adrien had woken up, and was trying to comfort me. I heard another loud growl and a loud mooing, then another scream. It wasn’t a human scream, it was a cow. Adrien left the hut and joined a few people standing outside watching the lion. I could hear them whispering. All of the sudden, they were shouting and running around, trying to chase the lion away. The lion growled again, then disappeared into the thick brush. Adrien walked into the hut, shut and latched the door, then told me everything would be all right. In a matter of moments he was sound asleep, like nothing even happened. I told myself to go to sleep, get some rest, because we were biking in a few hours. But I was scared out of my wits. I stayed curled up in a tight ball, replaying the lion over and over in my head. I really wanted to go on a walk, but I wouldn’t get up, in fear that the lion would come again. 

I had just drifted off into a light sleep when Adrien was shaking me. “Time to get up. Its your first biking day in Rwanda.” I rolled over groggily. My watch said it was 6 AM, but it felt so much earlier. Fighting the sleep, I got up and got dressed, made my bed, washed my face, and ate a passion fruit. Feeling a little more energized, I started putting my bike together, piece by piece. 

About an hour passed before the bike was done. Adrien pulled out his own bike, which was nicer than mine. “Lets go.” He told me. We petaled out of the village quietly, saying hello to the people we passed. The next village we came to, Adrien stopped and got off his bike. “Here we have to walk.” He told me. “There are many large rocks and glass around here. We need to be careful.” He led me to a small house, and let himself in the door. “You can’t just walk into someone’s house!” I shouted at Adrien. He just laughed to himself. I caught him muttering, “Oh Americans. They don’t know anything.” I waited outside for about ten minutes, then Adrien walked out, following by three tall guys, which I recognized from some pictures of Team Rwanda. “This is Abraham Ruhumuriza, Valens Ndayisenga, and Joseph Bizivaremye. They don’t speak much English.” I stretched out my hand to shake, but they just looked at me like I was crazy. “Mwaramutse.” Abraham said to me. “Mwaramutse.” I said back. Adrien went over to a few more huts, and returned with the rest of the team. Some of the guys were out competing in South Africa. There were nine guys here right now, standing in front of me. They all went around and said their names once again.

“Adrien Niyonshuti”

“Abraham Ruhumuriza”

“Valens Ndayisenga”

“Joseph Biziyaremye”

“Patrick Byukusenge”

“Nathan Byukusenge”

“Basore Hategeka”

“Jean De Dieu “Rafiki” Uwimana, Former Rider, Now Apprentice Mechanic”

“Jamie Bissell, Mechanic”

After the introductions, the guys departed to the “bike shed.” The bike shed was exactly what it sounded like. A shed for the bikes. It was also the mechanic shop, for the bikes that have broken down. One by one, the guys returned with their own racing bikes. After gathering and talking for a little bit, Adrien nodded and told me what we were going to do that day. “We aren't going to bike that much today, maybe forty miles.” 

“Fourty miles!?” I exclaimed. “Jeez!” But Adrien was gone by the time I finished talking. So I had no choice but to hop on my bike and join the team. 

We rode over hills, across river beds, hopped rocks and only stopped to talk to people or to get food or drink. Some of the guys rode fast, others just enjoyed the ride and rode slowly, talking to one another and giving kids a passion fruit or a sip of their gatorade. We rode all through the morning and afternoon, stopping briefly every five miles or so. By the time we got back to the guy’s village, it was 6 PM. Ten solid hours of biking. The guys said goodbye to Adrien and I, then left to cook dinner. The golden sun was setting behind the hills again, this time turing the sky into a beautiful shade of cotton candy pink. The white puffy clouds made it look like a scene out of a movie. Adrien mounted his bike and I soon followed. Riding in silence, I reflected on the day. Too soon, we were putting our bikes away, cooking and eating dinner of beef and curdled milk. I only ate the beef, I didn’t want to get sick off the milk. We cleaned our dishes, washed our faces, and crawled into bed. I fell asleep right as my head hit the pillow, dreaming about the upcoming days biking across Rwanda. 

Day Two

I woke up this morning in a strange place. I was in a clay house, sleeping on a straw mat, with other people moving around me. I checked my watch. It was 12:00 PM. 12:00!!!!!!????? I sat up. “Right.” I told myself. “I am in Rwanda, Africa. Yesterday, I flew in on Rwandair, and my hotel was booked. So I am staying in Adrien’s house, on a straw bed.” Right now, waking up at 12 actually felt like 2 in the morning, so of course, I was so tired. I sat up and rubbed my head. I read somewhere that if you sit up and rub your head in the morning, you can feel 100 percent awake faster. Just as I was rolling off my bed, Adrien came in with passion fruit. “Here.” He placed four halves next to me. 

“How am I supposed to eat these without a spoon?” I asked. I loved passion fruit, but I never had eaten it without anything other than a spoon. Adrien bust out laughing. 

“What?” I asked annoyed. Okay, don’t blame me. I had just woken up five minutes ago, and it felt like two in the morning. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Adrien had to choke out the words he was laughing so hard. After he had calmed down, he showed me how to work the Passion fruit seeds and juice with my tongue, then drink it like juice. “You are such an American.” Adrien told me with a chuckle. I ate the passion fruit slowly, savoring every bite. It was the best passion fruit I had ever tasted. 

I ended up eventually getting up out of bed, getting dressed, and making it out the door. Adrien walked over to where I was standing, and gestured for me to follow him. We walked maybe a mile before we came to the main street. Here, people were walking up and down the road, looking at stands of foods and goods, trading, buying, and talking with each other. It wasn’t all joy here though. Although many people were having fun, talking and laughing with each other, there were people crawling down the street, crippled in both legs, flies buzzing around them, starving to the point where they could eat themselves. People were sitting propped up by trees, legs, arms and faces badly burnt, unable to move. Little boys and girls wearing rags, half naked were walking up the street, all of their bones showing through the thin layer of their skin. I had seen movies with people like this, but had never really imagined it was real like this. The worst part was, most people, who had more riches, were ignoring the injured like they were trees on the side of the road. A few people were handing them food, or helping them walk, but only a few. 

The most surprising thing was though, everyone seemed happy. Even the most crippled or the most burned seemed happy in some way. The people walking around on two good legs, with goods and money in their hands, were all laughing and smiling. They were talking in Kinyarwanda, but I could make out a couple of the words. There were hellos and goodbyes going all around. While I was admiring the beauty of the market, I didn’t realize Adrien had slipped away. I had no idea where to go. I was lost in a sea of people, with no sense of direction whatsoever. I was a lost puppy in a forest of tall trees. I started making my way around the many people. “Tatym! Tatym!” I heard a familiar voice calling out to me. I followed the voice to where Adrien was standing. In his hands were two drinks, of which I didn’t know the name. They were in beer like bottles, which were green. The label said BAHA, with a picture of a banana tree on them. “These are Sorghum and banana beers. They are the best drink in Rwanda.” Adrien told me. He held a bottle out to me, and I took a small sip. Immediately, a sweet taste filled my mouth. I was instantly addicted. 

Adrien and I slowly walked back to his village, sipping the Sorghum and banana beers. I could smell burning garbage and meat cooking over a fire. Cows mooed in the distance. The sun was slowly setting, turning the sky shades of pink and orange. I could hear muffled laughter and movement in the huts around me. It was a peaceful night.