Lebanese Super Market in Butare Rwanda
There is a Lebanese man by the name of Tarik here in Butare, Rwanda who owns a super market. The name is the Matar Super Market, when I met him I said,
“I feel like I am in West Africa now.”
In the French countries, it appears the Lebanese own the large super markets, while in the English countries the Indian people own the large ones. The Africans seems to own the small ones, I am not saying this makes sense, this is just reality.
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Butare, Rwanda
East Africa
Thursday, May 28, 2009 Where Andy Slept in Butare
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This is Tarik; maybe I spelled his name wrong, it was great to meet this guy, he speaks great English and French and understands the countries of Rwanda and Uganda. He is an expat source, a person who can help you when nobody else can. In addition, he has a great small restaurant inside his super market that allows you to eat “food.” He even has pepper and salt on the table and you do not have to fight to get it.
This is the Matar Super Market in Buture, Rwanda close to the border of Burundi.
To the right rear of this photo is another Lebanese man by the name of Hassan. I wanted to include him in this small article because he did something for me the other day that I truly appreciated. I was standing in line waiting to pay for a package of fried peanuts. A Rwanda girl tried to cut line in front of me; Hassan grabbed the girl and gently told her she needed to stand in line,
I said,
“Thank you,”
He said,
“We try,”
I said,
“This is my dream in the world.”
I walked out of the store, tore into the pack of peanuts and started walking back to the New Gratia Motel. I thought to myself, this is quite an outrageous comment I made, where did this come from?
“My dream in the world.”
There is something truthful about comments made spontaneously and without thinking.
I have had time to think about this for a couple of days, I truly gravitate towards wanting to talk with Tarik and Hassan. The reason is simple, my dream is to have people around me with good manners, and these two men have great manners.
Hassan taught me the word here for cutting line; they call it to “cross.” I guess the locals cross the line. I say cut line.
Thank you Tarik and Hassan, an oasis in the middle of Rwanda.
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