Simba

I just finished watching the movie "The Vow". The female character loses her memory. The last thing she can recall is a time during law school. She is probably mid-20s. She is engaged. But now in present time, she has a different husband and had become an artist. She can't figure out how she changed so much and went from point A to point B.

Besides being a tremendous love story, it makes you wonder about speaking to a high school or undergraduate version of yourself and telling them where you are today and all the things you've done.

I would have expected myself to go to law school or grad school for psychology by now; probably to have stayed in Michigan. Perhaps seeing the shocked look on my own face when I describe Rwanda or living in Boston, would be a great joy. Such pride I can take in myself for accomplishing these things; which is actually why I chose to join the Peace Corps in the first place. Like many things done in life, it was selfish. I wanted something I could point to with simple, unadulterated pride.

It's been practically a year to the day that I came home. I'm still working through a host of emotions that came along with the experience. Simple isn't a word that can easily be put in the same sentence with Peace Corps; but I've never been more proud.

I've been wanting to bring some closure to this blog. Everything previously felt forced so I never published it. This feels right. So I shall end by saying - this is just the beginning. If you are still here reading, good luck out there. Life is a beautiful adventure and it's been a privilege sharing a bit of it with you. 

Good Skepticism

I recently read an article about fair trade coffee. Paramount Coffee is working to buy coffee from Rwanda without cheating them just because they live in a 3rd world country. Besides triumphing building positive business relationship across the world, it drove home a more unfortunate point. The article stated how donor money was used, in part, to buy goats, noting goat milk as a perk to this plan. In a few places goat milk is embraced, however most Rwandans think of goat milk as disgusting and unnatural. What appears to be an excellent plan to us can be viewed entirely differently when you flop over an ocean and a culture.

The larger point I'm getting at is some advice about working with international aid organizations or businesses. I truly believe you can't fully understand how the operation works (effectively, ineffectively, misguided, wasteful) until you see it in the foreign country. The full picture is always bigger than what can be said through a website, a picture, a testimonial, a promotional video. I am not saying don't donate your money or your time to an aid organization. But be skeptical. Do research. Ask questions. No organization is perfect but far more aren't even attempting to achieve that goal.

Homeward Bound

Soundtrack of this post: Magic Trick by She & Him

Hello everyone,
I'm back home. Enjoying the plushness of a couch as a write my first blog post in a long while. I'm not sure how to honestly tell you about my new life since now the people involved in my stories will likely be reading this (hi Mom!).

I shall try to frame this is as a tale of one transition, a tale for other PCVS coming home.

My transition went very well. Never had a freak out moment. Never had a panic attack about the largeness or the whiteness or any difference really. Fit right back into life. Here are the things that helped me. I had a place to go. Thank goodness my parents accepted me back with open arms so alas, I am not homeless. I was able to return to a familiar place. I've been able to revert a bit (in a completely healthy way) and feel comfortable. My extended family gave me some space when I got back. Visits were spaced out, days apart and plenty of time was given for just me and my immediate family. This is a big deal since my extended family is quite large. I have an event coming up that warrants me not being able to get a job immediately. Three weeks (and one week from now) from arriving my sister's wedding is occurring. Wedding prep (or my version of lounging around waiting for the wedding) is a great excuse. My stomach took about 4 days to adjust but my sleep schedule only took a couple - flying eastward back home is good for jet lag.

Triumphs of the last three weeks -- I have not regretted my decision for even one second, so it must have been a good one. I have finally been able to stop taking malaria medication and my body is enjoying a detox. I still know how to drive a car - it really just comes back from muscle memory.

So here is a list of random things that struck me upon returning -
While in the Kenyan airport, in the public restroom, the inside of my nose was burning. At first I thought it was paint thinner. After a minute I realized it was just bathroom cleaner with bleach but my sense of smell wasn't used to it.
In the parking structure at the Detroit airport, the smell of diesel exhaust smelled lovely.
White people are strange looking and I'm not used to so many overweight people.
I don't understand why people here don't just run around getting a million things done quickly purely because completing something quickly is actually an option here.
Social étiquette is a puzzle to me, even in my own culture, which is disconcerting.

When Quitting Becomes the Bravest Move

I've been debating how much of my decision to come home for good is personal and how much is blog material. I do vaguely recall telling you all that I would be honest and forthright about this whole experience.

I felt that what was expected of me was unachievable, for me personally. My strengths didn't match the challenge. It may have been more than half laziness, but mixed into that was apathy. I stopped caring. I stopped trying. The last couple weeks I even stopped faking the trying. I was in a bad place and kept sinking into that bad place every couple months. I understand that my role was to build up the program for the next groups. Breaking a commitment doesn't build it up. But then again, neither does being an apathetic volunteer.

I've had the most exhilarating time of my life here, but also the most depressing moments. I have friends here, and those are the bittersweet moments. They have sustained me for this long. As many moments as I will miss in the next year of adventure as a PCV, I would have become more angry, negative and difficult to be around. I'd like to think I saved people from that.

I have nothing bad to say about Peace Corps. No organization is perfect and this Rwandan post is certainly aware of the bumps and constructively looking to fix them. I've been proud to say I served here. I wish I could have given more to the whole experience.

So I am blindly jumping into the abyss. I have no definite plans. That step after college of being unemployed and living with my parents has finally caught up with me. I suppose I will act the part of the cliche for awhile. But I know my time is precious. Life is short. Too short to not follow your gut. Failing gracefully is how I'd like to see it. As a wise cousin of mine once wrote - sometimes quitting is the bravest choice.

I'm sure my views on international development will shift, along with my thoughts on this entire experience, my role in all of it, Rwandan culture, the way I'm choosing to say goodbye, etc. But right now, I'm happy. I'm excited for the possibilities.

Because I'm addicted to blogging, this won't be my last post. I'll probably write up a little bit about adjusting back into American culture. I can't bear to sign off for good yet.

There will also, obviously, be a lapse in actual events and the posting of this news. Telling certain people before posting it to the internet world seemed considerate. Please don't feel snubbed if I didn't personally send the news to you. It was all part of my ploy to have a few days to lie low.

Quicksand Hallucinations

There are 35 days until I fly home and for the past two weeks I've felt like I was sinking in quicksand. Every day has been a mountain I wasn't sure I could climb. I've never felt further from vacation, even though it's staring me down. Sometimes I wish my mood wouldn't be so erratic. I feel like I'm in the bottom of a hole that someone dug as a trap and there is no way out. And then just as suddenly, that begins to seem like the dumbest exaggeration of my existence here. I honestly don't know what is real anymore. I'm hoping vacation gives me back that clarity.

I can't promise that I will write much while I'm home, being in the throes of rest and relaxation. However I will try to jot down all the things I find bizarre coming back, because I'm sure my panic of being reintroduced into society can be spun with humor.

Pineapple Perspective

So I was at the market today, facing a new challenge. Now that I have become buddy buddy with some of the sellers I feel like I HAVE to buy from them. Guilt takes over and the question of whether a single person can eat an entire pineapple is really besides the point.

Couple this with another new realization. I have quite a bit of money, meaning I live quite comfortably. Imagine that picture of Scrooge counting stacks of money and water it down and that's what happened when I finally cleaned my house a bit and found a bunch of money (I never change, says the twenty in my winter coat pocket that I inevitably find every year.) Yes, I get paid a living stipend but considering I live in a village with no chocolate or goodies besides hard candy, and I don't have utility bills (see there is a perk to no electricity or running water - I've been pondering if washing clothes by hand at home would save money - I'll go with a no, a dirty no.) I can accumulate a bit. Back to the point, I started thinking I should buy more stuff here. Old American theme - get out there and shop and stimulate the economy. Seems like the nice thing to do. The market ladies are just a bunch of my neighbors who farm their land and attempt to make a profit each week. So I was thinking of increasing my purchases of produce to help them out.

For the first time, possibly in my life, another thought came to mind. Sure I could buy a lot more produce but the fact is, there is a set amount of produce being grown in this village area. All the people need to be fed off this amount. If I start taking more than I actually need, that would be selfish. Sure, maybe the market lady wouldn't make as much money, but she could give the produce to people who really need it. I never remember being at the grocery store and thinking that the food would ever run out. Or realizing that taking more than my share was selfish. There's that sense of community again.

So, yes, I bought the pineapple that I didn't need. I gave it to Maryanne as a gift. It felt wonderful. I'm not very good at giving gifts. Imagine going to the grocery store every week and buying something you don't really want or need, and then giving it as a gift. Every single week, going out of your way to spread that kindness. A treat that someone would never buy for themselves.

I hope this is something I remember when I've been home for awhile. and I hope you remember this when I show up to your house with a pineapple :)

Claudine's Visit

So I think I should rename this blog - cultural misconceptions. I've been having some great cultural exchanges lately - so yay 2nd and 3rd goals of Peace Corps.

I went to visit my buddy Claudine. She lives down the street from me but is usually at her boarding school an hour away. She happened to be home for a school holiday so we reconnected. Claudine's cousin was also there - Jean Damascene. Unfortunately, as I have witnessed many times, the males in this country seem to have a much better grasp of English than the females. Jean Damascene quickly took control of the conversation. I believe this was mainly because he doesn't often have the opportunity to talk to an native English speaker who lets him fire away endless questions. It was actually quite entertaining to sit back and give him some time, seeing the wheels in head spin, as he formulated his curiosity into English questions.

But first- it's always interesting to see where Rwandans get their knowledge of American culture. Since a lot is from horrendous news stories and rap videos, you can imagine the misconceptions of the everyday, Michigan life I used to lead. During this visit my phone started to vibrate in the pocket of my cargo pants. I reached down to see who was calling. Apparently this triggered something in Jean Damascene's mind about the US having a gun problem. He assumed that every American owns a gun and carries it around all the time. He was relieved to see me pull out a cell phone. I understand the fear he had but I couldn't help but laugh at him. Even if I carried a concealed weapon in the US, I doubt the Rwandan government would let me carry it around Rwanda as well. This conversation segwayed into a discussion of the hunting culture in the US, particularly Michigan since I know it well. All of a sudden Michigan was looking like the primitive culture as I explained that people go out and kill animals and the families eat the meat.

Then I had to adamantly defend proper English. Jean Damascene gets a lot of his English vocabulary from song lyrics. I also had to argue that the word boys isn't spelled boyz. Sometimes I'm seen as the biggest expert of the English language and other times they won't even believe that boys doesn't involve a z.

So a great Rwandan question that you would be hard pressed to find outside of a American geography class is - what do you cultivate there? I often have to scratch my head thinking of what we cultivate in Michigan. Once again I need to defend my answers to Rwandans who clearly think the US is all city and no farm.

I'll end this post with Jean Damascene's explanation of old Rwandan marriage customs. Now I was the one questioning. He says one set of parents go to the next village to another set of parents and arranged the marriage. Then one random night the eligible bachelor hears on the bedroom door. Parents say and that's the end of that. Jean Damascene must have seen the skeptical look on my face because he ended it with this gem - Love goes where it wants but parents often try to orient it.

Baby Naming

I'll break the bad news first - they didn't pick my name suggestion, so don't get excited that I named a Rwandan baby. But it's all for the best, really.

On Sunday I went to Christine's baby's naming ceremony. It is a tradition that after about a month, every Rwandan child is given a baby naming ceremony. Before this time - you guessed it- the baby doesn't have a name.

All the family and friends gather at the house. We were served Fanta and ate a meal. The baby made her grand entrance, and then was passed around so everyone could have a look. The children of the family came in and all offered a name, which was quite adorable. I think some of them just recommended their own name, which was a tactic I thought of too. Then one by one the adults each offered a name. At the end the parents proclaim the name to everyone. In this case, they had already decided beforehand. They get to pick a first name and a last name.

So welcome baby Nacia to the world. (Pronounced like Nadia but with a 'sea' in the middle.) Christine can now be called Mama Nacia, which nicely rolls off the tongue.

Honey, I'm Home

Blogging is a funny thing. Back in the day (when I was in high school and college) a bunch of people had LiveJournal accounts. They poured out their inner most thoughts and updates (before the CNN feed of Facebook status updates - and I'm not even going to get into Twitter because I don't understand it.) I used to mock it. If I wanted to tell someone about my life, why would I cut out the face-to-face bonding? Why wouldn't I force them to ask me and show interest? And yet, here I am, endlessly and quite compulsively blogging.

This came to the front of my mind yesterday, while writing an email to my aunt. I was saying how I don't have anyone to come home and talk about my day to. See, I come home and read and watch TV. I never rehash the specifics. This sounds pathetic, but it has its perks. Instead of rushing in the door, lamenting every detail and getting the socially appropriate sympathy - I let it ruminate in my brain, cut out the whining negativity, and then I eventually write a stream of consciousness blog post to all of you.

I have a whole new respect for silence. I remember many, many years ago a guy was on Oprah. He had decided, voluntarily, to not utter a word for a whole year. It's an interesting concept (however impractical) to see what you would learn. Observing things you would never had noticed with your mouth jabbering away.

Jetsons

This post was prompted by a text from a fellow volunteer saying - Did you know cars have USB ports now? It's a crazy world.

This is just the tip of the iceberg of a conversation about how out-of-the-loop we are. We've tried to keep up with the price of a gallon of gas and a loaf of bread. Every once and a while a relative tells us about a strange new development at home - pajama pants that look like jeans? What's with that! or the newest humongous drink size at Starbucks. Yep, that was necessary. But let's face it - we are going to be slapped upside the head with about a billion little things that began and no one told us about. This stuff seems minute in the grand scheme of things, but when it all gets piled on at once, you feel like you are living in an episode of the Jetsons.

So I'm opening up a forum right now. Please, please tell me strange things that have developed in the last year. Do the automated checkouts at the grocery store now bag your groceries too? what businesses have closed their doors? does everyone agree that The Office should stop filming when Steve Carell leaves? Lay it on me.