Day Seven

I am at the guesthouse again. Unfortunately I’ve been using it as a sort of scapegoat to get out of my house. I don’t want my neighbors visiting me or pondering what I’m doing in my house alone. In fact I hate being in that big house alone during daylight. It makes me feel lonely. I returned the Thermos to Jeanne’s house and then tried to fight the urge to show up here. But I could hear the hum of the generator and I’ve been itching to charge my laptop. This is the first time my laptop has seen daylight here. I feel like I have to hide it – for good reason too. I don’t want people to know I have it so there will be less chance of it getting stolen and I’ve lied to quite a few people and told them I don’t have one. I just know they would ask me favors that I don’t want to do. Lies just slip off my tongue like that. A lot of people have been asking for my email address – I tell them I don’t have Internet, which isn’t a complete lie. And then there’s the ones who ask for my cell phone number. I tell them it’s only for work. Once you budge on one thing, you’ll be getting phone calls in the middle of the night for no good reason. So I’m taking the advice of current PCVs and just lying for as long as possible.

So I pampered myself today and had a really great day so far. I came to the guesthouse for breakfast with the scheme of taking advantage of its amenities. I took a bucket bath in a tub. And boy did it feel good. I could finally effectively wash my hair. I even brought fruit to breakfast, which seemed a little rude but they are definitely missing part of the food pyramid here.

Then I went to church. Everyone here believes in God, without question. It just depends what religion they fall under. As a visitor they really want to know that you believe too. A lot of fellow volunteers have been having a hard time with this because they aren’t churchgoers. Do they lie and earn easy community integration points? Do they say their religion isn’t in Rwanda and they pray in the privacy of their own home? Do they tell the truth and risk the blow to their reputation? These are all real examples that I’ve been told about from current volunteers – okay I really need to stop calling them current volunteers like I am still a trainee, but it’s hard to remember I’m a current volunteer too! Back to the point, I feel blessed in a way to have been raised Catholic. Going to the Catholic masses here have some real advantages: they are much shorter than other church services. This may seem crass to say but some services here are five hours or more! Catholic masses are much more calm and mundane – us Catholics don’t get too crazy in church. It is exactly the same as home, therefore a good place to go when you need something familiar. Although lately I have been questioning my Catholicism and was even thinking of getting away from organized religion for a while – it is still familiar, a great community structure and something I can easily fall into here. (Plug for my eclectic reading interests: If you know any interesting spiritual articles or book titles, send them along. I’m always intrigued to learn more about everything.)

The Presbyterians are the only ones who have a church structure in this town. The Protestants and Catholics have an agreement with the secondary school to hold services. The Catholics have to wait until the Protestants are done (because they run the school) and until the priest can come from the first mass he says that day. So it began at 11am. Although I couldn’t understand what they were saying, so much was exactly the same. It felt very comforting.

The student choir was wonderful. I especially loved that they busted out their keyboard and set it to the organ setting. They were also playing an African drum.

It was wonderful to just sit and not have to speak yet feel like I’m part of the community. Unfortunately every good experience is tainted by someone asking me for money. Turns out the Catholics really want to build their own chapel here. You can’t blame them for asking. I do look like I have a big money sign on my forehead.

Another adorable moment was the four year old sitting in front of me poking her older sister, telling her to sit up straight and look at the priest. Some things you can bet on in any country. There will always be cute, distracting children in church. There will always something more interesting that people want to watch outside church, in this case, volleyball and basketball games. And Catholic masses are exactly the same. Sure it’s methodic and a bit robotic but comforting nonetheless.

Then after Mass there was a basketball game outside. Again, exactly the same as home. The refs made the same hand gestures for calls. Both schools had coordinated uniforms, which seemed too put together for the economic status of these students. My school’s team liked to try for insane three pointers…and made them most of the time. There was a spectator with a loud horn. It was equivalent to a cowbell at home – just as loud and obnoxious. So I found another excuse to sit around silently while in a crowd- sporting events. It seems like Sunday is a popular day for games, giving me one more thing to add to my social calendar. It was a great chance for students to come and approach me if they wanted to and I said hi to a BUNCH of people. It was wonderful to be surrounded by adolescents, although it made me miss my Ele’s Place kids. I really do this love this age group.

Yay! I just found out they are making me a copy of the guesthouse key. Now I can have a place to escape to whenever I want. Dangerous. Now I can spoil myself whenever I want.

I’m playing Baby Girl by Sugarland and thinking of you Dad. Happy birthday tomorrow!

Finally heading home. Forgot home might call tonight and I need to pack for traveling tomorrow. I’ve just written a slew of emails because I’m feeling homesick. Hope you all enjoy them and write back when you can.

Love you all. Hugs and kisses from Rwanda.


*So a p.s. to this blog post: I’m a little shaken up. I was just emotionally accosted by street children. They figured out where I lived – never good. This might sound completely heartless but it’s true. They gave me hugs and held my hands down the street – totally acceptable and what I’m used to. But then I went into my gate and locked it behind me and told them bye. My fence is actually just plants with sticks for a wooden fence to form a structure for the plants to grow around. So the kids ran through my neighbors’ yard and snuck into mine. They were trying to tell me something – I think asking to live with me and asking me for bananas because I’ve been eating a lot of them lately. My Kin went out the window because I was so fluttered. I tried to turn off my heart and get them out of my yard, sternly, so they wouldn’t try it again. Their ringleader was a little girl around 6 years old, being the oldest of the pack. They were dirty as can be and clearly hungry. I can’t just give them money because number one: I don’t have a whole lot in Rwandan currency and number two: that’s not going to help every other starving, homeless street child. A better solution is figuring out what social services are provided for them (I’m guessing none) and how that can be changed (if it’s even possible). This realization is beginning to hit me – being the bleeding heart liberal that I am- right now almost everyone gets a huge smile on their face when I say hi to them in Kin and get all excited that I am here and speaking their language. Pretty soon that won’t be enough. They will actually expect me to DO something. Fear of failure is setting in. I was no means one of those people who show up in the Peace Corps and think I can change the world. I was fully aware of the limitations of my service. In fact the one Peace Corps goal that I can really wrap my head around is showing Rwandan culture to people back at home (hence the blog). But even my small expectations of myself are being questioned. The children were smart. Clearly I have money. It never hurts to ask right? Or put the suggestion in my head – this sure is a huge house that I’m living in by myself. The guilt is setting in as I type on my ridiculously expensive Mac. Then again some of us were given great opportunities in life and I choose to come here to give back some degree of the privilege I was born with. Trying to get their little faces out of my head…and their pleas…what will desperate children do who are starving and have no adult influence?